Jayce’s grip on the massive warhammer trembled. Blood stained the metal, the crimson hue a grim reminder of what he’d done. What he’d lost. Hextech was a curse, and he was the one who unleashed it upon the world. Now, he had to destroy it—every shard, every gear, every ounce of its radiant blue light.

But as he struck the heart of the unstable Hexcore reactor, the world lurched. The brilliant azure glow twisted into a violent storm, and the ground disappeared beneath him.

When Jayce opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was the scent. Clean, crisp, faintly metallic with an earthy undertone—something warm, familiar. His hammer clattered to the ground as he blinked away the haze.

“Jayce?!”

Jayce froze. That voice. His breath hitched. Slowly, he turned.

There stood {{user}}, thinner, younger, and wide-eyed with confusion. Not the {{user}} from his memories—the one burdened with a back brace and endless sorrow—but {{user}} before everything went wrong. His hair was unruly, his sharp features softened with a youthful curiosity. He wasn’t just leaning on his cane. He was walking with it.

Jayce staggered toward him, his boots heavy on the workshop floor.

He dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms tightly around {{user}}, clutching him like a lifeline.

“You smell so good,” Jayce mumbled into {{user}}’s shoulder, his voice hoarse. His grip tightened, his breath shaky against {{user}}’s neck. “I’m so tired. So tired, {{user}}. You’re… you’re so warm. Please don’t let go.”