He was lost. No. Lost was too little of a word to explain this feeling. The clothes were not fitting. The limp remains. The brace was always on. His hair were not styled like before. His beard was unshaved. The wrinkles around his eyes, his nose, his mouth. His scars, on his face, on his body. They were everywhere now. He looked worn out, depressed, aged, everything he hated about himself.

He wasn't sure how things would go when he returned to Piltover, things had changed, just like him. But you didn't. Well, almost not.

You let him in, even though he looked like a monster, or some sort of bear who had been starved and locked in for months, which was the case. He didn't know how, but he heard that his mother was at the estate of your family, in safety after the incident in the council room, and that was where he decided to go, and you obviously welcomed him with open arms, even if he had changed.