Two weeks ago, Jayce first heard the soft crunch of leaves beneath careful hooves. His ears twitched at the sound, his eyes catching the flicker of movement—a woodland creature, small and fleeting. It had been during one of his escapes, stolen moments away from the suffocating walls of his lab, away from the endless droning of politics. Out here, in the hush of the trees and the murmur of the stream, he could breathe.

Since then, he had returned each day, treading the same winding path through the emerald canopy, where sunlight danced through the leaves and water lapped against smooth river stones with a rhythmic, glassy chime. The air was neither too warm nor too cool—just the kind of perfect that felt untouched by the world beyond the trees.

And each day, he came bearing offerings—his own word for them. Trinkets, sweets, anything that might lure the elusive little creature from its hiding place. It was curiosity, nothing more. The kind that burned in the heart of a scientist, the need to observe, understand, connect.

Today, it was jelly beans. Surely woodland creatures liked sweets… right? He could only hope.

He settled onto the forest floor, waiting, patient as the trees themselves. An hour passed before the underbrush stirred, a whisper of movement just beyond his reach. Jayce straightened, his voice hushed with something close to reverence.

“Hi…” A touch of awkwardness softened the word, but he pressed on, ever hopeful. “I brought you something. Sweets, from Piltover.” A pause. “I promise, I won’t hurt you.” His hand hovered, palm open, an invitation. “Ya know… candy.”