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The land is barren and haunted, devastation laying waste to what was once paradise. The remains of Piltover taunt him, a city frozen in time and reminding him of the day he lost it all.
Everything beyond the debris of the Hexgate tower is in ruins; the rivers have dried up, a permanent shadow of sickly green—the same color as the Gray—smothers the atmosphere, wildlife festering into decay. Even Zaun, a place he called home in the distant past, is disfigured beyond recognition.
The lone wind howls, seeking a response from a perished city. There is no one to reply.
Viktor stands alone, a solitary creator with his wretched world held in the palms of his hands, and observes the damnation of his own making, waiting for his destiny to catch up to him.
He could leave, he could slip into another reality and start all over again. It’s crossed his mind more than once, stepping into another world where his partner is still alive and finally, finally making things right. To catch one glimpse of him would be enough to satiate the lifelong ache inside him.
But he cannot leave Jayce.
Viktor has spent decades here, sitting right by his side, trying with all his might and his diminishing powers to bring him back. He’s a husk of the man he used to be, a mere skeleton weathered by time.
Despite that, Viktor believes he’s in there somewhere, that the Jayce he once knew still remains in this pile of bones rooted with plants. He tends to him every day like a gardener with his flowers in the hopes that Jayce might come alive one day.
Jayce is all he has in this desolate wasteland. He owes it to him to stay by his side, it’s his repentance for failing him; a God atoning for his sins at the feet of his only companion.
Viktor caresses his hand over the side of Jayce’s face. He remains unmoving and silent, flower buds sprouting between his ribs. His gaze flits to the juncture between his shoulder and neck where moss has begun to grow. Viktor settles on the ground beneath him and with careful gentleness, lays his head on Jayce’s shoulder, folding his body against Jayce. If he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend that it’s the old Jayce, warm flesh beneath him where it’s now hardened bones. He can almost pretend that Jayce leans into his touch.
“Sometimes, I wish you would have let me die in that explosion,” Viktor murmurs, regret hanging heavy in his voice. “Death would have been better than to be stuck in this endless eternity of longing for you.”
He reaches out slowly and touches Jayce’s hand where it’s gripped around his hammer. He places his hand over Jayce’s, imagining their fingers are laced together.
“At times I wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t caught you on that ledge,” Viktor says. “Perhaps I would have mourned your brilliant mind and the possibilities you could have achieved. But above all… I think I would have missed you even if I didn’t know you.”
Something drips onto his sleeve. Viktor looks up and his heart catches in his chest.
A teardrop glistens at the corner of Jayce’s eye and as he watches, it slides down his face. He reaches up and cups Jayce’s face, his thumb catching the teardrop as it splits apart on his thumb. He pulls away, gazing at Jayce and waiting for him to do something. He doesn’t move.
Viktor convinces himself that he imagined the warmth he felt against his palm.
He feels it the very moment Jayce hurtles into his world. His presence ripples through time and space like rings of water slowly growing into a wave, crashing into him with the force of a thousand suns. He staggers back with it, Jayce’s mere existence in his dead world leaving him breathless with surprise.
He stands beside his Jayce, gentle fingers stroking the line of his jaw. Flowers blossom beneath his touch. “It seems we have a visitor, my love,” Viktor tells him.
He looks toward the wrecked city, anticipation humming beneath his skin. He’s been waiting for this moment for years, for decades, for his whole life. He’d sown the seeds of fate long ago and destiny has grown in abundance, finally landing at his feet like ripened fruit.
He can sense Jayce, his bright, blazing essence like a star caught up in a black hole. Viktor is burning up beneath his flame, waiting for him to find him. He stands at the edge of the Hexgate tower, watching the ravine of extinction below and expecting Jayce to emerge. Minute by torturous minute he waits. Impatience slithers through him until he’s crawling out of his skin with restlessness and as though yanked forward by a rope connecting them, Viktor takes an instinctive step toward him.
He knows he shouldn’t, he should wait, let nature take its course until Jayce appears in front of him. But he’s always been a hasty man and he’s done his waiting, decades of it. Viktor leaves behind his small oasis and trudges through the wreckage, his footsteps echoing in the stillness. He treks through Piltover, through the remains of Zaun until he reaches the edge of the city where he can make out the outline of Jayce’s figure amid the green fog.
Viktor halts, the thump of his staff ringing through the silence. It hits him like a punch to the gut, the mere sight of Jayce awakening a part of him that had been dormant since the moment he killed him. It rouses with a vengeance, leaving him trembling with a longing that embeds itself in his bones, threatening to fracture him into pieces.
Jayce’s eyes widen in recognition. “You,” he says, and his voice sounds like heaven to his ears. Beneath the shadow of his hood, Viktor watches him, taking a moment to map his familiarity. “Did you bring me here?”
With excruciating difficulty, Viktor turns away from him, wordlessly beckoning him forward. “Wait,” he hears Jayce cry behind him and Viktor almost gives into his plea, almost gives into his heart’s whim and reveals himself ahead of time.
He’s running, footsteps getting closer and closer. He feels his resolve crumbling like Orpheus moments before he turns toward Eurydice. Viktor tamps down his mortal inclinations and disappears into the mist, Jayce’s panting breaths echoing hauntingly in his ears.
His creations come alive with curiosity, aroused from their slumber by the presence of a human in their midst. Before he can reign them back, Jayce falls into a chasm. His cry of pain reaches Viktor high above, piercing through him.
He remains in that small cave for days, his leg broken and bleeding into the earth, curled in on himself against the cold. Viktor does what he can; he sends small creatures down to the cave so that Jayce has some sustenance and prevents his creations from crawling down there and tearing him into pieces.
In a moment of abandon, he visits him. Jayce is hunched over the small pond, gulping down palmfuls of water. He doesn’t mean to appear to him, but he can’t help it, drawn to him like a moth to a flame against his own volition. Jayce looks up at the last moment and before he can catch sight of him, Viktor disappears, his heart beating erratically in his chest, roused by the sight of an old memory come to life.
Jayce finds him a fortnight later; face smeared with dirt, lips cracked and leg held together with pieces of his hammer. He slithers and crawls and hobbles his way to Viktor and still, it’s not time. It’s never the right time with them, always out of step like the hands of a clock ticking out of sync.
Jayce falls to his knees once he sees himself, flowers sprouting between his bones and moss growing on his skin. A dragonfly flutters its wings and lands on his shoulder. He understands now, Viktor can see it dawning in his eyes, what he must do to stop his Viktor. His voice is hoarse with disbelief yet hardened with determination. It settles deep in Viktor’s chest and soothes the gnawing ache inside him.
“Send me back,” he says, and Viktor can hear the devotion he holds for his Viktor, the one who still has a chance, the one who still has time, an eternity of it.
He wishes for a moment he was in Viktor’s place, with a second chance that he wouldn’t let slip between his fingers and a man who has enough faith in him to risk his life to fix everything. But he’s already had his chance, and the aftermath lies at his feet, frozen in time and keeping him bound to his greatest failing.
Viktor lays his hand on Jayce’s shoulder, hard bone beneath his fingers. He lets his power flow into him and something changes. Perhaps it’s Jayce’s presence, residual power from his timeline being transported to his own, but Jayce’s broken body beneath him moves in a way it hasn’t done in decades as though life has been breathed into him, his eyes fixing on the version of himself that can survive through it, the one that can defy his fate.
With shaky hands, Viktor conjures up the portal and a mere moment later, Jayce disappears. Viktor settles by his Jayce, peering into his eyes to catch a glimpse of the man who still lives in his heart. His unseeing gaze stares back at him and Viktor goes right back to the start, caught in a vicious cycle of waiting.
The next time Jayce comes back, he has Viktor in tow. Ekko’s Z-Drive has led them here, reliving Jayce’s memory as they crash on top of the Hexgate tower.
Jayce gets to his feet, swiveling around to look at him.
Slowly, Viktor turns, the light revealing his face as he bares himself to Jayce. He feels strangely freed, no longer having to hide. Jayce’s eyes blow wide, shock etched across his face as he stares at Viktor in awe.
His younger self gets up slowly, his metal body creaking. There’s a small crack in his mask, allowing half of his face to peek through. He looks around with a frown.
“Where are we?” he croaks.
“In the future,” Jayce replies, his gaze still stuck on Viktor.
The Machine Herald looks at his future self and visibly blanches. His eyes flit to the corpse in front of them, kneeling in everlasting reverence and he stumbles back a step.
“No,” says the Machine Herald, his gaze distressed. “No… this cannot be.”
“It is,” Viktor says, taking a step closer. “This is your future. Doomed to an eternity of solitude, watching your fruitless ambition fester into rot.”
“It’s not fruitless,” the Machine Herald protests weakly, voice fraught with alarm.
“You would spend the rest of your dwindling days with the corpse of the only man who has spared you an ounce of affection as company, rather than admit this crusade you’re on is futile?” Viktor asks. He turns to Jayce, captivated by his presence. “If you cannot save yourself, at least save him,” he says, gaze stuck on Jayce.
He reaches out slowly, almost hesitantly and touches him, cupping his face in his palm. Jayce leans into his touch almost imperceptibly. He’s real; warm flesh and blood beneath his hold instead of cold, hard bones and an unyielding husk. Viktor feels a memory shake loose inside his chest and fall to the pit of his stomach, his veins coursing with a longing so strong it could unravel the fabric of time.
“Don’t you touch him,” the Machine Herald snaps, stepping forward as though to place distance between Viktor and Jayce, anger slipping through the cracks in his mask.
“My apologies,” Viktor replies, making no move to remove his touch on Jayce. “I know how possessive you are of him… rather, how possessive I am.”
The Machine Herald watches him, scowling.
Viktor watches with fascination as a flush settles on Jayce’s cheeks, skin warming beneath his palm. He swallows and Viktor tracks the movement of his Adam’s apple. His hand moves across Jayce’s cheek, tucking in a stray strand of hair behind his ear.
The Machine Herald steps forward protectively. “What is this? A morbid flaunt of how you killed your lover?”
Viktor smiles, dropping his hand. “By extension, Jayce would be your lover,” he replies. The Machine Herald flushes, his features twisting indecipherably. “I am you after all.”
His gaze hardens despite the glimpse of shame he catches in his eyes. “I would never do that to him.”
Viktor looks at him meaningfully. “Were you not prepared to be rid of him mere moments ago?” he asks and Jayce tenses beside him. “Had you succeeded, it would have been your undoing. You would have strayed from the path you envisioned, all ambition abandoned, plagued by a sin for which there is no forgiveness. Your followers would be reduced to puppets at your hands until they waste away one by one, until you’re lost to history as nothing more than a monster.”
The Machine Herald looks at him with wide eyes, his breathing shallow and ragged.
“Why are you still here?” Jayce asks, breaking the tense silence between them, looking up at him imploringly. “There’s nothing here to stay behind for and with your power, you could’ve done anything, gone anywhere. Why have you been alone all this time?”
“I’m not alone,” he says and looks toward his eternal companion. “I have you.”
Jayce’s gaze flickers over his shoulder. “But I’m… dead.”
“Not entirely,” Viktor replies. “I believe his spirit lingers inside his body. It’s a matter of awakening his essence.”
Silence hangs in the stillness.
This time it’s the Machine Herald that speaks. “Is it possible?” he asks, gaze filled with regret as he looks at Viktor’s Jayce. “Will he be the same… Jayce he once was?”
Viktor looks at him and sees the guilt and remorse he’s been carrying for years reflected on his own, younger face.
“I don’t know,” Viktor replies quietly. “Only time will tell.”
Time he doesn’t have.
Jayce faces him, brows drawn in sorrow. “For what it’s worth, I forgive you.” Viktor’s breath catches in his lungs and some small part of his heart still capable of beating, still capable of feeling, breaks. He relieves Viktor of a burden he’s carried for longer than he remembers. Jayce turns to the Machine Herald as Viktor watches him affectionately. “Have you seen enough?” he asks.
“Yes,” he replies, resigned. Viktor sees the tenderness he feels mirrored in his eyes.
He sobers, reminding himself that this Jayce isn’t his, he doesn’t belong to him, not his to call his own. He has his own Viktor and his own timeline to return to. He’s merely stopping by, a detour on his journey to the right path. He’s going to leave and this time, there’s no coming back.
They stand together, facing him expectantly.
“We’re ready,” says Jayce.
Viktor turns to the Machine Herald. “I wish you success where I failed.”
With his heart heavy in his chest, Viktor conjures up the portal, and the Machine Herald looks over his shoulder toward his Jayce mournfully. As time ripples and bends around them, Jayce reaches for the Machine Herald’s hand. They grasp each other with the inevitability of a supernova bursting into flame, leaving behind cosmic dust.
Time pulls and warps Jayce in its unforgiving grip and their eyes lock. Viktor commits him to memory, etching the line of his lips and the intensity of his gaze to the back of his eyelids, engraving his touch into his skin to keep him in this desolate world after he’s long gone. There’s a sharp crack and he disappears.
The wind doesn’t blow, the water doesn’t run and the birds do not fly.
Viktor is alone once again, surrounded by suffocating stillness.
His powers are fading. He can feel it running out drip by drip until he’s left with nothing, a husk of the man he is like his creations below, their humanity scooped out of them and leaving behind a shell. Yet he reserves every drop of it for Jayce, giving him everything he has to offer.
He kneels in front of Jayce, closing his eyes and focusing on the energy flowing through his veins, transferring it to Jayce when he feels it. Something shifts beneath his touch and Viktor intensifies his power until his hands are trembling with the force of it.
Hard bone beneath his palms softens and Viktor feels his heart stumble in his chest. He keeps his eyes shut, afraid that if he opens them, he might be faced with false hope. Warmth begins to seep into his skin, solid remains turning into supple flesh. Viktor’s heart pounds in his chest dangerously and he sags, reaching his limit.
Beneath his hands, something moves. Viktor stills. His hoarse breathing echoes in his ears.
The wind breezes past, carrying with it a scent that takes him back decades to a lab in a thriving city. Slowly, he opens his eyes. His head angled toward the ground, he sees warm, tan skin where there used flowers and moss.
With his heart in his throat, he raises his head. He’s met with gold eyes and a face he would recognize even in another life. Pygmalion with his wish granted, Jayce sits before him, flesh and blood in his graveyard of a city. Jayce looks at him disbelievingly, looking down at his own body in shock. Viktor’s hands are still cupped around his face and Jayce reaches out hesitantly, like he’s learning how to use his limbs again, and places his hands over Viktor’s own.
Viktor lets out a choked, wet laugh, his vision blurring with tears.
“Viktor,” says Jayce.
“There you are, my love,” he breathes in awe, smiling as he strokes his thumb across Jayce’s cheekbone. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Viktor… I heard everything, all those years,” Jayce says, eyes welling with tears. “I can finally answer.”
“I know, my love,” Viktor replies. Jayce falls forward and Viktor has an armful of rippling muscle and pliant flesh, his dreams made real.
Jayce laughs against his ear and Viktor hides his face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in as Jayce settles in his lungs. For the first time in his long life, Viktor has time, an abundance of it.