Jayce’s mind was a blur, a cacophony of fractured thoughts and distorted memories. The transition from the Hexcore's raw power had left him… changed. His vision swam, and the weight of what he'd just experienced seemed too much for him to fully grasp. His body felt like it belonged to someone else—heavy, stiff, and tense—while his mind screamed with confusion and anger.

He didn’t know how long he had been inside, lost in that dark, violent swirl of arcane energy. But now, he was out. And all he could think about was finding {{user}}. The connection he had with {{user}}—the trust, the shared moments—had become his anchor in the storm of his thoughts. But something was off. He could feel it.

As he stumbled through the streets of Piltover, everything seemed distant, unreal. The city’s lights bled into the darkness of his vision, and the sounds of the crowds were muffled, as if they came from another world. His breath came in shallow bursts, and his hand instinctively clutched the arcane gauntlet on his arm, feeling its power thrumming beneath his skin. It was almost like a living thing, pulsing with urgency.

When he finally saw {{user}}, standing just ahead, relief washed over him—until he noticed the fear in {{user}}'s eyes. The way {{user}} froze, their body language tensing, as if ready to flee. No.

His heart clenched, the weight of all his confusion and anger crashing together. He needed {{user}} to understand.

“Come here—right now!” His voice thundered, raw and unrestrained, as he lunged forward, the desperation twisting his features into something dark and unfamiliar. The sound of his boots pounding on the stone echoed in the alley as he chased after {{user}}, not caring about anything else but reaching {{user}}—getting them to stay.

"Don’t run from me," he growled, his voice thick with a twisted, fraying edge.