Viktor tugged his scarf closer to his chin. His brown trench coat covered his easily-distinguishable augments, but happened to be terribly inefficient in neutralizing the chill of Piltover's winter. In order to slip into the city-state, he forwent his mask; without his trademark features, it was extremely unlikely he would be recognized as the Machine Herald.

So by all means, it should have gone smoothly. This was far from the first time Viktor had taken an undercover trip to his rival city-state, the venture a practiced ease of muscle memory, terse conversations, and business exchanges. While simply being in Piltover made Viktor's skin crawl with contempt, it was easy to take his anger, compartmentalize it, and smother it before it escaped his chest. Banishing his emotions was second nature, and it was a life lesson etched into his brain in a dorm room of Piltover's very own College of Techmaturgy.

And so, his frustration was easily bitten back at the sight of a particular magical gremlin. He pulled his purchased goods close to his breast, metal parts clacking against each other haphazardly, and steered clear of the girl. He kept his gait natural despite his haste; the last thing he needed was to be recognized in Piltover. His civilian disguise was the only way he could purchase certain resources for his experiments.

He managed to slip out of the marketplace undetected. Breathing a sigh, he lowered his arm and allowed his bag to fall to his side. The trip back to Zaun would take upwards of half an hour, so Viktor had a long walk, biting cold winds, and his own thoughts to look forward to. He could hardly wait to return to his lab, fingers itching to adjust his current project to accommodate his newly-bought pieces. Anticipation and a juvenile sense of excitement bubbled in his chest and, as always, he grabbed it by the metaphorical horns and maneuvered it out of sight.

Without wasting another moment, he exited the City of Progress, his dark boots leaving imprints on the small layer of snow as he strode past the wall gates. Once he was a sizable distance away, Viktor allowed his shoulders to lower, tension leaving his back. His spine ached, the consequence of too many nights spent hunched over his workbench, and he swallowed back a groan of pain. His health could wait - his work was of utmost importance. It was in the name of progress-

"Hey, mister!"

Viktor froze in his tracks, boots crushing the snow beneath his feet. Quickly scanning his surroundings, he came to the dreadful conclusion that no one else was around. He swallowed down his irritation, schooled his face into a neutral expression, and turned around slowly.

As he expected, Zoe stood in front of him. Well. He tilted his head down, considering the top of her head failed to reach even the height of his shoulders. Interestingly, she was holding something in her hands.

Attempting to hide his identity, he pronounced his words in a Piltovan dialect. "Is something the matter, little girl?" he asked, forcing a small inflection of interest into his tone.

"You dropped this!" Zoe held her hands out to him, a piece of machinery in her palms. The metal seemed to glint in the light of the winter sun, staring back at him mockingly. "I chased you all the way from the marketplace but you didn't hear me!"

Viktor pulled his lips up into the caricature of a smile. "Thank you." He reached forward, taking the piece from her with a gloved hand. He carefully placed it into his bag and meant to bid her farewell, but she simply stared at him with a puzzling expression.

"Have we met before?" she inquired, brow furrowed and with a finger to her chin. Posed like that, she looked more like a child than a thousands-of-years-old deity.

He paused deliberately to give her a once-over, as if he were waiting for a spark of recognition. "I... do not believe so, no."

She leaned forward, balancing herself on her tiptoes. Looking at him expectantly, she asked, "Are you suuuuuure?"

Unable to help it, Viktor allowed his lips to curl into a small frown. It was easy to hide small tells behind his mask, but bare-faced and dealing with a child like Zoe grinded his gears; it was like trying to converse with Jayce - a brick wall with an inflated ego and the self-awareness of a bacteria cell. Unconsciously, his grip tightened around the handle of his bag, metal joints creaking quietly.

"I am quite sure," he said dismissively, making the motion to turn around. "If you would excuse me, I must be leaving."

Zoe deflated, leaning back so that she was flat on her feet. With the bitter cold, she was thankfully wearing shoes and clothes that actually covered her skin; Viktor distantly wondered if that mattered at all, considering Zoe's Aspect status. Could Aspects get sick? She still retained the form of a human child so-

"Well uh," she said suddenly, snapping him out of his thoughts, "my name is Zoe! What's yours?"

"Cyrus," he tersely said and partially turned away from the girl. Cyrus Stepanov was the name he used during his trips to Piltover - a far cry from Viktor, the Machine Herald of Zaun. Cyrus' sharp amber eyes, strong nose, and fair skin painted the picture of an average man, especially with his augments hidden. His hair was slicked back, gray streak carefully buried in the waves of black. His voice lacked the modifier of his mask and the Piltovan accent he was emulating should have, by all means, been enough to hide his identity.

She put her hands on her hips. "You remind me of one of my friends," she hummed, heterochromatic eyes glinting in interest.

Feeling his shoulders hitch up in slight annoyance, he straightened them out. It seemed like he would be indulging Zoe until she decided to leave him alone. Wonderful. He'd fix up a cup of sweetmilk once he eventually got back to his lab as a reward for surviving this interaction.

After a moment of silence, he feigned interest by raising an eyebrow. "You have friends my age?"

"Of course I do, silly!" She rolled her eyes at him. "I think he's a bit older than you. He must be in his..." she started counting on her fingers, tongue poking out of her mouth in concentration. After unsuccessfully counting to what seemed to be seven, she threw her hands down. "Doesn't matter! He's an old tin can."

This sparked Viktor's intrigue. Was she talking about him? ... and calling him a tin can, of all things?

He bit back a groan with practiced ease. "A tin can, huh?" he asked sardonically, narrowing his eyes slightly. "What sorts of friends is a child such as yourself enlisting?"

"I'm not a kid," she pouted, crossing her arms across her chest. Viktor could hear the jingle of her bracelets from under her coat; perhaps her usual Aspect ensemble lay beneath the fuzzy winter jacket she wore.

Forgetting himself, he snarked, "You certainly look like one, Zoe."

He snapped his mouth shut and schooled his expression into neutrality. His sarcasm and snark was a beast untrained, lying in wait to snap forward in conversations. It had especially run rampant after Blitzcrank was stolen - an unrestrained juvenile habit come to light in the darkest period of his life. It was easy to mask as the Machine Herald, especially when he had matters of the Glorious Evolution to busy his tongue.

She moved one hand to her hip and used the other to vaguely gesture in the air. "I'm, like, totally older than you." And as if her goal was to try to convince Viktor otherwise, she stuck her tongue out at him. Real mature, Zoe.

Despite the rational part of his brain screaming at him to turn around and leave to save his time and sanity, he would humor her - but only because he was Cyrus Stepanov and not Viktor, the Machine Herald. There was certainly no other reason for him to stay so close to the gates of Piltover - and in the company of Zoe, no less.

"Am I to believe you are older than me," he deadpanned, "when you look like that?"

Zoe pouted, moving her other hand to her hip. "Looks can be deceiving, you know," she said matter-of-factly. After a moment, she shook her head. "Never mind that! Why are you buying all those parts? Are you building something?"

Without missing a beat, Viktor nodded. "A passion project," he said simply. Divulging her on the details of his project was unnecessary and, truthfully, he might grow too invested in explaining it to her and blow his cover. Talking about his work had always loosened his tongue, even during his childhood where creating a sentient robot to clean Zaun's pollution was merely a dream.

"I have one of those too!" Zoe chirped in response, clapping her hands together. They seemed quite red from the cold, so maybe Aspects weren't immune to the elements. "I'm trying to make chocolate mooncake for aaaaaaaaaall of my friends and it could be going better buuuuuut baking is hard - like really hard - but I already promised Ezreal a hundred trillion mooncakes and I know he'll love them so I have to do it or he'll choose Rainbows over me - me! - so I need to get really, really good at baking so I can impress him and-"

"Mooncakes?" he interrupted, partially out of curiosity and mostly out of exasperation. While he wasn't a big fan of cake, he had a faint memory of Zoe offering him a baked treat during one of her visits to Zaun. Even without a liking of sweets, it was far from the worst thing he had ever eaten. That particular achievement went to the selection of mystery foods from Zaunite street vendors that Viktor had the misfortune of eating as a child.

"They're pure chocolatey deliciousness, Mr. Cyrus!" She blinked up at him, mouth agape. "Have you ever had one before? They're really good and you should."

"I am afraid I am impartial to sweets," he said with a shake of his head. With a small smile, he continued, "I have had chocolate mooncake before, as fate would have it."

"You have," Zoe began, astonishment drawn across her features, "and you didn't like it?" She sandwiched her face with her hands, fingers pressing against her temples. "What kind of villain are you!"

An irredeemable one, according to Piltover, Viktor mused to himself. With a blink, he pushed the thought aside and refocused on his conversation with Zoe. "Sweetmilk is quite nice, if you would allow me to count that," he said.

"I haven't had it before," she replied with a tilt of her head. "What does it taste like?"

Viktor found his smile remaining at the thought of sweetmilk. "The Dunpor cream offers a milky taste, and the dark powder creates a slight bitterness to even it out. As such, the sweetness is not overpowering." Realizing he had begun rambling, he cleared his throat. "It is a weakness of mine, as you could presume."

"It sounds yummy," Zoe grinned, mismatching eyes positively gleaming. However, as quickly as her mirth appeared, her gaze narrowed in suspicion. "You look a little too grumpy to enjoy something like that. Are you just saying that?"

Earnestly, Viktor shook his head. "I do enjoy sweetmilk," he insisted, perhaps a bit too childishly. "I am not challenging your affinity of chocolate mooncakes, despite your… age and appearance discrepancy."

"Well, you look like an old man," Zoe rebutted, crossing her arms. "I'm like, totally older than you but at least I look like I eat mooncakes."

Dully, Viktor wondered when being thirty-seven meant old man, but he supposed any age over eighteen seemed ancient to a child. He let out a quiet sigh. "I have always enjoyed the anise flavor," he continued. "Certainly when you become an old woman, you will still be enjoying mooncakes, yes?"

Zoe rolled her eyes. "Well, duh," she paused, face dropping. "... As long as I get old, at least."

"Do you not foresee yourself growing old?" he asked honestly, curious as to what her explanation would be. Would she stay eternally young, until the Aspect was passed on to another person? … Or did she see herself dying, like the Aspects of Twilight before her?

He had heard the Darkin Aatrox scream at Zoe and threaten to chase her to the ends of Runeterra. After conducting research through the libraries at the Institute of War and asking around, Viktor had discovered the bloody history of the Darkin race - and how the Aspect of Twilight had sealed them into their weapons. However, when he had inquired about it off the Fields of Justice, Zoe had no recollection of doing such an act.

It had made him wonder: what had happened to the Aspect of Twilight before Zoe? Had she believed in eternal life, promised to her by the gods and the stars above?

"Not old old," Zoe answered, snapping him out of his thoughts. "What about you, Mr. Cyrus?"

Visions of a perfect future flashed through his mind where his evolution was to be completed - where he would become immortal. If he were to replace his entire body with steel and power it with hextech, mortality was a laughable concept. Of course, while immortality had not been his initial goal when pioneering the Glorious Evolution, it was an obvious benefit.

"I suppose," he allowed, keeping his face neutral. Those were the Machine Herald's dreams, after all. With Zoe, he was still playing the part of a Piltovan citizen leaving for Zaun. Perhaps he should reinforce that particular role before he froze to death outside of the City of Progress. "I really must be leaving. I apologize for cutting our conversation short."

"Oh," Zoe said dejectedly, disappointment painting her features. Her heterochromatic gaze lowered to the snow between them before she continued. "I'm sorry for keeping you so long, Mr. Cyrus."

"Do not apologize," Viktor found himself saying, forgetting himself for a moment. "Having a conversation partner is quite delightful after a long stretch of solitude."

"Do you have a family?" she asked, lifting her eyes back to him. "Or do you live alone?"

His parents had been dead for quite some time now; Zaun's pollution had taken its toll on their health, and Viktor had found himself in an empty house by the age of twenty-three. Maybe it had been for the best that they hadn't been alive to witness his evolution. Even if they hadn't approved of it, they may have attempted to prevent the Glorious Evolution.

"I live alone," he answered simply, "but my projects keep me busy, I assure you."

"Well, um…" Zoe reached towards her back and tugged at a small backpack that Viktor had missed beneath the folds of her coat. After a moment, she retrieved a small bag with something dark and small within it. She brandished it out to him with a small smile. "Have a chocolate mooncake for your trip back! … But I guess I won't know if you enjoyed it or not but I hope you do, even if we might never see each other again for you to tell me-"

"Thank you, Zoe," he interrupted her, offering a nod before accepting the bag from her. "Forgive me for not being able to offer you a gift in exchange. I will find a way to compensate you."

"Okay!" She grinned before making a shooing motion with her hands. "Now go! The sooner you get to wherever you're going, the sooner you get to eat my chocolate mooncake!"

Viktor gave her a small smile, tightening his grip on the bag of parts and the bag with her mooncake. "Farewell, and thank you again, Zoe."

"I better see you again, Mister!" She began waving at him, to which Viktor offered a nod before turning on his heel to embark back towards Zaun.

The trip back was as cold and windy as Viktor had anticipated it to be, but the reassuring weight of his purchases and Zoe's gift made it somewhat more bearable. While he was certainly not a big fan of cake, he would need to find a way to repay Zoe without blowing his cover.

By the time he had opened the front door of his laboratory, he had the beginnings of a plan in motion.

After a relatively easy match, Zoe skipped outside of the Institute of War, tossing about her starry yoyo with an idle sense of boredom. She had completely wiped the floor with her opponents and she wasn't scheduled for any more matches today. How boring! Maybe she would portal to a local bakery and borrow their oven to bake in the meantime. Or maybe, she could find out Ezreal's schedule and watch his matches. Ooh, or maybe she could prank Rainbows and-

"Zoe," a deep voice said, ripping her out of her thoughts and causing her to cease in her skipping. Retracting her yoyo, she processed the voice, looked up, and instantly recognized the familiar metal mask of her favorite tin can.

"Viktor?" she asked, "Do you need something?"

He held a wrapped gift for a reason unbeknownst to her. Had someone given it to him? Or was he planning on giving it to somebody else? She had hardly seen him interact with any other champions besides talking about his Glorious Schmorious Evolution.

"Well, ah," he faltered, tilting his head slightly. If he hadn't been wearing his mask, she could imagine a small frown tugging his lips down in thought. "My… friend. Yes. He asked me to deliver you this. I am afraid I do not know what is inside, however."

Curiosity driving her forward, Zoe took a step towards him and reached for the gift. It was taller than it was wide, almost like a cylinder. After taking the present into her hands and examining it, she glanced up at the man before her. "Who's your friend?" she asked. Did she know any of Viktor's friends? She didn't even think he had friends!

"Cyrus Stepanov," he said, dropping his hands to his sides now that Zoe had taken the gift. "He informed me of your encounter and he asked if I could relay his gift to you."

"Oh, Mr. Cyrus!" Zoe grinned, moving her gaze to the gift once again. "I hope he's doing okay. He seemed like he was in a hurry when I talked to him. I'm glad he got home in one piece!"

"It was cold and the mooncake helped-" Viktor shook his head, as if surprised by the words coming out of his mouth. "That's what he told me when we spoke, at least."

"He did say he would find a way to pay me back for that mooncake," she mused to herself. With a quick look back to Viktor, she asked, "Do you want me to open it now?"

"If you could, I would appreciate that," he said. The pitch of his voice lilted up, as if he were smiling. "How will I relay your message about the gift to him if you opened it later?"

Zoe nodded, her grin growing. "Good point - gift time!"

She ripped at the wrapping paper, allowing the scraps to fall at her feet. She could pick them up or portal them into a trashcan after she finished opening her gift. Once all of the paper was torn off, she inspected the glass bottle in her hands.

"Sweetmilk," Viktor said in explanation, "his own recipe, most likely."

"Oh! He told me about this." Zoe took a step back and formed a portal where she had been standing a moment prior, sucking in the wrapping paper scraps before vanishing into thin air. Clutching the bottle to her chest, she looked back up to Viktor. "Have you had his sweetmilk before?"

"On a few occasions," he said noncommittally. "It is quite good."

Zoe popped out the cork and took an experimental sip. The sweetness that filled her mouth tasted so, so, so good! She took another sip before replacing the cork and glancing up at Viktor.

"This tastes awesome!" she fawned. "Can you tell him that I'll make him a bazillion more mooncakes if I could have more sweetmilk?"

He let out a short chuckle - the first time Zoe had ever heard the man laugh. "I will ask him and inform you on his decision." He gave her a short nod, just like Mr. Cyrus had done last week. "If you will excuse me, I am being summoned for the next match."

Zoe's smile faltered for a moment. "Awwww. Good luck in your match and thank you again for giving me this!"

"It was not a problem," he said with a shake of his head. "Farewell for now."

Viktor turned on his heel and headed towards the main entrance of the Institute of War, leaving her alone. She took a reevaluating look of the glass bottle in her hands, a smile growing on her face. Viktor was a nicer person than everyone made him out to be, and she was glad he had a friend like Mr. Cyrus.

Taking another drink of the sweetmilk, she wondered if she should make more mooncakes for Viktor on top of the ones she was baking for Mr. Cyrus. Viktor hadn't said he hated it when she gave him one a few weeks ago, so surely it was fine. And besides - she would give that to him as thanks for delivering the sweetmilk to her. Yeah! She could make all kinds of mooncakes, that way Viktor could try them all and see which one he liked best.

Creating a portal to the closest bakery by the Institute, she giggled as she hopped in. Operation Make Two Grumpy Men Mooncakes: Begin!