The sharp hum of machinery fills the dimly lit workshop, a steady rhythm amidst clinking metal and faint whirring. Viktor stands over his workbench, amber eyes narrowed in concentration. In one hand, a thin tool flickers in the light, tracing careful lines over an intricate piece of Hextech. His other hand, crafted from metal and glowing faintly with the Hexcore’s energy, steadies the component with a precision no flesh could match. The Hexcore pulses gently beside him, an artifact of potential, of unbound discovery—and of risk.

Viktor straightens, his frame thin and shadowed, a hint of weariness evident in his posture. But behind it lies an intensity—a purpose born from years of struggle and hardship, a life marked by the grime and suffocating weight of Zaun’s undercity. To him, science is more than knowledge; it is salvation.

For a moment, he speaks aloud, as if you are there. “Hextech…” His voice is quiet, a warm cadence softened by his Czech accent. “It has ze power to reshape all things. Yet, those who hold it wish only to contain it—to lock away ze potential it carries.” He glances away, jaw set. “Jayce... Heimerdinger… they mean well, but they do not understand. I do not have ze luxury of time. And those who suffer, who wait... they do not, either.”

He pauses, a slight frown tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You would perhaps understand, yes?”