It takes me ages to update, I know, I know and I'm sorry. :') Work has been overwhelming and now Uni has started up again. BUT, regardless, here is a chapter. :) enjoy!

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Lyra was furious.

She was fuming.

Her right leg bounced up and down restlessly as she sat in her Advanced Mechanics lecture. Her teeth absently nibbled on the back of her pencil, fingers drumming against the wooden desk relentlessly.

How dare he.

How dare he???

Frivolously fraternising??? There was no way he said that.

She exhaled noisily, in a futile attempt to release some of her pent up annoyance, leaning back in her seat.

It did nothing, she was still furious.

And the students around her seemed to be very much aware of it. The seats surrounding her had been purposely left vacant, as if she had somehow managed to catch the plague. The students sitting closest to her, had unconsciously leaned into her opposite direction in their chairs, out of sheer caution. An attempt to put as much distance between them and the angry young woman as possible.

This didn't stop them, however, from eying her curiously. As if she were a bomb about to go off.

She was conscious of this, but did not particularly care to acknowledge it. Just as she didn't particularly care to acknowledge her lecturer, the surprised woman whose eyebrows almost rose all the way past her hairline when the girl stomped into her classroom.

Lyra's distraught demeanor was a stark contrast to the collected, disinterested expression she usually wore. Many students and teachers alike had often wondered, as they watched her drift down hallways, what it would look like if an emotion were to appear on the girl's face. Any emotion, really.

Those people were now regretting ever getting curious.

Lyra huffed a breath, shifting in the uncomfortable wooden chair, sinking further into it.

She was furious.

His behavior. His tone.

The sheer audacity, her own voice screamed at her in her head, only causing her brows to fall further.

He was many things growing up. A disagreeable asshole was definitely not one of them.

Not like you haven't changed yourself, her conscience reminded.

The drumming of her fingers and the bouncing of her leg slowed momentarily.

And as they did, a simple realization pushed its way to the front of her mind. An understanding that her fury was simply masking a different, much more uncomfortable emotion, that had sprung that outburst to begin with.

Fear.

Anxiety suddenly hit her like an airship on full speed, constricting her lungs and sucking the oxygen out of her chest.

Why is he here?

He had told her once, a long time ago, that it was his dream to one day study at the Academy. But when things ended the way they did... She had no way of knowing what truly happened to him. She had made sure to find out he was alive, back then. However, after everything that went on between them, she forbade herself for looking more into the matter.

Either way, she supposed, that if there was such a thing as one's 'rightful place' in the world, his was definitely at the Academy. Not hiding in a dark cave in the Undercity.

He was smarter than all of the morons that surrounded her combined.

She remembered him as brilliant.

An opinion she shared with another person of her past, who had plagued her dreams that very night.

Her breath hitched at the thought.

Did her father send him?

Did he know she was alive?

Was this all a trick to drag her back?

A shaky breath shuddered her lungs as she inhaled, anxiety seeping deep into her flesh.

No, she told herself, this couldn't be. He doesn't know where I am. I am hidden. I am safe.

Scrambling for things to confirm this fact in her mind, Lyra stumbled on a plain realisation that left her paradoxically both grateful and, for some unknown reason, uncomfortably disappointed.

He didn't recognize me.

Who could blame him, after all?

Her once deep brown locks were now silver white, and her features had hardened with time, experience and malnourishment. Her eyes were still of a deep brown color. But they were hardly enough to make her stand out within a crowd, let alone be used to identify her after years of separation.

She was safe, she repeated in her mind on a loop, He didn't know.

But even then, the tension in her limbs did not dissipate.

If anything, for some reason, the thought fueled her anger further.

She was unsure why. And that only caused her fury to heighten.

He didn't recognize her.

Surely, he should remember her.

How long had he been in Piltover? How had she not spotted him earlier? She did just relocate into this building a few months ago, with the beginning of the new year, but how was it possible that she had never once seen him in any of the public spaces?

Of course, she had barely had the chance to wander about in her earlier teenage years, being homeschooled for most of them. But there was simply no way they could have missed each other quite so categorically for seven years.

Unless, her mind suggested in an attempt at self preservation, it wasn't him.

She knew this thought was ridiculous. The two moles, his hair, the look in his eyes were unmistakable.

She could spot him in a crowd of a million, of course it was him.

Still, for some reason, she indulged into the possibility that it wasn't, her heart leaping at the thought.

She purposefully chose to ignore the disappointed twinge that twisted it at the thought of him not remembering her, silencing that irrational part of her.

Her mind was racing.

She needed answers.

And the bell couldn't have come soon enough, going off at that exact moment and bombarding the hallways with sound.

She darted out of her seat in a split second, causing the students that surrounded her, who had by then relaxed into their seats as the hour passed, to jump in their spots.

But Lyra didn't care. Without so much as a glance at any of them, she snatched her books and bolted out of the door as quickly as she had come in.

Her footsteps were loud against the marble pavement, bouncing off walls and mixing with the chatter that came with the students who were emerging from their lecture halls. She maneuvered through them with ease, most people parting before her as if she were wildfire incartante. Lyra ignored their glances and pressed onward, her eyes determined, her feet guiding her with precision towards her destination.

Whisking through several flights of stairs, Lyra barely focused on her surroundings. Her mind was ablaze with possibilities, one particular standing out amongst the rumble — get answers.

And get answers she would.

When she finally stopped at a specific door on the other side of the building, she didn't pause.

Instead, Lyra straightened her posture and knocked twice, courtly. A second passed before the voice inside beckoned her to come in. Following a rather enthusiastic bark that erupted from behind the carefully crafted door.

And so, obediently, Lyra pushed it open and slipped inside Cecil B. Heimerdinger's office.

An air of comfort rushed over her as soon as her foot was past the threshold. The rays of Sun poured into the room from behind the multiple tall, mosaicked windows, washing it with a soft, warm glow. Welcoming and cosy, a stark opposite to her own quarters. Her eyes skimmed over the stacks of books and papers placed neatly in each corner of the room.

They moved on to the familiar bookshelves, and she inhaled the smell of ink and chamomile that lingered in the air. She didn't realize she had visibly relaxed upon stepping into the office until she felt her tight fists fall open leisurely, the hold she had on the books under her arm loosening.

All of those feelings multiplied when her eyes fell upon the familiar figure of the yordle, scribbling away behind his desk in deep concentration.

"Just a minute!" He called, in his usual chirpy tone, unaware of the identity of the person who had quite literally stormed into his office. Even so, he rarely turned down whoever knocked at his door and she knew that.

He didn't look up from his work until he heard yet another bark of his beloved porro. His eyes fell on his figure, watching as the animal scrambled joyfully from the side of his desk, towards the new presence in the room.

It was then that he glanced up, and his eyes lit up with joy.

"Lyra, dear!" He exclaimed, a smile lifting his moustache.

At the sound of her name, Lyra's chest finally sagged, her lungs releasing a breath she did not realise she had been holding.

"Good morning, Professor." She all but breathed, feeling relieved and light for the first time that day.

The student felt something jump against her leg then, and looked down to be met with the delighted look of the small porro, standing on his hind paws, leaning his front ones on her.

"And good morning to you too, Porrofessor." She chuckled down, amusedly.

The animal barked, enthusiastic, dropping to the ground to run excited circles around her. Her grin widened at the sight and she couldn't resist the temptation to crouch down and pet the creature, who happily leapt into her lap the second she did.

"I apologize, you've caught me mid-toil." The Professor spoke, smiling at the sight of his student and his beloved pet, "I won't be a moment."

"It's quite alright, Professor. My inquiry is brief."

"Take a seat, won't you, dear?" He invited her, eyes falling back to the papers he was signing.

Gathering the animal into her arms, along with her books, Lyra stood up and made her way to the tall armchair placed in front of his desk.

She plopped into it, the familiar material comforting her with its softness. The porro, happy of her company, settled down and closed his eyes when she resumed her provision of scratches. Lyra smiled down at the animal in her hands, shifting to stuff her books next to her side. This did earn her a displeased look from the creature.

Lyra chuckled, cupping the fluffy face into her hands and squishing his cheeks, "Ever so demanding, Porrofessor." She cooed down at him, amused. "Settle down and I'll give you scratches to your heart's content."

The animal purred in satisfaction at her words, before contentedly following her orders. Smiling, Lyra leaned back into the chair, relaxing for the first time that day. Her eyes followed the movements of her fingers as they pet his soft fur, happy to have her mind and attention focused on the animal rather than the matters that pressed at her.

But the thoughts were still there, gnawing at the back of her skull. Causing her smile to slowly fade and be replaced by a thoughtful frown.

"I gather it's been a long night?"

His voice caused her to look up. He had placed down his pen and was now watching her, hands folded in front of him on his desk.

She sighed, tiredly, with a small smile still lingering on her lips at the feel of the animal in her lap, who had curled up in a ball and apparently had it in mind to now take a long comfortable nap.

"A futile attempt to get some work done."

"Hm." The Professor hummed, looking down.

Something in his tone and mannerism made a suspicious alarm go off in her head. She knew him too well, having spent most of her life under his care. And she knew that she was in trouble solely by the tone of his voice.

She narrowed her eyes at her mentor and adopted father, eying him in a distrustful manner. And at his next words, Lyra understood precisely why that feeling had settled within her.

"I suppose, fresh air does improve concentration..."

Lyra jaw clenched tightly at his words, gaze dropping to her lap at the porro, annoyance shooting through her as her eyebrows furrowed.

The realisation that she had been caught scaling her dormitory building again made her inwardly reprimand herself for her own carelessness. She only hoped that he had personally seen her, rather than someone reporting her. She knew that if someone of importance saw her it could seriously compromise her identity, and make things difficult for the Professor who would have to deal with the repercussions for her. Which is why she was annoyed, at herself, for giving into her old habits yet again.

"You can't keep doing that, my dear." He spoke softly, tone brimming with understanding, his kind eyes watching her pointedly. "It's simply too risky."

Closing her eyes for a brief second, Lyra sighed. "I know, I know... I'm sorry." She spoke sincerely, her shoulder sagging and her head falling low. Suddenly, her restless nights caught up to her, fatigue washing over her body like a tidal wave. "Did someone say something?" She asked carefully, her voice small, dreading the answer.

The Professor pursed his lips at the sight of the girl, before sighing, his stern expression melting into a softer one. "No." He said, and Lyra released a quiet breath of relief. "Do not worry. Some pressing matters required my presence in the building earlier than usual. I saw you. But," he spoke, his tone adopting a serious note, "you may not be as lucky next time."

Lyra nodded, her head still hung low in shame. She felt like she was twelve again, being scolded by Heimerdinger for braking yet another priceless Noxian vase while playing ball with Porrofessor. Even after all this time, at the age of twenty-two, she occasionally felt like a child before her mentor. Whilst she didn't like that, she respected him too much to do so much as speak one argumentative word against him. After everything he had done for her, the least she could do was behave herself.

"I'm sorry."

The Professor watched her with concern written over his features. He did not like to reprimand her in such a manner, and he knew her to be a very careful person by nature. But her habits did shine through on occasion, putting her at risk.

It greatly saddened him that his ever so guarded student couldn't allow herself to show that much of vulnerability. All due to the conservative mentality of the people in Piltover.

He pursed his lips at the thought, in saddened contemplation.

A question sat uncomfortably inside his mind, one which he knew would dampen her mood further, but one that had to be asked.

"Is it the dreams again?"

Lyra bit the inside of her cheek. She was expecting him to ask, she knew the question was coming. But it didn't stop her from being uneasy upon its voicing. "Yes." She said, still unable to meet his gaze.

"Hm." The Professor hummed in understanding, an apprehensive look lining his features, "Anything useful this time?"

She didn't miss that hopeful spark in his tone.

This only made her feel guiltier than she already did. For while the Professor knew of her nightmares, she had never told him about who her father was, nor that it was he who plagued her mind at night.

Lyra was young when the Professor had taken her in and, out of fear that she would be turned away upon him finding out her lineage, she had chosen to remain silent on the subject. He knew she was from the Undercity, but that was all.

As years passed, the nightmares plagued her sleep, painful memories resurfacing and flashing clear as day before her eyes, vivid to the point she thought she was reliving them in real time. But that was not what she had told the Professor. Instead, she had chosen a long time ago to tell him that the dreams were unclear, or that she couldn't remember them upon awakening. She kept up the lie for years.

And nothing was going to change that day.

"No..." she finally replied, gaze still focused on her lap. "It's always the same. Just bits and pieces. Scattered images. Nothing out of the ordinary."

Heimerdinger nodded at her words, his brows furrowing in understanding.

"I see."

Lyra heard the saddened twinge in his voice and peaked up at him, to notice the concern swimming in his downcast eyes. He seemed deep in thought and she watched him carefully, guilt burning her insides at the sight of her doleful mentor. Just as she was about to speak, to apologise or say something, anything that would erase that look off his face, he shook his head lightly and glanced up at her, eyes resuming their usual gentle and comforting spark.

"No matter, dear." he said, a kind smile lifting the tips of his moustache, his eyes brimming with care and affection as he looked at her. "You're alright. That's all that matters."

She smiled gratefully at that, relaxing more into her seat and nodding. Lyra knew that he brought up the topic only when he was truly concerned. And the fact that someone cared enough to ask still came as a surprise to her, even after all these years. The feeling of gratitude mixed with guilt, a state she permanently lived in. But she had made her bed and she was to lie in it, a just price to pay for her continuous deceit.

Heimerdinger perked up in his seat then, decided on swaying the subject to lighten the mood. "So", he spoke, "How is business?"

Grateful for the diversion, Lyra relaxed into her chair, resuming her petting of Porrofessor. "I'm working on a few new airship designs. New engine mechanics, heat resistant technology."

"Oh!"

She nodded, humming lightly, "Councillor Hoskel seems very committed to the idea of sponsoring the project."

"That's wonderful, dear!"

"Hm." Lyra pursed her lips, shrugging, "I don't delude myself into thinking that it's due to his sudden interest in aeronautical engineering. It's probably useful to whatever his new weekly whim is." She snickered under her breath, peaking up at her mentor with a twinge of mirth swimming in her brown eyes. "I hear this week it's cheese production."

"Now, now, Lyra, be nice." He scolded, but couldn't help the amused smile that was tugging at his lips, hidden under his moustache.

Lyra noticed this, which only made her grin wider, "When am I not! I am merely... projecting my frustration regarding the mass negligence of my field onto him."

The Professor raised an amused eyebrow.

"And I'm only stating facts when I say that the man has as much knowledge of aeronautics as a newborn toddler. When I asked him about the customised features his ships need to be tailored to, his reply was 'just make them fast'."

She scoffed lightly, looking at her mentor to see if the story had made him laugh. While he did seem entertained, he was attempting to conceal it by giving her a warning look.

Lyra raised her hand in surrender, chuckling under her nose, "Okay, okay, I'll stop."

This made the Professor nod in approval, a smile however still lining his face, while he moved to retrieve some papers from the side corner of his desk. "And how are your studies proceeding? Only three more semesters until your graduation. All in good shape, I trust?"

"Tip top condition, as per usual, Professor."

"That is good to hear." Heimerdinger nodded, in praise, gently tapping the papers on the desk in order to even them out. "And what is it that I'm hearing about you storming into classes like 'the demonic ascension incarnated'?"

Lyra's eyes shot up to Heimerdinger's, blown into two plates as a surprised and highly amused grin curved her lips, "Is that what Professor Desrosiers said? When did she even have the time to tell you?"

He ignored her, giving her an expectant look instead, "Well?"

Suddenly, the memory of why she had come into his office to begin with pushed its way to the front of her mind. And the frustration and anger from earlier, that had by then simmered its tones into a muffled, distant swarming, picked up in volume. 

Lyra sighed, shoulders tensing a fraction, a movement she tried to rectify, in some sort of shape or form, by shrugging. "I've had a very trying morning."

Heimerdinger frowned, "How so, dear?"

Lyra bit the inside of her cheek, yet again seemingly unable to properly meet his gaze. She knew what she had to ask. Would it seem suspicious? Maybe. But she had to ask it anyway, and there was no better person to question than the Dean of the Academy himself.

"Well..."

The feeling of anxiety within her chest doubled in size, and she unconsciously shifted in her spot, uncomfortable under the expectant gaze of her mentor.

"That is actually why I'm here..."

Heimerdinger raised a quizzical eyebrow at the silver-haired girl. "Oh?"

Lyra nodded, glancing down yet again. She pressed her lips into a thin line, swallowing thickly. Then took a silent breath.

She needed answers.

She had to know.

So, releasing the skin of her cheek from the hold of her teeth, she straightened, steeled, and began.

"This may seem strange..."

The silver-haired student paused, uncertainty creeping in with a flicker.

But she pushed it aside, sucked in a breath, and looked up at the Professor with conviction.

"I came to ask you about—"

Her sentence never did get the chance to be voiced. Because two sharp knocks resounded in the office, cutting her off, leaving the words that had she had ever so vigorously forced to rise to her throat, to get stuck there.

Heimerdinger's eyes moved to the door, past her shoulder. Even Porrofessor had peaked up in her lap, head raising in alert.

"Yes?" The Professor called, missing the way Lyra's mouth fell shut into a tight line, in resignation.

She fell back into her chair, blowing a silent annoyed breath, irritated at the interruption. Vexed by the fact that her effort to get her question out, had been pointless, and would have to be repeated once the person who had so rudely cut into her conversion, would decide leave.

Lyra heard the door squeak open from somewhere behind her, distantly, emotions of frustration wrangling within her skull and defeating her surroundings. However, the sight of her mentor, whose eyes lit up upon the intruder's arrival, did surprise her.

"Ah! Come in! Come in!"

Reluctantly, Lyra shifted in her seat, scooping up Porrofessor so that he wouldn't fall. She tried to twist around, to take a peak at whoever had cut off her attempts at questioning the Dean.

As she did, she heard Heimerdinger's voice, feeling his eyes divert to her, "Lyra, I want you to meet my new assistant." He told her, cheerfully, eyes shimmering with a glee that she noticed and raised a questioning eyebrow at.

His next words reached her the second before her eyes fell on the stranger, not giving her nearly enough time to process the information he gave her.

Because the words he spoke hit her like a train on rail tracks only when her eyes had already collided with a pair of bright amber ones.

"This is Viktor."