It was in rare moments like this that Viktor found himself calmly resting. He observed all that he had achieved from afar, took in the success of the commune, and wished that this moment could have been shared with his partner.
Hextech had been given to the people, just as they had always wanted. Not weapons for war, investments for hungry politicians, or personal gain for those seeking power.
The temple bell rang throughout the commune to signal the end of another day. The heartbeat of the people acted as one. Those in the fields finished the last of their work and left it to be finished tomorrow.
Children rushed back to their homes for supper, and the vendors in the center square began to pack their wares neatly.
A cool breeze carried the scent of smoke from stoves and hearths.
While the moment was bittersweet, it was to be celebrated all the same.
A low thrum broke the serene moment. It was a sound that began in the back of his skull. A disturbance that no one else heard but he. His nose curled in discomfort, his eyebrows pulling in confusion as the sound grew.
It became insistent, as if demanding his attention.
His hand was brought to his face as he attempted to shake his head free of the sound. It only grew insistent. His sight shifted as if physical static grew before him.
A strained sound left his throat as the sound grew louder. And when he thought his skull would split, it gave way to a distortion.
He had seen this before. When the arcane strained and pulled at the physical ties of reality.
The passing of a cog through the magic they had created that night.
The ground before him skipped and distorted. Static and broken blocks of time scrambled and strained.
And from the distortion, a piece of wood rolled towards him and came to a harmless halt before his feet.
Breathing heavily, he stared at the piece of wood, no, a pencil, he realized on the ground.
His expression ticked into confusion and intrigue. Slowly, he crouched and reached for it.
As soon as metal fingertips touched the teeth-mark-riddled wood, flashes of visages that were not his own violently flicked through his mind.
He gasped, flailing backward, his staff clattering to the ground beside him. His chest rose and fell rapidly. Visions of the future? Past?
Ever-shifting eyes flicked along the expanse of such an innocent tool as he stared, confused.
