A Familiar Kindness
Viktor closed another book and placed it on top of the growing stack he had been consulting. He had taken what he thought he might need from the lab before leaving in such a hurry, but he had found nothing.
He exhaled slowly, rubbing at his tired eyes. What had he expected?
He had taken the most relevant texts from the lab, thinking they might contain some sort of detail he had missed. But deep down, Viktor knew it was unlikely. It was improbable that any of them held new answers.
But part of him wanted to go back and take the rest anyway.
Maybe I want an excuse to return… even when I know it’s a bad idea.
His fingers hovered over his notebook’s cover before he pulled his hand away with a sharp exhale.
His eyes drifted to the bag under his desk— where the Hexcore remained softly humming, hidden. Viktor still hadn’t shown it to anyone.
Would they blame him for bringing something that dangerous into their home? Would Ekko, Heimerdinger, or the rest of the Firelights start to distrust him again? Would they think that he offered to accompany them to the council meeting as an excuse to steal it?
Viktor shut his eyes, pressing his fingertips against his temples.
This line of thinking won’t help me, he thought.
Maybe… maybe he should talk to Ekko first. He already knew where Heimerdinger stood on magic and the Hexcore. If he was going to approach his former mentor, he wanted another opinion first.
Ekko seemed a good choice. He wasn’t just resourceful and very intelligent—he was someone Viktor had come to trust after only a few days of knowing him.
Besides… Viktor owed him an explanation.
Since returning, Viktor had been avoiding the others, deliberately keeping to himself. He dreaded the moment someone finally asked him what had happened with Jayce, and why he had decided to take the Hexcore with him.
And truthfully? Not even Viktor was sure about that last part.
He had been so overwhelmed in the moment that he hadn’t thought—hadn’t planned. His first instinct had simply been to not leave it there.
I don’t trust Piltover to keep the Hexcore.
That had been the only clear thought in his mind as he left behind the lab where he had spent so many years.
But beneath that thought lurked another, one he hadn’t expected to ever have.
I don’t trust Jayce.
Yet, it was the truth. He couldn’t. Not after what he saw.
Anger sprang in his chest again at the memory—the way Jayce had looked at him, the condescension in his voice, as if Viktor were a child who didn’t understand.
The way Jayce had referred to Viktor’s people as dangerous, his expression tight with anger, a look Viktor had never seen in his face before.
At least not directed at him.
And then, the worst part, how quickly Jayce had entertained the idea of building weapons. How easily he had assumed Viktor would be on board with it.
Like he would ever support that.
Like Jayce had never truly understood him at all.
The thought made Viktor sick to his stomach.
What had happened to them?
Jayce had always been quick to act—sometimes recklessly, sure—but Viktor had never seen this side of him before.
To fight instead of build. To turn Hextech into something destructive.
Deep down, Viktor knew Jayce wasn’t really like this.
Maybe that’s why it hurt so much. If it weren’t for the fact that Viktor knew Jayce was an awful liar, and that he knew him, really knew him, Viktor might have started thinking that Jayce had been deceiving him from the start.
If Jayce had been lying to him all along, it would have been easier to swallow. But this? Watching him change, watching him choose the opposite path over everything they had built together?
Viktor swallowed down the familiar anger threatening to bubble up. It didn’t matter. None of that mattered right now.
A sharp knock on the door snapped him out of his thoughts.
Viktor sat up slightly, his body moving instinctively to position himself in front of the Hexcore bag, making it harder for whoever was entering to see.
He exhaled, forcing himself to relax.
“Viktor,” a familiar voice called from the other side. Scar.
Viktor hesitated, thinking about not answering in the hopes the vastaya left him alone, but Scar didn’t wait for permission. The door creaked open, and the Firelight stepped inside, arms crossed.
“You’ve been in here too long,” Scar said bluntly.
Viktor raised a brow. “I wasn’t aware I had a time limit.”
Scar ignored him, he glanced at the pile of books, the untouched plate of food next to them, and the dimness of the room before tossing something to Viktor—a wrapped sandwich. “Eat. You look like shit.”
Viktor let out a short huff, but didn’t protest. Scar leaned against the wall, watching him expectantly.
“You planning on telling me what’s going on, or do I have to keep guessing?”
Viktor stared at the sandwich for a long moment before picking it up. For once, he was too tired to deflect.
“…The council meeting was a waste of time,” he muttered. “As expected.”
Scar hummed in agreement but didn’t speak, letting Viktor continue.
“I don’t know why I thought it would be different this time,” Viktor admitted. “They ignored Vi like she was nothing. Like the undercity’s suffering was just… background noise.” His grip on the sandwich tightened. “I wanted to take my crutch and beat Hoskel over the head until he started thinking for once in his miserable life.”
Scar chuckled at that. “I’d pay to see that.”
Scar stepped past him, making himself comfortable in the room like he belonged there. They stayed in silence while Viktor finished eating. Surprisingly he didn’t feel uncomfortable eating in front of him, like he was being observed.
After another few minutes Scar broke the silence in the room. “Come on, let’s sit somewhere less depressing. You look like you need fresh air.”
Viktor should have argued like other days.
But Scar was already heading toward the door, and Viktor, for some reason, found himself following him.
They sat in a quieter spot away from others, the massive tree in the distance casting long shadows over the area.
Viktor exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he finished recounting the council meeting to Scar.
“None of it mattered. They will never care.” he said in a defeated tone.
Scar tilted his head. “Maybe. But that’s not what’s actually eating at you, is it?”
Viktor frowned. “What?”
Scar studied him carefully. “I mean, you’ve mentioned the council. You’ve mentioned the lab.” He paused. “But you haven’t said Jayce’s name once.”
Viktor stiffened.
Scar’s gaze remained fixed on Viktor's hunched figure, but his tone remained casual. “Before we left, you only mentioned him in passing. I didn’t ask because, well… figured it wasn’t my business. But I know he was important to you.” He shrugged. “So it’s just weird that you’re not talking about him now.”
The moment Jayce’s name left Scar’s mouth, Viktor stiffened.
Viktor stared at him, unsure what to say. His instinct was to deny it, to brush it off as unimportant. But for some reason, he couldn’t find the words. Because Scar wasn’t wrong.
The very thought of talking about Jayce made his chest tighten painfully.
“…It’s complicated,” Viktor finally said, voice quieter.
Scar raised an eyebrow. “Complicated how?”
A part of him didn’t want to talk about Jayce at all. Because if he did, Scar would develop a bad impression of him. And for some reason… Viktor didn’t want that.
This is so confusing. Why do I want to hate him but still try to defend him every chance I get?
Of course, deep down, Viktor knew why. He just wasn’t ready to admit it.
Scar, watching the conflict in Viktor’s expression, asked carefully, “Did something happen?”
Viktor exhaled, forcing himself to shake off whatever emotion had managed to show. He wasn’t ready for this conversation.
Scar was still looking at him, waiting. Viktor could feel it—the concern.
He needed to change the subject.
“…By the way,” Viktor said, shifting in his seat while trying to keep his tone light, “I didn’t ask about the improvements to your hoverboard. Is it running fine? I should check it—make sure I don’t need to correct anything.”
Scar blinked. Then he scoffed. “Oh, come on.”
Viktor tried to feign ignorance. “What?”
Scar sighed, leaning back slightly. “You're doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Deflecting”
Viktor looked away, fingers tapping his crutch. “Perhaps I simply have better things to discuss.”
Scar scoffed. “You were literally about to spend another three hours staring at books.”
Viktor had no response because, once again, Scar was right.
“You really think I’m gonna let you dodge this?” Scar crossed his arms, unimpressed. “Nice try, though.”
I must really be tired if I can’t even win an argument like this, Viktor thought, trying to find humor in the situation instead of focusing on how cornered he felt.
Silence settled between them for a moment. Viktor sighed, rubbing his temple. He had hoped Scar would just let it drop, but of course, he didn’t.
Scar leaned forward slightly. “Look, I’m not trying to dig into your business just because. But since you got back, you’ve been… I don’t know, off.”
“I am always off,” Viktor said dryly.
Scar gave him a flat look.
Viktor opened his mouth to argue, but stopped himself. Even if he tried to ignore it, it was true that he hadn’t been okay since he came back.
Scar looked away, fixing his gaze on a random point in the distance. “You don’t have to tell me everything, but… you’re gonna explode if you keep bottling things up.”
Something in Viktor’s chest twisted at that.
For a long moment, he said nothing. But before he could stop himself, the words started slipping out.
It wasn’t the whole story.
He didn’t describe the way Jayce had spoken about the people of the undercity, or how Viktor had felt—how the anger in his voice had made something drain out of Viktor all at once. He didn’t say how much it had hurt to hear Jayce talk about using their research for weapons like it was nothing.
But even without hearing everything, Scar seemed to have understood the important parts.
Scar listened, patient as ever, only occasionally nodding or making a noise of agreement. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t press.
And somehow, that made it easier.
which should be weird, right? He had known Scar for what? Not that long, and yet…
At first, Viktor had assumed the Firelights would never fully trust him. It had made sense—he had arrived at their hideout as a stranger, someone from Piltover, someone that could bring trouble. It was natural to be wary. If their roles had been reversed, he would have distrusted himself, too.
Viktor still remembered how guarded he had been at the start, how he watched Viktor closely whenever he interacted with the others. He was wary, yes, but Scar never treated him unfairly.
And somehow, in the span of weeks, Scar had gone from keeping an eye on him to… this.
Checking in on him. Making sure he ate.
There was something painfully familiar about it. But this time, it wasn't Jayce he remembered.
Viktor had never met his mother.
His father spoke of her often, though Viktor could tell it wasn’t always easy for him.
According to his father, she had been an optimist—the kind of person who always believed things would get better, even when they didn’t. Even when she was sick, in pain, too weak to leave her bed. She had always reassured his father that things would be okay.
“She really believed that,” his father had told him once, a wistful look in his eyes. “Even when I knew better.”
Viktor had always admired that about her—that unwavering certainty, that determination to believe in something better.
He had never quite managed to be as hopeful. But he had never stopped trying.
During those childhood days, his father had been his whole world.
Viktor had always known he was different. His leg, his health—it all set him apart from the other children. He couldn’t run the way they could, couldn’t keep up, no matter how hard he tried. He was always left behind or met with pity or ridicule.
And yet, despite everything, his father never treated him as fragile. He never made him feel like a burden. Never tried to force him to fit in. Never once made him feel like he wasn’t enough.
“You know, you should be proud of yourself,” his father had said one evening, carefully cutting his hair just the way Viktor had asked. “This decisiveness you have? It’s something you should cherish.”
Viktor stayed quiet, watching strands of his hair fall onto the floor.
His father smiled at him in the reflection of the old mirror, dusting loose strands from Viktor’s shoulders. “Your mother was like you in that way,” he continued, gently drying Viktor’s hair with a towel. “She always knew what she wanted. Me? Not so much. I always admired her for that.”
Then, with a small chuckle, he added, “So don’t let what others say bother you, not that I’m the best person to give advice on that.”
There was an ease to his voice, a kind of acceptance that was so effortless it never needed to be spoken aloud. Viktor had always preferred his hair short, and his father had simply understood. He had always understood everything.
In that moment, sitting in that worn-down chair, he felt completely and wholly at peace.
_____________
One of the things that Viktor had loved most was watching his father work.
His father was a quiet man—timid, soft spoken around strangers, always careful with his words. But when it came to his craft, he was steady. Confident. Precise.
Viktor had spent countless hours watching him, captivated with the way he could turn scraps and rusted parts into something useful again.
Maybe that was where his own love for invention had begun, in that little shop, where his father breathed life back into broken or discarded things.
And no one had been prouder than his father the day Viktor showed him his first invention, something he had made with his own hands.
“You did this by yourself?” His father asked, eyes wide with surprise.
Viktor nodded, eager to show him what he had built.
“You’re better than me already!” His father had laughed, pulling Viktor into a tight hug. “My little boy is a genius!”
It was one of Viktor’s fondest memories.
Viktor had held onto those words for years. In many ways, he still did. Sometimes, the only way he could find worth in himself was through his work—his accomplishments. It was the only way he knew to leave the world a little better than he had found it. His way of leaving a mark.
He still thought about it sometimes.
How different things would have been if his father had never been sent to work in the factory.
If he had stayed in his repair shop, fixing things and smiling at Viktor’s inventions.
If he had never gone to work that morning.
Viktor still remembered it clearly.
His father had patted his head, just like so many times before. Nothing had seemed different. Nothing had felt like a final moment.
“I have a full shift today, so I’ll be back late.” His father had told him, ruffling his hair. “You have food, so be good and eat everything, okay? I know how you get when you’re focused, so please, for me, remember to eat something.”
Viktor had nodded, barely listening, still half-asleep.
It had been such an ordinary morning.
And that was the last time he saw his father.
Just like that, Viktor was alone.