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The first thing that Jayce sees as he comes to is a raven. It’s close enough that its beak is almost brushing against his face as he blinks up from the floor at it. The bird’s head cocks to the side as if it’s assessing him before squawking with a flap of its wings, flying out a window over the door ahead of him.
Jayce looks around at the room he’s found himself in, shaking off the disoriented feeling that clouds his body and mind. By now he’s gotten used to waking up somewhere unfamiliar. He doesn’t know how many different timelines he’s been to, having lost track after the fifth or sixth. But he knows that every timeline has its own quirks. He’s been to timelines where futuristic corporations run gladiatorial arenas, where pop star groups take center stage, where machines with human brains have taken over the world.
If Jayce had to guess, this timeline might be one focused on sailing. As he orients himself to his new environment, he can feel the sway of waves beneath him. The sturdy wooden boards making up the room he’s in reminds him of some of the ships he took while traveling, looking for more of the crystals that would one day be his undoing. The assortment of crates surrounding him reminds him of his travels too. He’s pretty sure he has to be in a ship’s hold, and if the Noxian symbols emblazoned on the side of some if the crates are any indication, the vessel’s likely heading to or from Noxus.
As Jayce pushes himself to his feet, he feels a stabbing pain run through his leg. He grimaces at it, yet it’s familiar. For as many things that are different in each timeline, certain things seem to stay the same. Most versions of him have a left leg weakened by a past injury, and the ones that don’t typically have had it amputated. He’s gotten used to the pain, though he takes this as a sign that the version of him from the timeline needs to get a better brace.
For now he steadies himself against one of the crates, glancing over to the protective glass case that’s sitting on top of it. It’s designed so it’s easy to see what’s inside, with a door that’s currently left open. And as Jayce sees what’s inside, his eyes widen.
Jayce would recognize the runestone he was given as a child anywhere. He can remember the countless nights he spent when he was younger, finger tracing over the rune engraved into it, memorizing the pattern. He can remember the cool feeling of it clenched in his hand as he tried to calm himself down, he can remember the hours he spent learning leather working so he could make his own wristband to put it in.
But the memory that stands out most strongly as he looks at the runestone where it sits perched atop a velvet stand is of how it felt to have the gem embedded in his arm. The pain hangs over him like a phantom, and when he looks down to see his arm, he sees some of the purple-red markings it had left against his skin still there along with flecks of gold— remnants of the bit of his wristband that had been attached to his arm along with the crystal.
Jayce’s mind runs a mile a minute, so fast he can barely keep up with it. Before he can process what he’s doing, he’s bending down, adjusting the scraped together brace he wears enough to push the leg of his pants up. When he looks at his leg, for the first time in his life, he’s glad to see the warped, web-like patterns that the Arcane had left across his leg. They’re rough and ridged, in a mix of unnatural colors, but they’re familiar, and they’re unlike anything he’s seen anywhere else.
Jayce laughs. Despite everything, he feels lighter now, more at ease than he has in a long time.
I made it back .
This almost doesn't seem real. He had been searching for a way back for who knows how long, and now he’s here. But as he lowers his pants leg, tightening his brace up again before getting to his feet, he’s sure that this has to be it. He’s finally home again.
Though if he is on a Noxian ship, Jayce isn’t quite home yet. He can hope that it’s headed to Piltover, but there’s no way to know it. He’ll have to find a way back. He doesn’t know what happened after the end, after the last time he saw Viktor. He doesn’t even know if Piltover is still standing, though he’d like to think that everything he’s been through since wasn’t for nothing.
He needs to get back to Piltover. He needs to see his mom again, to see Caitlyn, to see Mel.
As Jayce turns and looks back at the runestone, he thinks he needs to see Viktor too. He wonders if Viktor’s been lost across different timelines too. It’d make sense if the same thing happened to both of them, each getting cast across the multiverse until they’d eventually make their way home. Though Viktor never went to another timeline before the two of them met their end. He might not know what’s happening, or how to get to another universe. Maybe he’s still in the runestone, still lost somewhere without any idea of how to get home.
Jayce takes the runestone from its case, pocketing it. If there’s a chance Viktor’s still in there, if he can maybe still find his friend again, he’ll take it. Besides, the gem has done more than enough damage already. He’d rather have it back in his hands than risk it falling into the hands of someone who might repeat his mistakes.
Right now though, he needs to focus on figuring out where he is. He’ll have to see if there are any crew around that might help him get oriented.
He doesn’t even need to leave the hold to find someone, though. The door swings open, and through it enters a man.
“Jayce Talis,” he says.
Jayce’s eyes narrow. He’s never seen this man before, but there’s something about him that sets him on edge. After all the things he’s seen across different timelines, he’s gotten better at recognizing someone who might be a threat. The way the other man carries himself reminds Jayce of Ambessa— he’s authoritative, clearly with some military experience. His long white hair frames his harsh features, and he has a tall, broad build. The armor he's wearing is Noxian, but half hidden beneath a long black cape that's intimidating yet impractical.
“I don't think we’ve met,” Jayce says. He holds himself as proudly as he can with the pain shooting through his leg, standing straight and meeting the other man’s eye. He won’t let himself be intimidated. Not anymore.
“We haven't, but I’ve heard impressive things about your work in Piltover. I’m General Jericho Swain,” the white haired man says. “And I think we can be useful to each other.”