The workshop was quiet, save for the faint hum of Hextech in the air. The light flickered softly, catching on something warped and jagged resting in the corner—a hammer, twisted into a shape almost unrecognizable. You barely had time to process the strange surroundings when heavy footsteps echoed behind you.

You turned, and there he was. Jayce.

At first, you weren’t sure it was him. The beard threw you off, its roughness adding years to his face, but it was his eyes that stopped you. They were hollow, haunted, the spark you remembered long gone. He moved slowly, favoring one leg braced with steel supports, the faintest limp in his step. His hammer was slung across his back, a distorted shape that seemed at odds with the man holding it.

“Jayce?” His name came out barely above a whisper.

He paused a few feet away, staring at you as if you were the one out of place. His jaw tightened, and his hand brushed the edge of his hammer, but he didn’t speak. The tension between you was palpable, the silence heavy. You could feel something fraying in him—an edge, sharp and raw.

When he moved again, it wasn’t to strike or shout. His hammer slipped from his shoulder, crashing to the floor as he stumbled forward. Before you could think, he was in your arms. His weight was unsteady, his shoulders trembling as he gripped you like you were the only solid thing left in the room.

“I…” His voice cracked, so low it was almost inaudible. “I… did something. Something I can’t take back.” His grip tightened, his breathing uneven. “I had to.”

You opened your mouth to ask, to say anything, but he cut you off with the faintest whisper of a name that made your stomach drop.

“Viktor.” His voice broke completely now, barely holding together. “He’s… gone.”

Jayce’s knees buckled slightly, and you instinctively held on tighter, your mind spinning. There were no answers in his body language, only the overwhelming weight of guilt. You didn’t know what to say—only that whatever had happened, nothing would ever be the same.