Chapter Text
Jayce is at the field again. Wind blows, cooling his skin as the midday sun above radiates heats upon him. The grass below tickles against his exposed feet, an abstract painting of flowers dotted across the hills swaying with the breeze. And, at the base of one hill sits a small workshop, the brick frame creating a cooling invite. Hardly any smoke leaves the chimney, a watermill steadily rotating, a creak coming with each turn as it splashing through the water that rushing under it.
A calm comes with this sight. Jayce should go there.
Just as he takes a single step, he’s brought back to the Talis forge.
The flames licking from hearth replace the heat of the sun. No winds come to offer a cooling breeze against the hot air swirling from the bellows. Jayce wipes the sweat gathering on his forehead away, strands of hair sticking regardless. He lets out a deep sigh before setting aside the tongs, reaching for a shovel to pour another load of coal into the forge before stopping at the voice of his coworkers.
“Talis!” Someone calls, ‘Malcolm’ Jayce’s mind fills in. The young man comes up to Jayce, sweat on his brow making his brown hair stick to his forehead. “Glad I caught you before the day was over. I wanted to ask you something.”
“What do you need, Malcolm?” Jayce asks, placing the shovel down, concern building in his chest. “Is everything okay?”
“Huh?” The young man slows down, confusion evident on his face before Malcolm quickly replaces it with a bright smile. “Everything’s good, boss. First few weeks have flown by.”
“That’s good to hear,” Jayce breathes, relief flooding his body to fill the panicked void. “And, didn’t I tell you, it’s just ‘Jayce.’”
‘Boss’ did not feel right, despite the years after his father’s passing.
“Oh, okay, Jayce,” Malcolm says light-heartedly. “Well, I was wondering, are you going to enter anything this year for the Distinguished Innovators Competition?”
Jayce pauses, his jaw slack for just a second, eyebrows raising just so. Right, Progress Week starts tomorrow. Between working into the late nights and extremely early mornings, whether at the forge or in the Academy lab, days blended together for Jayce, swirling like oil in water. Before Jayce could begin to answer, another voice cuts in, heavy with a joking yet snarky tone.
“Why bother? Shit will probably blow up in his face like last year.”
Another worker makes his way over, slinging an arm around Malcom’s shoulders. Michael smirks at Jayce, a common look from the man, before turning his attention back to Malcolm.
“It won’t explode,” Jayce replies confidently, crossing his arms over his chest in defiance of the words. “I’ve tested my engine more times than I can count.”
“Which is a lot, we know,” Michael flippantly says, hardly withholding a roll of his eyes. “I’m sure Heimer is super proud of his Golden Boy.”
“Lay off him, Michael,” another worker chimes in, the name of which escapes Jayce. The new faces mixed with the high quantity of orders came as a blinding rush to Jayce at times, often unable to keep up with the new information. Albeit, he wouldn’t admit that aloud.
“What? Claggor, all I’m saying is that he’d have more luck showing off those overturned gears to the Machine Herald than the judges!” Michael barks out a loud laugh, gaining the attention of other men starting to prepare to leave for the night. “Maybe he’d feel bad enough he’s let Talis keep his heart.”
“That’s just a rumor, right?” Malcolm pipes in, concern drawn over his brow. “He doesn’t really take people’s hearts?”
“Takes them right out of you and replaces it with a mechanical-“
“That’s enough,” Jayce interrupts, louder than he prefers. “The Machine Herald doesn’t even come this far into Piltover. His workshop always stays away from it because of the military planes. We don’t need to discuss this anymore.”
The demand quiets Michael, who brushes off Jayce and leads Malcolm away, most likely filling in the young man’s mind with stories akin to bedtime ones Piltover parents told their children to avoid the bridge to Zaun. Claggor, on the other hand, approaches Jayce, pushing his goggles off his face to rest on his forehead, further messing up his brown hair.
“You know he’s just being an ass, right?” Claggor more so states than asks. “Michael acts like he knows about inventing, but really he’s just all hot air.”
Hot air, like a forge without a fire. Like Jayce.
“It wasn’t hot air last year when my water purifier set off the fire alarm,” Jayce huffs, feeling a security to sit down, slouching slightly on the bench. Claggor remains standing but open.
“That was last year,” the young man shrugs, his eyes flicking to Jayce’s, the warm fire illuminating his cool demeanor. “Just like how I was still in the Lanes until you gave me a job.”
Claggor did not speak of his time in Zaun often. When asked, the man would quickly change the subject or ignore the question altogether. Except around Jayce. Even if he didn’t bring up the topic in every conversation, Claggor would slip it in, as if talking with a close friend.
“You deserved to get the job,” Jayce says. “Probably the best hire we’ve had here in years.”
He then pauses, only for a brief moment before daring himself to continue.
“Do you miss it? Zaun?”
Despite the lack of light, the fire gave enough for Jayce to glimpse how Claggor’s shoulders tighten for a second. For his breath to catch and eyes widen by a mere fraction. The physical reaction occurring before he remembered whose company he’s in.
“A little,” Claggor says after a beat, his face changing from reluctance of the topic to reminiscent, as if caught in a memory of comfort. “But, if it means getting away from the firefights, magic and bombs, then Mylo and I are fine being here.”
Mylo, another subject Claggor hardly brought up, if ever. One that Jayce even knew little about. A friend? A lover? An answer that Jayce probably would never get.
“Well, you should get home to him,” Jayce says, moving to stand up, changing the conversation for Claggor’s sake. This choice seems to relax the younger man, his shoulder’s falling just so, like finally letting go of an immense weight he held.
“Right,” Claggor nods, taking his goggles off his head to set them at his station. “You heading out too?”
“I’m going to finish closing up the forge and then leave,” Jayce explains, starting to turn off the forge before him, planning on making a quick sweep of the area. “You head out, Claggor. I’ll be okay.”
“If you say so, Jayce,” Claggor concedes, grabbing his personal bag and throwing it over his shoulder before saying one more thought. “Honestly, I’m amazed you find time for work here and the Academy lab. I swear it’s almost otherworldly at times.”
With that, Claggor left, his footsteps echoing with the hum of dying fires. Finally letting out a sigh, Jayce ran a hand down his face, feeling the weight of many sleepless nights piling on his broad shoulders. His face dragging down with his hand.
His mother’s words echo in his head.
‘You’ll get wrinkles if you do that too much, mijo. You’re too young for them.’
The culprit of those nights staring at Jayce as he flips his notebook open. Sketches litter the page, his handwriting, messy yet refined notes scattered across in an organized chaos. Jayce’s inventions stare back at him. So close to reality but just out-of-reach.
Ideas that some would call Jayce certifiably insane for even imagining. An air purifier that sprang to mind after seeing children from close to the Zaun border at a local festival unable to participate due to the polluted air crossing over just so. An enhanced scope for Caitlyn’s rifles, one that could assist with accuracy and precision. Even an automated sewing machine with safety guards, a reminder of the time Ximena punctured her finger with a needle when Jayce accidently distracted her once.
Thankfully the finger the needle hit was her prosthetic, lest Jayce be the reason again his mother earned a third fake finger.
All ideas that Jayce sees in his mind’s eye, but once put to theory, fall apart like a house of cards.
Closing his notebook, Jayce shoves it in his satchel, pushing away the nagging voice of Michael. Instead, wishing to replace it with a more soothing one, to calm the crashing waves of doubt into ripples of inspiration. He secures his leather bracelet, the blue stone embedded in it, just off center, glinting in the dying fire’s light as Jayce exits the forge, locking the door behind him.
Feet falling upon the cobblestone walkway, Jayce’s eyes wander ahead of him. The men on ladders, pointing and shouting instructions as a large banner is strung up. Commands Jayce hears are very robotic, and the men follow suit. All knowing their place and what to do, no questions dare cross their minds. The words, although hardly visible in the dull light of streetlamps, adds a drop to Jayce’s growing pond of inspiration, another ripple to the continuous thoughts in his head.
Piltover’s Annual Progress Day Celebration.
As if the words themselves cast a spell on him, Jayce felt a slight spring to his next step. And the one after that, and onwards until he met a familiar door. One not to dissimilar to the surrounding house’s, but still a special door. One that, when Jayce turns the iron knob with two hammers in the shape of a ‘T’ and pushes open, he finds warmth. Sometimes in the form of a fireplace, other times with spices from the kitchen tingling in his nose. However, always when he sees his mother.
“Jayce! You almost missed supper,” Ximena Talis scolds fondly, stepping up to the entryway to greet her son. She let Jayce take off his shoes, setting aside his satchel before wrapping her arms around him in a welcoming hug.
A hug that would rival the warmth of a fire.
“Hi mom,” Jayce says, returning the embrace, glad he took time at the forge to quickly wipe the dirt off his hands and face. “Sorry, we had another busy day at the forge.” He pulls away, knowing an apologetic look meets his mother’s own concern.
“We can talk about it after you wash up,” Ximena assures, leading him away from the entry. The next words, which Jayce believes she did not mean for him to hear, still cross his sharp ears.
“I swear, anymore orders and all this town will be known for is making weapons.”
And Jayce would be a major part of that.
Following his mother’s instructions, Jayce hurries as he jumps into the shower, scrubbing the grim of the forge off, leaving his skin nearly raw. He is unsure if the nauseating reaction to seeing the dirt and ash trickle down the drain until he’s certain the water is clear is in connection to his mother’s words earlier. Perhaps the water is too hot, the new soap too fragrant, or the oils for his hair and beard beyond expiration, but something is in the back of his brain, continually nagging no matter how hard Jayce attempts to ignore it.
Quickly getting his clothes on and damp hair somewhat tamed, Jayce finds his mother placing plates on the table, the scent of her home cooking enticing him forward. As the two begin to eat, Ximena’s voice breaks the comfortable silence.
“You said it was a busy day?”
“Yes,” Jayce nods, swallowing before answering. He knows what awaits him if he forgot his table manners in front of his mother. “Another large order from the government came in. This time it was for weapon parts. Not enough to complete a weapon, I’m sure they contracted another place for the rest.”
“Hm,” his mother hums, a thoughtful expression crosses her face just as fast as it leaves. A schooling any citizen in a country at war is familiar with, training their expression. One that brings the sick feeling back to Jayce’s mind.
“I’m sure with Progress Day approaching the quote won’t be as demanding,” Jayce says in an attempt to quell any fears of uncertainly that crosses his mother’s mind. “Besides, the new hires are great. Business is up and, based on the numbers, that should support the forge well into the future. The government contract and quotas are pushing back regular orders currently, but it’s work. It puts food on the table and a roof over their heads. More than what small businesses can usually ask for in these circumstances.”
Yes, it puts a roof over their heads until the enemy bombs blow the civilian houses up.
Despite not being a wizard, he swears he can read her mind, since a majority of the time his words manage to comfort this mother’s worrying mind. However, with her brow still in a deep frown, concern and pity paint over her aged face, deep brown eyes reflecting the same feeling tenfold.
“Jayce,” she begins, setting down her fork and reaching across to slide her hand into his larger one, the metal of her cool prosthetic fingers against his calloused palm. “What about you?”
“W-What do you mean?”
Ximena takes a deep breath, her hand tightening just so around Jayce’s before she responds.
“I worry about you. You work so hard, keeping the doors of the forge open. Your father would be so proud. But, what about outside of your work?”
“I-I also have the Academy lab,” Jayce says, the words stumbling out like a clumsy child. “Professor Heimerdinger says my projects are progressing, and they’re almost ready to show investors. Perhaps even for Progress Day during the Distinguished Innovators Competition.”
Ximena does not respond, rather taking a deep breath, pulling her hand away, fingers slipping away from her son’s. Without words, Jayce could see the disappointment settle upon his mother’s shoulders, dipping just so as he takes a sip of her drink, eyes avoiding Jayce’s gaze.
That is why he says his next thought avoiding those brown eyes that brought so much comfort as a child, even now as a young adult. But, now knowing they would bring a heated glare in just mere moments.
“I was also thinking of introducing gemstones with my invention this year, to make it work and showcase their underlying potential. You know it’s always been a dream of mine-“
“Jayce, stop.” Ximena accents the demand with a sudden thud on the table, her hand curled into a tight fist, knuckles white. Her brow furrows, eyes glassy with dismay. “Please, you’re twenty-four-years-old. Enough of this talk of dreams. I love you, but the constantly talking of magic and these impossible visions during your sleep make me worry for you, mijo. Promise me, you’ll stay away from those dangerous people.”
Magic. She lowly hisses the word, as if any louder would summon enforcers to their front door.
Jayce takes another bite of food, letting the silence settle as he carefully chooses his next words. He sets down his fork, reaching across the table. This time, he grabs for his mother’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly.
“I promise.” The words echo hollow in his mind, no sincerity behind them.
However, they seem to provide the comfort his mother must have been searching for, as she lets out a contented sigh, a small but noticeable smile spreading across her face.
“Thank you,” she simply replies, a lightness coming to Jayce’s chest as his mother’s words reach his ears. Despite any misgivings, they always found a way back to normal. To a comfort only the two knew, after years of relying on one another.
Normal for his mother. Maybe not so much for Jayce.
“Do you think I could stay the night?” Jayce askes, glancing out the window to spot the dark of night. “It’s pretty late, and the streetlamps didn’t seem at full power when I made my way here. I think they must be syphoning more power for Progress Day.”
‘Or the war,’ his mind supplies, but his tongue resists from adding.
“Of course, the door is always open to you, Jayce,” Ximena says, standing up and letting go of Jayce’s hand to pick up her plate. “Now, come help me clean up.”
Later that night, Jayce lays in his bed, spotting many items from his childhood still littered across his room, on his dresser and decorating his walls. Jayce wonders if the book of rune symbols is still hidden under his floorboards, gathering dust at this very moment.
Posters of children show magicians, fake gemstones one would purchase at a souvenir shop, even some of his first creations from the forge’s fire. Jayce walks over, picking up a misshapen chunk of metal. An alloy mixture, if he recalls. One his father helped him choose, beginning his journey to take over the Talis forge. All reflected in the photo before Jayce. His young, chubby face gleaming bright as he holds his first hammer, gifted by the man kneeling beside him in the photo; his father.
“What could you have been?” Jayce whispers to the metal, turning it in his hands, studying each indent upon its otherwise smooth surface. “What did dad have planned for you? A screw or a nail? Putting you in a fire to transform, take a new duty in a different shape.”
What would his father think of Jayce now? Using the forge to make weapons for war?
Sighing, Jayce sets the childhood memento back in its place, cherishing the memories it holds. He walks over to his window, cracking it open and staring up at the clear night sky. The stars twinkling, as if talking back and forth in a never-ending conversation. Beings that are so far away, but Jayce still wishes to reach out and touch, if to only learn and understand their lives.
Jayce’s thumb absentmindedly runs over his leather bracelet, right over the blue gem secured in Talis gold, whose color could rival the night sky’s. If he allows himself to believe, the gem twinkles back at the stars in rhythm, as if joining the conversation.
He does not know how long he stays at the windowsill, eyes entranced by the endless, vast expanse of space. At one point, he swears he spots the rumored moving workshop of the wicked Machine Herald crawling along the far hills, along the border of Piltover and Zaun.
An object that seemingly defies the laws of physics, constantly in motion, never slowing down or stopping. Perhaps propelled by a force Jayce desires to know but can never; magic.
As he takes in the sights before him, he does what his mother would cower at, what enforcers would threaten to lock him up for, or even what Professor Heimerdinger would exile him for even considering.
Jayce dreams of what tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow could bring to his rather repetitive life on Runeterra.