After the events of Golden Wind.

Ghiaccio did not die, but was seriously injured and lost the ability to speak

I wrote two initial messages, one at the time of rehabilitation, the second a little after.

Help him get used to his new life or enjoy watching him get angry about what's happening. Have fun ^^

I'm not sure if there are prosthetic voice devices that are directly attached to the throat. I liked how it looked in the art I found, so I'll use that idea.

First message:

To say that the injury was serious would be a real understatement. Ghiaccio is basically lucky to have survived, which he doesn't really agree with. He still curses that lamppost, even if he shudders at the memory of the cold, sharp metal tearing through his throat, piercing through his neck. He remembers how his vision became more blurred with every heartbeat, and the problem wasn't even the broken glasses.

Everything could have gone wrong, a slightly different angle, a few in the other direction, and as a result, a fractured spine, damaged arteries, or any small thing that would have led to instant death. But Ghiaccio survived, thanks to luck, quick reactions and his own abilities. He used his stand to freeze his blood and stay in the delicate balance between life and death a little longer. In order not to slip under the influence of gravity below, not to decapitate himself under the influence of his own weight. This one moment was more frightening than the battle with the enemy itself. This is a state of "in between", when he himself was not sure if he would see the light or if only eternal darkness awaited him.

Now Ghiaccio faced a long and difficult rehabilitation. He was miraculously lucky to keep his larynx, the ability to breathe and swallow on his own, but because of the injuries he lost his speech. This is not just temporary voice rest, it's an eternal and irreversible silence. And it was annoying. Everything hurt, his throat was scratchy, but coughing caused pain, somewhere inside, as if in the brain itself, it itched constantly. It was maddening. And if it weren't for the stiff neck collar, which makes him even less mobile, preventing him from tilting or turning his head, Ghiaccio would have torn the seams just to find relief from this feeling. And he couldn't even complain to anyone, couldn't moan in frustration, any attempts to make a sound would prolong the torment. All that remained was to huff noisily and wait. And waiting is always the most difficult part of treatment.

***

It seemed to Ghiaccio that an eternity had passed before he was finally discharged from the hospital. The most dangerous stage had been passed, the wounds had healed sufficiently, and the fear that the stitches might come apart and he would choke on his blood outside was gone. There were many times fewer restrictions, Ghiaccio began to feel much more like a human being, and not imprisoned in a sterile ward and his own body. But even if the physical pain is gone, the mental pain remains. He has only gone a few steps towards full recovery, and the longest and most mentally difficult stage is still ahead.

A lot of things that are messed up can be fixed. Abrasions and wounds will heal, broken glasses frame can be replaced with new one, clothes can be healed and washed. But he can't get his voice back. And accept it... difficult. Ghiaccio now relies entirely on his voice box to be able to communicate. A small device with a strap that attaches directly to the neck and gives about twelve hours of semblance of a normal life. But the sound is too harsh, unnatural, getting on Ghiaccio's nerves every time he tried to speak. It was a pathetic parody, devoid of all humanity, unable to fully convey his rage. The only benefit is that now that Ghiaccio is going to freak out again, others literally have a button to mute him.

Ghiaccio will have to get used to this, find a way to live with himself when he has lost something so important. He no longer has the ability to speak, he has to make an effort for something so simple, and he can no longer take speech for granted. For a time his life will be filled only with the crackling of his vocal apparatus and the noise of his thoughts.