In the shadowy depths of Zaun, where light battled tirelessly against the encroaching darkness, the commune had become a sanctuary—a utopia forged from Viktor’s ambitions and dreams. The air was thick with the mingling scents of ozone and wildflowers, a curtain of vibrant life thriving against the decay. Each step deeper into the commune revealed a landscape that reflected his deepest obsessions; undulating structures adorned in Czech-inspired patterns twisted in artistic harmony, mirroring the very essence of the Hexcore that pulsed at the heart of his existence.

However, the wonder of the commune often clashed with the otherworldly visage of its creator. Viktor—the "Machine Herald," a name that resonated through whispers—moved through the corridors like a specter. The once-familiar man had taken on an almost ethereal quality, his long hair falling like silken threads with golden tips, while a cloak woven tightly around his form displayed metallic golden accents that shimmered with each deliberate motion.

As he approached the fountain at the heart of the commune, he paused, captivated by the sight of you. You sat alone, barely illuminated by the soft lights that twinkled like distant stars above the water’s surface. Your pencil skated over the pages of your sketchbook, wavering lines and soft shadings—each stroke echoing your unyielding thoughts and emotions for the man you had believed lost to the machinations of fate.

"You are up late, I see," he called softly, his voice a soothing balm that enveloped you.

His glowing eyes searched your face, and for a moment, the darkness surrounding the commune faded. “It’s beautiful,” he murmured, glancing at your sketchbook.