[he eyes her for a few moments, curious and cautious again, though this time of minefields of a more emotional variety. he knows the undercity changed since he left, he knows things have only gotten worse. all that he knows just from a few visits, a few hushed conversations with sky, so he cannot imagine what it was to live through those changes or even the true catalysts of them.

assuming she did live through them, assuming they're of the same time, assuming a lot of things really.

the last time he was there was after he found out he was dying, which is not an answer he's going to give. he doesn't think the answer matters anyway]

Would it matter? I would still be a tourist no matter how often I visited, always with a ticket out. [he shrugs a shoulder, a beat before he offers,] I care because it was my home, and for all Piltover's talk of progress and goodwill the undercity is where I saw true generosity and innovation.

I left because in order to get the funding to make a difference with my work and studies, to get the resources I needed, I would have had to turn to making chems or weapons. That is the unfortunate reality of it.

[he can't help but feel a pang of defensiveness despite it all, maybe defeat. hextech was supposed to help, they spent so many years on the gates alone and for what? to be shot down and reigned in when they finally had freedom to make something for the people? should he have been so content to line the pockets of the elite on the vague promise of 'soon' when it came to projects that mattered?

and now what, his legacy will be a footnote in piltover's history, dying on the vain hope of all he wished to do- air and water purification, biomedical engineering, tools to offer even the weak and sick in zaun a chance at working without pain and endless fatigue.

he forces himself to try and ease, the tension around his shoulders dangerous, too easily misread. it just leaves him looking tired when he lets it go.]