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Jayce Talis had never been particularly good at keeping his clothes clean.
Grease clung to his fingertips no matter how many times his mother scolded him to wash before dinner, and there was always a smudge of charcoal or graphite along his jawline from where he’d unconsciously brushed his face while sketching.
At twelve, he’d already learned how to hide fresh burns on his knuckles and how to feign a smile when a prototype exploded instead of working the way it was meant to.
He sat now in the corner of their Piltover home, knees pulled up, a pad of old paper balanced on his thighs.
It wasn’t the fancy kind the Academy students used: their parchment was gilded at the corners, embossed with house crests, edges trimmed in shimmering blue or gold. Jayce’s paper was the kind you had to ask for twice at the market and swear you’d only use for schoolwork. Even then, people did a double-take at his last name.
Yes, that Talis.
No, he wasn’t his father.
Yes, that same family had helped build Piltover from the ground up.
And yes, even after all that, they weren’t a great house. Just a minor one. No vote. No influence. And certainly no money to fund Jayce’s Academy education without a sponsor.
But this wasn’t for school.
This was his fourth sketch of the night.
A crude blueprint of something between a wrench and a staff, with a charged coil running through the centre and interchangeable cores at either end. He’d called it a multi-focus torque conduit, though he’d already scrawled that out twice, unsure if the name sounded clever or just stupid.
His handwriting looked elegant despite the shakiness in his hands. His fingers were stiff from holding the pencil too long, but the blueprint had to be clean. Appealing. Convincing.
Still, he kept sketching.
He couldn’t help it. The idea kept clawing at him like a spark behind his ribs, demanding to be real. Even when the math didn’t quite line up. Even when the weights would be uneven. Even when he’d probably be laughed at again.
A soft knock came at the door, and Jayce scrambled to hide the mess of pages under his blanket. It was only his mom.
She stepped in with a tired look and a steaming cup in hand, her apron streaked with flour from the baking she had done downstairs.
“You’re up late.”
Jayce shrugged. “I’m…studying.”
“Mmhm,” she said, unimpressed, leaning against the doorframe. “And what, exactly, are you studying that smells like graphite and sounds like cursing?”
Jayce ducked his head, caught. “I was just tinkering with that old coil I found in the scrapyard. It’s not dangerous.”
“You said that last week, and we lost half the power in the hallway.”
He gave her a sheepish smile, then sobered. “I just—I want to be ready.”
“For the Academy?” she asked gently.
He hesitated, then nodded. “If they let me in.”
She stepped forward, setting the cup down beside his sketchpad. Her gaze flicked to the blueprint he’d tried to hide, but she didn’t reach for it. She knew better than to touch his designs without asking.
“You know they don’t usually take applicants without a recommendation,” she said quietly, her fingers brushing through his hair, soft but careful. “Especially from someone like—”
“I know.” His voice tightened. “But I’ll earn it. I promise, Mama. I’ll show them I’m worth it.”
Something heavy passed through her expression: fear, pride, maybe even heartbreak. He was her only child. The last piece of his father’s stubborn brilliance. And she knew what a city like Piltover could do to boys like him.
But she didn’t stop him.
She never had. Not even when she couldn't believe they’d been saved from that blizzard by a mage.
She smoothed his waves back from his heavy brow and kissed his temple.
“Then make something so good they won’t have a choice.”
Jayce gave a dimpled smile.
He waited until she left before pulling the sketches back to his chest. The lines were still shaky. The graphite was smudged. But the idea was there.
Strong.
Electric.
He pressed his palm to the paper like it was a promise:
He was going to make something brilliant.
Something impossible.
And one day, the Academy would have to let him in.
Because he was going to build something that changed the world.