Chapter Text
Jayce Talis had died for his princess four times.
The knight remembered each death in exact, excruciating detail. The searing pain of plasma bolts ripping through his chest, the weight of collapsing rubble pinning him as his body suffocated. The sharp snap of his spine when he intercepted the assassin’s blade meant for her. The cold emptiness of drowning in the void of Piltover’s moon, Zaun’s underbelly, screaming lungs filling with black water as he held her above the surface. Each time, he awoke in the same sterile pod, organs buzzing, body dragging in another first desperate breath, muscles trembling from the strain of rebirth. The med-techs always flinched when they saw him. The process was flawed. He knew that. There were cracks forming in his cells, fractures too small for their scanners to catch.
He was the fifth.
And he would be the last.
Jayce slammed his hammer against the anvil, sparks scattering across the forge. The metal beneath his grip was still cooling, the weapon taking shape. His workbench was cluttered with schematics, energy cores, discarded plating—remnants of weapons meant to kill and protect. His legacy, he supposed. He had designed every piece of armor he wore, every blade hidden beneath his gauntlets, every charge embedded into his warhammer. This was who he was. He was not merely Mel Medarda’s knight. He was her shield, her sword, her executioner.
He could not afford to fail her again.
The forge’s doors slid open with a hiss. Elora stepped inside. A mimic of Mel, down to the elegant drape of her garments, the purposeful way she moved. He’d only seen her true form twice. “Sir Talis?”
Jayce didn’t look up. The anvil rang again, the hammer’s weight driving the heated metal into shape. “You’re late.”
Elora’s heels tapped softly against the forge’s metal grating as she approached. “You’re impatient,” she countered, voice smooth—Mel’s cadence, but not Mel’s unique warmth around him. He never mistook them. Her earrings, embedded with hex-gems, shimmered in the forge’s glow, distorting the illusion that wrapped her form.
“You’re bleeding through,” he muttered, nodding toward her ear.
Elora sighed, lifting a manicured hand to adjust the gems. A flicker—skin darkened, eyes sharpened, lips curved in something too flat to be Mel’s. Then, the illusion settled again. “Satisfied?”
He exhaled sharply through his nose. “Not my concern.”
“It should be. I’m supposed to be the target. If you can see through the hex, so can Noxus.” She glanced at the scattered schematics, the half-assembled gauntlet, the cracked core humming weakly on the workbench. Hextechnology was the one thing they had over the ever growing empire. One thing wasn’t nearly enough. “You’re overclocking them again. Viktor said the cores won’t hold if you push them past their threshold.”
Jayce bristled. “Viktor’s not the one wearing them.”
“No. But Viktor is the one keeping you from turning into slag.”
A hiss of hydraulics cut through the forge’s heat as the side door slid open. “Speaking of,” Elora murmured.
Viktor stepped inside, cane tapping against the floor, Sky trailing just behind him with a tablet in hand. The dim light caught on the faint bioluminescence threading through her veins—a side effect of her return. A miracle, or a mistake, depending on the hour. Sky only had to be brought back once.
“We’re partners. When were you going to inform me that you’re modifying your body without proper testing again,” Viktor said without preamble, eyeing the mess of blueprints.
Jayce wiped a hand across his brow, smearing soot over his temple. “Didn’t need testing last time.”
Sky’s veins sparked. “Last time, you nearly melted your own bones, Sir Talis.”
“Small price.” He turned back to his work. “I’m fine.”
Viktor sighed, exasperation layered beneath exhaustion. “You are not infinite, Jayce. Your cells—”
“Are already breaking down. I know.”
Viktor shifted his grip on the cane, fingers tightening as he stepped further inside. His gait had worsened, Jayce noticed. The brace along his leg hummed with faint energy, stabilizing his movements, but the strain was visible in the creases along his brow. He tilted his head toward the workbench, scanning the chaotic sprawl of blueprints and half-built mechanisms.
Sky hesitated at the threshold. She had reviewed the data, had run the numbers, had cross-checked every variable twice. Even with all of that, saying it aloud felt like overstepping. But Viktor had asked her to come. That mattered. “Sir Talis, I… I think it’s best that you rest.”
Jayce pushed past her concern, reaching for the gauntlet half-formed on the bench. He tested the weight, flexed the plating between his fingers, watching how the energy field flickered in the seams.
“The decay rate is accelerating,” she said. She exchanged a glance with Viktor. “If you keep reinforcing the cellular structure with hex reweaving, the destabilization will become irreversible. The fractures—”
“You’re accelerating your degradation,” Viktor interrupted, dragging a schematic closer. The ink was smudged in places, Jayce’s heavy hand pressing too hard into the paper. “This sequencing—this is a direct bypass of the containment fields. You are forcing the cores past their limits with no failsafe.”
Jayce flexed his fingers, rolling stiffness from his knuckles. “The failsafe is me.”
Sky flinched, her grip on the tablet tightening. She stood slightly behind Viktor, half-hidden, shoulders drawn inward. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet, careful.
“That’s not how science works,” she said.
Jayce exhaled, tapping the hammer against the anvil in thought. The sharp clang filled the space before he set the tool down. He massaged his temples, sliding his hand down over his mouth then off his chin. “I don’t have the luxury of waiting. We’re already losing ground.”
Sky hesitated, then stepped forward, brushing past Viktor. She reached for one of the cracked crystals, holding it up to the forge’s glow. The fractures webbed through the casing, energy leaking in faint, unstable pulses.
“Hm, interesting.” she said, turning it over in her hands. “The latticework is too rigid. It needs flex points to disperse the load instead of internalizing all of it at the center.”
Jayce folded his arms. “That’ll dilute the power output.”
“It’ll also keep you from turning into a collapsed star,” Sky shot back, looking surprised at her own tone as soon as the words left her lips.
Viktor smirked. “Miss Young is correct.” Sky’s blue veins glowed a little brighter and her cheeks flushed. He reached out. “Your brute force approach is commendable, but it will kill you far sooner than necessary.”
Jayce ran a hand through his hair, sighing. The forge was too hot, his armor too heavy, the weight of everything pressing in from all sides. But Viktor was right. Sky was right. He turned toward the workbench, rolling up his sleeves.
“Fine,” he muttered. “We do it your way. But if it slows me down—”
“It won’t.” Sky had already moved, pulling a fresh schematic from the pile, adjusting the design with precise strokes. There was a shift in her expression, quiet focus settling in.
Viktor watched her for a moment before turning back to Jayce. “And your body?”
Jayce hesitated. His reflection wavered in the polished metal of the anvil. The answer sat heavy in his chest. He picked up his hammer again, gripping it tight.
“We keep moving,” he said. “That’s all there is.”
Viktor didn’t argue. But the silence between them said enough.
“Pace yourself. If not for your own sake,” Elora said. “Do it for hers.”
Mel thought of Zaun often. It was Piltover’s moon—a skeletal mining colony, its jagged spires clawing at the void. Between them streaked ships, firefly-small, darting toward the serpentine Noxian armada looming on the horizon. The empire’s flagship, Dominion , was less a vessel than a ravenous, artificial planet, its obsidian hull studded with captured city-ships, their architectures half-digested into its expanding mass. It devoured as it moved. Noxus would never be sated. She bit her lip, had she become Noxus to the moon? She glanced out the window of the dining hall, the moon was dark tonight.
Jayce watched her from across the table, his gauntlets discarded, sleeves rolled to the elbow. The scars along his forearms pulsed faintly, gold residue seaming his skin like a cracked statue held toghether with liquid opulence. He was breathing art.
“Elora replicated my favorite meal.” Mel said, gesturing to the steaming platter between them. The mint was grown in Piltover’s aeroponics bay. "Try it."
Jayce didn’t touch the food. “You’re avoiding the briefing.”
“Am I?” She tilted her head, the motion calculated, a queen parsing a threat. Her gaze drifted to the moon. “The Viper-class scouts returned from Zaun’s lower sectors. Their reports… troubled me.”
He followed her sightline to the mining colony, its skeletal rigs swarmed by Noxian drones. They’re strip-mining , he realized. Preparing for invasion . His jaw tightened. “You sent scouts without me.”
“You’ve been occupied. The modifications Viktor mentioned—”
“Are handled.” He flexed his hand; the joints hissed, overclocked hydraulics muffled beneath skin. A lie. The fractures in his cells ached, a static buzz beneath every movement.
Mel’s lashes lowered. She lifted her wine, the liquid catching the ember-glow of her magic—a dormant glow, wild and untrained, that even now sparked in her pupils when pain licked at her edges. “I’ve decided to tour the lower Zaun sectors. The Black Lanes. Firstlight.”
The gauntlet he’d been repairing earlier—discarded on a workbench, still crackling with unstable energy—flashed in his mind. Firstlight . The district where he’d drowned the third time, lungs shredding on polluted brine as he held her above the waves. “No.”
“It’s not a request, Sir Talis.”
He stood abruptly, chair screeching against the glass floor. “You think walking into a warzone’s a strategic outing? Or is this another penance?” He regretted it instantly.
Mel didn’t flinch. But her thumb brushed the stem of her glass once, twice—a tell she’d never quite smothered. When she’d been exiled, not yet even twenty, her mother had sliced that same thumb on the ceremonial blade severing their bond. A Medarda bleeds only for empire , Ambessa had said. Yet Mel had kept the scar, a ridge hidden beneath her rings. Her mother was with her, perhaps they were one in the same. Mel thought of Zaun’s waters.
“Sit. Please.”
He didn’t. The terrace’s climate controls whirred, yet sweat pricked his neck. “You want to martyr yourself? Fine. But don’t you dare pretend it’s diplomacy. Noxus won’t care if you grovel aboard their ships.”
“And you would rather I cower here?” Her mask slipped—a tremor in her chin, quickly stilled. “This is strategy. If I can sway Zaun’s factions before Dominion arrives—”
“They’ll kill you. Or worse, let Noxus do it.” He braced his hands on the table, leaning into her space. Her perfume enveloped him—nightbloom and ionized ore, that intoxicating scent that haunted his regenerated lungs. “You’re not running reconnaissance. You’re chasing fucking ghosts.”
Mel’s breath hitched. For a heartbeat, her magic flared—golden light licking her fingertips, warping the air like heat haze. Then it vanished. She smoothed her napkin, a pointless gesture; the linen was already pristine. “My mother used to say a ruler’s strength is measured by the scars she chooses.” Her laugh was bitter, quiet. “But you’ve borne mine long enough.”
Jayce reached for her hand. Stopped himself. Touch was his language, not hers. Instead, he gripped the back of his chair. “Princess—”
Elora cleared her throat. “Apologies, my lady. The Noxian envoys have docked. They’re… insistent.”
Mel rose, her gown pooling like liquid shadow. “See them to the atrium. I’ll receive them shortly.”
Elora bowed, but hesitated. Her illusion flickered—concern bleeding through—before she retreated.
“You’re really doing this?” Jayce muttered.
She turned to the viewport. Dominion ’s shadow crept over Zaun, its accretion beams already leaching the moon’s core. “The armada enters the sector in three cycles. They’ll demand my return. Or war.”
“They’ll get war.”
“They’ll get you .” She blinked back tears. “Torn apart and reborn again. What happens when there’s nothing left of you to rebuild? How many times can you die for me, Jayce ?”
He wanted to tell her. About the clones. The cracks. That this body, warm and solid beside her, was the last echo of a man who’d loved her since she’d found him—a half-dead engineer—in the ruins of a lab, her hands steady as she staunched his bleeding. You have a terrible habit of saving things , she’d said.
Instead, he gripped his hammer propped against the table. “As many times as it takes.”
Mel’s composure fractured. A single tear slid down her cheek. She let it fall, turning back from him.
“I am getting married.”
The words hit harder than any death.
“What?”
“Jayce—”
“To who?”
The answer was in her silence. In Elora’s absence. In the way Mel’s magic now coiled around her like a chain. In the gold in those beautiful green eyes.
“Darius.” The Hand of Noxus. A peace offering. A leash. His fist slammed the table. Plates shattered. Wine seeped into the starched linen, blood-red. The wound grew.
“I won’t let them take you.”
She didn’t recoil. Didn’t lie. “It was never your choice, Sir Talis.”
“M- Your highness-”
"How long?" The words scraped his throat. He forced himself to look at her—really look. The shadows beneath her eyes, deeper than usual. The tension in her shoulders that hadn't eased in weeks. The way her rings sat slightly askew, as if she'd been twisting them. Signs he should have seen. "How long have you known?"
Mel's hand hovered over the spilled wine, magic flickering like she could gather the liquid back into the glass, reverse time itself. "The negotiations began after the third assault on Zaun's outer rings." Her voice was steady, diplomatic—the same tone she used in council chambers. It cut worse than anger would have. "I suggested a union... The terms were finalized yesterday."
Yesterday. He'd been in the forge, building weapons to protect her, while she'd been arranging her own surrender. He laughed harshly, "Were you going to tell me before or after the ceremony, Princess?"
"I'm telling you now."
"Because you had to." The words crushed him, like during his second death, when the building had collapsed around them. It’d been a calculated assassination attempt. He'd pushed her clear of the falling debris. Would always push her clear. "Or did Darius request my presence at the wedding?"
Pain flashed across her features before she could mask it. "You know why I—"
"Don't." He pushed away from the table, pacing to the viewport. Dominion's shadow had grown, devouring more of Zaun's spires. Soon it would reach Piltover. Would she be aboard by then, another trophy in Noxus's collection? His enhanced vision caught the glint of docking clamps extending from the flagship's hull. Waiting.
I love you. I love you. I love you. He thought of moments when his hand had lingered too long on hers, when her eyes had softened in private meetings, when they'd both pretended not to notice how their bodies gravitated closer in empty corridors. He'd died for her four times, but he'd lived for her countless more.
"I need you to understand," Mel said finally. "This alliance—it's the only way to protect both cities. To protect you."
"I don't need protection." He turned back to her, the fractures in his cells burning. "I need—" He caught himself, jaw clenching. Need you was too raw, too honest. Too late.
Mel took a step toward him, then stopped, remembering herself. "What do you need, Jayce?"
The way she said his name—not his title, not Sir Talis, but Jayce—made every piece of him burn. No regeneration pod could heal this. He looked at her, memorizing her cheekbones, the unique ends of her brows, the gold in her eyes. If this was the last time he'd see her like this, truly her, not some Noxian puppet...
The atrium chime sounded again. Urgent.
"They're waiting," she whispered.
Jayce's hand found his hammer, "Let them wait."
But she was already moving toward the door, her mask settling back into place. Each step widened the gulf between them—princess and knight, ruler and sword, what was and what could never be.
"My lady," he called. She paused, hand on the doorframe. "I would have died a thousand times more."
Mel didn't turn around. But her fingers pressed against the metal until her rings left marks, like tears in steel.
He had died for her four times. Perhaps this was his fifth.
Darius watched the approach of the Piltover shuttle through Dominion's observation deck. The vessel was elegant, so different from Noxian design philosophy. Their ships were built like weapons, all hard angles and exposed strength. But there was beauty in both, he supposed. Just as there would be in this union. The Hand of Noxus stood motionless, his scarred hands clasped behind his back. Few would recognize the gesture as anticipation rather than military bearing. Intelligence briefings had painted Mel Medarda as a fascinating paradox: a woman who became a princess post exile, a ruthless diplomat, secretly an organic magic user of some kind, a leader who held Piltover together through will and wit rather than force. The reports hadn't mentioned her beauty—irrelevant to military strategy—but they had detailed her mind. That interested him far more.
The shuttle's docking clamps engaged with a pneumatic hiss. Darius's honor guard shifted. He glanced at them, an order in his gaze. They lowered spears and sheathed energy blasters.
General Darius inclined his head, looking down before looking up at her. "Welcome aboard Dominion."
"General. Your hospitality honors us." Their eyes met.
Us. Darius noted the plural, how her knight's jaw clenched at the word. Interesting. The reports hadn't mentioned that particular complexity either. The knight was ever vigilant, positioning himself between Mel and any perceived threat, even here, even now. His stance told Darius he was one such threat.
"Your quarters have been prepared," he said, gesturing toward the ship's interior. "Unless you'd prefer to tour the command deck first?"
It was a test. Her response would reveal much.
"The command deck, I think. One should know the heart of their future home."
A ruthless diplomat indeed. Accepting his authority while asserting her place within it. As they walked, Darius found himself studying her profile, the way she absorbed every detail of the ship's architecture, its crew, its defenses. Not just a political match then. Good. He had no use for decorative allies or a decorative wife.
Noxus had banned regeneration technology for precisely this reason: the human mind wasn’t meant to carry the weight of multiple deaths. Even their finest warriors were only permitted a single emergency revival, and only then with extensive psychiatric reconditioning. Four times was unprecedented. Dangerous. Piltover, with its obsession with hextechnology and immortality, was playing with forces it didn’t fully understand. It was pride masquerading as progress.
The Dominion’s observation deck stretched around them, a practical expanse of reinforced glass and steel, offering a panoramic view of the star sector. Darius’s gaze flicked to Mel’s knight again. The man’s posture was rigid, his hand resting on the hilt of his warhammer. A weapon of Piltover design, no doubt. Something was wrong. Darius had seen it before in soldiers who had been revived once, maybe twice. But four times? It was a miracle the man hadn’t gone mad.
“Your knight,” Darius said, his voice low and measured. “He’s been regenerated.”
“Sir Talis is one of Piltover’s finest. His sacrifices have ensured our survival.”
“Sacrifices,” Darius repeated, his tone neutral. “Noxus doesn’t believe in resurrection. Death is meant to be final. It’s what gives life meaning.”
“And yet,” Mel said, “Noxus has no qualms about taking lives to achieve its goals.”
Darius allowed himself a small smile. “A fair point. But while we take life, we don’t have the hubris to cheat death.”
The knight—Sir Talis—stepped forward slightly. The man was a walking time bomb. What would shatter first, he wondered, his body or his mind.
“General,” Mel said, drawing his attention back to her. “I believe you offered a tour of the command deck?”
“Of course.” Darius gestured toward the elevators, their doors sliding open with a faint hiss. As they walked, he couldn’t help but notice the way Mel’s gaze lingered on the ship’s architecture, her eyes cataloging every detail. She was assessing.
The command deck was a hive of activity, officers moving with precision between consoles, their uniforms crisp and unadorned. Noxian efficiency at its finest. Darius led Mel to the central holographic display, which projected a map of the star sector. Zaun and Piltover were highlighted, their positions marked by glowing icons. The Noxian armada loomed on the edge of the sector, a dark cloud ready to descend.
“Your cities are in a precarious position,” Darius said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Piltover and her moon are compromised even without Noxian intervention. But this alliance could change that. Together, we could bring order to the sector.”
“What of the violence?”
“You and your knight have already endured much.” Darius said. “You were almost killed several times. Noxians were not the ones who went after you. You were attacked by your own.”
Her knight exhaled harshly. Mel didn’t respond immediately. Darius noted the way her fingers brushed against the edge of the display. He wondered if she was thinking of Zaun. She whispered, “Noxus has yet to try my life, but it has tried my humanity.” Of course, he heard it. So had her protector, it seemed. Sir Talis unconsciously shifted towards her. The Hand of Noxus filed their closeness away for later consideration.
“General,” Mel said finally, turning to face him. “I appreciate your candor. I need to know—what does Noxus truly want from this alliance?”
“A future where the sector isn’t torn apart by petty squabbles and weak leadership. Piltover is impressive, but runs the risk of burning too brightly, exstingushing itself. You have the potential to be part of a prosperous future, Princess. But it requires sacrifice.”
She didn’t flinch. “Sacrifice is something I’m familiar with.”
Darius nodded. “We understand each other.” He extended his hand. Princess Mel Medarda hesitated for a moment, then gathered her resolve. They shook.
After she’d finished exploring, Mel Medarda retired to her chambers. Jayce stood outside of her door. Darius approached.
"Sir Talis," he said quietly. "When my wife died, it was quick. Clean. She never had to watch herself fade." He met the knight's eyes. "There is honor in knowing when to make your final stand."
"My stand," he said, "is wherever she needs me."
“Are you doing this for her or for you?”
Darius had seen enough war to know the look of a man holding himself back. If the knight had his way, Noxus would be without a hand. “All I do, I do for her.”
The general nodded. When he was far enough away, he spoke. “Katarina, you may remove the cloak.”
A red haired assassin removed a cloaking device and fell into step beside him. “She’s attached to him.”
“He is a liability. But for now, he’s her liability. We shall deal with him when the time comes.”
“If he breaks before then?”
“He’s stronger than you give him credit for.”
“If he… doesn't decline and proves a problem?”
“Death always collects her debts.” Darius glanced out one of the ship's windows, eyes focused on the endless expanse of space. He thought of his late love, of his brother, of people who didn’t take second chances, of people who embraced the end. “If she takes too long, if he proves at all hazardous, then we put Talis down for the fifth and final time.”