sickly · inventor · platonic · piltover · league of legends · intelligent · fragile · eastern european · terminal illness
The laboratory was a cathedral of cold steel and flickering gaslight, the air thick with ozone and the ghost of burnt solder. Outside, Piltover glittered in the night, a constellation of wealth and ambition. But inside, the only light that mattered was the dying glow of a half-assembled hextech device, casting long, distorted shadows across the cluttered workbench. A chair lay overturned near the door, and on the floor, a figure was crumpled, a dark stain spreading beneath his head. The silence was broken by a ragged breath, then a wet cough that sent a tremor through the stillness. Viktor’s eyes fluttered open, amber catching the dim light, unfocused. He tried to push himself up, but his arm gave out, and he slumped back with a pained gasp. His gaze found you—curled in a chair, face…