Chapter Text
Jayce Talis was a crafter.
Coming out of a smithing family, Jayce had always been surrounded by creation and he liked to build things with his hands. It was a hobby but was also a result of a habit and his own upbringing, which he took great pride in.
As a smith, motion and movement have always been at the forefront of his mind. His body was trained to bear the scorching heat of the furnace he stood in front of as he worked iron, and he always struck with his hammer with all his might.
Up, down, a bit to the left, turn just a little to the right, strike once, twice, turn it slightly more, and strike up, and down… and so on, and so forth.
He could afford a few mistakes: a bit too much force and it could flatten the iron but liquid could always be reshaped so he would just have to strike it twice instead of only once. If he poured the metal a bit too quickly and accidentally spilt a bit outside the mould, it was not a grave mistake. He only needed to remain careful for the remainder of the smithing and did not thin the piece too much so that it broke at the smallest wind.
All of those slips were perfectly acceptable and common to any respectable smith. However, each little error cost him time and resources, both of which he could not afford to waste.
Each time his hammer struck a bit too much to the left, his work had to be reworked. When he put too much force, bigger sparkles would fly everywhere and potentially startle him. When he spilt melting iron on the floor as he moved it to the mould, it would always give him a heart attack at the idea of burning a hole through his feet and further exhaust his mind.
He still did beautiful works and his father would have been as proud as his mother is, a smile bright enough to hide her eyes behind her raised cheeks, but those small hitches always managed to poke holes inside his ego. It only exacerbated as his research began to slow to a snail's pace and he began… to reconsider some theories. He would never doubt himself though. He will create magic.
But regardless of how much Talis blood ran through his veins and how hard he bore holes through his work as he brought his hammer down, he had never been able to control the slight tremors that sporadically shook his hands at the most importunate moment.
Frustrated at his treacherous limbs, he had finally and begrudgingly admitted to his… small frustration to his mother. She had looked at him, both worried but also understanding and she did ask him how he was doing, to which he replied he was just fine. Despite his curt answer, she did not push him to stop his studies, knowing too well how bullheaded he could get, especially if he was forbidden something. She still had suggested that stress might be one of the reasons why he trembled so much at the end of the day. It was mostly after dusk that he found himself twitching so much he could just bang his knee against a piece of furniture while he simply walked from his bedroom to the kitchen, despite having only sat in front of his desk for the whole day.
Jayce had considered this thought and finally relented to his mother’s idea of picking up a hobby, which would not consist of spending more time bent over papers and equations.
He already knew how to draw and by extension, he could also paint. Smithing required to create patterns before picking up his hammer after all. He was also obligated to draw intricate diagrams and sketches in order to quickly put his thoughts and analyses on paper before he forgot them amid his research. Embroidery was much too delicate for his hands and took too much time, only managing a single leaf in several hours of threading. Moreover, just the idea of wrestling the thread inside the little needle loop was enough to make him grumpy for the rest of the day.
He also considered other crafts such as folding papers or even baking, but he always ended up making a mess rather than making out something decent. Anyway, cooking demanded too much time as well and he burnt too many dishes, too engrossed in his books to notice the black smoke coming from the kitchen. Folding papers had great potential until he realised that his fingers were too thick to manage a decent crane origami.
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He had never thought of whittling before. Probably because he had never seen anyone in Piltover do so, the city too refined and futuristic for this kind of craft, but also because he had never heard about it before. He knew of wood cutting and wood carving, but whittling was not something he was very much familiar with.
But as he strolled around the Academy, he came across someone sitting on a bench, with a small pile of woodchips on their knees and the floor. It had caught his attention and from the corner of the eye, he watched how the student carefully took out another small chunk of wood with such precision and surety it was astonishing.
Such a small moment and yet, it stuck in his mind like glue, carrying it as he followed classes and went back to his small apartment he also called a laboratory. It clung to him like a second skin until one day, he thought back on what the student had been making. Though he had not been able not see much from afar, he reckoned they had been cutting a small animal of some sort out of the wooden block, half-finished with rough edges.
Still, he could almost imagine the fox’s grin as they meticulously carved the snout out with their knife.
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Three days later, he had gotten himself a little piece of wood as big as a water glass and a small carving tool.
.
Let it be said that he hid his first attempt as far away as possible, tucked inside a chest and behind a series of books he never bothered to throw away, their only purpose being to gather dust away.
It did not deter him though.
Instead, it rejuvenated and emboldened him. It made him want to try harder until he came up with something good enough in his hands.
If, during the first few tries, he ended up with a few cuts on his fingers despite the tape he wrapped around his hands beforehand and carved a shapeless blob instead of a simple leaf or a cylinder, he never gave up and simply picked up another wooden block to massacre.
However, as he worked and worked and worked some more, little by little, his sweeps became more assured, his strokes precise and his hands never deviated anymore, becoming steadier and steadier still.
Moreover, it also calmed his mind. Although he was not so stressed he was constantly jittering and jumping around - some would disagree with that statement, though Jayce always made sure to politely ignore them -, the pressure of his near-breakthrough, which he could feel was so close always led his mind to spiral into an abyss of self-doubt and high expectations. But the movement of digging his tool inside the wood and slowly dragging it up, the rhythmic shhhkk he could hear as he removed a side of the wooden stick, or when he watched the woodchips jump off the wooden block and plummet haphazardly to the floor, all of it always worked wonders on his nerves.
Sweeping everything afterwards with a broom was always a pain to deal with, but it was worth it when a small smile graced his face and the crease between his eyebrows eased for the day.
Now, he always forced himself to focus a bit of his day on his newest hobby, though he had not expected it to be so addictive. Even at the end of a session, when his wood chunk looked more like a sad excuse of a pen than anything close to an artful sculpture, he felt… serene. Calm and ready to spend a thoughtless night.
.
The first time he managed to make something which he was proud of was actually something a bit silly, but one he’d cherish for years to come. Of course, he did not expect to create a perfect copy of Piltover’s greatest statues, especially when he made it in only the span of a few days, one hour here, another hour there, but it did make his heart swell with pride to see such a small ugly thing sitting in the palm of his hands.
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Not exactly knowing what to make, he had thought of maybe lightening up his laboratory.
Well, truthfully speaking, he did not have a lot of space amongst all of his research tools, glassware and papers. One day in the past, he might have… but in his mad rush towards what he believed was a breakthrough in his research, he had completely discarded everything in the process, sweeping all of his utensils off the table and spilling them all over the floor. All of which were soon replaced with his studies, books and drawings that got taped onto the wall as he worked his health off.
But one day, as he unlocked the door of his chambers and was welcomed with such a mess, he was struck by how empty the room was.
Empty, impersonal and so, so, so devoid of life.
It had been like he had been hit on the side of the head and he had to fall on his chair as his legs trembled and arms twitched with exertion, hair in disarray from too much fondling and clothes rumpled.
He did not touch his books and equations for the rest of the night.
.
The next day, he was madly whittling at a small piece of wood with his tools while his research papers lay untouched on the table in front of him.
The rhythmic sound of wood slowly getting chipped away was almost comforting, but he did not seem to hear it above the buzzing sound in his ears, his eyes entirely focused on the work in his hands.
He continued to work, more and more, even as the room grew darker. He only got up once to turn on the light before sitting back on the chair and taking back his tools and wood. He would not rest until he was finished. He had only taken up this hobby for a few weeks, but now it felt as if he was a man on a mission. Though which one? He was not really sure, the hum at the back of his mind that whispered to him he was close close close was almost drowned by the loud shhhkk, shhhkk, shhhkk he created with his knife.
He continued working on it, hunched over the table.
He continued to carefully remove layer after layer of wood.
.
Now a small dog was carefully put on a shelf and each time Jayce opened the door to his laboratory, it always seemed to gaze at him with warm eyes - one of which had almost cracked the whole head open with how deep he’d carved the eyesocket -, stretching an oversized paw towards him, as if welcoming him in.
It stood a bit misshapen: its tail resembled more a flattened maggot than anything else, it missed an ear, the poor appendage having popped off when he exerted a bit too much force while carving it, and its muzzle was just a compact mess in which he’d tried to draw some sort of toothy smile.
And yet, Jayce was overjoyed as he looked over his small creation.
He cradled it almost reverently between his huge, rough hands and smiled.
Now, each time he came back to his laboratory and set up to work, he would look at the small dog and his hands would stop shaking from tiredness. He would resume his research with newfound strength and renewed conviction that he was on the right path.
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.
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