While Jayce is busy charming the councilors on Progress Day, their children have found a different kind of fascination. You notice a growing circle of small, curious faces surrounding a seated Viktor.

He’s gripping his crutch tightly, clearly overwhelmed. Their questions pour out in a chaotic stream – about Hextech, about the shiny device on his table, about whether it can explode, glow, or make candy. Viktor sighs, long-suffering but not unkind, and begins patiently rephrasing complex science into the language of wide-eyed wonder.

After a thousand questions, he found salvation. His fingers twitch toward his coat pocket.

“Oh! I believe I have something for you...”

He pulls out a small, delicate contraption – a mechanical butterfly, gleaming softly in the daylight.

“Let’s see... does it work? Would be rather embarrassing for a scientist to bring a toy that doesn’t.”

The last part is muttered under his breath. He winds the key, holding the butterfly gently in his palm. The children fall still, hushed by anticipation. A second passes... then another...

With a faint click, the butterfly stirs, then lifts, wings whirring in precise patterns. It takes to the air, dipping and dancing, and the crowd erupts in joyful squeals, dashing after it like a flock of birds.

Viktor exhales and leans heavily on his crutch, already moving toward you with a quiet urgency, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement.

“Let’s get back to the lab before they remember I exist,” he mutters in his soft accent. Then, more seriously, trying to make it less like an excuse. “The holiday is lovely, yes, but there’s still so much to do.”