The Zaunite thumbed at the black leather that adorned his hands, absentmindedly picking at the little wrinkles and cracks that crept around his steel wrist. Leaning back against a steam-powered vehicle, he watched crowds of people hustling by, and gently tugged on the hem of his left glove snagged by his joint.

'We need to talk…' his heavy voice repeated in his head while a strange tightness began forming in the pit of his stomach at the thought. The knot grew, 'But what to say?' Viktor wet his dry lips and pursed them in contemplation. This was perplexing, trying to find his Self in a steel labyrinth, and then revealing that to another person. Was he trying to venture further into the dark, into the core of a broken, feeble man? Or was he trying to find the way out of this maze of madness. Though how could he really when he was groping blindly for the chain or red string that would lead him to the truth, one the Zaunite believed did not even exist for that matter. He needed to light his path, take a step forward, and never look back.

Viktor let out a shuddery breath and narrowed his eyes. Turning his head toward the direction of the Institute, half expecting a certain champion to come waltzing out from the sea of robed summoners. What an odd twist of fate, considering the chances, to end up saved by the one person he antagonized, haunted, and wanted dead so to speak. Maybe, that was where he could start, from the beginning.

Start from the beginning again, that was something he was familiar with. This time, he would tell Jayce everything. This time, he was ready.

The Zaunite was ready to go home.

"Where are you, Jayce?"

The man stalked about the mouth of the institute, pulling himself towards a familiar figure. His armor sounding off as he marched towards the Herald at a brisk pace. The coarse leather gloves lifting to wave the other into the car. The other slamming atop the car, his eyes looking into the Heralds with deep concern. His brow dropped into a vicious stare as parted lips gave way to a grained voice "So help you, if you're lying to me, I'll wring your neck. Not only have you wrought the hatred of Ezreal on me, but I'll be damned into perdition if you turn on me." the flat hand now turning into an accusatory point, baring into the half-caste.

"Make me an honest man and you the new found guardian, Viktor. Not the Perjurer." the pointed finger now writhing into the leather of his glove, which squealed out a wicked sound of crunching material. The free hand grasping at the door handle in a quickened manner.

Jayce sat idly as he awaited the other to enter the vehicle. His mind transfixed on the absinthian taste left in his mouth from his talk with the kid.

"And in a matter of seconds he managed to turn you against us…"

Viktor…

Hissing into his subconscious, the name struck into his nerves like a blade of the night, piercing his tolerance for the situation he had put himself into. An unforgiving burn that seared into his heart, branding itself into him like a scarlet letter.

Betrayer. Coward. Fool.

The teeth of the defender gritting together leaving an unsettling sound to ring through the car until finally the fist's of Jayce slammed into the steering wheel out of frustration. Punch after punch. A furious growl came out of him as he leaned into the machine, his hands white-knuckling the circle. He calmed himself before the click of the door was heard from the passenger side. His chest heaved with heavy breath as he pushed himself up-right. His eyes deadlocked onto the console, teeth still grinding into one another.

The Zaunite closed the passenger door and settled in to the leather seat of the vehicle with eyes calmly watching the defender's displayed rage. Although his face remained apathetic, he felt each word thrust into him like a serrated dagger, twisting sharply through flesh and into bone. Maintaining his composure, Viktor waited a brief moment for the man's aggressive behavior to abate before he reached across the glove compartment to clasp a firm hand on Jayce's forearm. The half-caste locked eyes with the hero:

"Breathe." Viktor said nonchalantly, oddly taking a deep breath as well. He looked into the man's eyes, "You don't have to do this." As soon as those words slipped from his lips, he bit his tongue; and immediately, a bitter iron taste filled his mouth as he tried to elaborate further. However, he found nothing better to continue with so instead he found himself repeating himself once more. "You don't."

The Zaunite felt the affliction emanating from the Piltovian inventor. Swallowing the pungent flavor of blood again, he slowly uncurled his gloved fingers and withdrew his hand. Viktor then turned his head away, eyes resting on the dashboard, and whispered, his voice barely audible above the hum of the engine.

"But thank you for… defending me, Jayce."

Viktor set his hands down on his lap. His coat scrunched beneath his fingers as his hands turned into clenched fists. The Zaunite waited patiently for the other man to respond. Whatever the Hero decided, Viktor was prepared to face the music.

"I wish it were that simple…"

Discord pierced his mind like a cursed fallacy, leaving the man to sit idly in the driver's seat of the vehicle. The rage that had fed on his misfortune, finally subsiding with the touch of the Herald. Whether or not the Defender found consolation in the other man's attempt, was unseen by Viktor. Jayce's gaze only shot forward, empty and alone. Dead eyes seemed to linger too long on the now warped leather of the wheel.

"What I've done… is absolutely unforgivable." Eyes shutting closed as lips pulled themselves back into his cheeks. His lips taken captive by his mouth, an absolute look of malfeasance. He sat quiet for a few moments before iced eyes brought back the light that was the world of Runeterra. Capturing everything around him. The defender felt as if he were in a dream now, lost in a strange pit of limbo that he could not climb out of. Allying with adversaries and deserting brethren, a strange emptiness took home in the heart of the hero as he slumped slightly in his seat, now even more visibly distraught than before.

Jayce searched his mind for anything he could say, any words that would allow him to express the blackness that was seeping into his subconsciousness. But it was drowning him, smothering him away from the light of trust and friendship. He was a coward, a coward that refused to turn his back on a man that wanted him dead.

A coward that broke one of the closet people to him.

Why. The hero questioned himself over and over, completely oblivious of the running car and half-caste sitting next to him. His departure from this place would seal his fate with the young prodigy, but after he lingered on his contemplation, he realized— he had already severed any kind of bond the two had.

Anger boiled within him again as he screamed, bolting himself forward in a violent manner against the wheel of the vehicle, sobbing mercilessly into it's leather covering.

"What have I done?!" his voice cracked as gloves screeched against the wheel. "There's no salvation from this, I'm damned to forever lose my 'brother'. All because of you." heaving himself back into the seat his hands pummeled into his cheeks, an exasperated gasp came from him as he tried to bring himself to a calm. His cries becoming more distressed than before.

"Damnit!" his breathing erratic and completely uncontrollable. The eyes of the hero bolting open, tinged with red from the tears. Searching aimlessly into the ceiling of the car as if to find answers there. "Viktor…" a small whimper escaped the hero as he sat defenseless in front of the herald. "You have to make this right again… You have to show them you've changed… please, for my sanity… for my friends…for everyone. Show them you've actually changed, don't make my pain be in vain, for the love of god…" there was no mistaking the stress that played through his voice like a tragic melody.

The Zaunite shook his head, his face holding an empty look of pity for the other inventor. "I can't promise you that, but what I can promise you, Jayce," he looked the afflicted man in the eyes, "that I am no longer who I was. Not the Machine Herald. Not the Viktor of Zaun."

"I'm damned to forever lose my 'brother'. All because of you."

The hero's words rung in his head almost painfully, causing the man to shift in his seat. Viktor released his coat, fingers leaving impressions in the fabric, and brought his hands to his head and running them through his hair. Gathering himself, Viktor reminded the Piltovian, "Jayce, what you've done? You've saved a life. You saved me when you could have easily let me go. But you didn't. It was solely your choice." He stressed, "Yours."

Had it been the other way around with Jayce's back to the edge, Viktor was certain the results would have been different. "Look," Viktor added, "I can leave. If this will fix everything for you, I can do that."

Viktor found it difficult to comfort the Defender when he was the root of all his troubles. The vile and toxic source was sitting right next to the Hero. The former Herald looked to the passenger door and back at the man. He repeated again,

"I can go. You've done enough. You've suffered needlessly and enough because of me. It's not… too late to go back to Ezreal. He is your brother not your enemy. If he can't see that, then it is he that has betrayed you."

The unsettling pulling sound the Defender's gloves made on the steering wheel filled the vehicle in a shrill squeal. The thick air leading it hard to breathe. Desperation. He needed to do this, he needed to prove a point to the Prodigy, but the lurking darkness that struggled to keep his soul captive hung like a curse. The hero's doubts surfacing stronger than ever about the herald's loyalties. "You say you've changed…" Jayce began, a bitter tone in his voice "I know you almost dived off that tower… but why… Why did you try and kill yourself, Herald. Was it knowing that I'd be there? Did you know that I was lurking in Zaun, watching you personally?" an embroiled look took hold of the hero's face, wanting for an answer, any answer that he could use to justify his betrayal.

His mind throwing him back to the night that the Half-caste jeopardized his existence…

He recalled the throttling winds that conquered the city, in a desperate golden fog that held fast. The hero pulling down the dark cloak that hid him away from the denizens of Zaun, watching the troubled augmented man strut about the courtyard as if debating his actions. The defender's eyes piercing into the other man, waiting for the Herald to advance to a new destination. It had been weeks since his arrival here in Zaun and his recent information of the Herald sent the Piltovian to personally investigate. The bustle of the market weaving through the various stands of goods: from metal for mechanical works, to strange fleshy substances that held a putrid stench.

The hero's watch was ever devoted to the ideal that the Herald had stopped working on his evolution. The informants' words leaving a shy suggestion that the half-caste had planned to abandon his cause, broken from lack of progress, and so there was Jayce, observing the man himself. Leaving no trace of his arrival or presence. It was not like the defender to go about such low tactics, but he had to make sure.

Suddenly, the Herald took leave for a tower, one of the taller structures in the city. Climbing it's rusted shapes upwards until the top. The hero lurking behind him, letting the shadows shield him from unwanted eyes. And there in the final moment, He saw the man that was known as Viktor. Take his first step towards the edge of oblivion. Lips parted as the winds bolted a wicked gust into the defender, thrusting the hood of his shadow off his head. Exposing his deep brown hair to the yellow fog.

Furious winds whipped about the clothes of the two men as the hero watched the Herald stand upon the edge of the tower. "What are you doing?!" he called out to him, the dense yellow fog of Zaun brushing between the two figures."You're going to throw away a life's worth of work, and for what?!" his voice struggling to carry through the fierce winds. "This isn't the Machine Herald that stuck me down so many years ago! WHERE IS HE?!" the hero stretching his arm out as if to grab at the other man.

"Dead. As I will be."

Dead eyes now looked into the Herald, his lips parted with his recollection of the day. "Tell me why…" his voice begged.

"Since when did you become so conceited, Hero? Did you think that I had cared for your existence at that moment? I cared for nothing." he remarked in an off hand manner with a slight twitch of his right thumb. "I was simply selfish, tired of my failures and feeling the weight of my sins upon me. It's funny how the old fairy tales and cliches carry a grain of truth…. Atlas and his burden?"

"Need I remind you…" his lips drew into a frown, "that had I gone, you would have fallen as well. And in that moment, I thought I couldn't deprive the future of its tomorrow. That is why I sit here now. Because tomorrow needs protecting, yes?" His head cocked to the side as he turned to face the Defender, a wisp of a smile on his lips.

The rage that boiled in the hero was not helped by the Heralds snide remarks of his delayed end. "I pull you from your hell, give you a second chance and now you're spitting malicious words towards me." the defender snapped almost lashing out at the other man. Recollecting himself the defender sat back into the leather. "Deprive the future of its tomorrow. Tomorrow will always come, Viktor." Jayce scorned "My apprentice will carry on my work should I fall along my path." The defender's glare rattled the half-caste and after a time broke his look upon the other. His hands dropping into his lap, adjusting himself to begin the drive to Piltover.

"I had watched you for quite some time before you decided to throw yourself off that tower." the hero added after a silence had hung in the humming car. The dimming sun behind them as they attempted to meet the moon. "You looked… browbeaten and worn. There were moments where I thought it was appropriate to approach you but I was always cut off by a random denizen of Zaun." Jayce's words fell off as he spoke, losing themselves upon the Herald's ears.

Darkness had fallen upon the road as they progressed steadily towards the techmaturgy capital of Runeterra. The growl of the engine filling the emptiness of the vehicle as they drove. No other words were shared between the two, no idle banter of where he would keep the herald, no talk of his apprentice any further. The defender was absolutely focused on just getting back to Piltover to remove himself from everyone, to settle himself if you will.

He knew the young girl, Mira, would appreciate his need to do so. Viktor, however, may cause this needed solitude problems. He felt uneasy at the thought of leaving the half-caste with his apprentice. Was she as impressionable with him as she was with the hero? His face became contorted in annoyance as he thought to himself.

Could he trust the Herald with the others…?

The Zaunite opened his mouth to refute the man's accusation; but he decided against saying any more, no need to add fuel to the flames. The former Herald's words had fallen on deaf ears, so Viktor promptly elevated his jaw until his mouth shut, and he leaned against the side door. Better he wait for the storm to calm before he should set sail. He had to ride it out sitting in the car, watching the world fly pass him. If the Piltovian perceived his words as spiteful when they were sincere, then clearly there was little point in trying to reason with Jayce when half of his attention was on the slick road and the other focused on trying to justify his betrayal of his supposed brother.

Try and pin the blame on the half-caste, make him out to be the sacrificial lamb. Viktor was far from blameless though, the atrocities his hands had committed. The cranium that sat atop his personal desk, the cadavers he bought easily with the clinking of coin, and the many willing human volunteers he had proselytized for clinical trials. Of course there were valid reasons to make him the goat. Although he was deserving of the Hero's pent up fury, it, however, did not make Jayce's words anymore right. Regardless, Viktor gladly swallowed the bitterness. In the very least it gave him something to occupy the vacant space within him. What did it matter to a hollowed soul to add another tally and tick to a mangled corpse? That was his mentality during experimentations.

Suddenly the echoes of the Herald's thoughts swirled in his head, 'Adapt or be removed.' It crept from the recesses of his mind, a haunting whisper on the wind.

But Viktor knew better, the choice was simple. He chose the latter after having set the timer in motion, listening to the whirring of the vehicle's motors like clockwork and the raindrops like constant ticking. Viktor sat back and repressed the machine to observe from a new and removed perspective.

A strange lethargy silenced the Zaun inventor completely until finally he felt the rumbling of the engines halt. He stirred to life as the steam machine died, looking at the familiar home from the paved way. A leather hand hooked around a lock and a handle, Viktor pushed open the passenger door. The half-caste felt the crunching of gravel beneath his heavy black boots as he surveyed the other man's house. The wide windows overlooking the city of Piltover, it had been a good while since he last stepped foot on the estate. He took a few strides toward the door, a deep imprint with every move from the weight of metal. Viktor pursed his lips as he looked to the entrance of the humble abode and then back at the Defender. Last he heard a certain little girl was taken under Jayce's wings as his new apprentice now nested here. He recalled the image of a tiny child with light ashen brown hair with a personality that more than made up for her lack of height. What was her name, he racked his mind. They had spoken on a few occasions. Looking at the sea of storm clouds, he remembered:

Mira, the Messenger from the City of Spero.