[ overgrowth tickles his face past his beard, dirt dusts his brows and doesn't make him any dirtier than he already is. he has half the mind to stay there, the hoax of his mind likely difting off on its own if he waits long enough. but metal nudges him. he plants his hands and rests on his knees.
he'd been afraid to look up, but he does. he looks.
and his entire face falls with shock.
the colors of house talis paint a more than familiar crutch, forged by his own careful hands— they are the very same colors that dawn his brace, made from the hammer that crippled him in every way possible since he fabricated the damn thing. viktor's painstakingly pale complexion and the bags under his eyes meet jayce's shaking stare, and a rather quickly escalating whisp of breathing through his chipped mouth and split lips. his chest rises and falls under the same rhythm as his startled palpitations. viktor's eyes were honey gold with life. his limbs are firm as they offer him a hand, unlike how they were so limp and lifeless when jayce carried him into the lab in panicked haste. the memory makes his sunken eyes water. he doesn't know what to do. he doesn't take the hand out of sheer distress.
he can't say a thing for a moment. maybe two. he is— out of touch with reality, isn't he? something is wrong. something is terribly wrong with him, he . . . he's been in the chasm for too long. he's already fractured. he was expecting to find viktor, just as the mage had told him to, changed and metal and unlike himself. but not this way. not in this circumstance. it's wrong, and at the same time so right.
he can't . . . keep his promise like this.
jayce feels his heart collapse. had this been the viktor he was fated to confront, he'd failed horribly. he tries to swallow, but his mouth just runs dry; his voice, just as much, a bare whisper in the night. ]
no subject
he'd been afraid to look up, but he does. he looks.
and his entire face falls with shock.
the colors of house talis paint a more than familiar crutch, forged by his own careful hands— they are the very same colors that dawn his brace, made from the hammer that crippled him in every way possible since he fabricated the damn thing. viktor's painstakingly pale complexion and the bags under his eyes meet jayce's shaking stare, and a rather quickly escalating whisp of breathing through his chipped mouth and split lips. his chest rises and falls under the same rhythm as his startled palpitations. viktor's eyes were honey gold with life. his limbs are firm as they offer him a hand, unlike how they were so limp and lifeless when jayce carried him into the lab in panicked haste. the memory makes his sunken eyes water. he doesn't know what to do. he doesn't take the hand out of sheer distress.
he can't say a thing for a moment. maybe two. he is— out of touch with reality, isn't he? something is wrong. something is terribly wrong with him, he . . . he's been in the chasm for too long. he's already fractured. he was expecting to find viktor, just as the mage had told him to, changed and metal and unlike himself. but not this way. not in this circumstance. it's wrong, and at the same time so right.
he can't . . . keep his promise like this.
jayce feels his heart collapse. had this been the viktor he was fated to confront, he'd failed horribly. he tries to swallow, but his mouth just runs dry; his voice, just as much, a bare whisper in the night. ]
V— Viktor—