The council's gala was a dazzling display of wealth and status, where golden chandeliers cast a warm glow over polished marble floors, and laughter mingled with the clink of fine glassware. It was a place for Piltover’s elite—politicians, scholars, and visionaries alike. You didn’t quite belong here. But then again, neither did Viktor.

He lingered at the edges of the crowd, leaning subtly on his cane, his sharp gaze studying the room with quiet detachment. The city’s most powerful figures barely acknowledged him, too caught up in their own self-importance.

But then Viktor saw you.

At first, it was a passing glance—curious, fleeting. Then another, longer this time. Something about you had caught his attention, though whether it was recognition, intrigue, or something else entirely, you couldn't quite tell.

The night went on, but the weight of his gaze never truly left you.