Chapter Text
The smell of sulfur and humidity clung to Silco like a second skin. The office, carved into the heart of the factory, was tomb-like, lined with dark wood and metal. Dim lamps barely pierced the smog, a thick blanket gathering over the city like a harbinger of a coming storm. Reports lay on the rough leather table: Shimmer production was likely delayed, the few chem-barons were slow to cooperate even after sealing a deal, and the unrest in the lower levels of Zaun was growing worse by the day. This city, his city, was breathing irregularly, and Silco could feel the pain like his own heartbeat.
At first, the morning was no different from hundreds of others that had passed in this stifling atmosphere of power. But the day no longer promised to be calm.
Viktor.
Viktor, his pride and also a reason to all his heavy thoughts, was about to arrive. Their meeting promised a new round of endless struggle. Silco knew there was more at stake than the stubbornness of a fourteen-year-old genius inventor. At stake was Zaun. And Silco himself.
Viktor, with his brilliant mind and fragile body, thought of Piltover's Academy. It was his greatest wish, his path to the future he saw for Zaun.
But for Silco, it meant losing the one person he truly cared about, and whom he also called his son.
Silco knew that sooner or later Viktor would have talk with him directly about it. The hints became more frequent and less veiled. Unable to bear it any longer, he asked his son to come to his office and finally work the courage to speak up about what he wanted.
By his own admission, boy had already made considerable progress with his plan. He was quickly taking steps toward his goal by preparing documents and gathering the necessary tools and materials for a project that he could present to the committee for review in order to receive grants.
And Silco had to make a decision that could determine the fate of more than just his son. The problem with the production of the Shimmer is only the tip of the iceberg. There is a greater threat on the horizon - the threat of losing the boy. And that loss could mean the end of everything Silco has spent years building.
But soon the man's thoughts were interrupted by the familiar rhythmic thud of Viktor's cane hitting the floor. The young man quickly opened the door to his office and walked in without any unnecessary pleasantries like knocking or waiting for permission to enter.
He stopped near the chair opposite his father's desk and, placing his hands on the back of the chair, hung there in an awkward pause. His cane, hanging from the crook of his elbow, swayed a little from side to side like an old tumbler toy.
Viktor continued to stand, and Silco glanced at him with a sigh since he was unimpressed by behaviour.
All that feigned youthful pride was of no use here right now.
"Sit down already."
Strangely enough, the son obeyed him without further argument. He just sighed demonstratively and it would look like he was there to be scolded for breaking his father's favorite cup and not life altering decision. As if Silco had ever scolded him for something so insignificant.
Three minutes passed. Then two more. Silco had not intended to start this conversation, since he had practically nothing pleasant to say, so he waited.
But the heavy thump of his knuckles on the table broke the silence and Viktor, always pale and looking a bit out of place, while leaning on his cane for emotional support, finally unfroze.
His eyes, usually bright with curiosity and ingenuity, were dull, filled with nervousness. Silco watched him, feeling the iron grip of power weaken before the helplessness of his own son.
He wished he had never asked to talk to him about it if he knew what it would end up bringing in the end.