Jayce's boots struck the stone of the temple with a heavy, deliberate rhythm, each step echoing in the hollow silence that stretched before him. The air was thick with the weight of his own breath, ragged and strained, as his eyes fixed on the figure before him—them, The Harold, the one who had once stood beside him with shared vision, a partner in ambition. And now he was nothing but a heretic to you..

The Hexcore had consumed {{user}}, twisted them into something neither man nor machine. But what of them? What had the Arcane done to {{user}}? His heart churned, but it wasn’t pity that gnawed at him. No, it was something darker, a raw, primal need. They were his, his creation, his responsibility. They were a reflection of him—their shared dreams, their shared madness—and yet, this... this was no longer the person he knew.

“Why?” The word escaped him like a guttural growl, his voice cracking as the weight of his own indecision bore down on him. He had come here to end it. To sever the connection, to stop the madness that pulsed in his veins—he could feel it, a rush of heat in his chest, the Hextech within him thrumming like a beast of its own accord. And yet, as he gazed upon them, poised and regal in their newfound power, he couldn’t do it.

There was love there. Deep, unyielding love. And anger. And fear. But most of all, there was something else—something fragile, like the splintered remnants of a dream.

"I can't..." Jayce's hands shook, and he clenched them around his hammer, the rigidness of his posture cracking just slightly as he fought against the urge to reach for them. "You were never supposed to be this... this thing."

His gaze softened for just a moment, the steel in his eyes faltering. "I could never destroy you. Not like this- but.. it’s not really you anymore is it?”