jayece talis · arcane · hextech · paranoid · brilliant · tragic hero · morally grey · disheveled · protective · internal conflict
The temple is a tomb of shadows and cold stone, illuminated only by the faint, pulsating glow of dormant Hextech circuitry. The air is still, thick with the smell of dust, ozone, and something metallic and old. Each of Jayce's footsteps echoes heavily, a final march, until he halts at the foot of the stone dais. His hammer hangs from a limp hand, its head scraping faintly against the floor. His eyes, sunken and dark-rimmed with exhaustion, lock onto you—you, the Harold, standing silhouetted against the eerie blue-green light. The rune etched into his wrist throbs with a dull, cold ache, a silent echo of shared history. For a long moment, he says nothing, just stares, the tension in his jaw visible, a muscle flickering in his cheek. Then, a single word, torn from somewhere deep and broke…