ᛃ ʝคץςє ᛏ

Out and about. He's grown more comfortable with just—walking outside.

Perhaps he will visit the commune again. And... try meeting the Herald, if possible.

flick back to Viktor. He wants to ask a thousand questions. Wants to demand answers. But instead, he just meets that endearing gaze and exhales.

"...You knew I was coming." It’s not a question.

within. Past the moment where he could still turn back.

The warmth inside is subtle but welcome. Jayce finally lets his energy settle—no longer reaching, no longer searching.

For now, at least, he has found what he was looking for.

He briefly glances around to take it all in before his eyes —

to himself than anything. His voice is solid, but there’s something tight in his chest, something fragile and aching.

He steps past the threshold, past the scatter of clover and moss creeping through the stone, past the hazy golden glow spilling from —

ghost of amusement shaping his mouth, like he already knows something Jayce doesn’t—and he most likely does.

Jayce lets out something between a huff and a breath of laughter, shaking his head as he finally moves forward. “You always did have a way of making a man feel welcome,” he murmurs, more —

wrapped around him like a second skin. His energy doesn’t just pulse—it [ breathes ], intertwined so seamlessly into the world around him that it’s almost impossible to tell where he ends and where it begins.

And yet, when he speaks, it’s so effortlessly Viktor. The dry, easy irreverence. The —

of his face, the quiet weight of his presence, the way his golden gaze sweeps over Jayce with measured curiosity.

Jayce’s fingers curl slightly at his sides, resisting the urge to reach, to grasp at familiarity where there is none. Because this one [ feels ] different, even beyond the arcane depth—

Jayce exhales, tension bleeding from his shoulders in slow degrees as Viktor steps into view. The door swings open, casting a wash of warm, filtered light against the cool haze of the outside air. And there he is.

Even with the cowl draped over his head, there’s no mistaking him. The sharp lines —

𝔾𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕦𝕔𝕜 𝕦𝕡, 𝕨𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕦𝕔𝕜 𝕦𝕡
‎ ‎ 𝕎𝕚𝕡𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕪𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕞 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕓𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕦𝕔𝕜 𝕦𝕡
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝕐𝕠𝕦'𝕣𝕖 𝕒 𝕡𝕦𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕥, 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝕔𝕦𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 𝕠𝕗𝕗
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝔻𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕔𝕣𝕒𝕨𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕓𝕒𝕔𝕜

// LRT. YESYESYES.

We, as a fandom, are not leaning into Jayce's very apparent zero-ethics-by-any-means-necessary mad scientist tendencies

I need a Jayce fraying at the seems, committing unspeakable acts to save his one true love from the brink of death, even if Viktor comes back Wrong™️

( Q _ Q )

an attempt at soothing. “But I wasn’t seeking a fight. I don’t 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 to fight.”

His hands stay raised, non-threatening, and his power remains tucked away. “Please, Viktor—come inside. Let's talk. I'm not your enemy.”

so openly afraid. The sight of it unsettles Jayce.

Carefully, oh so carefully, he lets a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth, more reassuring than anything. “If you’re as powerful as you say, I’d be an idiot to try anything, wouldn’t I?” There’s warmth in his voice, —

your magic. I wanted to know who else was out here. Who you were.”

His throat works around the lump that’s been forming there. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

It’s strange, this version of Viktor before him. Different from the one he’d known—proud, brilliant, but very rarely so visibly shaken, —

his face. “I just—” He huffs, glancing away briefly, trying to find the right words, the ones that won’t send Viktor running.

“I just 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 you,” he explains, albeit unsure if that’s the right thing to say. “I didn’t know who you were exactly at first, but I kept sensing —

in front of him, palms on full display, golden light flickering faintly before it fades entirely. No threats. No fight. “I swear it.”

Viktor’s breath is ragged, his stance tense and tight like a wounded animal. Jayce doesn’t move any closer, but his brows knit together, concern plain on —

curling against palms, willing his own magic to dim. He knows better than to make any sudden moves, even as instinct urges him to reach out, to 𝘧𝘪𝘹 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴.

“Hey—no, no, I’m not going to hurt you.” He holds his hands up —

like a blade, and Jayce feels his own stomach twist.

He hadn’t expected this. The wariness, sure. The skepticism, maybe. But the sheer, gut-deep terror that grips Viktor now—no, that’s a wound reopened, a memory clawing its way to the surface.

Jayce forces himself to still, fingers culring —

Jayce barely stops himself from stepping forward when Viktor stumbles—mud splattering, flowers scattering at his feet, arcane light crackling like a storm barely held at bay. But it’s the look in Viktor’s eyes that truly halts him. 𝘍𝘦𝘢𝘳. Sharp, instinctive, 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭. It slashes through the tension —

brushing against each other like the first hesitant moments before a storm.

So instead, he waits.

For Viktor to step forward. For confirmation. For something.

For the answer to a question he’s too afraid to ask.

just before the threshold, his fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to touch the overgrown greenery spilling past the doorway. He knows better than to call out—not when their energies are already speaking for them, tangled in the air between them, —