CHAPTER THREE - Link Here

based on this post of mine

link here

is it smart to work on three projects at the same time? maybe not!! but that won’t stop me.

Hey! 😊

I hope you're doing well.

II’m reaching out with something really close to my heart. A dear friend and his family are going through an incredibly hard time.

They urgently need support, and even the smallest act of kindness — a share or donation — could make a life changing difference.

This is about compassion, about standing by each other when it matters most. 💛

Thank you so much for taking a moment to care 🙏

@adamallii87

Thank you for reaching out!!

I’ll be donating, and I’ll most definitely spread the word.

here’s a link to their gofundme

and

here’s a link to their pinned post

Much love to you and my prayers and infinite hope for peace for Mohamad and his family <3

“Camelot’s Waiting”

(merthur dabble)

“The King is here!" A small boy ran past Merlin's tent, leaves sticking out of his curly head of hair. His face was wide with excitement, but the sounding stampede of horse hooves made him revert back to the confines of his personal encampment.

He knew why they were there. There had been a series of Barghest attacks making their way towards Camelot, and Arthur had never been one to wait like a sitting duck. They must have been desperate to leave the kingdom in such a rush. Unfortunately for them all, it was a waste of time. Merlin had already dealt with the beast. As if he’d truly abandon all he cared for.

He heard the telltale neighing of Llamrei, ever as hotheaded as her owner. She was just as determined to keep moving on a quest as Arthur was. He could remember fondly now, attempting to quiet her insistent complaints about resting. Always nipping and shoving into his shoulder for attention and trying to buck the other knights if they dared stand next to her.

He considered changing appearances. It wouldn't have been the first time. When travelers came looking for Emrys, he had grown accustomed to altering his appearance one way or another. He faltered just outside of the stitched bear hide, staring blankly at the sheen of sunlight that lit up its fibers.

"It's urgent, we need to see him!" Arthur yelled at someone. Merlin nearly burst through the flap that instant, anticipation flooding what sense he had left. He focused on growing his hair out, greying it as light as he could in such a short amount of time, and also adding a few wrinkles. He knew it was the lack of sleep catching up to him that caused his belatedness.

"If he wants to see you, then he'll find you. Do I not look like I have better things to do, My Lord?"

He refastened his white robes, sinching the red and barley yellow twine that a Druid girl had weaved for him. He dared not to worry outrageously about the significance of the colors. And he was unsure whether to feel grateful or not when he was immediately caught behind the gathering accumulating in the center of the camp.

A Druid woman stood with a wooden basket on her hip, berries nearly overflowing over the lip of it. While it must have been heavy, she did not strain. She met Arthur's gaze with an impressive amount of authority for someone without a sword or shield. She didn’t even have shoes on.

"Gloriana," Merlin called to her, a smirk growing despite himself. She leaned around Arthur's big boot, nodding when he gestured for her to continue on with her business. Unfortunately, he hadn't fully prepared himself for when Arthur would look at him. His breath caught in his throat, the gasp drawing the attention of the closest knight.

Lancelot peered down at him, squinting as if the sun had begun to shine from within the ground underneath him. Elyan kept a distance, and Merlin knew that he was more focused on danger outside the premises, than he was of the Druids.

Arthur pulled a prudish face, "You're Emrys?"

Merlin scowled, "You're King Arthur?" At the man's affronted scoff, he huffed and turned to walk down the path leading out of the Druid’s camp. "I suppose you've come for my help!” He laughed a mighty 'HA' as he began to make his way in the direction of the lake he'd found a short travel away. He would do just about anything to get the knights away from the magical people, even by being alone with them. “Fortunate for you, the beast has already been slain, you are free to go."

He'd left Camelot before Arthur had been able to confront him for being a magic user. He hasn’t known what would toe the line of execution, and exile was even worse. He left before Arthur had had to make the difficult choice. And now, as much as he pained to consider his closest friend a threat, he cared much more about the children still learning how to control the pebbles they floated in the air.

He'd barely made it to the outskirts of the camp, when large, pincher teeth clamped down on the back of his linen robe. He was pulled back, an all too familiar whinny making him flail his arms around wildly.

"Llamrei!" he scolded, "How many times do I have to tell y-" His eyes darted to Arthur's, finding it impossible to play off the shock on both of their faces. In his fit of annoyance, his gruff and scratched voice had reverted back to his normal one. He brought a hand up to cover his eyes, turning and pretending as if he hadn't ruined everything.

"Oh my..." He distinctly heard Lancelot murmur. "Merl-"

"Quiet!" Arthur shouted, interrupting Lancelot's quiet realization. Elyan gawked, sharing an astonished glance with his friend. The rest of the camp was eerily silent, and Merlin could not bring himself to see if it was because they were alone or not. He had a sneaking suspicion that the Druid's were hidden in places where they could eavesdrop. A thump in the grass let him know that Arthur had dismounted. Llamrei was finally quiet, Merlin cursed her in his head, trying to drown out the steps of the king drawing nearer.

"I am not M-" A hand on his cheek stopped him abruptly, causing his own to fall like the ball of a flail. He drew in a sharp breath when Arthur caught his eye, like waterfalls in the high noon sun. It took Merlin a moment to realize that they were as wet as his own.

"Merlin." Arthur all but gasped, drawing him into a bone splintering embrace. His arms were stuck at odd angles while he was stuck to the king's body, but he knocked his head affectionately against Arthur's, allowing a slight smile for the occasion. He'd relish the affection while it lasted.

"I've missed you." His voice escaped him, albeit muffled from where his mouth pressed against a red cape. He heard the other two knights lead the horses away, leaving them alone without a word.

"Why did you leave?" Arthur sounded incredibly exhausted, and Merlin's observation proved correct when the he slumped slightly, weighing the leaner man down. They collapsed to their knees. The dew of the grass quickly soaking through their clothes.

"I was scared." Arthur hooked his chin over Merlin's boney shoulder.

"That isn't like you, Merls."

"I was scared you'd kill me."

"What?" Arthur drew himself back, looking over Merlin's anxious and crestfallen face, "I would never."

Merlin used his wrists to wipe back the tears flowing down his cheeks, "You don't have to lie to me Arthur, I’m sorry for lying to you. I deserve your anger, and I am prepared to live with the consequences of my actions. Even if I can never come back with you.”

"Oh, shut it, you idiot!" Arthur scoffed. And Merlin startled at the sudden anger laced in his tone. But it was not hatred that fed the outburst, it was just annoyance. Merlin would recognize that look on Arthur any day of the week. Merlin gaped at him, watching in disbelief as Arthur stood and crossed his arms defiantly. "If anything, I should be apologizing to you, apparently! If I truly had you believing that I would hurt you because of something so mindless, then I guess I haven't been as good of a King as you've always surveyed." His gaze softened as Merlin's brows knitted together in disagreement. Arthur kept going, "I would have never allowed them to take you from me, Merlin. Not in a thousand years."

Merlin's bottom lip wobbled, his emotions bubbling over and spilling out like an overflowing cauldron of water. He pressed his palm against his lips, holding back the distress he felt as his walls began to blow up around him. Arthur enveloped him in another embrace, a gloved hand on the back of his head as he pulled Merlin's face down to conceal his vulnerability.

"I thought-" He broke off with a sigh when his throat clenched up in disapproval.

"Do you really think that lying to me would make me love you any less?"

At Merlin's lack of response, Arthur tugged his gloved off, tossing them into the grass. He cupped Merlin's jaw on either side and pulled him closer, so they had mere inches between their faces. He felt the warm span of Arthur's breath across his nose and cheeks. Thumbs ran across his cheekbones, Arthur's eyes looked over his face like a man would a vault of gold. Merlin had definitely caught Gwaine eyeing a piece of pie the same way before. He shivered as Arthur bumped their foreheads together.

"I can't stop doing magic, Arthur. It's who I am." He looked at the king through his eyelashes, waiting for a sign of disappointment. Arthur grinned, his eyes staying blissfully closed as their noses brushed.

"All that matters is that I found you."

Merlin hummed, relaxing his tense hands at Arthur's sides and contentedly pressing back into all of the king's caresses.

Then he added, "And Gwaine is going to owe Percival so much money."

"You really are an absolute clotpole, you dolt." Arthur's breathy laugh hit Merlin's face once more, making him smirk through his mild irritation.

"You can't speak to your king that way, idiot."

"Who do you think you are?" Merlin opened his eyes, leering playfully at the blond. "The king?" Arthur hummed, brushing Merlin's dark hair out of the way. Distantly, he wondered when his identity spell had fallen.

"Just Arthur."

"Just Arthur?" Merlin quirked a brow at him.

"I'll always be your Arthur."

"Even if that Arthur is an unrelenting clotpole?"

Arthur rolled his eyes, "I'm trying to make this a moment, Merlin."

Merlin recentered the clasp of Arthur's cape, fingers lingering on the outline of a toned chest underneath. He tilted his head and stepped out of the other man's hold.

"That wouldn't be my Arthur, my Arthur is a grumpy king that hates romance.” He was stopped from distancing himself further by a hand grasping the twine around his own waist. Arthur grinned as he admired the colors.

“I’m not entirely against the idea.”

Merlin scoffed defectively at the man's much too pleased smirk, "Get a hold of yourself, sire!"

Arthur only laughed, pulling him in once again, disregarding the lackluster complaints.

zaun’s hand

viktor disappears. his apartment is untouched, his desk is the same mess of papers as it usually was, and sky had seemed to have gone with him.

jayce is in disarray. he’s blowing off counsel meetings. he’s either ignoring mel, or giving her fake assurances he had little intention of following through with. he spends every waking minute trying to piece together what happened.

there weren’t any notes, letters, or clues. they had just gone. and people didn’t just disappear in piltover. that was the whole point of his mother almost dying when he was a child. people don’t vanish in a city of gold and government order.

he eventually hears whispers. he sees posters here and there pasted to the walls of zaun’s alleys. an inhuman hand shading a horrific looking eye.

and he laughs at how viktor would have hated to hear about another idiot trying to “fix” his home. so, he keeps looking for the only think that hasn’t been left behind.

the crutch.

…do you get it? (can you imagine it??? 😭 the idea has been eating me away)

excellent point!

i think it was such an important statement that vi was so consistently one of the only people who decidedly held onto jinx’s humanity. even if jinx wouldn’t, vi refused to give up on her. and, i think some people forget that part a little too easily.

and this moment in specific, you’re so right, because that belief had been slipping. (and i find it insulting that people don’t remember HOW FAR jinx had to go for vi to try and stop her)

and you worded it so well, because i was also held up on how much the painting doesn’t actually look like jinx. a part of me thought it looked more like powder.

vi came out of stillwater with only powder still alive in her head. then, it was cait and piltover’s villainous version. and then, she had this moment to consider that maybe both versions of her sister were still there. was jinx a good person? no, she’s an answer to the impossible equation of war and trauma. was she a monster? never in violet’s eyes.

she has always been the smart girl striving to prove herself.

something so raw about siblings, is that you love them even if they’ve made awful mistakes. you still want to protect them, because they’re a part of you. but, how do you protect that urge when people are dead?

i LOVE their sisterly relationship. no matter how dirty and warped it is. i love that, no matter what, they truly had each other’s backs when it mattered. even if one was out of the loop, the other was still looking out for her.

why can’t i just have them in one universe where they’re both happy and pranking each other??? 😭 why must they be so doomed!!

i saw a post with this scene the other day. ⬆️

a lot of people had commented this and that about their depictions of vi being jealous and shocked that jinx was up there with vander instead of herself.

and (as a troubled eldest daughter myself) that broke my heart a bit. although, i think it is realistic for vi to have shown a moment of vulnerability with the audience and then be ripped to pieces by individuals declaring it resentment and selfishness. no shade.

personally, i latched onto that tiny moment where her face falls. the animation of such a flicker of something akin to disappointment is astonishing.

i do think she’s seeing the mural for what it’s lacking. because it is lacking her. but, i think it has more to do with the fact that jinx and vander are there, but she’s not with them. not even necessarily including the political context. just the fact that even a random painting on a random wall lacked her presence just as much as real life.

she should have been right next to her little sister, but she wasn’t. she had both lost that choice, and then made the wrong one.

i can’t help but wonder if the years of being an imprisoned child so incredibly scared that she’d never get another chance for see her sister flashed before her eyes.

i think that mural shackled her to the fact that her world had continued on without her. and she wasn’t needed around to make it function anymore.

vander and their parents’ deaths had instilled in her that her sole purpose was to keep the earth spinning and to keep jinx safe. but, in the end, jinx had adapted. vi hadn’t.

lol

sorry for ranting! i could be entirely wrong, don’t take this to heart. it’s just what i took in and reflected on, and i wanted to share my thoughts. i find it so strangely comforting to see an oldest daughter go through so many punches and such heavy emotional strain and still keep her head up.

she’s so imperfect and i love her.

zaundad’s au where vander is taken by the enforcers after turning himself in for the explosion.

something about miscommunication and saving violet from turning herself in.

after the fact, vander’s territory is crumbling and benzo is holding water in his hands trying to pick up the pieces. silco hears and quickly catches on that maybe vander had a point in what he was doing. because at least his betrayal of cahooting with grayson was buying them time. and now zaun is dividing itself into shards of shattered pottery. and every thing is going to shit because there’s no one keeping all the ducks in a row.

and silco doesn’t really forgive vander, but after getting a tip about how he’s fighting for his life in stillwater, it makes him get a little crazy and protective. so much so that he actually finds himself considering forgiving the bastard. which ensues a ton of loathing and journal worthy emotions as he plans to save his stupid fucking soulmate that he literally hates with every bone in his body.

but he has violet knocking at his door just when he’s about to make the decision to either leave the hound to the wolves, or take vander’s place himself. and she’s so much wiser than her years, and she’s so blunt and courageous, that it reminds him of the way vander would protect them in the mines and during protests. using his brute strength and tuff demeanor to steer away danger. how he would shield them and barter their way through problems.

here was this young girl trying to act ten times her size and fill the same hole the silco himself had been trying so hard to fill. she was so angry that vander had chosen her over everything, and THAT made silco stop for a while. it made him almost jealous.

because vander has chosen everything over him. vander had chosen to act on his violence and guilt and he’d chosen felicia and piltover and the kids over silco.

so, anyway, just silco being pulled in two opposite directions as he tries to save vander from deteriorating in prison for protecting his daughter.

now that i’ve acclimated back into my fandoms, i’ve officially dusted off my discord as well!! (lol)

by which i mean i made an entirely new one.

if anyone has any fun little servers to recommend, or if anyone is interested enough in my stuff to talk about what atrocities i’ve already created, add me or let me know please!! i’ve decided to give being social a try 😔 instead of lurking in the shadows and dropping random seeds.

either way, here’s my discord >:) if you see this and you’re waiting for me to update one of my fics, i swear i’m not procrastinating 😀

i’ll be playing update roulette

i saw a post with this scene the other day. ⬆️

a lot of people had commented this and that about their depictions of vi being jealous and shocked that jinx was up there with vander instead of herself.

and (as a troubled eldest daughter myself) that broke my heart a bit. although, i think it is realistic for vi to have shown a moment of vulnerability with the audience and then be ripped to pieces by individuals declaring it resentment and selfishness. no shade.

personally, i latched onto that tiny moment where her face falls. the animation of such a flicker of something akin to disappointment is astonishing.

i do think she’s seeing the mural for what it’s lacking. because it is lacking her. but, i think it has more to do with the fact that jinx and vander are there, but she’s not with them. not even necessarily including the political context. just the fact that even a random painting on a random wall lacked her presence just as much as real life.

she should have been right next to her little sister, but she wasn’t. she had both lost that choice, and then made the wrong one.

i can’t help but wonder if the years of being an imprisoned child so incredibly scared that she’d never get another chance for see her sister flashed before her eyes.

i think that mural shackled her to the fact that her world had continued on without her. and she wasn’t needed around to make it function anymore.

vander and their parents’ deaths had instilled in her that her sole purpose was to keep the earth spinning and to keep jinx safe. but, in the end, jinx had adapted. vi hadn’t.

lol

sorry for ranting! i could be entirely wrong, don’t take this to heart. it’s just what i took in and reflected on, and i wanted to share my thoughts. i find it so strangely comforting to see an oldest daughter go through so many punches and such heavy emotional strain and still keep her head up.

she’s so imperfect and i love her.

link’s here

@ali-kaaaay @riotroast @littlemeangreen

zaundad’s au where vander is taken by the enforcers after turning himself in for the explosion.

something about miscommunication and saving violet from turning herself in.

after the fact, vander’s territory is crumbling and benzo is holding water in his hands trying to pick up the pieces. silco hears and quickly catches on that maybe vander had a point in what he was doing. because at least his betrayal of cahooting with grayson was buying them time. and now zaun is dividing itself into shards of shattered pottery. and every thing is going to shit because there’s no one keeping all the ducks in a row.

and silco doesn’t really forgive vander, but after getting a tip about how he’s fighting for his life in stillwater, it makes him get a little crazy and protective. so much so that he actually finds himself considering forgiving the bastard. which ensues a ton of loathing and journal worthy emotions as he plans to save his stupid fucking soulmate that he literally hates with every bone in his body.

but he has violet knocking at his door just when he’s about to make the decision to either leave the hound to the wolves, or take vander’s place himself. and she’s so much wiser than her years, and she’s so blunt and courageous, that it reminds him of the way vander would protect them in the mines and during protests. using his brute strength and tuff demeanor to steer away danger. how he would shield them and barter their way through problems.

here was this young girl trying to act ten times her size and fill the same hole the silco himself had been trying so hard to fill. she was so angry that vander had chosen her over everything, and THAT made silco stop for a while. it made him almost jealous.

because vander has chosen everything over him. vander had chosen to act on his violence and guilt and he’d chosen felicia and piltover and the kids over silco.

so, anyway, just silco being pulled in two opposite directions as he tries to save vander from deteriorating in prison for protecting his daughter.

part three of this - moses!viktor au - part 1 - part 2

prepare for a BIG time jump from the other two (lol). i’m still contemplating a title. leaning towards “Bitter Water Made Sweet” though. feel free to leave a suggestion! :)

The streets of The Lanes smelled of tar and sulfur dioxide. Viktor’s staff made fragmented sparks erupt each time it hit the cobble of the empty street.

It was very early morning. But, not early enough to stop the three or so families and four or so dwellers from peeking out their windows and doors to watch him as he slowly waded through the slightly flooded road. The saturated bottom hem of his viridian cloak stuck to his ankles with each new step.

He caught the eye of a little girl, her hair the color of the small gophers that he’d occasionally catch building by the river. Her eyes were bright like wheat in the sunlight. She stood all alone. He paused.

She smiled, and she sprung to life under his pointed attention, sprinting as fast as her short legs could carry her. Her hands clenched around fistfuls of the cotton fabric draped over his shoulders. She did not speak.

“What is your name?” he asked her, holding out a hand.

She stared at his palm and wrist, taking in the lapis lazuli, mauve, and gold that spun through his veins and tendons. Her mouth opened in awe, delicately taking his hand in order to inspect it further. She was mystified, and just for a moment, all his panicked worries melted away. She giggled, looking back up to meet his fond gaze.

“Isha.” The name had appeared his head with such a sudden intensity, that he was not surprised in the least when she nodded in amazement. He bent down, using his staff to balance his weight. “Do you believe in the land of milk and honey?”Isha’s chopped hair flipped up and down like flimsy spikes as she nodded. She nearly buzzed with energy. Like a battery in an engine. Or a wind up toy. He hummed, nodding as well. “Very well, follow me.”

She hid inside of his cloak, hiding herself from the sprinkling raindrops. She shivered, her bare arms full of goosebumps.

His smile faltered, and they continued on with her glued to his hip. Her hand stuck to his own, occasionally tugging the limb up to her eyes to further admire the shimmering details of magic through his skin.

It was easy to tell that she was an orphan. Especially under his own scrutiny. She was thinner than the other children, and unkempt in a way no Zaunite mother would have allowed. Her hair was slightly grown out and braided. But, the plaits were frizzy and loose from passing time. She wore patchy pants and a fraying shirt barely holding onto its seems.

When they arrived to the boarded up bar, Isha made a short noise of protest, tugging on his tunic. It draped to his calves, an ivory white like bare bone. Her fingerprints left dark spots from the soot. He ruffled her hair, the texture like straw from the dust of Zaun’s alleyways.

“Don’t you trust me?” he asked her. She looked apprehensive, but she did not leave his side. Her loyalty was strong. Her curiosity even stronger.

The dark clouds hiding what lay beyond the doors only grew darker when they drew nearer. They resembled storm clouds, and one would almost believe that they’d send out bolts of lightening if you drew too close. Mel was distressed.

He bowed for Isha to go ahead of him, his fingertips innocently brushing the dense mist. It was pleasantly toasty, a comfort away from the freezing temperature outside.

Isha steeled herself, sending her shoulders back in stern determination that brought amusement to his own chest. She stomped her way right through the splintering arch of the doorway.

He took one final glance at the sign still hung on its lonely chain, and found himself mildly surprised at the symbol painted in glinting silver over where a business title would be.

A silvery serpent twisted in a vertical, curvy zig-zag pattern, hissing at the onlooker. He also took note, upon further inspection, that there were wings on either side, meager but strong in the way they curled. Its eyes shun green when he looked away, humming in pleasure at the familiar embrace of Mel’s magic gracing his skin.

He supposed he should have been offended at the lack of confusion she confronted him with. Instead, he joined her in the center of the room, sliding down to the blood red carpet she sat on.

Her dress was modest, no patterns or showy cuts. But, it was a deep amber. If he were vain, he’d say it was the color of his eyes. But, he didn’t have to admit vanity to believe that she looked radiant. Her knuckles showcased pink scars that matched his own, etched symbols of an ancient language.

Isha had dramatically fallen into the mountain of pillows that Mel and Viktor used as a resting spot when exhaustion finally grew too intense to bare. Or, the despair.

Her hand linked with his own, “Any news?”

“He is in Piltover.” He did not address Mel’s crestfallen expression at such a statement. And he stated the rest even though he knew he didn’t have to. “He seems to think that you are behind the Black Rose’s schemes. He doesn’t act like himself.”

He stood back up, dragging himself away from her waves of emotion. She was angry, something that tended to soak into his own skin and burn.

He unclasped the iron wings over his jugular notch. His fingers shook slightly as he bent down and draped the dry side of the cloth over the child. She was almost asleep, her eyes already closed and face smoothed out by the time he was standing straight again.

“We need to intervene.” Mel beckoned him back, holding a hand out for him to take. He obeyed, being careful of his askew leg as he joined her once again.

As they sat in considering silence, he wished to make a spot for himself in the cushions as well. His body did not feel the urge to rest, but his heart pulled him in too many directions at once, and he felt it most prominent in this turmoil.

“It will be necessary,” he admitted, “His influence is beginning to strain the faith of the Trenches as well.”

Mel’s lips twisted in a grimace, “Perhaps he was always too weak.” Viktor surveyed her in quiet, his own lips pursed in slow comprehension. “We should continue on without him. I will sever the connection entirely.” She sat straighter, not once glancing up to acknowledge any of Viktor’s shock or disbelief. He took her other hands back as she closed her eyes in order to focus. They flew open.

The pads of his thumbs flattened out the strain of her clenched fists. He sighed at the same time she did.

“Have mercy on him. He does not know better.”

“We trusted better from him,” she argued.

He battled with himself. The faith that had been mentioned previously, the belief they had gained from most of Zaun, was torturing him. Because he was selfish. He was not simply loyal to the cause anymore. It all boiled down to his Mel and his Jayce. The world be damned. The Black Rose be damned. He would rather burn at the stake, or rot in the basement of Stillwater, or drown in the Goddamned Pilt, than give up on either of them.

“He is just a man. A man who acts on instinct, no matter how flawed it might be. He deserves another chance. He has never let us down before.”

He’d grovel at Mel’s feet to give Jayce a second chance. He’d plea and debate until he ran out of breath. He’d comfort them both through the betrayal of it. Mourn the unfairness in his own solitude.

She crossed her arms, looking him all over. Her eyes traveled from the curls of gold and copper wire around strands of his overgrown hair to the rusty iron anklets that jingled around his ankles when he moved.

“And why is that?” Her chin was tilted up, her brows furrowed. She looked a little wild. Her hair stuck up around the crown of her head, like static caused during a storm. Her tunic draped off of one shoulder, showing the soft skin of her clavicle. Her stockings had holes from where she had poked holes while stewing in her stress. He realized with a slight start, that he had been away for three days on his trek to Topside.

Her eyes burned like gas that which met flame. She was filled with an abundance of wrath and disappointment towards the third link to their souls. He felt a strange sense of pity.

“You are not strong enough to rush the plan, Anděl.” He caresses her cheek, tucking one of the braids behind her ear when it slipped into her eyes. He noted that he’d have to retouch them.

“The Rose is the least of my worries,” she waved his concern off.

“I would not be so sure of that,” he warned.

“They are cowards using Jayce as a pawn. And he is just as bad while allowing them to.”

“I do not think—“

“—And how does he believe for a second that they could be me? I would not carry on without you Viktor, what makes him think—.”

“—He is under the assumption that we are dead. As far as I could tell, he’s just happy to have someone.” He brought her face closer, nose to nose as the realization dawned on her.

After a long time, she spoke to him in a broken whisper.

“Go to him, Viktor, my presence will be with you.”