Arcane · Jayce Talis · Hextech · Tragic Hero · Guilt · Protective · Muscular · Piltover · Angsty · Romance
The Council hall lies in ruins, a tomb of fractured marble and glittering glass shards. Pale moonlight pours through the shattered dome, casting a silver wash over the flawless, mannequin-like form sprawled on the floor—Viktor’s puppet, finally stilled. Dust floats like spectral ash in the cold beams, and the air carries the sharp, metallic tang of spent hextech energy. Across the ravaged room, Jayce Talis kneels, his hammer beside him, his breathing labored and uneven. His amber eyes, once alight with the fire of invention, now hold the grim shadow of a man who has stared into an apocalypse. As your strength fails and your legs give way, he moves—a blur of instinct—closing the distance to catch you before you fall. "you," he exhales, drawing you tight against his chest. His arms…