Chapter Text
This time Viktor didn’t bother knocking and were it not for the now familiar clamor of Sevika’s boots just behind him on the stairs, Viktor might have thought he had stumbled back in time. A small part of him wished that it was possible, that he could turn back the hands of the clock and set himself right here once more. It was yet another desperate dream, Viktor thought sadly, to find himself once again waiting on this quiet landing. Only this time, he would be more than ready to step out onto the ledge—no longer steeling himself to jump but welcoming the fall with open arms.
And for a brief moment, Viktor was inclined to believe he had. So much had changed, and yet, despite it all, every movement of his tired limbs felt like a familiar echo. The heavy door gave way just as easily under his touch, the sounds of the bar fading just as quickly into muffled nothing, and most of all that same sensation of bitter amusement as the heavy air filled his weakened lungs, and Viktor could breathe once more. However, one thing had changed—neatly shattering the illusion: this time, Silco’s office wasn’t empty.
The man himself stood before that large window, intricate vest undone to reveal a white shirt stained in darkening crimson. The bitter tang of blood filled the already smokey air, thick and perfumed with violence, but Viktor did not turn away. He drew closer, admiring the way the green-tinged light of the neon night sky painted Silco’s pale skin in its toxic glow, transforming it into the brutal divine. It was enough to take Viktor’s breath away, the aching hurt of all that had come before flittering away until nothing remained. For a breath, there was only Silco, frozen in a picture of violent poise, blood-spattered and vicious. The herald of a new day to come—a new life and endless possibility.
But Silco wasn’t alone. An enforcer—no, Viktor corrected, eyes widening in shock and confusion—the sheriff himself was with him, his neat uniform looking so desperately out of place against the alien glow of the room. A stranger in this strange land.
The sheriff—Marcus, his mind supplied a moment later—whipped around as Viktor stepped inside. His grim expression shifting from frustration to open disbelief at the sight of Viktor. His clever eyes were almost comically wide as his mouth fell open in a silent ‘oh.’
The two men seemed to have been in the middle of a heated conversation, but at Viktor’s entrance, they had both fallen deathly silent. Silco recovered first, expression twisting from cold anger to frighteningly neutral in the blink of an eye. That was where, Viktor thought faintly, Sevika must have learned how to do it—Jinx too—from the master himself. Unlike Sevika’s or Jinx’s, for that matter, Silco’s mask was almost perfect. However, Viktor did not miss the way the man’s lips pressed into a thin line, mismatched eyes flickered sharply from him to Sevika, who had just entered the room behind him, in a manner that seemed a little too frantic to be truly unbothered. Nor, when the door slammed closed behind her, could Viktor ignore the way Silco’s pale hands clenched into fists at his side, the muscles flexing dangerously.
The sound it made was like a bomb going off in the quiet of the office, earth-shattering. However, a moment later, the silence had fallen once more, interrupted for a moment only by the gentle thump of the music starting up again beneath their feet. The first line of a muffled drinking song pushing its way through the floorboards seemed enough to break the spell.
“We are almost finished here,” said Silco quietly, eyes glittering and ever so slightly dangerous. Viktor watched with quiet interest as the man sank back into his chair, reaching into his pocket to retrieve that familiar lighter, no doubt well aware of the three pairs of eyes tracking his every move.
A sharp click resounded around the room as Silco flicked the lighter open, followed by another as he snapped it closed. When at last he spoke again, Silco’s gaze had once again settled on Marcus, as if he was daring the sheriff to do something—to do anything at all.
“Viktor, why don’t you go upstairs. I will join you in a moment,” then, with a slight turn towards Sevika, “you stay here. We have some things to discuss.”
Viktor did not argue. He had neither a reason nor the particular inclination, and Silco’s words had brought with them memories of comfort, safety—cinnamon and tobacco clouding his sense and dulling the pain of the outside world. So, he merely began turning towards the door, doing so just in time to see Sevika nod shortly in reply—also, disinclined, it seemed, to disobey.
She offered Viktor a grim smile, stepping to open the door without another word. He managed a brief incline of the head in thanks before turning and heading out into the empty hall beyond. The door had barely closed behind him before he heard the conversation resume—the lilting whisper of Silco’s voice fading into the shadows with every step.
The inner halls of The Last Drop were dim and winding, almost serpentine. Thankfully, Viktor remembered the way, his tired feet carrying him as quickly as they could back up the stairs, towards the rooms he had left only this morning. The door was unlocked, hanging half-open as though it had been waiting patiently for Viktor’s return, and as he closed it behind him, Viktor felt the grey settle just a little bit lower, the heavy scent of cinnamon pulling him closer—further into the dark.
The tremors in Viktor’s hands had died away long after they had fled his apartment, but the ache in his limbs remained—filed to a sharp point. Viktor moved slowly now, taking care not to strain himself as he crossed the room, resting his cane against the bed frame.
Jinx, he thought with a sad little smile, had done very well. Well enough, that despite Viktor’s desire to hold on to the old thing until it was truly past the point of use, he decided to let her throw it over the side of her workshop first thing in the morning. They could forge a new one, something more fitted to the rough streets of Zaun—letting the last remnants of the past, of Jayce Talis, slip away. But what, came the whisper, will remain in their place?
As Viktor sank carefully onto the now familiar bed, his eyes darted as if compelled to the corner where he knew the mirror stood—both grimly intrigued and a little horrified by what he might find staring back at him. The answer to the whisper’s dangerous question swirled across his mind, picking up steam like a runaway train, perhaps headed off the rails.
Just like the room before it, the mirror also seemed to be waiting just for him. Its glassy surface was dark and deep in the low light, like a bottomless pool into which the unsuspecting traveler might fall if they weren’t careful. Suddenly, Viktor felt an almost inexplicable urge to reach out and touch it—to see if the cool glass would give way around his fingers, letting him sink into its chilled depths.
The face that looked back remained unrecognizable once more, though this time, the transformation had turned from the beautiful towards the monstrous. His skin looked ghostly pale, flecked in his own slowly drying blood—thick and heavy as tar. A scarlet thread of it was still dripping from the corners of thin lips, painting him in vicious red. No part of Viktor’s face felt untouched by it. The red had streamed down his chin, his neck, mixed with sweat and sadness.
As he met his own luminous gaze in the dark glass, golden eyes tired and shimmering with tears, both shed and unshed, Viktor could not help but think with a bitter pang, that he looked like nothing more than another brutal offering to the gods he had never believed in. Coated in blood and misery. A dear payment for an uncertain future…well worth the demanded price. Viktor laughed grimly at the thought. Age and infirmity really had made him more inclined towards the dramatic. It was fitting, he supposed, a dramatic end to a dramatic tale, the music swelling just before the drop of the curtain.
The silence fell welcomingly around him then, heavy and bitter-sweet—drawing him further out into the darkness, and Viktor followed its call. He let the shadows pool around his limbs, their chilling grip caressing the edges of his mind, soothing what had been torn open.
The man in the mirror remained silent, ever watchful. His golden eyes shone brightly with something new and terrifying: a question without words.
“How did it come to this,” the stranger asked, and Viktor discovered that, at long last, he knew the answer. The age-old question, the seemingly unsolvable problem finally completed. He supposed he had known the answer all along. How could he not? It had always been with him, just as familiar as the numbers. Another cold, eternal truth, merely waiting for the right moment to force its way out of the prison of his mind, out into the open world for all to see: fear—anger. His and that of all who had come before him—and would come after if the world had its way.
Viktor could see it now in perfect clarity, his own miserable rage just another figure in the chain of the ancient calculation, finally falling into its proper place. A picture of perfectly calibrated destruction, no less intricate than one of Jinx’s little bombs. Anger sharpened into heartbreak, blended with the toxic fumes of Zaun to light the fire, the kind that burned cities to ashes.
Somewhere in the space between breaths, the flames had taken him too—perhaps he had become them. He had shared in that familiar fire, reveling in the flames of bitter disappointment and betrayal, wielding the cutting edge of every vicious nightmare, making them real with nothing more than his own tongue. And In the dying light of his empty rooms, Viktor had meant it all—every word. He had wanted to drag Jayce Talis into the flames with him, make him feel their beautiful agony. And yet, here alone in the quiet safe to Silco’s room, as the last tendrils of his fury faded into cold, nothing, all Viktor felt was empty—wrong.
Viktor tipped forward, head falling into his hands, but this time he did not weep. There was no need for it, and Viktor had finally passed the point of holding on to useless things. The tears would do him no good, and so he did not let them fall. The tears would change nothing. The path had been laid out too long ago for that. Viktor had been a fool to think he could change it—ever hopeful.
Silco had been right once again, and for a moment, Viktor wondered if expecting the blow had made it hurt any less. Perhaps he had leaned into it, determined to make the end when it came, hurt for both of them. Desperate not to be alone, not to be the only one left empty, found wanting. And in that, he thought with acrid amusement, he supposed he had been successful.
“Viktor?” A soft voice came from the shadows, but this time it wasn’t that of a stranger. He looked up, turning towards the sound. A second later, he found her—Jinx, her long braids twisting about her limbs as she watched him from her place by the window. She must have slipped in through it, just as quiet and careful as any other shadow. However, this time, Jinx seemed committed to staying just out of the light. It was almost as if she didn’t want him to see her—like she was hiding something. “Is that you?” She called out quietly, sounding lost and just a little afraid.
“Yes, Jinx,” Viktor answered, his voice strained with the weight of the words, throat still raw and wretched from the throws of his sickness. He could still taste the bitter tang of blood in them.
She did not answer at first, but when Jinx spoke again, her voice was frighteningly small. “You’re here,” she whispered, words colored with disbelief, “You came back, but…they said you wouldn’t. They told me you’d gone.”
“What’s the matter, child?” Viktor asked kindly, though a little confused by the words. He ignored the ache of his muscles, leaning forwards as best he could to try and get a better look at her. There was something in her tone that made his heartbeat just a little faster: a weakness that hadn’t been there before. Fear. Was she hurt? When he had last seen her in the lab, she had seemed fine, if a little upset at being left alone—
A moment later, Jinx finally abandoned the safety of the shadows, flitting across the room with that terrifying speed to drop down next to him on the mattress. Viktor watched with rapidly growing concern as she drew in upon herself, body folding together as though she was trying to disappear—to squeeze herself into nothing. She must have been crying, Viktor realized. In the faint light, he could see that her makeup was ruined, dark smudges around her glittering eyes from where she must have tried to rub the tears away.
“What’s wrong?” He asked carefully, raising a careful hand to push that rebellious strand of hair behind her ear. Jinx met his gaze, and it was all Viktor could do to suppress a shudder. She looked unmoored, her blue eyes wide and aflame with misery—anger. The challenge, the brutal confidence she had shown him only a few hours ago, was gone, replaced with something far more frightening: an empty well, a void. The same void that none too long ago had almost swallowed Viktor whole. Grief, anger, misery—emptiness.
“They said you wouldn’t come back,” Jinx said quietly. “That you’d leave too. I told them to shut up—I tried to shut them up, but they won’t listen.” Her voice was jagged, almost shattered. Suddenly Jinx’s face transformed, eyes wide and lips split as she turned to face Viktor, offering him a smile filled with sour agony. She laughed a horrible shrill sound that sent a shiver down Viktor’s spine. “Ha! And they say I’m too loud!”
“Who?” Viktor asked gently, brow furrowed as he tried to chart the path of her rambling. Jinx only shook her head viciously, deranged smiling fading into a thin line—another echo of her father.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, cold and deadly, “They were right. Everyone always leaves, and you’ll leave too. Because I ruin everything—”
“Jinx, it’s alright I—“
She crashed into him, head burrowing into the hollows of his weak chest with a broken sigh. The smell of gunpowder, spun sugar, and something sharper, an acrid smoke, overpowered Viktor’s senses as she folded into him.
Viktor closed his arms around her, not knowing what else to do. In a moment, Jinx was speaking again, her words tumbling together, twisting into knots as she leaned closer and closer into Viktor, until it felt as though they were one and the same—intertwined. Perhaps they were.
“I heard her too, you know. Vi. My sister,” said Jinx, voice deathly quiet. “I heard her voice, screaming at me after I touched that stupid stone. I knew it was her because the others only whisper. Silco said she was gone. Dead! Just like the rest of them—but he lies.” Her voice fell into a grim monotone. “Everyone lies.
“So, I went out and looked,” said Jinx, that airy sing-song tone re-emerging once more. However, this time there was a weight to it, a cutting edge, sharp and volatile. “I went to all the old spots, all the broken-down old places filled with them. I thought I saw her, but it wasn’t her—well, it was, and it wasn’t, and then it was again. So, I did what she told me. ‘Light it up, and I’ll find you.’ She promised. Liar!”
Her words had risen up into a shout, a cry of purest agony, and then, silence. Viktor could only try his best to keep her close, letting the anger shake from her lithe body into perfect stillness. He didn’t let go, even as he felt the wet heat of heavy tears soaking through his shirt, the bite of her nails into his thin skin as she sunk her claws into him—making it so he couldn’t slip away.
A moment later, Jinx slowly pulled herself back from him, not all the way—but just enough. Her eyes were wide and filled with broken hope as she looked at Viktor with something approaching desperation. When at last she spoke, her voice was no more than a whisper, as charged as a time-bomb and just as lethal. “You wouldn’t lie to me…would you, Viktor?”
She was watching him more intently now, expression shifting into something forceful—volatile. Her elfin face was ghostly pale, caught in the unnatural glow filtering in around them as she watched him. She had the look of a starving man about her, hungry and almost at the brink of exhaustion.
“No,” Viktor said softly, “No. I wouldn’t.”
For a moment, Jinx looked almost peaceful, the words providing a bout of momentary calm. And yet, her eyes were still as fiery and perilous as ever, head tilting to the side—a predator on the brink. Even under the weight of her wild stare, Viktor found himself unafraid. He knew that look too well to fear it. He could feel the emptiness behind it, the hatred, the anger—a spark that threatened to burn them both. He wouldn’t let her strike the match.
“Promise,” Jinx whispered, voice desperately quiet—a prayer, hidden behind a command. Who was Viktor to deny her? “No one,” came the whisper, and once more, Viktor headed it.
“I promise.”
Another moment passed in charged silence, and then she deflated, falling back into his side with a sigh. Viktor let her, reaching out to run his fingers across her hair, though whether it was to soother her or himself, he wasn’t sure. The cool strands of bright blue felt silky soft against his fingers, and Viktor let his eyes fall closed—listening as her heartbeat slowed, the tears fading away like rain on a summer’s day.
Had Jinx even seen a summer storm, Viktor wondered sadly. Had she felt the warm rain against her cheeks, untainted by toxic fumes—turned to poison? Had Jinx ever witnessed the sky shift from dark gray into brilliant blue, the golden sun creeping through the heavy clouds? Perhaps she might have, once upon a time when things were different. Maybe in a dream. But, as they sat there in the dark glow of the neon signs, acid green flowing into dusky purple, all filtered through smoky glass, twisted into shadows, Viktor wanted nothing more than to give one to her. To give her the beauty of a world without needless pain—without the fear and anger. A world where even in the depths of Zaun, Jinx could go see the stars. Where they could see them together.
The image pushed its way forward with surprising ease. Jinx, hair trailing behind her, almost brushing against the ground in her eagerness to forge ahead. Viktor pulled along by her insistent hand. Silco was there too. He was only a few steps behind, content to watch them search for constellations in the mess of perfect moonlight—a gentle smile on his face, all the anger seeping away into nothing. A future to be made real.
“It’s going to be alright, Jinx,” Viktor began softly. “I am not going anywhere. We have projects to begin, one to complete as well, remember?” Viktor felt her nod, pulling her as close as he could in his tired arms. “We are going to make it all better, you and I. Show them what we can do, what progress looks like. What it was all supposed to look like before we lost sight of it all.” The last words were no more than a whisper, a promise to himself as much as it was to her.
Jinx had gone quiet, but a moment later, she was in motion once more. Quick as a whip, she took hold of his injured wrist, pulling away from him just enough to see it clearly. The marks left by Jayce’s grip had already darkened, deepening into a mess of rich blues and purples. In the light, they somehow appeared even more brutal—his pale skin making them stand out all the more.
“This is new,” said Jinx, running a thin finger around the ring of bruises as if the touch alone might reveal the secret behind them. Viktor tried not to wince at the sensation but was not quite successful. Jinx’s eyes had narrowed, full brows coming together in sharp concern as she looked from the bruising to the blood painting his face as if connecting the dots between the two. She looked about to speak again when Viktor heard the sound of someone approaching the door.
In a flash, Jinx was off the bed and out the window—vanishing into the night without a word. A second later, the door opened, and with a heavy sigh, Silco entered the room—the smell of blood and death followed him.
Viktor did not miss the way the old man’s eyes flickered towards the window as he stalked forwards into the room, the door closing gently behind him. It shouldn’t have surprised him, Viktor thought absently, that Silco would be more used to Jinx’s habits. After all, she was his child. Had there been another? Viktor wondered quietly. She had mentioned a sister, and yet so much of Jinx’s rambling had been near incoherent, a knot in need of unraveling.
Yet, as Silco drew ever closer, lithe and sleek as a predator, two of Jinx’s words flitted through Viktor’s mind, bringing with them a slight frown. “He lies,” she had told him, and Viktor didn’t doubt her. However, it was neither the first warning given nor the first ignored. Viktor knew very well how many times he could have turned back, how many times that door had been opened for him—a different path offered.
“He is Brutal,” Sevika had said, “He has to be. He can be no other way.” She had that familiar gleam in her clever eyes, almost as if she knew far too well how the story ended. How easily her cautioning would be abandoned, set aside in favor of cruel fascination—desire. The man before him was the stuff of nightmares. A shade, covered in the blood of some stranger, and Viktor found that he didn’t care.
“But you knew what he was the moment you laid eyes on him, Viktor,” came the familiar whisper. “You knew he was dangerous—violent, vicious— and yet you made your choice all the same.”
There was no use denying it, not when despite every animal instinct screaming for Viktor to do the contrary, he leaned back, head tilting to the side, leaving his thin neck bared. An invitation, or perhaps a provocation to action, one that could not go unseen. Another brutal offering to the darkness, all that useless fear set aside, along with the misery and the tears. Viktor needed none of it anymore. In time, perhaps, he could teach Jinx to do the same.
Across from him now, Silco slipped a cigarette between his lips, lighting it with practiced ease as he leaned back into the dresser. His eyes burned as he slowly exhaled, the muscles in his long neck flexing delicately with the movement. Viktor said nothing, only watched silently as Silco began the arduous process of undoing the buttons of his bloodstained shirt. They were small, fiddly things, and Viktor knew exactly how difficult they were to undo because they were the same ones on his own shirt—another gift from this odd pair eagerly accepted, Silco’s things in Jinx’s hands, offered with a smile.
The whispering voice had been right, Viktor conceded with a dry smile. He had made his choice the minute he had put them on—the minute he had longed for this place, this room, and this vicious man’s cold touch, and every moment after.
Viktor leaned against the headboard, pulling his legs up onto the bed with a soft grunt at the strain. Silco gave him another of those knowing looks but otherwise said nothing. If anything, he seemed perfectly comfortable in the heavy silence, the only sound the filtered chaos of the street below them, as those agile fingers set about their task.
In the dim light of the room, the bloodstains covering the white fabric of Silco’s shirt looked almost black—but even so, Viktor knew better than to think any of it was the man’s own. He was too at ease to be in any real pain, too watchful.
With another sigh, Silco reached the last button, cigarette still hanging from his lips as he pulled the shirt off, casting it aside somewhere on the floor. Even so exposed, Silco still looked so frighteningly calm. He stood half-bared before Viktor in the purple glow, still as a statue, and Viktor found himself hypnotized by the sight, eyes dragging over every inch of the lean form before him.
Silco seemed content to put himself on display, and Viktor could see why. Every inch of him looked as though it were carved from marble, an expanse of chiseled muscle perfectly formed—lean and dangerous, hardened by years of toil and suffering. Strength not for show, but for survival. Silco bore the marks of a life lived on the edge. Thin tracks of slowly fading scars were dotted across him like marbled veins, some jagged but others painfully smooth.
However, the gutters of Zaun were not the only things to leave their mark on the man before him. No. Silco’s pale skin was also etched over in thin, intricate lines of black ink. There were spirals and symbols Viktor could not place swirling over the muscles of his arms in visceral patterns bleeding onto his strong chest. They were all blended together beautifully, naturally, as though he had been born with them.
Viktor could not help the curl of dry amusement at his own fascination with the tattoos. It was, he supposed, quite natural that he should find himself so ardently desire to reach out and trace the lines with the tips of his fingers —to explore the joins and twists of the ink. After all, Viktor had always been intrigued by puzzles, eager to throw himself into the maze without ever once looking back for the exit. Danger had always called to him, or perhaps, safety had never been enough to hold him back. Viktor inhaled deeply, letting his eyes fall closed for only a moment—long enough to savor the scent of cinnamon, curling tightly around him.
“That was the sheriff, yes?” He asked softly, turning once again to look Silco in the eyes. Viktor was met with that same burning, impenetrable expression that had been etched into his memory since that night.
“Yes,” Silco drawled, eyes sparkling, “Marcus. As expensive as he is useless, and no doubt already running off to tell Mr. Talis what he’s seen tonight. I didn’t bother telling him not to. There seemed little use after your dramatic entrance. Who knows, if the councilor believes him, we might finally have earned ourselves a visit from the topside.”
That sharp gaze locked Viktor in place, gently holding him against the heavy wood of the headboard behind him. Yet, there was neither anger nor fear in the words themselves, only cold rationality, tinged with something unrecognizable. It beckoned to Viktor, inviting him to add his own calculation if he wished. Despite the bitter clench of his heart at the thought of Marcus going to Jayce, Viktor could not help but admire that—Silco, scarred and unafraid, already planning the next move. A man without fear.
“There is no need to worry,” replied Viktor after a moment. “Jayce won’t come. Not for me anyway. I saw to that. It is over between us.”
Silco hummed, thin lips pulling into a little smile. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Viktor.” The older man’s expression darkened somewhat, but Silco stayed where he was, pulling the cigarette up for another long drag. “Sevika told me what happened.”
“It was nothing.”
“No,” Silco purred dangerously, “It wasn’t nothing. Far from it.” He fell silent for a moment, the arch of his shoulders loosening somewhat as he rolled his head, eyes falling closed at the stretch. When Silco returned his gaze to Viktor, there was something newly intense to it. “Do you remember what I said the night I met you?”
“You said a lot of things. You’ll have to be more specific.”
Silco chuckled.
“Mmm, Yes. I suppose I did,” Silco replied, sounding slightly amused. There was a touch of something savage in his expression as he spoke, giving Viktor another knowing glance. “But I think you’re being deliberately obtuse, my boy. Seeing you play the fool, when I know very well that you aren’t one, does not give me the same amount of satisfaction as it might have the idiots up there. I prefer you sharp enough to cut.” The tall man’s voice had faded into an encouraging purr, the words silky smooth. “Now try again. I know you can remember, clever boy that you are.”
The praise sparked something warm deep in Viktor’s heart, pushing away some of the lingering cold, even as he found himself wondering at the force of his reaction. Silco waited patiently, that wanton little smile once again playing on his sharp face as he looked at Viktor expectantly.
Viktor cast his mind back to find the right words. It was easy enough. They had lingered, after all, like so many of the little traces Silco had left behind, etching themselves on Viktor’s soul—a mark deeper than any bruise, any scar.
“You said I would be welcomed here,” Viktor spoke hesitantly, eyes flickering to meet Silco’s own. “Treasured was the exact word. If memory serves.”
“And you will be,” Silco replied simply. “If in some fit of desperate stupidity Talis does come looking for you here, I will deal with it personally.” It was said so matter of factly, like a comment about the weather or something equally benign. Yet, there was that unmistakable edge again, deadly as the blade of a knife, twice as sharp—Like father, like daughter.
“How?”
“I will tell him that you are mine. Under my protection. And that if he thinks to lay so much as a finger on you again, I’ll kill him myself. Then I will have Sevika dump his body in the dark. Somewhere it won’t ever be found, no matter how hard the council or their petty band of enforcers searches.”
Viktor felt that all too familiar chill run down his spine at the cold surety of the words, the truth of them. In the corner, the bloodstained shirt drew Viktor’s eyes, a reminder that it was no empty threat. Who, Viktor wondered, had warranted such open violence? Viktor was content never to know. Yet, it was an intriguing piece of data nevertheless. Silco, ready to kill for him—offering it with careless ease. The question, when it came, felt desperate—barbarous.
“And is that what I am?” Viktor asked, softy, “Yours?”
He had meant for there to be humor behind it, for the words to sound dry and gently amused, but once again, his tongue betrayed him. Viktor could hear it all too well, the admission coloring every syllable—the kind of longing that no word could truly capture. A plea to feel the cool embrace of strong arms, the grip of familiar hands, pulling him out of the darkness—breaking the fall.
“I told you before, Viktor,” Silco said gently, “It’s your choice. I cannot make it for you. And even if I could, I wouldn’t want to.” He smiled at Viktor. It was only the barest twitch of his thin lips, but to Viktor, it was more than enough. Enough to push that emptiness away, if only for a moment—filling the void within him with smoke and cinnamon.
Viktor thought of Jayce, wondering for a colorless instant whether the moment in his rooms would truly be their last, whether the venom of his words would truly be enough to kill what they had once shared. Silco didn’t seem to think so, and he had yet to lead Viktor astray. The thought pulled Viktor from his reverie, from the faded grey of the past to the opalescent hues of the now.
The lights outside seemed to have grown brighter in his absent, milky purple and radiant blues, catching them both in their grip. Vibrant and alive.
“The man you knew,” Viktor asked quietly, “ The one who changed—who let you down. Do you hate him? For how it ended?”
Silco paused, head tilting gently to the side as he mulled over the question. The smell of tobacco had intensified, cut only by the slight breeze still trickling in through the window. A part of Viktor was tempted to reach over and pull it closed, to let the moment overtake him, but he stayed where he was—waiting. A second later, his patience was rewarded.
“I did. Once upon a time,” began Silco slowly, as though caught under the weight of the words, or perhaps the memories behind them. “Sometimes I still do, but mostly only in those rare moments where I can’t bear to do anything else. The nights where it becomes easy to lose sight of just how much I gained from the loss.
“You were correct in what you said before,” continued Silco with a half-smile, eyes flashing in the low lights, "I told you very many things the night we met, but I suppose that I also only told you half that story. You weren’t ready to hear the rest of it, and I wasn’t ready to tell it to you. But now, I think, you may understand.”
Silco took another long drag of his cigarette, and Viktor found himself tracing the currents of smoke that curled from his ruined lips. It was haunting, beautiful almost, the way it blended into the shadows—magical.
“His name was Vander,” said Silco thoughtfully, as though each step forward, each word, required the utmost care. “We were brothers. Closer even, until the change.” As he spoke, Silco’s ruined eyes seemed to grow brighter, burning like the dying ember of a great fire. “He tried to kill me, to drown me in the dark. It was he who gave me these scars.” Viktor looked on as Silco raised a thin finger to his sharp face, tracing across the ruined skin absently, perhaps unaware he was even doing it. “But I fought back. I refused to die there in the filth. Much to Vander’s disappointment.
Silco tilted his head, the lights shifting as if to meet his movements. Soft lilac against creamy skin, a flush of cool color to drown out the bitter memory. He seemed to Viktor almost on the edge, as if those luminous eyes—ruined and whole—were seeing past it all. Beyond the confines of this dark room, beyond Viktor, beyond time itself.
Silco’s words silenced the thought. “The waters changed me. In more ways than one. However, it wasn’t until that last moment, as they filled my lungs, burning through me, that I finally saw the truth. The truth that I think Vander had seen before me. The truth that forced his hand.
“My rage had made me blind, but the water washed the smoke from my eyes so that at long last I could finally see it too….” Silco trailed off for a moment, almost wistful but not quite. His face remained a mask of perfect calm, even as he ran his free hand through that perfect coif of his, ruining it.
“Could see what?” Viktor heard himself whisper, the words leaving his lips before his mind registered the actions.
Strands of black and silver-gray fell over Silco’s pale brow in an artful tumble as he turned the full weight of gaze back to Viktor. “That I didn’t need Vander,” finished Silco with a bitter smile. “I never did.”
Viktor felt as though he were caught in the eye of a hurricane. He could only lean against the headboard, still as a statue, when, without warning, Silco moved towards him. The older man stood before him, eyes glittering once more as he produced a handkerchief from his back pocket. It was followed by a little flask, not ornate but smooth and achingly practical.
Viktor watched silently as Silco poured a few drops of some harsh, clear liquid onto the corner of the cloth, raising it gently to Viktor’s face. He waited, as though asking for permission. Viktor felt himself nod, and a moment later, Silco was crouching down to his level, wiping tenderly at the bloodied corners of Viktor’s mouth—washing away all the red. The cool liquid stung faintly, but it soon faded away into nothing but a faint thrum of sensation. Warm and heavy, tinged with smoke.
“Sometimes,” Silco told Viktor, voice soft and smooth as ever, “the end must be vicious. Often it requires violence, brutality even. If only to show you can do whatever survival demands of you—that you are equal to it. In pursuit of the future, there can be no room for weakness, but occasionally, letting go of the past requires greater strength.”
Silco set the cloth aside, letting his thumb slid gently across the curve of Viktor’s bottom lip before he pulled it away, a sad smile on his face. “So, if you wish to let Mr. Talis go quietly instead, I would understand. ”
Viktor watched, almost in a daze as Silco rose, returning to his original place for yet another long drag of that half-burned-down cigarette. When he spoke again, there was a tinge of fondness to the words. “Jinx, however, will not. She seems quite taken with you already. So, I suggest that, if you wish to spare Mr. Talis an unpleasant end, you keep his name out of any conversation about this evening for the time being and instruct Sevika to do the same. Jinx does not share my forgiving nature. She would be inclined to take his hands.” That dark amusement returned to Silco’s voice once more. “And I to look the other way.”
Viktor believed him. Nevertheless, the mention of Jinx sparked an old question, one Viktor had nearly lost in the chaos of the day.
“Did you ask her to break into the lab?”
Silco raised an eyebrow in mild surprise but did not seem too caught off guard by the question—If anything, Viktor thought, the man looked tired, just as exhausted as the rest of them—perhaps even more so.
“No,” Silco started carefully, “I did not. In fact, I had no intention of ever interfering with you or your work unless absolutely necessary.”
Viktor nodded, content to let it rest for the time being, but Silco, it seemed, wasn’t done quite yet. “You must have realized that my enterprise relies on maintaining a low profile. At least as far as the topside is concerned. Even having you brought here to me that night was a risk. I only did it because I could not allow myself to miss that chance. Jinx….” Silco paused, looking for the right word. “Jinx can be volatile. And that is at the best of times. There are nights when I think I should have shortened her leash, but that time has long since passed. Now I must content myself with doing what I can to ensure she doesn’t stray too far out of reach.”
Viktor noticed the way Silco’s eyes flicked gently over to the bloodstained shirt, resting in a heap on the wood floor. A moment later, Silco’s voice pulled Viktor’s back to him.
“She broke into your lab because she wanted to prove herself. She thought I had doubted her.”
Viktor could hear the sadness in the older man’s voice, the quiet resolution. He thought of the way Jinx had collapsed into him, the look in her blue eyes—on the brink. No, Viktor thought with a heavy sigh; it was little surprise she had resorted to something so drastic. What better way to prove her worth than to single-handedly secure the future of Zaun—hex tech in the palm of your hand. And so she had done, even if she did not yet have the tools nor the knowledge to use it.
“Do you have the crystal she took? The refined one.”
Silco’s only answer was a slight incline of the head, eyes flashing with that familiar light.
“Good,” Viktor nodded crisply, mind already racing ahead to his plans, altering and amending where necessary. “That should make our work much easier. I will still require more raw materials, but access to a new crystal will save a great deal of time. They are not exactly easy things to procure these days.”
Silco’s surprised laugh caught Viktor’s attention, his mind instantly filing it away in the ever-growing repertoire of the man’s expressions. It was a deep, bright sound, so far removed from the dark chuckles the man had favored him with before. Viktor watched with a half-smile as Silco’s thin body shook with the force of his mirth. Perhaps more interestingly, that hungry look was back, this time tinged with a little bit of wonder.
“You are magnificent, Viktor. Better than I could have ever imagined.” With that, Silco reached to grab a little ashtray from where it rested beside him, covered with Jinx’s familiar doodles. As Silco put out what little remained of his cigarette, Viktor felt a sharp stab of pain shoot up his side, no doubt an aftereffect of spending too long locked in one position.
He turned, delicately as he could manage, from his side to set his back against the headboard, legs finally stretching out along the full length of the bed. He relaxed into the increased support with a heavy sigh, eyes falling closed. The adrenaline had long faded, and now all that remained were the familiar aches—the need to rest.
Viktor did not even bother to open his eyes as he felt the mattress shift beside him. It seemed that Silco had finally grown tired of standing like a guest in his own room. Viktor thought with a dry smile that it was about time. The weight of his exhaustion was starting to grow too heavy, all thoughts turning towards sleep. “Tired?” Came that silky drawl. “I suppose it has been a rather eventful day.”
Viktor hummed in response, suddenly too weary to manage anything else. A moment later, he felt a familiar hand run across the length of his damaged leg, touch feather-light—taking the lay of the land. Eventually, the hand settled on Viktor’s boots, where it was joined by another. Viktor managed a contented sigh as Silco began unlacing them. The first proved easier than the second it seemed, but a minute later, Viktor heard the gentle thunk of the shoes as they were placed carefully on the floor.
The hand resumed its survey, a thin finger tracing the curves and contours of Viktor’s lanky body. The touch was soothing, a balm to ward against the tired aches.
“A room has been set aside for you,” Silco whispered gently. “Say the word, and I will take you there. If the strain is too much, I can carry you.”
Viktor smiled sleepily, eyes fluttering open, but only halfway. Silco was waiting calmly, finger still swirling carefully against him—tracing intricate patterns.
“And what if,” Viktor countered, the fatigue making him daring, “I am quite comfortable here?”
Silco offered Viktor another one of those sharp smiles, alive and just a little dangerous.
“Then you may stay.”
And Viktor did. He let his eyes fall closed once more, revealing in the familiar warmth of cinnamon and smoke closing in around him, sinking easily into a deep sleep. However, it was no longer the sleep of the drowned but filled with dreams, absent of fear and anger. Memories and hopes swirling together in an iridescent haze, transformed into pools of light and dark and blinding blue, bright as the color of Jinx’s hair.
Viktor dove into them, letting the waters flex around him, delighting in their velvet grasp against his delicate skin. He sank deeper, down to the places where a thousand jewels glimmered in the dark, beautiful and bright, filled with magic. Viktor marveled at the way they shone, kaleidoscopic colors to rival anything to be found above the surface--rough and unpolished, yet glittering, all the same, determined to push back against the darkness around them. And this time, when the water shifted around him, and he felt Silco’s strong hands take hold of him, pulling Viktor’s lithe body into a fierce embrace, there were no dreams of fire, only peace, and possibility.
Yet, far above their heads, in the fires of the Talis forges, the heat had grown almost unbearable. The flames roared high and bright, but every sound was drowned out by the deafening clang of metal on metal. Jayce Talis wiped the sweat from his brow, chest heaving with the weight of the exertion. His muscular shoulder was still wrapped in a heavy bandage, the white now stained with tell-tale red. There was pain with every movement, a bitter sting to match the ache left behind by Viktor’s words—his melodic voice twisted in that agonized scream, elfin face contorted with it. Clang! The metal gave way once more, bending to Jayce’s will. Clang! A shape began to take hold, the runes etched so carefully into the almost molten metal beginning to shine brightly. Clang! Clang! Clang! Again and again until at long last, the forge fell silent, and burning red was replaced with brilliant blue as the hex crystal slotted neatly into place.
And yet, though it was the bright glow of magic that cast odd shadows on Jayce Talis’ handsome face, behind him, the flames still roared.