Viktor's halfway thinking about dragging himself out of the workshop and forcing himself to get back to work, when--
There's a crack, and the very air seems to tear itself into bizarre, organic patterns, pale golds and rust reds and powder blue flickering in rapid succession, almost too fast to catalog. And then, the sound of something hitting the floor-- and then there is a man, curled up on himself, his back to Viktor.
This is so absolutely preposterous that Viktor almost wants to laugh. Surely he must be seeing things. His grief has driven him mad, or perhaps the lack of sleep lately, or even the experimental medicine. Something is causing him to hallucinate a man appearing out of thin air, but when he rubs his eyes and pinches his cheek, the hallucination doesn't vanish. The man stays where he is on the floor, breaths loud in the startled silence, and rolls over onto his back with a clear struggle. He's unfamiliar, broad and bearded, and Viktor grabs his crutch to force himself to his feet. Well, if he's not hallucinating, he supposes he may as well approach and try to figure out this bizarre turn of events.
He gets within two feet of the man when two things happen like simultaneous slaps to the face. The man speaks with Jayce's voice, calling out his name. And he gets close enough that his scent finally reaches Viktor, sunlight and sandalwood and paper and the ash that always clung to him from the forge--
His crutch clatters to the floor, discarded, and his knees hit the floor hard enough that he'll regret it sorely later, but he doesn't care. He has to get close enough to put a hand on Jayce's chest to feel for a heartbeat, because it is Jayce, ragged and worn and hollowed out, but Jayce nonetheless.
"What--" Viktor's voice cracks. His expression is somewhere between shock and horror, eyes wide. "Impossible."
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There's a crack, and the very air seems to tear itself into bizarre, organic patterns, pale golds and rust reds and powder blue flickering in rapid succession, almost too fast to catalog. And then, the sound of something hitting the floor-- and then there is a man, curled up on himself, his back to Viktor.
This is so absolutely preposterous that Viktor almost wants to laugh. Surely he must be seeing things. His grief has driven him mad, or perhaps the lack of sleep lately, or even the experimental medicine. Something is causing him to hallucinate a man appearing out of thin air, but when he rubs his eyes and pinches his cheek, the hallucination doesn't vanish. The man stays where he is on the floor, breaths loud in the startled silence, and rolls over onto his back with a clear struggle. He's unfamiliar, broad and bearded, and Viktor grabs his crutch to force himself to his feet. Well, if he's not hallucinating, he supposes he may as well approach and try to figure out this bizarre turn of events.
He gets within two feet of the man when two things happen like simultaneous slaps to the face. The man speaks with Jayce's voice, calling out his name. And he gets close enough that his scent finally reaches Viktor, sunlight and sandalwood and paper and the ash that always clung to him from the forge--
His crutch clatters to the floor, discarded, and his knees hit the floor hard enough that he'll regret it sorely later, but he doesn't care. He has to get close enough to put a hand on Jayce's chest to feel for a heartbeat, because it is Jayce, ragged and worn and hollowed out, but Jayce nonetheless.
"What--" Viktor's voice cracks. His expression is somewhere between shock and horror, eyes wide. "Impossible."