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The cafe sits between the upper and lower worlds of Piltover and Zaun—a quiet sanctuary amidst chaos, known to welcome even those with no last name. Its official name is "Hexes," but the Zaunites call it simply "V’s." They serve kolache here: soft, warm pastries filled with poppy seeds or cream or a generous dollop of jam. The coffee is good, but the atmosphere is what keeps people coming back. Homey, almost more Zaun than Piltover, filled with an easy familiarity—wood worn from countless elbows and mugs left too long.
Tonight, the place is alive, brimming with a group of young inventors. Scattered limbs, boisterous laughter, and an eager energy have taken over the cafe. Ekko’s friends occupy the corner booth, violet light spilling over their huddled frames like oil on water, catching glints of mischief in their eyes. For Ekko, V's is more than just a cafe; it’s a touchstone, the place of countless plans, a hundred impossible dreams. He and Powder spent countless afternoons here, long before anything between them was serious, when they were just kids tinkering, plotting, dreaming. The memory clings to the air. Viktor’s presence, Blitzcrank’s, the smell of freshly fried beignets—each small piece forms the fragile whole of a place that is more than four walls and a signboard.
“So Mylo’s been trying to hit on Gert,” Claggor says, his voice booming across the table, instantly drawing everyone's attention. Mylo lunges at him, an awkward collision that sends them both sprawling. The table wobbles under their weight, beignets nearly toppling over. “Claggor, shut up!” Mylo whines, his face flushed, and Claggor only laughs harder.
“Stop fighting, you two,” Powder chimes in, leaning over to jab Mylo in the cheek, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Mylo, you big dummy, what would you do without me? I had to help you get that date with Gert, remember?”
“Lies!” Mylo cries, eyes pleading as he turns to Ekko for support. “Ekko, back me up! I could've scored that date myself, right?”
Ekko hides his smile behind his hand, his gaze slipping slyly over to Mylo. “Mhm,” is all he offers, teasing.
“Man…” Mylo slumps, sinking against Claggor, his voice barely a mumble. “At least I got the date now, I guess…”
Powder watches him with a warm smile, and Ekko can't help but look at her then. The way her smile lights up her face, how the edges of her mouth crease and the glow catches the lines of her expression. He loves her fiercely in that moment—his girl, his constant. “That's the spirit,” she says, pinching Mylo’s cheek with an affectionate tug. “Just be yourself. You’ll be fine.”
Mylo pouts. There’s a raw vulnerability in his eyes, a fear so familiar it pulls at something deep within Ekko. “But…what if she thinks I’m lame? Not as smart as you guys?”
From behind, there’s the soft, deep rumble of Blitzcrank, and everyone turns. “I must interject,” he says, his mechanical voice vibrating with a solemn sincerity, “based on recent analysis of your academic records, you excel in areas such as history, language, and arts. Additionally, many attendees of the Zaun party last year considered you to be 'funny' and 'thoughtful.' You possess numerous qualities that are commendable in a romantic partner.”
Blitzcrank’s sincerity is charming, even as his analysis lacks any subtlety, and it’s enough to make Mylo launch himself at the robot, burying his face in his chestplate with a groan. Claggor, ever the opportunist, reaches for a fry on Blitzcrank’s tray, snatching it with a grin.
It’s moments like these—messy, warm, chaotic—that make V’s feel like home.
The soft tapping of a cane draws Ekko’s attention, and Viktor steps into view. “What is the commotion this time?” he asks, his tone amused, eyes glinting beneath a tangle of dark hair.
Viktor has become something like a mentor to Ekko and Powder—a role neither of them expected, but now can't imagine living without. The first time they came to V’s, Viktor had glanced over their shoulders, offering corrections without asking, just a casual interest that had slowly grown into something deeper. His wisdom was as unassuming as his cafe, but Ekko always sensed a depth behind those eyes, walls behind the man's easy, enigmatic smiles.
Powder waves with a fry pinched between her fingers. “Hey, V,” she calls. “The competition’s killing me. I think I’m all out of ideas. Might be the bar work draining my creativity.”
Viktor hums softly, settling himself beside Claggor, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. “You? In a creative slump? Hard to imagine.”
“Agreed!” Claggor chimes in, pointing his fry at her.
Powder rolls her eyes, giving Claggor’s shoulder a playful push, her laughter echoing off the old wood of the walls.
Ekko clears his throat, hesitant but earnest. “I’ve been in a slump too, no lie.” He rubs the back of his neck, the words coming out in a rush. Admitting it stings—pride and youth both tugging at him—but he trusts these people. If there’s a place to share his vulnerability, it's here, under this roof with the people who matter most. “It’s frustrating. I think Powder and I might need a break. Reset things a bit, you know?”
Viktor nods, gaze contemplative. “A wise decision, I think.”
Ekko tilts his head, curiosity piqued. “What about you, V? You’re always making new stuff—new recipes, new ideas. How do you pull yourself out of a slump?”
Viktor’s gaze drifts to the ceiling, a thoughtful smile tugging at his lips. Despite the quiet, almost delicate nature of his voice, there’s an intensity to Viktor’s expressions, his gestures. “I walk,” he finally says, “or ask Blitzcrank for ideas.”
Ekko chuckles at that. “Well, Blitz does have good advice, no doubt. But maybe some human advice wouldn’t hurt either.” He glances at Blitzcrank, hastily adding, “Uh, no offense, Blitz.”
“None taken,” Blitzcrank responds with an amicable wave of his mechanical hand, the joints whirring softly. Ekko finds his shoulders relaxing, the tension easing.
Viktor, rubbing his chin in a motion that seems almost habitual, continues, “Indeed. Though Blitzcrank's perspective remains valuable, it is true he is still learning—he was, after all, only born a few years ago.” His gaze turns contemplative, a far-off look stealing into his eyes. “In such times, I would ask my husband.”
A beat passes in stunned silence. Powder chokes on her milkshake, coughing violently as flecks of it hit Mylo’s face. “Your what?” she splutters, eyes wide.
Ekko blinks, stunned into silence, his gaze snapping to Viktor’s. “Wait, husband? V, you never told us you were married.”
Viktor shrugs nonchalantly. “It never seemed relevant,” he says, his voice as calm as always, almost amused. “Does it change anything?”
“Yes!” Powder exclaims, her incredulity palpable. “I mean, no—but, what? We’ve known you for years, and you never thought to mention it?” She wipes her mouth, flustered, and Ekko’s grin softens as he watches her, the incredulous, disbelieving tilt of her brow. “Where is he? What’s his name?”
Viktor pauses, glancing away, as if struggling to recall something distant. He fiddles with something between his fingers—a coin, worn at the edges, spinning it idly. “You might know of him, actually,” he says, almost to himself.
“No way,” Claggor scoffs, shaking his head. “If we’ve met him and didn’t connect the dots, we’re all idiots.”
Viktor’s eyes glint with a hint of mischief. “You have not met him. He left Piltover eight years ago in pursuit of his work. But you know of him—many do. He’s commonly referred to as the Man of Progress.”
Silence falls over the table. Powder’s jaw drops, her wide eyes shifting from Blitzcrank to Viktor, then back again. There’s a moment where it’s as if nothing quite computes—then it all breaks apart at once, laughter bursting from everyone.
Mylo clutches at Claggor, nearly doubling over, tears glistening at the corners of his eyes. “Holy shit, Viktor, you—” He wheezes, unable to finish, as Claggor snickers beside him, shaking his head.
Powder laughs so hard it comes out in snorts, her shoulders trembling. But Ekko doesn’t quite join in—he’s watching Viktor closely, noting the absent gleam in his eye, a glint that isn’t the same as his usual mirth when pulling a prank. He’s watching, and somewhere in his gut, Ekko understands Viktor isn’t joking—not this time.
The laughter winds down, still broken by occasional giggles, and Viktor, with an unfazed expression, reaches into his vest. He takes out a wallet, unfolding it carefully, then pushes a small, well-loved photograph across the table. They bump heads leaning in to see it—a worn snapshot of Viktor in a tailored black suit, much thinner and more gaunt than he appears now. Beside him stands a tall man, sharp-featured, his olive skin catching the light, dark hair slicked back. The resemblance is undeniable.
Powder’s eyes go wide once more, her face a mask of disbelief. “No way…you weren’t joking? You’re actually married to Jayce Talis?”
Viktor leans back, crossing his arms, an almost resigned sigh leaving him. “No, I do not joke about this.”
Claggor, still grinning, shakes his head, nudging Viktor. “You gotta bring him around, V. I mean, Jayce Talis? That’s huge. The stuff he’s doing in Icathia right now—building infrastructure, helping tribes rebuild—that’s legendary.”
Ekko feels the pieces falling together in his head. “So Blitzcrank?” he asks slowly, eyes narrowing. “Was he a Man of Progress invention?”
Viktor scoffs, a tinge of offense lining his expression. “No. Please. Blitzcrank is my creation. Jayce was my junior—long ago, back at the academy. That is how we met.”
It clicks into place, and Ekko feels foolish for not piecing it together sooner. Viktor—always calm, always with an edge of brilliance that seemed almost otherworldly—of course, he wasn’t just a café owner.
Powder, ever curious, leans forward, eyes shining. “So why did you leave, V?” she asks, her voice softening. “Why the café? Why not stay at the academy?”
Viktor smiles, a wistful look in his eyes. “Why not?” he echoes. “I found peace in this—here. It is a different kind of fulfillment. Besides,” he adds, a chuckle leaving him, “baking, in a way, is also a science. You’re all beginning to sound ungrateful for those beignets I provide.”
“No!” Mylo exclaims, horrified. “She didn’t mean it, V, we swear.”
Claggor, still slightly breathless, picks up where Mylo leaves off. “Eight years is a long time, though,” he says, his voice a little more serious. Viktor nods.
“Indeed. He’s found his calling, traveling, helping as many as he can. It suits him.” Viktor’s gaze shifts downwards, thumbing the coin between his fingers thoughtfully.
Powder tilts her head, her eyes softening. “Isn’t it…lonely, though?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. “Being apart for that long?”
“Lonely?” Viktor’s brow raises.
She nods, her gaze turning to Ekko for a moment, then back. “Yeah. If Ekko was gone that long, I’d be sad.”
Viktor’s lips twitch, a sadness settling in his gaze but not overpowering it. “We have all the time in the world,” he murmurs. “We shared much in our early years. I’m proud of him—what he’s doing. Staying at the academy…” He trails off, voice distant. “It traps you in the belief that you are contributing. That your inventions will reach those in need. But the ivory tower stands far from reality.”
Ekko feels his heart swell, a mix of admiration and empathy tightening his chest. Viktor, for all his genius, was Zaun through and through. Grounded, true to his roots, and unafraid of reality.
“And besides,” Viktor says, his gaze flicking up, meeting each of theirs. “I’d much rather help here. My home.”
Ekko’s chest tightens, his respect for Viktor deepening. He reaches out, clapping a hand on Viktor’s shoulder. “You’re one of a kind, V.”
Powder nods, smiling warmly, and Mylo throws an arm around Viktor in a loose, almost exaggerated hug. Claggor grins, “You’re the best, V. You gave us the cafe.”
Viktor glances at the clock on the wall, raising a brow, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I even allow you all to linger here hours past closing time. How fortunate you are.”
Ekko laughs, a warmth welling up inside him, a sense of gratitude for this place and these people.
Jayce moved through the crowded market, his hood pulled low, beard masking his face's sharper details. Spare machine parts clattered together in the small satchel at his side. He’d come for supplies, but of course, Piltover and Zaun never let him slip by unnoticed for long. The bridge vendor caught his eye—squinted, then gasped.
“Jayce Talis!” the man exclaimed.
It didn’t take much after that. A ripple, a stir, and suddenly Jayce was surrounded, a wave of faces and voices pulling at him. They shouted his name, their words tripping over one another, offering admiration that Jayce—could he deny it?—soaked in just a little. Even in this world, with his mission of atonement, pride wasn’t something he could easily cast aside. They called him a Golden Boy, and for once, it was a name that carried no shame. He allowed himself a heartbeat to bask in it.
“Jayce! Sign this!” A woman elbowed through, her arm jutting forward, the paper thrust in his face as if she’d tear it from him by force if she could.
Jayce ducked her jab, laughing off the sharp pain her knuckles left on his cheekbone. “Sorry—sorry!” His hands went up in surrender, and he started pushing through the throng, breath coming a little quicker. His smile was tight now—forced, just enough to keep the situation light.
His feet found purchase. One, two, three strides, then he was running, sprinting the length of the bridge, crowds scrambling to keep pace. It might have been absurd—Golden Boy reduced to runaway—if it weren’t for the laughter bubbling up within him. He fumbled with his pocket, found the compact device, pressed the button. A hoverboard unfolded beneath his feet. The green energy thrummed in time with his pulse. He landed with a satisfying clunk of boots on metal, balanced for a breath, then kicked off, slicing through the air with a whoop that he couldn’t quite bite back.
Zaun blurred beneath him—the layered shanties and interlaced walkways rushing by, vendors’ calls blending into a single chaotic roar. When he finally slid to a stop, he ducked into an alleyway, his hood slipping back into place. He took a long breath, and when he let it out, it was tinted with a smile. The air here, cleaner—fresher than what he'd remembered from the old Zaun, Viktor’s Zaun. The dream they'd chased in the other universe, the one Viktor had always spoken of in low, hopeful murmurs. Somehow, this Zaun seemed closer to what they had once imagined.
He wandered the streets, his tall frame conspicuous against the masses. The day drifted past, slipping through his fingers like sand. He moved through the stalls, studied faces and signs, felt the hours pile up, orange light spilling from the sinking sun. He gave up looking, eventually. Just as the streets began to cast longer shadows, Jayce found himself at a nondescript stand, a burly man ahead of him, buying orange juice.
Jayce tapped the man on the shoulder. There was a beat—a tense, uncertain pause—and then the stranger turned, his face splitting into an easy smile. Jayce felt the tension bleed out of him.
“Hey, uh, I’m Jayce,” he said, his voice a little gruffer than intended. He cleared his throat, put out a hand. “I’m looking for Viktor. Heard he’s got an establishment somewhere here.”
The man’s brow lifted, amusement quirking his lips as he shook Jayce’s hand, his grip firm. He handed over a few coins to the vendor before giving Jayce his full attention.
“Viktor, eh?” the man said, and the warmth in his voice was infectious. “Name’s Vander. You must be new—haven’t seen you around here.” He chuckled.
Jayce ducked his head, a rueful smile pulling at his lips. “It’s… been a while. Eight years since I left.”
Vander whistled, a low sound full of sympathy. “Eight years, huh? I see. You’re looking for Viktor’s place? He’s well known for his sweets. Best in all of Zaun, some would say.”
The mention of sweets made Jayce’s chest clench, heartbeat stumbling. He could see Viktor’s face then—sharp features softened by laughter, the subtle constellation of moles, the way his eyes creased just a little at the edges. Jayce felt his face warm, the back of his neck heating with something close to nostalgia. He forced himself to clear his throat.
“Yeah, uh…” He hesitated, then let out a soft laugh. “I’m his husband.”
There was a shift, a flicker in Vander’s expression—a widening of eyes, a quick assessment that ran from Jayce’s face down to the boots that hadn’t touched Piltover’s polished cobbles in years. Jayce could see the moment the recognition clicked into place.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Vander said, his voice low and surprised. He looked back at the vendor, shook his head as if trying to make sense of something that hadn’t quite settled right in his mind. “He never mentioned—though, to be fair, V’s always been a secretive one. My kids love his place, though. They’re probably there right now, come to think of it.”
Jayce raised a brow, amused. “Powder, Ekko, Claggor, Mylo, right? He mentioned them in his letters.”
Vander’s eyes sparkled as he laughed, a rich sound that seemed to fill the narrow alleyway. “Yup, that’s them. His sweets have ‘em hooked. They’re in Hexes, down in the district just below the bridge.”
Jayce caught the way the people in the market watched—how they hovered at the edges, reluctant to interrupt their conversation. Vander, respected. Familiar. Jayce filed it away, a note for later.
He tugged his hood back up, a grin forming as he nodded his thanks. “Appreciate it, Vander. I owe you one. I’ll drop by your bar once I’ve caught up with V.”
Vander smiled back, a warmth there that felt like home. “You do that, Jayce. I’ll make sure there’s a drink waiting for you.”
Jayce waved his goodbye and turned, his heart already rushing ahead, caught between past regrets and future hopes, his steps leading him down to where Viktor waited.
The door to the café swung open with a soft chime. Jayce stepped inside, letting the warmth of Viktor’s place settle into his bones, the rich scent of spices and something sugary hanging in the air. The room was quiet, save for the hum of machinery—a comfortingly familiar sound—and the laughter of two figures huddled near a contraption that seemed, by the looks of it, moments from falling apart.
Powder and Ekko were at the counter, their latest invention vibrating violently, glowing red-hot. Ekko’s hands were on his head, both of them mid-argument, their voices climbing in panic.
The sound of the laser came first—sharp, electric, piercing the air. Jayce’s hammer gleamed, light shooting from its tip, evaporating the dangerous contraption in an instant. It disintegrated with a hiss, leaving only tendrils of smoke curling in its wake.
“What the—” Powder’s head whipped toward the source, her eyes landing on Jayce. “What the hell, man?!”
Jayce lowered the hammer, its weight settling in his grasp before he let it rest on the floor. It was nearly as tall as he was, the gleaming steel catching the ambient light, casting long shadows. He stepped forward, the motion revealing his face, his eyes lined with exhaustion.
“What,” he began, the word a heavy exhale, brows furrowing as he glanced between them. “What in the world is going on here?”
Ekko, less startled than Powder, straightened up, giving a nod of acknowledgment. “Thanks for that,” he said, flashing an accusatory glance at Powder, who shrugged in apology. “I’m Ekko, by the way.”
Jayce inclined his head, the name sparking familiarity. “It’s Jayce.”
Ekko’s eyes widened, and Powder, mouth slightly agape, took a half step back. The man before them was a far cry from the poster boy they'd seen in the papers. This Jayce was scruffier, his beard grown out, his frame broader, stronger. His eyes were worn, touched by lines of fatigue—but also something else, something softer.
“Well, well,” Powder grinned, bowing theatrically. Her face was still smeared with grime from whatever chaos they’d been working on. “Jayce Talis, the one and only. I’m Powder. And, uh, sorry about almost blowing up your husband’s shop.”
Jayce’s lips tugged upward, amusement breaking through the weariness. He set his hammer by the wall where customers usually left their umbrellas, its size dwarfing the mundane items around it. The place was empty, save for the three of them, and Jayce moved to the bar, resting his elbows on the counter as he sank onto a stool.
“Heard a lot about you two,” he said, gaze shifting between them. “Viktor’s letters—he talks about you both a lot.”
Ekko perked up, sliding onto the seat across from Jayce, his grin brightening. “He talks about us? Really?”
Jayce nodded, a fond smile pulling at his lips. “Yeah. He calls you his students.”
Powder pressed a hand to her chest, pretending to swoon. “Wow. That’s… really sweet. He never tells us stuff like that to our faces.”
“He really doesn’t,” Ekko added, shaking his head.
Jayce laughed, the sound rich and warm, as if just being here with them had taken some weight off his shoulders. “Sounds like him,” he said. “I’m glad he has you two. I think you mean a lot to him.”
Jayce's words trailed off as if something in the air had shifted, his gaze snapping toward the back door a heartbeat before it swung open. Viktor emerged, Blitzcrank at his side, arms full of stock. For a fleeting moment, Viktor’s face shifted, a flicker of raw, unguarded emotion passing over it. Then it smoothed, his expression becoming carefully neutral.
Viktor placed the boxes on the bar, stepping around, and Jayce’s breath caught. Reverence—that was the only word for the look in his eyes. He seemed frozen, the sight of Viktor overwhelming, as if the years apart, the distances traversed, all melted away, leaving only this. Viktor’s eyes met his, and Jayce’s lips parted, a name forming silently on them.
Without a word, Viktor reached him, tossing a cloth into Jayce’s waiting hand. “Jayce,” he said, the tone utterly matter-of-fact. There was no hint of the eight years that had separated them. “You’re just in time. You can start helping by cleaning up their mess,” Viktor nodded at Powder and Ekko, his voice steady.
Jayce blinked, startled, before a grin broke across his face. Before Viktor could pull away, Jayce caught his wrist, pulling him into an embrace. Viktor stiffened at first, the sudden closeness unanticipated—but then he relented, his arms wrapping around Jayce’s broad shoulders. Jayce buried his face in Viktor’s chest, his eyes shut, and for a moment, he was just a man, seeking solace in the only place it existed. Viktor’s lips twitched, a wry smile, his fingers coming to rest gently in Jayce’s hair.
Ekko and Powder watched, sharing a look—half amused, half tender. This, right here, was unmistakably love.
“Ah,” Viktor murmured, his voice low as he patted Jayce’s back, fingers threading through his hair, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of Jayce’s head. “Jayce.”
Jayce mumbled something against Viktor’s chest, his voice cracking, and Ekko nudged Powder, jerking his head toward the door. “We should give ‘em a moment,” he whispered.
Powder, still grinning, let Ekko pull her toward the exit, their footsteps soft as they hurried out. The door swung shut behind them, and the laughter they’d held in spilled out once they were on the street.
“It never gets boring around here, huh?” Ekko said, shaking his head.
“Not ever,” Powder agreed, her eyes glimmering with mischief, her heart light.