Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"I still don't get why I am supposed to do this. You know I'm not exactly one to blend in with the crowd." Viktor slightly pointed at his cane while talking, a hint of annoyed smugness tinting his voice.

"Because at least you will not blow our cover up, and I mean that literally and figuratively." Replied Silco, eyes focused on the ornament he had in his hand.

“Right, because nothing screams ‘low profile’ like a man in a tailored suit and a shiny cane.” he muttered, looking down at the mask that had been handed to him, which held itself with an intricate design of gears and cogs. The masquerade was a necessary step in their dangerous game, but Viktor couldn't shake the feeling that he was an unwelcome intruder in a world of elegance and deception.

Silco finally looked up from the ornament, a delicate, silver piece that he had been twirling between his fingers. “It’s not about blending in, it’s about gathering information. You’re not the only one with a reputation to uphold, my dear Viktor. Just because you’re a bit… conspicuous doesn’t mean you can’t be effective.”

Viktor rolled his eyes but couldn’t argue with the logic. He was well aware of the stakes tonight, a gathering of the elite, where secrets were currency and whispers held more power than swords. He could already feel the tension in the air, a charged atmosphere where alliances could shift with the slightest smile or nod.

"This feels like a waste of time, you take me as one to start unnessesary chats around small pastries and fake smiles?" At these words Silco pinched the bridge of his nose, standing up and grabbing the mask Viktor was still eyeing suspiciously.

"Your only job, and only one, is to find the blueprints. And I know you have as much interest for them as I do, child." Silco knew how to be stern when he had to. It never scared Viktor nor did it impress him enough to stop him from meddling with his inventions as a child. But he always knew how to convince the boy to follow his plans by offering what he always craved. And it was often inovation.
“Remember, keep your eyes peeled for anyone mentioning the blueprints. They’ll likely be in the hands of someone important. All the Kirammans and their associates are present tonight, focus on them. They must know who has them or where they are. It is their mansion after all, don't get caught in places you shouldn't be.” Silco instructed. “Try not to speak to anyone unless absolutely necessary,” Silco continued, his gaze hardened. “We don’t want to attract unwanted attention.”

Viktor’s fingers brushed the edges of the mask, the gears glinting under the dim light of the candlelit room. It was beautifully crafted, perhaps too beautiful for his tastes. As much as he disliked the idea of pretending to be someone he wasn’t, he knew Silco’s insistence was rooted in practicality. He let out a sigh, conceding to the reality of the situation.

“I’ll find your blueprints, Silco. But I make no promises about discretion.” Viktor shot him a wry grin before securing the mask onto his face, adjusting the fit with ease. The mask wasn’t just a physical disguise, it was a step into a game he wasn’t sure he wanted to play.

The night air outside was chilly, but Viktor felt the heat from the large gathering inside the mansion. The grandeur of the venue was suffocating, with high chandeliers casting a warm glow over the dark wood floors, and the air thick with the smell of expensive perfumes and heavy colognes. Guests mingled, their laughter as refined as the glass they were holding. Viktor's gaze flickered across the room, analysing each face, watching for the faintest recognition or whispered name.

Few curious looks hovered over him, it was more than uncomfortable and Viktor's tie started feeling really thight around his neck. But people's gaze never lingered too long, deeming him not worthy to be their next entertainment of the night. Much to Viktor's pleasure, he would gladly stand alone, maybe a glass in hand for show.

He quickly spotted most of the Kiramman's, their face unmistakable. Even under a beautifully laced mask, they carried themselves in a way that screamed their legacy.
And if nothing else, the family crest was fully visible.

So much for a 'masquerade', thought Viktor.

His eyes darted over the guests, scrutinizing the Kirammans with an intensity that matched his impatience. He tried joining the small groups of people who made small talk with the family. But fake laughs and nods only do so much. And Viktor knew the Kirammans did not go without picking their words extremely carefully with each question thrown their way.

The mask, while intricate and beautifully designed, felt more like a shackle than a disguise. It was a reminder that he was playing a part, whether he liked it or not.

He scanned the room for anyone else who looked like they might be more than just a bored guest. A woman in a striking white gown with a mask of golden accents caught his attention. She wasn’t laughing or speaking with anyone, instead nursing a glass of wine while observing the room with sharp, calculating eyes. Viktor’s instincts screamed that she was important. It could be the way she carried herself or the subtle way people tended to circle all around her.

Viktor took a step toward her, his cane clicking softly against the floor. The moment he approached, she turned her gaze toward him, and for a split second, Viktor felt the weight of her scrutiny. There was something calculating in her eyes, a depth that suggested she saw more than just a man in a mask.

"May I offer you some company?" Viktor's voice was smooth, but with an edge of impatience that he couldn’t entirely hide. He didn’t want to waste time with pleasantries, but Silco wanted the search for the blueprints to finally take them somewhere.

The woman raised an eyebrow, as though she were measuring him. "You have an interesting look." she said, her voice laced with the kind of politeness that masked deeper judgment. "A man of… distinction, I presume?"

Viktor inclined his head slightly. "Something like that. And you?"

She smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Merely an observer. But I’ve learned that in places like this, it’s often the observers who know the most." She paused, taking another sip of her wine.

"Is that a complaint?" Viktor asked, his tone sharp. He wasn’t here for games.

"No, not at all." She looked him up and down once more, then leaned in slightly. "You have a keen eye, I see. You’re searching for something specific."

Feeling the pressure build as he recognized the dance of subtle threats and curiosity unfolding, Viktor’s eyes narrowed.  He quickly excused himself, feeling her stare on his back while he tried escaping this space for a moment.

Which led him to a quieter area, a corridor. He was not sure how far he could go but no one stopped him on the way, he wondered what was hidden behind the dozens of doors ahead. But the risk of getting caught snooping around would put him at risk of getting his identity revealed if he acted too suspicious. That was until he saw a small notebook right in front of a half-opened door.

Viktor’s interest piqued, and without hesitation, he knelt down to retrieve it.

The notebook was thick, well-worn from use.Viktor ran his fingers over the cover, feeling the faint ridges of the leather. He could tell this wasn’t a journal of trivial thoughts. This was the work of someone deeply invested in their craft.

He opened it, and his eyes immediately widened at what he found inside. Its pages filled with handwritten notes, sketches, and mathematical formulas. The first few pages held intricate designs, blueprints, but not the ones Silco had mentioned. These were more refined, more daring. Mechanical schematics that seemed to defy the usual limits of engineering. Gears, pistons, and intricate systems, but with a clarity of thought and creativity Viktor found thrilling.

He flipped through the pages, his heart quickening with each diagram, each formula. The equations were complex, yet elegant in their simplicity. Whoever had created this notebook was someone who thought outside the box, someone who dared to push the boundaries of what was possible. Viktor felt an immediate, burning curiosity to know more.

A particular sketch caught his attention, an advanced design for a mechanical arm, more advanced than anything he had ever seen, with joints and movements that seemed almost... organic. The concept was revolutionary. Viktor’s mind raced as he traced the delicate lines on the page, studying the connection points and the physics behind it. The potential was staggering. He could see how it could change everything: medicine, robotics, even warfare.

It was brilliant. Viktor’s eyes darted back to bottom of each page of the notebook. The initials, J.T.,was the only piece of information he had to find the author.

The more he read, the more he saw possibilities, the more he could sense the passion behind the work. Viktor couldn’t help but admire the audacity. There was a rawness to it, an ambition that Viktor could relate to, even if he had never thought to apply it in the same way. The man’s mind was unshackled, free to dream in ways Viktor had not yet allowed himself to.

But there was no time for distractions. He had a mission, and Silco’s words rang in his ears: "Keep your eyes peeled."

Footsteps echoed from the direction of the ballroom, and Viktor’s heart skipped a beat. He quickly snapped the notebook shut, the world outside the pages of brilliance rushing back to him. He looked around, his pulse racing. He had no idea how long he had been standing there, lost in the designs.

Before he could react, a voice cut through the silence.

“That’s mine.”

Viktor froze, his heart pounding as he slowly turned around. Standing just a few feet away, dressed in a midnight-blue suit that shimmered under the chandeliers, was a man.

The man's gaze was fixed on Viktor with a sharp intensity, his expression unreadable beneath the mask he wore. His eyes narrowed slightly, but there was no anger, only curiosity, and something else... a hint of amusement.

Viktor’s mind scrambled for an excuse, a lie, something that could explain why he was holding that notebook and why he was away from the crowd. But in that moment, he realized something else, there was no need for an excuse, he had not stolen anything. This encounter could be an opportunity, the man in front of him clearly had knowledge, and his blueprints were far from uninteresting. He could dig out something.

Viktor cleared his throat, his voice steady despite the situation. "I didn’t mean to intrude. I found it on the floor." He handed the notebook back, but his fingers lingered on the edge of the leather cover.

"Intrude? Perhaps not. But I have to admit, I’m curious." The stranger's gaze flicked to Viktor’s face, then back to the notebook. "What did you think?"

Viktor hesitated, weighing his words carefully. "I think... it’s alright" he said.

The taller man's smile deepened, and Viktor could almost feel the weight of the unspoken challenge in the air. "Brilliance often goes unrecognized." The other replied smoothly.

Viktor’s mind raced, his pulse quickening. "Brilliance is a subjective matter." he responded, his tone deliberate, an attempt to stay composed. "What one person sees as a masterpiece, another might call madness."

The stranger's eyes glittered behind the mask, and for a moment, Viktor wondered if the man could sense the storm of thoughts swirling inside his mind. He stood tall, unmoving, as if waiting for Viktor to say more, to reveal his hand.
He finally decided to reach for his notebook, his fingers slightly touching Viktor's. The contact sent electricity through his fingertips. He quickly put his hand back to his side.

"I didn't think anyone would ever see these apart from myself." The man scratched the nape of his neck with an awkward smile

Viktor blinked, momentarily thrown off balance by the man's unexpected admission. His mind, still racing with the designs he had just seen.

Viktor took a step back, forcing himself to focus. "You mentioned brilliance," Viktor said, picking up on the earlier thread. "I don’t believe it's always about recognition. Some ideas are simply too ahead of their time."

The stranger’s smile deepened, his eyes flashing with understanding. "Exactly. But sometimes, recognition is the first step to reach people's understanding."

There was an unspoken duel in those words, an invitation to probe deeper into the man's mind. Viktor could feel the pull of curiosity, the same drive that had always kept him up late into the night, tinkering and questioning. But he also felt the weight of the night pressing down on him, there was no time for endless conversation. He had a mission to complete.

Chapter Text

"You seem to have good knowledge, not a rare find but none of your sketches seemed to follow any sort of known study. Who do you work for?" Viktor knew this was a useless question to ask, the man in front of him did not seem like one to disclose his identity so easily—especially at a masquerade. But the thing was, Viktor already knew. The little sigil of House Kiramman which had been pinned on the edge of the other's collar did not escape his scrutinizing eye.

"Oh, I don't think this is something I can share-" By the end of that sentence, the stranger's smile started to fade into an expression of horror. Realising what kind of setting they both were in. And more importantly, that damn sigil.

The chuckle that came out of Viktor was sudden, but not surprising. The Kirammans were not people who let their guard down, and would not associate with anyone who would. But they so loved to show off, be it with this kind of pompous setting, or their innovative fleet models. Even having their protégés walk around proudly wearing obvious identifiers, proud to expose the diversity of people they have on their side.

Finally catching his breath with a last laugh, Viktor looked up to see crimson painting the visible parts of the man's face. The colour suits him, was a thought Viktor would take to his grave.

Sparing him more embarassment, Viktor decided to help the poor man who started fidgeting with the edge of his notebook. "The Kirammans, then? Awfully confident their plans would not fall in the wrong hands," he started with a sheepish grin. "And look how easily I got my hands on undoubfully precious information."

The man’s expression grew immediately focused, as if the blame had been shifted, his eyes flicked to Viktor’s, wariness creeping into his expression. "You were not supposed to look for those." His voice was tight.

"I wasn’t looking for them," Viktor said, raising his free hand in mock surrender. "But now that I’ve seen them, it seems a shame to walk away empty-handed."

The stranger’s lips tightened, his grip on the notebook becoming tighter—a gesture noticed by Viktor who couldn't help a smirk. "You know that if I wanted to keep them, I would not have given you your notes back?"

Viktor was starting to have fun, too much. Fun that he unfortunately did not have the time to indulge in. But how sweet it was to anonymously pester the same man who had his head swooning minutes ago. The thrill he felt each time he turned a page still coursing his body. If the people in the other room were what Viktor would consider the epitome of everything he despised, this one at least didn't have the cockiness.

A muffled fit of laughter reached their ears, glasses clinking. The other man's eyes widened slightly in realisation. "We might need to leave. Not that these corridors are off limits, but we'll seem a bit suspicious."

We scoffed Viktor in his head. He did not show as much of a reaction in reality—except for a slight quirk of his brow. As if a Kiramman's pawn could ever be considered suspicious. At most he would be politely and jovially asked to join back and bless the party with his presence.

"Suspicious? Of what? Committing a crime?"

"Well," the man took a little proud stance, lifting his chin up and raising his finger, as if he had it all figured out. "I could charge you with robbery."

The scoff could not be kept in his head this time. "You don't have a single proof."

The finger faltered, and the man looked down at the notebook in his other hand, pouting as if his great scheme had been obliterated.
"That's— let's just go back in there."

Yes, yes. That's what Vikor had to do. Go back in there. Continue searching, talking—eugh. He felt a slight sting to his heart knowing he had to cut short this discussion. Because this man was the first lead he had, and not because he was quite enjoying his presence.

Vikor sighed, a sorrowful smile painting his face as he got read to go back into the loudness alone. "Yes, you probably have some people to go back to."

The man's eyes widened at the words, shaking his head quickly. "Oh um, actually I thought we could continue chatting? I know a place, not an empty and resonating corridor."

Viktor's mouth opened in a little 'o' at these words. They had barely stood there for a few minutes, and the first impression the other man had of him was him snooping into his notebook. He did not dare complain, this was the perfect opporunity, but why would this stranger prefer hanging around him rather than gracing the party?
"Are you a spy sent to kill me?"

The man's expression turned into one of pure offense. "What? No! I don't even know who you are! That's the whole point of this event!"

Viktor elegantly reached his cane with his second hand, putting all his weight onto it. "Don't think there are many men with canes here, " He looked up at the man under his eyelashes. "I might be the easiest target to describe."

The stranger tilted his head down with a chuckle, raising a hand to pass over his face. However, he had seemed to forget the mask still present on it, the movement of his hand almost knocking his mask off. The action made Viktor's heart skip a beat, for a reason unknown to him. The concept of masks had always been futile to him.He had seen too many people hide behind them, more figuratively than literally, only for the truth to be revealed in the smallest, most fleeting of moments. A glance, a stammered word, a hand that shook. Masks couldn’t shield you from yourself. They couldn’t disguise your true nature when it mattered. But here, at the ball, in a sea of glinting faces and painted smiles, he realized the masks were not just a shield—they were the entire point. A masquerade was a place to lose yourself, to become something other than what you were. No one was really themselves here. No one wanted to be.

And yet, the way the stranger’s mask had almost slipped struck a chord deep within Viktor, a slight moment of vulnerability.