Chapter Text
On the day of the matriculation ceremony, the sky was cloudless.
Beneath it, white marble and bronze grilles rose from the ground, forming the college"s magnificent dome. The midday sun streamed down from the top of the clock tower onto the large bronze oak in the central courtyard, casting dappled shadows of gear-shaped leaves across the lawn. Banners bearing the college"s emblem and the coats of arms of the councilors" families fluttered in the breeze. Towering arches and colonnades adorned with gear-shaped reliefs and built of ivory-white stone were passed beneath by students carrying armfuls of inventions or parchments. The spacious laboratories are shielded from the clamor outside the college. Geometric, diamond-shaped panes intertwine with gracefully curved arcs to form vast stained-glass windows.
The frail young man stood silently in the centre of the empty classroom. His brand-new school uniform hung loosely over his slender, gaunt frame and a metal brace extending from his thigh to his ankle cast a cold gleam. His long, thin, black eyelashes partially obscured his golden eyes. His furrowed brow and sharp cheekbones gave him an aloof appearance, though the small moles at the corners of his eyes and mouth softened his otherwise cold features. Leaning on his cane, he hung his head and muttered something to the crumpled piece of paper in his hand. He paused suddenly, closing his eyes tightly as if trying to catch the slipping words in his mind. Unable to hide his frustration, he ran his hand through his tousled brown hair, took a deep breath and tried once more to untangle the seemingly chaotic statement.
"Still nervous?"
He jumped, turning to see a tall man in a white uniform closing the door behind him and striding towards him.
"——Mama."
Jayce stood before him, golden-brown eyes crinkling with laughter. His deep-set features, seemingly sculpted by the Creator himself, were framed by smooth, black hair slicked back, though one stubborn strand of fringe had broken free of the gel"s hold and hung down. A small scar from a childhood accident that had cut his eyebrow was clearly visible. He grinned, revealing a gap between his teeth and a hint of canine. The older man"s hand moved effortlessly to tuck his tousled brown hair behind ear. Under that loving gaze, he unconsciously straightened his back.
"How"s the new brace working out? Are you sure you won" t need your cane when you go on stage?" Jayce received an affirmative nod from the young man. "All right then, but remember not to push yourself." Jayce smoothed out the young man"s shirt front, his fingers brushing against the rose pinned to his chest.
"Look at you," he said, his voice brimming with pride. 'I can’ t believe how many boys and girls will flock to you once you’ ve finished your speech.'
Young man merely grunted noncommittally.
"Relax. I was just as nervous as you are now." Jayce gave his shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "It"s really not that scary."
"You always say that. But permit me to remind you, not everyone can boast the achievements of your younger years, Mr. Councilor," the young man remarked with inevitable sarcasm, casting a sidelong glance at Jayce. The elder, too, was dressed in splendor for the evening's address: a tailored white tailcoat, its cuffs and hem embroidered with a delicate tracery of gold thread, falling just below the knee; a pair of crimson ornamental pauldrons sat proudly upon his shoulders, stamped with the Talis crest that echoed the wristband worn by Viktor. Jayce had never worn the collar that marked one's Omega status, always guarding the nape of his neck with a high collar instead. His long legs were sheathed in knee-high black boots, and upon his coat, a brooch of faceted Hextech crystal shards shimmered with a faint, ethereal blue glow.
"Our achievements, Viktor," Jayce corrected. "A few years ago I would never have dared dream of a seat on the Council. I could not have done it without you."
Two years into his political career, Jayce had long shed any trace of youthful naivety, yet time seemed to treat him with particular leniency—even sleepless nights of fevered experimentation and the relentless steam of the forge had only etched laugh lines at the corners of his eyes.
Others might have found the unfairness galling; Viktor considered it only just. Jayce deserved such gracious treatment—unlike himself.
"...Mama," he said suddenly, his shoulders slumping as his voice dropped to a murmur. "Do you truly believe I have the right to stand upon that stage?"
"What foolishness is this?" Jayce cupped his face at once, his warm hand brushing tenderly over the mole beneath Viktor's eye. "The Professor himself said your brilliance is in no way inferior to mine. That you are to speak tonight as the students' representative is proof enough."
"Besides," the elder man added, arching a brow with smug satisfaction, "you are my son."
The somber air that had gathered around him scattered at the jest. Viktor rolled his eyes with an affection. "Though I have reminded you countless times," he said wryly, "do you not find this all rather excessively narcissistic?"
Jayce feigned indignation with a sharp hey and nudged the younger man's shoulder. Viktor played along with an exaggerated wince, yet laughter lingered in both their expressions.
The elder leaned down, pressing his forehead to Viktor's, holding him there so he could look into his son's carefully feigned composure. Then, with solemn tenderness, he kissed his brow.
"You will do wonderfully, Hijo."
Viktor finally fell silent, closing his eyes to soak up the warmth from his mother's palm as he let out a soft "mm."
The mechanical airship glided slowly through the clear night sky. Inside, the graduates had just finished presenting their inventions.Jayce , as the honorary professor, took to the stage to speak. Viktor stood to one side, silently watching him with admiration and reverence.
"...By now, you’ve probably grown tired of seeing my face." A wave of good-natured laughter rippled through the audience. He raised his right hand. Viktor took a deep breath, handed his cane to Sky, and made his way up the stairs at the side of the stage as steadily as he could. "Then let us welcome some fresh blood into the fold—please join me in welcoming the distinguished incoming student representative of Piltover Academy, Viktor Talis, to the stage!"
The relentless flash of cameras nearly blinded Viktor. The growing whistles and cheers did nothing to encourage him. On the contrary, he flinched slightly, then forced himself to nod calmly at the crowd. In truth, he was so nervous that he felt like he was going to be sick. Like a cornered kitten, he soon panicked and, almost instinctively, looked up to find Jayce.
Jayce was still smiling; as their eyes met, he put his hand on Viktor’s shoulder and said, ‘Come on, you can do this.’ Jayce didn’t speak, but Viktor could almost hear his mother"s voice: ‘Take a deep breath for me.’
Viktor instinctively did as he said. Standing behind the brass microphone, he tried to look straight ahead rather than at the faces in the crowd.
"...Good evening."[2]
[2]: This line, up until its very end, adapted from Jayce"s speech in S1E4.
"I know many of you probably didn't expect to see me here today, and believe me, I'm just as shocked as you are."
"How could a wet-behind-the-ears, crippled boy born in the undercity possibly deserve to stand on such a prominent stage? But, here I am."
He settled into his rhythm, his voice steadying. "—No one in my life expected very much of me." Down in the audience, Jayce had taken his seat beside Professor Heimerdinger and Councilor Medarda, his gaze lifted upward. Viktor could not suppress a smile, nodding faintly in his direction. "Actually, there was one person. That was my mother. He is also my dearest friend, my mentor—no offense intended, Professor Heimerdinger, given that my livelihood depends upon your good graces for many years to come." He added the aside with a touch of acerbic wit, and the Yordle's whiskers twitched with unmistakable amusement. "My most steadfast partner—Councilor Jayce Talis. As everyone knows, he came from humble origins. My family and l are simple people.In our factory,we made hammers—and I sincerely hope it doesn't die in my hands. It is only through the cleverness and support I inherited from him that I stand here today. And that is precisely what makes this moment so extraordinary."
"I am not merely a new student of the Academy, but the son of a Councilor. The surname I carry bestows upon me not privilege, but responsibility: a responsibility to progress, to this city, and above all, to the future of Piltover."
"Allow me to take an oath on behalf of all the students of Piltover: as fledglings of this Academy, We vow to keep pressing forward, for we are the City of Progress—"
"And our future is bright...!" His voice trembled, yet he held his ground bravely, looking out at every student standing below. On cue, fireworks burst in the sky with a deafening report. Viktor flinched involuntarily, tilting his head back to watch the kaleidoscopic display. Down below, Jayce was the first to leap to his feet, applauding; tears of joy and pride brimmed in his eyes. One by one, the crowd joined him in the ovation, but Viktor's gaze could hold only the figure of Jayce.
I didn't let him down. That thought comforted Viktor more than anything. At last, he allowed the tension he had been unconsciously holding to seep from his frame. He smiled shyly, accepting the flowers and the endless, resounding applause.
Jayce had access to a far more luxurious mansion after becoming a Councilor, yet they chose to remain in that apartment in the undercity. Though it seemed cramped and shabby now, and not every memory made within its walls was a happy one, it was just as Ximena said: Recuerda de dónde vienes.
"Mama."
Facing the photograph upon the altar, Jayce lit the candle. His hand lingered with tender nostalgia over the linen cloth draped across it, its edges now grown faintly worn and frayed. Viktor merely offered a silent greeting in his heart before stepping aside, content to watch as Jayce chattered on about the happenings of late.
In the flickering candlelight, the kindly face of the grey-haired, middle-aged woman in the photograph seemed to sway with gentle warmth. "...And Viktor's speech today went off without a hitch, too. Not like me—when it was my turn on stage, I was so nervous I nearly tripped over my own feet." He managed a strained smile, lowering his head. "—I do wish you could have been there."
Viktor placed the crumpled manuscript he had been clutching onto the candle stand, along with his letter of admission. When he glimpsed the despondent expression on Jayce's face, he hesitated for a moment, then suddenly ducked his head and wrapped his arms briefly around the older man's waist. But before he could withdraw of his own accord, Jayce's sturdy arms arrested the motion, drawing him into a longer, more airtight embrace.
"You are my greatest pride," Jayce murmured against his ear.
Viktor smiled shyly, his head bowed, allowing his mother to press a kiss to his temple before slipping free of that warm hold.
"Goodnight, Mama."
Jayce's honey-colored eyes crinkled into a smile.
"Goodnight, Vik."