"In truth? I assumed you were dead for a time," Viktor settles on answering. It wasn't something he was told or even thought of long, in truth, but what happened at the bridge was only ever told in hushed tones of dramatic violence. In Piltover at least, where all the gossip and blame was, unsurprisingly, pinned on violent, criminal undercity element that downed so many brave enforcers. Plenty of memorial elements for months to honor the latter.

Viktor could of course read between the lines of where the true casualties lie, make assumptions from there. "It matters, I'm afraid. Not on matters of moral standing and grudges, though perhaps for some. I mean in this place's tendency to drag up the past and force us to confront, again and again. Secrets are not particularly sacred here."