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To say the day would be stressful was an understatement of magnificent proportions. The air in Piltover hummed with anticipation, charged like one of their experimental runes.
The Distinguished Innovator's Competition loomed before them—not merely an event, but a crucible in which futures would be forged or shattered. For Jayce Talis and Viktor, it was their moment to shine. Literally.
Unlike the previous year's competition, when rain had drummed relentlessly against canvas tents and turned the exhibition grounds to mud, today the heavens had blessed them. The sky stretched vast and blue above Piltover's spires, interrupted only by occasional clouds that drifted lazily overhead, casting fleeting shadows that offered momentary respite from the sun's persistent gaze. A gentle breeze meandered through the city streets, carrying the mingled scents of machine oil and flowering vines that adorned the city's elegant architecture. The slow, hypnotic swaying of trees and ornamental gardens provided a soothing counterpoint to the nervous energy that thrummed through both scientists' bodies.
Throughout the sprawling exhibition grounds, children darted between displays with unbridled enthusiasm, their eyes wide with wonder as they flitted from booth to booth like butterflies in a vast garden of innovation. Their innocent fascination with each new marvel became an unexpected anchor for Jayce and Viktor—a reminder of why they pursued their work with such fervor.
"But how does it turn on?" a small boy with tousled hair inquired, pressing his nose against the protective glass case that housed their prototype.
"Why is the crystal so small?" questioned a girl with braided pigtails, her head tilted quizzically.
"What's a rune?" asked another, freckled face scrunched in concentration.
Each question posed its own unique challenge to both scientists. They had grown accustomed to the esoteric language of academia, to discussions with peers who spoke their scientific dialect fluently. Translating their complex theories into concepts digestible for young minds required a different kind of brilliance—one that stripped away jargon and distilled ideas to their essence. Yet one question, posed by a solemn-eyed child of perhaps nine years, pierced through their rehearsed explanations.
"Why do you want magic to change the world?"
The question hung in the air between them, deceptively simple yet profoundly complex. Jayce's fingers stilled on the demonstration model, and Viktor's normally quick retorts died on his lips. What should have been straightforward had both men mentally fumbling for an answer that satisfied even themselves.
Jayce could have spoken of his brush with death as a child, of the arcane energies that had coursed through his small body and knit his broken form back together. Viktor might have described the theoretical elegance of harnessing magic through scientific principles, of bringing order to chaos. But somehow, in that moment, personal anecdotes and scientific curiosity seemed insufficient before the child's penetrating gaze. The fundamental "why" behind their passion—beyond self-interest or intellectual pursuit—remained elusive, hovering just beyond their grasp.
Amid this philosophical impasse, Jayce noticed a young girl hovering at the edge of their display. Her eyes darted anxiously around the crowded fairgrounds, small fingers twisting the hem of her blue dress. Unlike the other children, curiosity was absent from her expression; in its place, fear had taken residence.
"Hey there. Everything alright, kiddo?" Jayce asked, lowering his imposing frame to meet her at eye level. His voice softened instinctively, the competitive edge that had sharpened his words all day now mysteriously absent.
"I can't find my mommy..." The little girl's voice emerged barely louder than a whisper, trembling slightly as her eyes welled with unshed tears.
Jayce's expression softened further. Through the crowd, he could spot an enforcer's distinctive uniform—Officer Caitlyn, if he wasn't mistaken—about forty yards away. His mind calculated quickly: a five-minute detour at most to deliver the child to capable hands.
"Here," Jayce said, his voice gentle as he rose to his full height and offered his calloused hand to the child. "Let me take you to someone who can help you find her."
The girl's small fingers curled tentatively around his, her grip tightening as though she had found a lifeline in a stormy sea.
Viktor observed this exchange with growing alarm, his lean frame tensing visibly. He stepped closer to Jayce, the subtle tap of his cane against the cobblestones punctuating his urgency.
"Jayce," he hissed, voice low enough that the child couldn't hear, though the intensity in his gray eyes spoke volumes. "You have to be here for the presentation." His accent, usually carefully modulated, thickened with stress. "We're next to present to the judges, and I can't do this alone."
A flash of annoyance crossed Jayce's features before dissolving into his characteristic confidence. He clapped his free hand on Viktor's shoulder, the gesture both reassuring and dismissive.
"Viktor, relax. I'll be back before they get over here," Jayce assured him, the certainty in his voice almost convincing enough to quiet the anxiety churning in Viktor's stomach. Jayce turned his attention back to the little girl, his smile returning effortlessly. "Come on, kiddo. Let's get you back to your mom."
Viktor found little comfort in Jayce's breezy assurances—how many times had "just a moment" stretched into interminable delays?—but recognized the futility of argument. The logical part of his mind acknowledged that the child's distress would only distract from their presentation. The compassionate part, buried deeper but no less present, understood that abandoning her to her fear would be unconscionable.
As he watched Jayce's broad-shouldered form disappear into the crowd, Viktor tried to quell the rising tide of apprehension. What's the worst that could happen in a couple minutes, right?
The universe, it seemed, had been waiting for precisely this question.
"Alright, and here we have Jayce of House Talis and his lab partner, Viktor."
The judges' arrival hit Viktor with the force of a physical blow. His long fingers tightened reflexively around his cane as his stomach twisted into elaborate knots. The small group of distinguished scientists and patrons approached their booth with measured steps, clipboards at the ready and expressions carefully neutral. Not a single face offered encouragement.
Viktor silently cursed every deity he could name, though he believed in none of them. There was no possible way he could explain everything alone—not effectively. Technically, yes, he understood the mechanics better than anyone, possibly even better than Jayce himself. But Viktor had never mastered the subtle art of charisma that came so naturally to his partner. What if crucial details slipped his mind in the fog of anxiety? What if his words failed to capture the revolutionary potential of their work? What if his voice, which sometimes weakened with fatigue, couldn't convey the passion that drove their research?
"Yes. Yes, our presentation," Viktor stated, the slight tremor in his voice audible only to himself. He straightened his posture despite the protest from his bad leg, drawing himself up to his full height. "Jayce and I have been working on a ne—"
"Where is Mr. Talis?" interrupted a silver-haired woman whose stern expression suggested she was not accustomed to incomplete teams.
Relief flooded Viktor's system so suddenly he almost laughed. A reprieve, however brief.
"He is currently taking a lost child to help find their mother," Viktor explained, allowing a hint of professional pride to color his voice. Surely they would understand this humanitarian pause.
"Ah. I see." The judge made a notation on her clipboard, the scratch of pencil against paper unnaturally loud in Viktor's ears. "Proceed."
The single word landed like a stone in still water, ripples of panic spreading outward through Viktor's consciousness. Proceed? Without Jayce? Without the charismatic face of their partnership, the man whose smile could charm funding from the most reluctant benefactors?
Viktor drew a deep breath, feeling the air fill his lungs completely before he exhaled slowly through slightly parted lips—a calming technique he had developed during countless sleepless nights in the laboratory. He turned toward their display with deliberate movements.
Their booth, though modest compared to some of their competitors', was meticulously organized. Various diagrams and schematics were arranged in logical sequence, each one building upon the principles established by its predecessor. At the center sat their prototype—deceptively small for the revolutionary potential it contained, a hextech crystal secured within a housing of polished brass and iron.
Viktor began with the foundational concepts, his voice gaining strength as he settled into the familiar territory of scientific explanation. He guided the judges through the theoretical framework, referencing the various papers as visual aids to illuminate the inner workings of their device. His long, nimble fingers traced circuits and energy flows across the diagrams with precision, occasionally gesturing toward the prototype to illustrate a particular point.
Despite his initial trepidation, Viktor found a rhythm in his solitary presentation. Words that had seemed reluctant moments ago now flowed with increasing confidence. The years of research, the countless failures that had preceded their breakthrough, the elegant simplicity of their final design—all of it emerged in his methodical explanation.
Throughout his presentation, the judges maintained their inscrutable expressions, pens moving across their clipboards in cryptic notation. Not a single nod of appreciation, not one smile of understanding broke through their professional masks, leaving Viktor to wonder if his words were making any impression at all.
It wasn't until they thanked him curtly and moved toward the next booth that Jayce finally returned, his characteristic grin firmly in place, oblivious to the tension that had unfolded in his absence.
"See, I told you it wouldn't take long!" he declared cheerfully, as though he hadn't just abandoned Viktor at the most critical moment of their professional lives. "She's in good hands. Now, we wait for the judges."
The words struck Viktor like a physical blow. His partner's casual tone, the assumption that everything had proceeded according to plan, ignited a brief flare of resentment that was quickly subsumed by crushing anxiety. The full weight of what had just transpired descended upon Viktor all at once.
He had just presented their entire project without Jayce. Without the confident voice that could make complex theories sound like exciting adventures. Without the warmth that could thaw even the iciest of academic critics. Their entire future rested on Viktor's performance alone—and all his nagging insecurities suddenly seemed vindicated.
What if he'd missed something crucial? What if his accent had thickened with stress, rendering key concepts unintelligible? What if he hadn't conveyed the revolutionary potential with sufficient enthusiasm? What if the judges had been put off by his clinical approach, his focus on mechanics rather than applications? What if—
"Viktor, hey."
Jayce's voice penetrated the spiral of anxiety, but provided little comfort. Viktor's heart hammered against his ribs like a caged bird. His chest constricted painfully, each breath becoming shallower than the last. The edges of his vision began to darken as panic tightened its grip.
"Breathe."
The command, issued in Jayce's most authoritative tone, cut through the chaos of Viktor's thoughts. He became aware of Jayce standing directly before him, strong hands gripping his shoulders firmly enough to anchor him to the present moment. The physical contact provided just enough stability for Viktor to regain some control, though the anxiety continued to course through his veins like ice water.
"I didn't take you to be the nervous type when it came to presentations," Jayce chuckled, the sound warm and genuine despite the circumstances. "You were so confident when we presented our findings to the Council."
Viktor found himself responding with a brittle laugh that sounded foreign to his own ears. "I suppose I was. But I also had you with me during that presentation."
Something in his tone must have conveyed more than he intended, for Jayce's expression shifted subtly, the easy confidence giving way to something more serious, more attentive.
"And you have me for this one, too. We'll do this together," Jayce assured him, his smile returning, though tempered now with awareness.
Viktor swallowed hard, the bitter taste of anxiety coating his tongue. "Eh, about that..."
"What do you mean?"
"The judges already came by."
The words hung between them, stark and unadorned. Viktor watched as comprehension dawned across Jayce's features. First surprise, then dismay, and finally—most painfully—guilt. Jayce was not a man accustomed to failure, especially when that failure might affect others. Viktor knew his partner well enough to recognize the exact moment when Jayce realized the potential consequences of his absence: points deducted, opportunities lost, sponsors unimpressed.
"They..." Jayce began, but words seemed to fail him. His usually expressive face paled slightly, and Viktor recognized the same anxiety that had gripped him now taking hold of his partner. Jayce's breathing quickened, his broad chest rising and falling rapidly as his hand unconsciously moved to his stomach—a gesture Viktor had observed before during moments of extreme stress.
But fate, in its capricious way, chose that moment for intervention.
From the adjacent booth came a sudden mechanical roar, so loud it seemed to vibrate the cobblestones beneath their feet. A prototype carriage engine had burst to life with an unholy cacophony of metal grinding against metal, punctuated by alarming clanks and rattles that suggested imminent disintegration rather than revolutionary transportation.
The jarring noise snapped Jayce from his spiral of anxiety. Viktor watched as his partner's entire demeanor transformed—shoulders squaring, expression shifting from distress to focused determination. Without a word of explanation, Jayce strode toward the source of the commotion, moving with the purposeful confidence that had first drawn Viktor to collaborate with him.
The inventors responsible for the malfunctioning carriage wore expressions of mortified embarrassment as their creation betrayed them before the crowd and judges. Before any protest could be raised, Jayce was already examining the engine, his experienced eyes quickly identifying the source of the problem.
"Here, let me take a look," he offered, already reaching for tools. His hands moved with practiced precision, tightening a loose cog here, adjusting several bolts there, his movements so fluid they appeared choreographed rather than improvised.
When the inventors tentatively restarted their engine, the difference was immediate and dramatic. What had been a mechanical shriek became a smooth, powerful hum—the sound of proper engineering, of potential realized. Satisfied with his intervention, Jayce returned to their booth where Viktor waited, leaning heavily on his cane, exhaustion evident in the slight slump of his shoulders.
"I doubt you could have done worse tha—" Viktor began, but his words were interrupted by a clear voice carrying from the adjacent booth.
"Excellent work. The ingenuity is truly admirable," declared one of the judges, nodding appreciatively at the now-purring carriage engine.
The praise—so freely given to Jayce's impromptu repair, yet withheld entirely from Viktor's careful presentation of their life's work—was the final straw. The anxiety that had been building throughout the day, coupled with physical exhaustion and emotional strain, reached its breaking point.
Viktor felt his core muscles contract violently, a wave of nausea rising with unstoppable force. Before he could excuse himself or turn away, his body betrayed him completely. He lurched forward, the meager contents of his stomach—coffee and a hastily consumed pastry from that morning—spattering ignominiously onto the pristine cobblestones of the exhibition ground.
In that moment of abject humiliation, as he braced himself against his cane with one hand while the other clutched his rebelling stomach, Viktor was certain of only one thing: this day would live in his memory not as a triumph, but as the perfect crystallization of all his fears about his place in the scientific community—and beside the brilliant Jayce Talis.
The stage lights were almost blinding, transforming the familiar faces of the crowd into an indistinct sea of shadows. Jayce and Viktor stood at the front of the polished wooden podium, a gleaming trophy clutched between them—tangible proof of what seemed impossible mere hours ago.
Despite the points deducted for Jayce's absence during their official presentation, the judges had restored some to acknowledge his spontaneous assistance to a fellow competitor. That act of collaborative spirit, combined with the revolutionary potential of their hextech prototype, had secured them first place against all odds.
Jayce's smile was radiant, undiminished by the day's earlier tensions. He held the trophy aloft with one hand, the other raised in grateful acknowledgment of the applauding crowd. His posture was that of a natural champion—someone for whom victory, while sweet, was not entirely unexpected.
Beside him, Viktor stood with quieter pride. The nausea had subsided, leaving in its wake a profound exhaustion tempered by disbelieving joy. One hand joined Jayce's on the trophy, the cool metal beneath his fingers providing concrete evidence that this moment was real. His other hand rested on his cane, the weight of his body slightly shifted to alleviate the chronic ache in his leg that had worsened with the day's stress.
Viktor's smile, though less exuberant than his partner's, contained no less genuine emotion. The corners of his eyes crinkled with a happiness that transcended the physical discomfort and anxiety that had plagued him throughout the day. In this moment, at least, doubts about his contributions were silenced by the judges' verdict and the audience's approval.
With a sudden flash that momentarily turned the world white, a photographer captured the image: two brilliant minds united in triumph, one exultant, one contemplative, both forever changed by the validation of their vision.
But neither man could know, as they basked in the applause, that this photograph would become more than a documentation of achievement. In years to come, it would serve as a poignant reminder of partnership before ambition drove them along divergent paths—a captured moment when their shared dream of revolutionizing Piltover through hextech still united rather than divided them.
The trophy they held aloft with such pride would eventually gather dust on a shelf, but the innovations it represented would reshape their world in ways neither could fully foresee on this day of triumph. This moment—preserved in silver nitrate and paper—would someday be viewed through the lens of all that came after: the glory, the tragedy, the transformation.
For now, though, they simply stood together in the spotlight, creators united by their creation, scientists vindicated by recognition, friends sharing the sweetness of success.
The photograph would capture only their joy, not the complex futures that awaited them both. But that photo would indeed become, as the narrator foretold, only a small reminder of such a big day—a day that marked not an ending, but the true beginning of their journey into legend.