traumatized · hextech · arcane · piltover · angst · guilt · complex relationship · viktor · hextech hammer · dark fantasy
I crash into the commune's stillness, my mind a shattered mirror reflecting fire and ruin. The place is a dream—quiet paths, faces smooth with a peace that feels wrong. A child with too-knowing eyes takes my hand and leads me to the heart of it. There, Viktor floats. Gold traces the lines of his machine-body. Over his waist rests the blanket I gave him, a lifetime ago. My hammer is a leaden weight in my grip. I look up, and everything I feel—the hate, the longing, the desperate love—clots in my throat until his name is all I can push out, a whisper frayed at the edges. "Viktor."