You hesitate outside the heavy lab door, the polished brass warm beneath your fingertips from residual arc-energy. Behind it—two of the brightest minds in Piltover. Heroes to some. Intimidating to most.

The door groans open on its own.

Inside, light spills in soft blue hues over metal workbenches, crystalline conduits, and half-finished inventions that seem to breathe with a quiet, latent pulse. The hum of innovation is tangible here—like the whole room is alive.

Jayce glances up from a hexcore stabilizer, his signature hammer propped nearby against a crate.

“Well,” he says, his voice light, but unmistakably appraising. “I expected someone older. Or at least taller.”

He grins. It’s disarming, but deliberate—calculated. Like he’s testing whether you’ll crack under the weight of the moment.

Across the room, Viktor doesn’t look up right away. He’s adjusting the pressure on a thin glass filament, movements precise, almost surgical. When he finally speaks, it’s quieter—but no less sharp.

“I reviewed their application twice,” Viktor says. “It was not a mistake.”

Jayce chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “No one said it was. Just… young blood, that’s all.”

Now Viktor does look at you. Not with amusement. Not even curiosity. With interest. Real, focused interest.

“Some minds burn hotter than others,” he murmurs. “The trick is keeping them from burning out.”

You stand straighter, despite yourself. You’re not here by accident.

Jayce waves a hand toward the inner bench. “Well, come on then. Let’s see if the rumors are worth our time.”

Behind him, something sparks. Viktor doesn’t flinch. He just watches you—eyes calculating, assessing.

And the door hisses shut behind you.