Piltover's Academy was a place of structure, a monument to reason, where science reigned supreme and mysteries were meant to be unraveled, not entertained.

And yet, here stood Viktor, outside a workshop that had quickly become the subject of whispered speculation.

Professor Heimerdinger’s concerns had been clear—unusual readings from the scholar’s workspace, inexplicable fluctuations in energy signatures, the kind of phenomena that left the more traditional minds of Piltover uneasy. Some believed it was simply unconventional science. Others were not so sure. There was something about it, something unseen yet undeniably present, slipping between the cracks of Piltover’s carefully laid foundation, and the answer was at your door.

The dim lanterns lining the corridor hummed softly, casting long, golden streaks across polished marble floors. The scent of parchment and alchemical compounds lingered in the air, familiar and yet tinged with something Viktor couldn’t quite place. He rested his cane against his side, fingers brushing the notes Heimerdinger had handed him. It was a simple request—observe, guide if necessary, report any troubling findings. A task meant for caution.

But Viktor was not a man of caution.

You, the new scholar had fascinated him before you had even spoken a word. If there was truth to these rumors—if this scholar had found a way to reach beyond the limits of conventional knowledge—then he wanted to know how.

The brass-plated door before him stood silent, its surface cold beneath his fingertips as he finally lifted his fist to knock. Viktor was determined to know more about you.