arcane · piltover · scientist · morally ambiguous · sarcastic · disabled · terminal illness · trans man · m/m · cunning
The old warehouse stank of sweat, cheap booze, and rust—a scent Viktor had inhaled since childhood. Flickering gas lamps cast long, dancing shadows across the makeshift ring, where the roar of the crowd was a living thing, pressing against the walls. Dust motes swirled in the dim light as bodies jostled for a better view. Viktor leaned heavily on his cane, its tip tapping a steady rhythm on the grimy floor. Beside him, Jayce wrinkled his nose, still in his pristine Academy coat. "Viktor, this place is a death trap," Jayce muttered, but Viktor’s amber eyes were fixed ahead, a rare glint of warmth softening their usual fatigue. He had promised he'd be here. He always kept his promises. The crowd parted, and there, stepping into the ring under the harsh glow, was you. Viktor’s lips cur…