[ jayce slips in and out of a fever-burning consciousness laying on his side, in the poorly lit dip of the crevice right by the rejected corpse of a half-eaten salamander creature and the acrid stench of jayce's own vomit. starving and painfully ill, he gasps awake to the sound of his name echoing within the chambers of his prison, whirling everywhere as he sits up and moves nothing of his mangled leg. his beard hasn't grown through completely, his hair still partially short at the neck and ends, but his thick stubble emerges from the pores of a face that looks too young to be the man serph knows. he fell asleep. what was he doing? he was in the middle of— who was that?

jayce blinks and rubs his eyes, trying to ignore the vision he thinks he's hallucinating. he's clearly unwell. that's not real, just like the other things he chases, and has seen since he ate that damn thing raw from his own desperation to put something in his stomach— ]

That's . . . No, that can't, [ that can't be possible, can't be this isn't right none of this is right i can't think, he mutters, and mutters, and trails and reacts, and looks again in the man's general direction only to come so very close to weeping, ] —Serph— I'm, I'm losing it, [ whispers, and whispers, and whispers, ] you can't be here, no one's ever here, it's always . . . Me, and this, [ this empty space. this silence that is too loud and this painful, filthy, hellish hole he'll never forget— ] —Help. E-Even if you're not there, say something.

[ if he's begging his brain to conjure words of aid, so be it. ]