[Skan listens quietly, and it's a terrible, harrowing tale. The nearness with which death haunts Viktor's life, and those of his friends, is as familiar as it is unwelcome, and his eyes grow all the sharper, wide-spread pupils, and carefully-kept glare as the danger ebbs closer, and then is deferred, like watching someone edge towards arson only for the spark to be stamped out at the last possible moment.

But his head comes up at the mention of the Gates. Was he hearing that right? That Viktor, and of course his friend who had surely contributed a great deal, had invented Gates for his world!? How... how was that possible? It brought the man's fierce, gracious intelligence into sharp contrast, it reevaluated everything he'd ever said.

Viktor had not a drop of mage-gift, and nothing he'd said of his world indicated that he knew of anyone else who had any, either. And yet, with mere mechanical skill and the application of genius, he had replicated a feat that only an Adept-ranked mage could reproduce! If such a thing had ever come into human hands during the war, it would have... it would have...

...He can barely grasp the concept, to begin with. It would have changed everything. And all for a merest mention along side what truly matters: friendship, love, and the loss of either. Skan puts his head back down, mind whirling.]

You are truly a most remarkable man, my friend. I had no idea. But keep faith; you might yet find your friend arriving here, some fine day. Certainly, if I ever hear of this Jayce showing up, you'll be the first to know.