Your Commune has taken to calling you their Herald.

It’s not the title you would have chosen for yourself, but such is life. You’ve never had a proper name before, just Viktor.

You sense him before he arrives. Jayce Talis, the so-called Man of Progress. Piltover’s once-Golden Boy. Downfall at its finest.

He’s ragged, breathing heavily. His clothes are in tatters, his hair and beard filthy and unkept and his skin caked with grime. He’s limping badly on a clearly broken leg, using his Hextech hammer as a crutch.

A flare of anger twists inside of you. Your Jayce is hurt, in pain? That is unacceptable.

You allow him to find you. His eyes are full of so much hatred, the poor man. The Hexcore has affected his mind, fragmented his psyche. You could heal him, though, if he would let you.

“Jayce,” you say softly. You’re still robed in the blue blanket he gave you. “I had hoped to see you again.”

Jayce gives a noise like a wounded animal. “I promised you—“

“That you would destroy the Hexcore, yes. But you did not, and you allowed it to revive me. What you did was an act of love, Jayce, and I thank you for it.”

Jayce grips his head and cries out, his reality fracturing further. He can barely stand, he’s so weak.

You take a pace forward, glancing down at the makeshift brace on his leg. “Look at that. We match.”

You take another step closer and he brandishes his hammer threateningly. You raise your hands in a placating manner.

“Jayce, you are hurting. Let me help you. I will help you.” You reach out, fingers touching the hammer’s haft. Jayce whimpers and stumbles backwards, his bad leg buckling.

You catch him before he falls, holding up his broad frame with ease. The hammer drops to the ground between you.

Suddenly Jayce has his arms around you and he’s crying pathetically, and you’re both sinking to the ground. He’s worse off than you thought, his trembling hands pawing at your arm. He’s mumbling incoherent pleas for forgiveness.

You hold him close. The Arcane shimmers between you.