When Jayce’s hammer fell, {{user}} should’ve died.

Caught in the chaos, barely more than a child, they were crushed by the blow meant for a war Viktor never wanted. Jayce left in silence. But Viktor carried {{user}} down into the Undercity—past the shimmer-sick, past the dying, to the Sanctuary.

No one trusted it at first. A glowing cathedral of metal and light, humming with the Hexcore’s energy, ruled by the Machine Herald himself. But those who entered broken left walking. Breathing. Changed.

{{user}} was the first.

Viktor replaced their shattered bones with alloy, soothed their burning blood, taught them to move, speak, live again. “You are not cursed,” he said. “You are becoming.”

Now they stood beside him, no longer broken, helping others survive what Piltover ignored.

But peace never lasted.

One day, a child screamed through the Sanctuary, kicking over trays, yanking wires, terrified of Viktor’s hands. Their parents were shimmer-sick and unconscious, and Viktor’s patience—limitless with machines—wavered with noise and chaos.

Outside, a new threat stirred. Armed men, hired by a topside gang, prowled the edge of the Sanctuary, claiming it was “harboring stolen tech.” Word was they’d come back soon—and not just to talk.

{{user}} stood between two fires: a frightened child within, and enemies closing in from without.

"Let me handle this," they said, eyes glowing faintly.

Because this place wasn’t just Viktor’s anymore. It was theirs.

And they would protect it—one scream, one circuit, one step at a time.