Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Someone worth building it for...

         A hush lingers in the cradle of dawn, where shadows melt into soft-spun gold. The heart stirs first, a steady beat, echoing time’s unrelenting flow. My eyes flutter half-drawn, still between worlds. I look up, but there is only darkness, the light is too dim to make something out. 

         The world is too quiet.

         I should be used to the emptiness by now, but this? This is different. 

        Every breath I take feels stolen, a mockery of the life you gave up for me.

        Isha.

        Your name is a wound I can’t stop reopening, a melody turned to static. It’s everywhere, in every thought, every heartbeat.

        You are gone, but I can’t escape you. The air feels thinner without the steady presence of your small, stubborn hope. 

         And me? I am here, alive only because you aren’t.

         A frenzy of flashes make my ears ring and I remember...this is not the hideout.

         Normally I would have panicked...not this time. My hands instinctively go over the surface that I am too comfortably lying onto. Fresh sheets meet my fingers. Even the smell is different.

         Sweet.

         I am still in my clothes. My ribbons and belt are gone.

         Pilties thought I'll hang myself in there, huh.

        Drenched with sweat and dirt from the prison floors, I feel unworthy to be here. It clings to my skin and I don't feel capable of even trying to think about changing out of them. 

       A bitter and sharp laugh rips through me.

       Alone? Alone would be a blessing.

       At least then it’d just be quiet. But no, I’m stuck with… this mess in my head. Every time I close my eyes, I see you.

       I can't even hear you. 

      The things I’ve done. The people I’ve hurt. And I can’t tell if it’s real or just—just me losing it again. And to be fair...I don't care about them. 

        I see your face in everything. The shadows that linger too long. The spaces where you should be.

      Your absence is louder than any scream, heavier than the weight of my grief.

      I wish I could hear your voice in the cracks of my breaking heart, whispering my name like an echo of what I’ve lost, but that was never possible to begin with. I try to hold onto the pieces of you, but they slip through my fingers. Your name is carved into my soul, a scar that will never heal.

      Isha. Gone, but never gone.

      You gave me something I never thought I deserved. A chance to be better. To be more. And now you're gone, and I’m still here.

       Why?

       Why did you do it?

       Why did you do it....

       My fists, once clenched so tightly around the remnants of our shattered past, now hang limply at my sides. Chasing vengeance.... clinging to anger like it’s the only thing that keeps me breathing.

        But I am so tired...

        I can’t stop replaying that moment in my head, over and over. The look in your eyes. The way you smiled at me, even as the world was crumbling around us. You knew what you were doing.

        You made your choice.

        And it was me.

        You chose me...

        I try to tell myself it wasn’t my fault, that you made your decision. But that voice, the one that’s been with me my whole life, it whispers something else. It tells me I failed you. That I should’ve done more. That I should’ve been the one to fall, to sacrifice, to burn. Not you.

        Never you.

        Sometimes I think I can still feel you—like you are just out of reach, a shadow in the corner of my eye, a ghost in the corners of my mind. I want to hold onto that, but it slips away every time I try. And then I’m left with nothing but the ache in my chest and the hollow space where you used to be. 

      I wonder what you'd think if you could see me now, if you'd be proud of me for trying to keep going, look up to me. Or if you'd see me for what I really am—a mess of a person who can’t even figure out how to live without you. Isha believed in me. You saw something in me I couldn’t see in myself. And now, without you, I’m afraid I’ll never find it.

         The guilt is a heavy thing, wrapping itself around my throat, my lungs, my heart. I want to scream, but the silence swallows the sound before it can leave my lips. I want to cry, but the tears feel like they’ll never be enough. Nothing will ever be enough.

       You're gone. And I’m still here. And I don’t know how to live with that.

        I didn’t deserve it.

        I don’t deserve it.

        I don't deserve it, I don't deserve it....I...

        Vi deserves better. She always has. I’ve seen it in her eyes—the hope that maybe one day I’d change, that maybe one day I’d stop dragging her through the wreckage of my choices.

         She never said it outright, but I could feel it in every argument, in every desperate plea for me to step back from the edge. I didn’t listen. I couldn’t. I know this is the only way to break the cycle. The only way to set her free. I can’t be the weight that drags her down anymore.

        She deserves a life without the shadow of my mistakes. A life where she can finally smile without wondering when the next storm will come.

       The walls feel like they’re closing in, pressing tighter with every second. I can’t breathe.

        My hands won’t stop shaking as I pull at the loose blanket on the foreign bed, twisting and unraveling it until it’s nothing but a useless tangle. It doesn’t help.

        Nothing helps.

        I close my eyes, but I can’t shut it out. Isha’s face is there, clear as day. That stupid, hopeful smile.

       The way she looked at me, like I was someone worth saving. It tears me apart every time I see it, and I see it constantly. I squeeze my eyes shut harder, but the image only gets sharper.

       “Isha…” I whisper her name like it’ll summon her back, but the room stays empty, silent except for the sound of my uneven breaths.

       And then I hear it.

       Footsteps.

       They’re faint at first, barely there, but they grow louder, closer. My chest tightens. Someone’s coming. My fingers dig into my nails, knuckles white, heart pounding. I don’t know who it is. I don’t know if I even want to know.

       The knock is soft, almost hesitant.

       “Jinx? You in there?”

        Ekko.

        I swallow hard, my throat dry as sandpaper. Of course it’s him. He’s always checking in, like he thinks he can fix me. Like I’m something that can be fixed. I stare at the floor, willing him to just go away, to leave me alone with this… this mess.

        “I’m coming in, okay?” His voice is gentle, careful, like he’s afraid I’ll bolt if he pushes too hard.

        The door creaks open, and I catch his silhouette in the dim light. He doesn’t rush in. He just waits there, giving me space, like he’s letting me decide.

       I don’t say anything. I can’t.

       He steps inside, closing the door softly behind him. For a long moment, he doesn’t move, just stands there like he’s not sure what to do. Then he crouches a few feet away, far enough that I don’t feel cornered but close enough that I know he’s here.

       “You’ve been in here all day,” he says looking around. His tone is gentle, not accusing, just… worried. “I figured… maybe you could use some company.”

          I don’t look at him. My fingers tighten around my wrist, like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered.

        “You shouldn’t have come,” I mutter, my voice barely audible. “I’m… I’m not good right now, Ekko.”

        “I know,” he says quietly. “That’s why I’m here.”

         Something about the way he says it makes me flinch. It’s too calm, too steady. It makes me feel even smaller, more pathetic. I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut.

        “I can’t…” My voice cracks. “I can’t do this, Ekko. I can’t—”

        “You don’t have to do it alone,” he interrupts, soft but firm.

        That makes me look at him, just for a second. His face is calm, steady, but his eyes… They’re not full of pity. Not even sadness. It’s something else. Something quieter.

        “I’m not here to fix you, Jinx,” he says, his voice even softer now. “I’m just here. That’s all.”

          I stare at him, my chest tight, my throat burning with unshed tears. The silence stretches between us, but it doesn’t feel as crushing as it did before. It’s different now.

        I exhale shakily, closing my eyes again. Maybe, just for a little while, I can let him stay.

      The quiet didn’t last long. It never does.

      Ekko shifts where he’s crouched, the faint creak of his weight against the old floorboards pulling me out of the endless spiral in my head. He doesn’t say anything, just waits. He’s like that—always giving me more patience than I deserve. Always there, even when I don’t want him to be.

      I wipe at my face with the back of my hand. It comes away dry, even though my throat feels raw like I’ve been crying. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. How do you thank someone for dragging you out of the kind of darkness where you didn’t want to come back?

     The memory hits like a sucker punch, sharp and unforgiving. I was ready to end it. Just let it all go—the guilt, the pain, the ghosts. And then he showed up, his voice cutting through the haze like a knife. I didn’t even hear what he said at first, just that it was him. Ekko. And then his hands were on me, pulling me back from the edge.

      Literally.

     “Jinx?” His voice pulls me back again, this time from the depths of my own head. I blink up at him. He looks tired. How long has it been since he slept?

     “Yeah,” I say, my voice rasping out like gravel. I don’t even know what I’m agreeing to.

     “You with me?” he asks. His tone isn’t demanding, just careful. Like he’s checking for cracks in the foundation.

      I nod, even though I’m not sure if it’s true. “I’m here.”

     His lips twitch like he wants to smile, but there’s too much weight between us for that. “Good. You scared the hell out of me, you know.”

       I flinch, looking away. “Didn’t mean to.”

       “Yeah, well, you did.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t care how bad it gets, Jinx. You don’t get to leave like that. Not without a fight.”   

        The words hit harder than I want them to. I feel something twist in my chest, a mix of shame and gratitude I don’t know how to handle. I hate it. I hate feeling anything.

       “Why’d you bring me here?” I ask, trying to change the subject. The Firelights’ hideout is noisy, even this deep into the tunnels. The hum of generators and distant laughter seeps through the walls, a constant reminder of life.

       “Because you weren’t safe on your own,” he says simply. “And because I knew you wouldn’t come here on your own. You’d rather stew in that head of yours until it eats you alive.”

        He’s not wrong, but it still stings. I cross my arms, glaring at the floor. “So what, you’re just gonna babysit me now? Make sure I don’t screw up again?”

       “No,” he says, standing and brushing dust off his pants. “I’m going to make sure you’re not alone. There’s a difference.”

        I don’t answer. I don’t know how to.

        He reaches out then, not touching me but holding his hand out in case I want to take it. I don’t. Not yet. But I see it there, steady and waiting, just like he is.

       “C’mon,” he says. “You need to eat something. And maybe… maybe you can start talking to someone. You don’t have to say anything deep, just… be around people. Let them remind you that you’re still here.”

        I hesitate.

        I doubt the Firelights would even want to look at me

        Part of me wants to shove him away, to retreat into the dark corners of my mind where no one can reach me. But another part, the part I’m barely holding together, wants to trust him. To believe that maybe he’s right.

        Finally, I push myself to my feet, avoiding his gaze.

       “Fine,” I mutter. “But don’t expect me to start holding hands and singing songs or whatever it is you do here.”

        Ekko snorts, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I almost smile.

        Almost.

        “One step at a time, Jinx,” he says, and he starts walking.

        I follow, because for now, it’s all I can do.

Chapter Text

         The corridors of the Firelights’ hideout stretch on endlessly, winding through the underbelly of Zaun like veins carrying life to places I’d never dared to go before. 

         My feet hurt and I realise I am still barefoot. I can't help but stare at the way they look.Tattered. The cold floor numbs them underneath.

        The air smells like oil and ozone, mixed with something faintly sweet—maybe food cooking in one of the communal spaces Ekko’s rambling about right now. 

       Very annoyingly.

       Or maybe he's not actually talking.

       I'm not sure.

       Was he talking about trust...?

       Trust. Bold move. Maybe he missed the part where my last trust exercise ended with....oh yeah, explosions.

       I keep my head down, shoving my nails into my arms, trying not to feel so exposed under the fluorescent lights flickering overhead.

       Ekko doesn’t say much as he leads me deeper into the maze. That’s the thing about him—he knows when to talk and when to just let me exist. I hate it and appreciate it at the same time. He walks in front of me as I stare at his back. The jacket he wears is dirty and long. 

      He’s always been like this, hasn’t he? Even when we were kids. It's hard to remember. Back then, I used to laugh at how serious he could be, always thinking ten steps ahead while I rushed straight into chaos. Now? Now I can’t figure out how to take even one step without falling apart. 

       Gee, Ekko.

       If only I had your magic glasses. I hear they make train wrecks look like masterpieces.

       "Where are we exactly?" I ask after we continue walking. "I expected this to be... different."

        Ekko glances over his shoulder, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. "When I brought you here, you just collapsed. Slept for days."

       "That doesn't answer my question," I mutter, irritation creeping into my voice.

       He chuckles, the sound light, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s holding something back, like there's more to the place than he’s letting on. Maybe it’s for my own good. Or maybe it’s because he doesn’t want me asking questions he can’t answer. Either way, I’m not in the mood to play guessing games.

       "Think of it as an outpost," he says after a long pause. "A room along the drainage system. Not quite in the heart of things just yet."

        "An outpost?" I raise an eyebrow, skeptical. "This doesn’t look like the kind of place anyone would want to be."

        "Yeah, well, it’s not for everyone. Just for people who need a breather. Or a place to hide out," he adds, glancing back at me. "You’ve got your own space here. No one’s gonna bother you. Not unless you want them to."

        I almost laugh at that, but it comes out hollow. “You really think I’m in the mood for company?”

       He doesn’t answer, just leads me further down the dimly lit corridor. The walls are damp, and the air smells thick, like old water and rust. The only sound is the faint drip-drip-drip echoing from somewhere further down the tunnel. I can’t help but wonder how far this place stretches, how deep it goes.

      "This your way of saying you're hiding me from the world? Your Firelights would probably want to skin me alive." I ask, my voice sharp, even though part of me knows that’s exactly what’s happening.

       "Not hiding," he responds, turning a corner. "Just... protecting you from the worst of it. If you're here, you’re safe. For now."

       “Safe?” The word feels foreign in my mouth, like it doesn’t belong. I keep walking, letting his words sink in, but I can’t quite shake the feeling that this is just another cage. I’ve been in too many of those to mistake it for anything else. "I can protect myself, y'know..." 

         We pass a group of Firelights sitting in a corner, huddled around a makeshift card game. I stiffen up, instinctively ready in case they would pounce but...nothing happens.

         They glance up when they see us, and I catch a flicker of something in their eyes-         

         Recognition?

         Curiosity?

         I can’t tell. I drop my gaze, my stomach twisting.

      “Don’t worry about them. They patrol these corridors all the time.” Ekko says, as if he can read my mind. “They’re not judging you.”

      “Yeah, right.”

        As if it was about judging and not attacking. I have killed many of your own, Ekko. 

       A bunch of strangers who’d probably rather see me locked up or six feet under. How couldn't they.

      "What a dream team", I mutter, hugging myself tighter. “They’re just waiting to see if the psycho screws up again. I bet you didn't tell them about you bringing me here? They'll feel like treason.”

       He stops then, turning to face me, and his expression is softer than I expect. “They don’t think that. You’re here, Jinx. That’s what matters.”

      I scoff, but I don’t argue. 

      Captain Optimism.

      Should I embroider that on a pillow or tattoo it on my forehead?

      Maybe because I don’t have the energy, or maybe because a part of me wants to believe him.

      Ekko leads me to a quieter part of the hideout, a small room with a single table and a couple of mismatched chairs. There’s a plate of food on the table—bread, some kind of stew, and a chipped mug of something steaming. I glance at him suspiciously.

     “Did you… set this up?”

      He shrugs, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Figured you might be hungry. Don’t let it get to your head.”

      I don’t want to admit how much the gesture gets to me. Instead, I slide into one of the chairs, poking at the food with a fork. It’s warm and smells good, but the thought of eating makes my stomach churn. 

      Ekko watches me for a moment before pulling up the other chair and sitting across from me. He doesn’t push me to talk, doesn’t fill the space with empty chatter. He just sits there, his presence steady and grounding, like an anchor in the storm that’s been tearing me apart.

       After a while, I finally break the silence. “Why do you care so much, Ekko? Don't you have places to be, saviour ?" My voice comes out harsher than I mean it to. “I mean, you’ve got a whole group of people to look after. Why waste your time on me?”

        He leans back, crossing his arms. “Because you’re worth it.”

       I laugh, sharp and bitter. “Yeah, okay. Sure.”

       “I mean it,” he says, his voice steady. “You don’t see it, but I do.”

        “You mean it...?" I repeat, the words tasting sour in my mouth. “Is that what you call this? Feels more like… like stubbornness. Or stupidity.”

        Shut up, I don't believe you.

        He shakes his head. “It’s survival. And maybe, just maybe, it means you’ve still got something worth fighting for.”

        I don’t respond, just stare at the table, the food on my plate blurring as my vision starts to swim. I don’t know if he’s right. I don’t know if I even want him to be.

         But for the first time in a long time, I feel something besides the crushing weight of guilt and despair. It’s small, fragile, like the first spark of a match.

        What's the catch?

        The spark is fragile, barely there, but it keeps me grounded. I poke at the bread on my plate, tearing off a piece and nibbling on it just to keep my hands busy. Ekko doesn’t push me to talk, doesn’t expect anything more than what I can give. He’s always been like that—patient in a way that makes me feel exposed, like he sees all the pieces of me I’d rather hide.

       I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. He’s leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, watching me in that quiet way of his. Not judging, not prying, just there.

     “You always this annoying?” I mutter, breaking the silence.

      A faint smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Only with you.”

     I snort, shaking my head. “Lucky me.”

     For a moment, the tension eases, and I almost feel normal. Almost. But the weight in my chest is still there, pressing down like it’s trying to remind me that I can’t escape it—not completely.

     “You really think I’ve got something worth fighting for?” I ask suddenly, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

      Ekko’s smirk fades, replaced by something softer, more serious. He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table as he looks at me.

      “I know you do,” he says. “You might not see it yet, but I do. You’ve still got a chance to make things right. To be more than the mistakes you’ve made.”

       I flinch at that, my hands curling into fists on my lap. “What if I don’t want to make things right?” I snap, my voice sharp and raw. “What if it’s too late for that? There's nothing left.”

      “It’s not too late,” he says firmly. “Not for you. Not for anyone.”

       “Right. Baby steps. Like a toddler learning to walk—except the toddler has a body count.”

        His certainty makes me angry, even though I don’t know why. I shove my chair back and stand, pacing the small room like a caged animal.

       “You don’t get it,” I say, my voice rising. “You don’t know what it’s like to live with this—this thing in your head, always whispering, always dragging you down. Isha’s gone because of me. Everything I touch falls apart. How am I supposed to come back from that?” My ears ring sharply and my vision blurs, a twisted image of Isha's dead body hits me. An image that I don't even know if it is real or not. I stare blankly at the floor.

          Stop, shut up! 

         Ekko doesn’t flinch at my outburst. He just watches me, his gaze steady and unflinching.

        “You start small,” he says quietly. “One step at a time. You don’t have to fix everything overnight, Jinx. Hell, you don’t have to fix everything at all. You just have to keep going. That’s how you win.”

         I stop pacing, his words hanging in the air between us. Keep going. Like it’s that easy.

         But then again, if it were easy, I wouldn’t still be here.

         I sit back down heavily, my hands gripping the edge of the table. I don’t look at him, but I don’t push him away either.

        “Why do you care so much?” I ask again, my voice quieter this time. I don't have the energy to fight. I would have punched him by now.

        “Because...because I know what it’s like to feel like you’ve got nothing left. I know how hard it is to keep going when it feels like the world’s against you. But you don’t have to do it alone, Jinx. You’ve got me. And you’ve got them.”

          "Right. Because everybody loves a redemption arc. Just wait—next, I’ll get me a medal and a parade!"

            He gestures vaguely toward the door, where the faint sounds of laughter and voices drift in from the rest of the hideout, like empty echoes.

         “You think they’d want me here?” I ask bitterly. “After everything I’ve done?”

         “They trust me,” Ekko says. “And I trust you. That’s enough.”

         His words hit harder than I want them to, and for a moment, I don’t know what to say. So I just stare down at the table as I try to process everything.

         The quiet settles again, but this time it’s less suffocating. Ekko doesn’t press me anymore, and I don’t try to fill the silence with some sarcastic quip. We just sit there, the hum of the hideout around us, and for the first time in… I don’t know how long, I don’t feel like the walls are closing in.

          I observe the mug of whatever he brought me. It’s still steaming, and the faint scent of spices curls into the air. I take a hesitant sip—it’s warm and sweet, with a kick of something sharp at the end. It doesn’t taste like home, but it doesn’t taste bad either.

          Ekko watches me, a small, satisfied nod when I take another sip.

          “What is this?” I ask, more to fill the space than because I actually care.

         “Mint tea,” he says, leaning back in his chair again. “Old recipe. One of the elders swears it can fix anything.”

          “Don’t think it’s strong enough to fix me,” I mutter, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

           “It doesn’t have to,” he says. “It’s not about fixing you, Jinx. It’s about giving you something to hold onto. Something that feels… solid.”

         I chew on that for a moment, staring into the dark liquid like it holds answers I’ll never find. Something solid. The idea feels foreign, impossible. But maybe that’s why it matters.

        “Ekko…” I start, my voice low and unsure. “What if I screw this up? All of it? Being here, trying to… I don’t know, exist. What if I can’t do it?”

         He doesn’t answer right away, just looks at me with that infuriating calm of his.

      “Then you screw it up,” he says finally, his tone even and steady. “And then you try again. And again. However many times it takes. That’s how you break the cycle, Jinx. You just have to keep trying. You don’t have to be perfect."

        Jinx, you're perfect. 

        A strong flash takes over, the image of Silco's body going limp as the bullet wounds ooze out his life. The bullets I put in him. I cover my ears. 

        His words hit harder than I expect, cutting through the haze in my head like a spark in the dark. I don’t know if I believe him, not yet.

        I exhale hard and force myself to take another sip of the tea, trying to go quietly over the image that just hit me. I let the warmth of the drink settle in my chest.

        “Fine,” I say after a long pause. “But if this goes sideways, it’s on you.”

       Ekko grins, the kind of grin that feels like sunlight breaking through clouds. “Deal.”

       This place feels alive, buzzing with faint voices suddenly and the hum of machinery that filters through the walls. I am more aware of it now.

       I stare at the remnants of the meal in front of me, pushing bits of bread around the plate as Ekko sits across from me, radiating a calm I don’t understand. How can he sit there so confidently when I’m in this… mess?

       I don't belong here.

       I don't deserve to be here. 

       But maybe that’s just who he is. He doesn’t try to fix the mess; he just… accepts it.

       The thought unsettles me. People don’t do that. They try to fix, to pull me apart, or they leave when they realize I’m too far gone. But Ekko? He stays.

      “You're doing it again. You’re thinking too hard,” he says suddenly, breaking through my haze.

      I glance up, scowling. “Am not.”

     He raises an eyebrow, not buying it for a second. “What’s going on in there?” He gestures toward my head like it’s a box he can open and rearrange.

      “Nothing,” I snap, a little too quickly. “I just… It’s loud, okay? In my head.” I push my nails in my fingers. 

       He nods, not insisting, just letting the words hang there. His patience is maddening, but also… grounding.

      “You don’t have to explain it,” he says. “Not to me. But you don’t have to go through it alone either. I know you're still in there, Pow-” he was about to say but stopped himself.

        I flinch at that, colours filling my eyes for a second. My gaze drops back to the table.

       Alone is safer.

       Alone doesn’t come with expectations or the constant fear of letting someone down. But alone also means nights standing on the edge, ready to let it all go.

      I sigh, the sound heavy and tired. “I don’t know if I can do this, Ekko. Being here, around people. It’s like… every second I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop. For them to see me for what I really am.”

      “And what’s that?” he asks, his voice calm but pointed.

       “A monster,” I say without hesitation, the word bitter on my tongue.

       His jaw tightens, and for the first time, I see a flicker of something other than calm in his expression. “You’re not a monster, Jinx. I used to believe you are". 

       “You don’t know that,” I snap, my voice rising. “You don’t know what I’ve done, Ekko. What I’m capable of. You think because you dragged me off a ledge, you understand me? You don’t. No one does.”

       "I have seen what you have done". He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back down. “I know enough,” he says, his voice steady. “I know you blame yourself for things that weren’t your fault. I know you’ve been carrying this weight for so long you don’t remember what it’s like to breathe without it. And I know you’re still here, Jinx, even after everything. That means something.” He sits up looking directly at me. Even if he's on the other side of the table, I feel there's is less space between us.

        His words cut deeper than I want them to, slicing through the walls I’ve spent years building.

       I hate it.

       I hate him for saying it, for making me feel. But I hate myself more for the way his words stir something in me I can’t ignore.

       “You don’t get it” I whisper, my voice breaking. “Isha… she’s dead because of me. I can’t just… move on from that.”

        “I’m not asking you to,” he says softly. “I’m asking you to keep living. For her. For yourself.”

      I don’t respond, the words caught in my throat. I don’t know if I can do what he’s asking, but the way he looks at me, like he believes in me even when I don’t, makes me want to try. I don't even question the face that he doesn't know who my Isha is.

      For now, that’s all I can give him. A maybe. A tentative step toward something that feels impossibly far away.

      “I’ll think about it,” I say finally, my voice barely above a whisper.

       “That’s all I’m asking,” he says, and the faintest smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

        We sit there in silence for a while, the noise of the hideout carrying on around us. It’s not comfortable, not yet, but it’s… something.
     
       For the first time in a long time, the weight in my chest feels a little lighter. Not gone, but bearable. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough for now.

Chapter Text

       The days blur together in a haze of stale air and too many thoughts. I stay holed up in the outpost room, a cramped little box with walls that seem to close in a bit more every time I look at them. It’s not dirty or anything—Ekko keeps the place neat enough—but it feels too clean, too organized, like a place meant for someone who has their life together. Not me.

       Let’s put the unhinged powder keg in charge of feelings. What could possibly go wrong.

       The walls hum faintly with the constant, rhythmic thrum of the Firelights’ machines, a sound I’m starting to hate. It’s like they’re mocking me, a constant reminder of the world outside these walls that I can’t bring myself to face. The world that Ekko and his crew are trying to save while I just sit here, wallowing.

       The room isn’t much. A cot pushed up against one wall, a table with two dark chairs, and a shelf lined with tools and spare parts that my hands itch to touch. There’s a cracked mirror above the sink in the corner, but I haven’t looked at it since the first day. I don’t need to see my face to know what’s there—dark circles under my eyes, hair tangled and unkempt, even if it's shorter now -  a shadow of someone who used to be alive.

       Ekko checks in every now and then, always the same routine. He knocks lightly on the door, like he’s afraid of startling me, and pokes his head in with that calm, patient look of his. Sometimes he brings food—nothing fancy, just bread and soup or whatever they’ve scrounged up that day. Other times, he just sits with me, letting the silence stretch between us like a lifeline.

       He doesn’t push, which is the only reason I haven’t told him to leave me alone.

       I spend most of the time pacing, staring at the chipped paint on the walls, or tinkering with a few scraps of metal I found in the corner. It’s not much, but it keeps my hands busy and my mind just distracted enough to drown out the noise.

       The nights are the worst. When everything’s quiet and still, the thoughts get louder. Isha’s face flickers behind my eyelids every time I try to sleep—her smile, the way she looked at me like I was her hero. And then the way she looked at me in the end, her eyes wide with determination as she stepped between me and death.

       I don’t cry. I can’t. The tears feel trapped somewhere deep inside, just out of reach, leaving me with nothing but this hollow ache that won’t go away.

       The world outside moves on without me, but I can’t move with it. Every time I hear the faint chatter of the Firelights in the hall, or the distant hum of the machinery, it feels like a reminder that I don’t belong here. That I don’t belong anywhere.

       Ekko doesn’t say it, but I know he’s waiting for me to come out of this room. To step into the world he’s built and see it for myself. But the idea terrifies me. What if they see me? What if they look at me and know what I am? What I’ve done? But even here, even in this self-imposed exile, I can feel the cracks forming. 

       On the third day—or maybe the fourth, I’ve lost track—Ekko shows up at my door again. This time, he’s not carrying a plate of food or a cup of tea. His face is serious, but not in a bad way.

       “Come on,” he says, leaning against the doorframe. “You’ve been hiding out long enough.”

       I glare at him from my spot on the bed. “Not hiding. Thinking.”

       “Sure,” he says, his tone laced with that dry humor. “Well, think while you walk. I’ve got something to show you.”

       I groan, dragging myself off the bed. “If this is another pep talk, I’m not in the mood.”

       “It’s not,” he says, motioning for me to follow. “Just trust me.”

       I don’t trust easily, but there’s something in his voice that makes me curious. I wouldn't trust myself. Reluctantly, I follow him out of the room and into the winding corridors.

       Ekko led me deeper into the Firelights’ hideout, and the air began to change. The metallic tang of Zaun faded, replaced by something richer, greener. The walls seemed to breathe, roots weaving through the ceiling, the floor, the very structure of the place. It was alive in a way I couldn’t understand.

       And then we came to the heart of it.

       The tree stood impossibly tall, its massive trunk breaking through the cavern roof, its branches sprawling outward like it was trying to cradle the entire hideout. Bioluminescent leaves shimmered faintly, casting the space in soft, shifting hues of green and gold. It felt ancient, otherworldly, like it didn’t belong here—and yet, it was the most real thing I’d ever seen.

       “Is this some kind of trick?” I asked, my voice sharp to cover the awe creeping into it.

       Ekko chuckled softly, shaking his head. “No trick. It’s real. Been here longer than any of us.”

       I notice things I’ve been too lost in my own head to see before. People—young, old, all kinds—working together, fixing machinery, sharing meals, laughing. It’s jarring, seeing so much life in a place that’s always felt like it was dying.

       “It shouldn’t be,” I said, stepping closer. The air around the tree was warm, humming with an energy that made my skin prickle. “Nothing like this survives down here. Not in Zaun. It’s… a tree,” I say dumbly, because my brain can’t catch up to what my eyes are seeing.

       “Not just any tree,” Ekko says, stepping beside me. “It’s the heart of the Firelights. The roots run deep, pulling nutrients from the ground, purifying the air. It keeps this place alive, in more ways than one.”

       I stare at him, then back at the tree. “You built all this?”

       “We did,” he says, his voice filled with quiet pride. “It wasn’t easy. But we wanted more than just survival. We wanted a home. A place where people could thrive, even down here. That’s why we built around it,” he said, his voice softer now, reverent. “It’s a reminder that life can grow in even the harshest places.”

       I didn’t know what to say to that. I stared at the tree, its roots tangled around makeshift buildings, its branches reaching toward the impossible. It felt… wrong, standing here, in this place that was so alive, when all I brought was destruction.

       “They’re not going to want me here,” I said finally, breaking the silence. My voice echoed in the cavern, a sharp contrast to the serene hum of the tree. “Your people, the Firelights. They’ll hate me.”

       Ekko didn’t deny it. He looked at me, his gaze steady, but there was a weight there I couldn’t ignore.

       “Some of them will,” he admitted. “You’ve done a lot of damage, Jinx. To them, to their families. It’s not something that’s just going to go away.”

       His words hit like a punch to the gut, even though I already knew them to be true. “Then why bring me here?” I snapped, my voice rising. “Why risk it? Why risk them?”

       “Because I believe in you,” he said simply. “And because I think they will too, if you give them a chance.”

         I let out a bitter laugh, turning away from the tree, from him. “A fat chance to what? See the monster up close? Let me ruin their lives like I ruin everything else?”

       “You’re not a monster, Jinx,” Ekko said, his voice firm. “You’ve done terrible things, yeah. But you’re not beyond redemption. You can be more than what you’ve done.”

        I turned back to him, my hands curling into fists. “And what if I can’t? What if they’re right to hate me? What if I just… can’t be what you want me to be?”

       “Then we deal with it,” he said, stepping closer. “Together. But you don’t get to give up without trying. Not here. Not now.”

       I hated him for his calm, for his certainty. I hated the way he looked at me like I was worth saving.

       But I hated myself more for the part of me that wanted to believe him.

       I glanced back at the tree, its light softening the edges of the world, making everything feel less jagged, less broken. It felt like a challenge, standing there, defying everything that should have killed it.

       “I don’t belong here,” I said, my voice quieter now, almost a whisper.

       Ekko’s gaze didn’t waver. “Maybe not yet. But you could.”

       The weight of his words settled over me, heavy and suffocating. But beneath it, there was something else. A possibility.

       I didn’t know if I could do this. I didn’t know if I even wanted to. But as I stood there, under the impossible tree, with Ekko beside me...I felt something. 

       The Firelights emerged their faces hard with anger and distrust as Ekko led me in the middle of their activities. Whispers rippled through the crowd as they gathered around, their gazes locked on me like I was a bomb about to go off.

       “That’s her,” someone hissed, their voice dripping with venom as they dropped a box they were carrying. “Jinx. She killed Tayo. She’s the reason half our crew’s gone!"

       “She shouldn’t be here!” another voice shouted, louder this time. “You’re putting us all in danger, Ekko!”

       "What is going on? Why would you bring her here!" another voice.

       Ekko stepped in front of me, his arms outstretched like a shield. “Enough,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through the rising chaos. “She’s here because I brought her here. You don’t have to like it, but you will respect it.”

       Respect. I almost laughed.

       As if that was ever going to happen.

       The whispers turned to shouts, the crowd growing angrier with every passing second. I could feel their hatred like a storm building in the air, ready to break. My hands itched to reach for my weapon, but it wasn't there, so I went back to digging my nails into my arms.

       “You can’t just forgive her!” a woman yelled, stepping forward. Her face was twisted with rage, her fists clenched at her sides. “She’s a murderer, Ekko! She’s the reason we’re all suffering!”

       "Exactly! Why the hell did you bring this situation in our home!" 

       “I’m not asking you to forgive her,” Ekko said, his voice calm but firm. “I’m asking you to give her a chance. She’s here to change.”

       A boy—barely older than a teenager—pushed through the crowd, his eyes blazing with fury. “Change? People like her don’t change! She killed my brother! This not a sanctuary for criminals!" the last part had so much venom in it, my own mouth was burning. 

       Before anyone could react, the boy lunged at me, his fists swinging wildly. Instinct took over, and I sidestepped his attack, grabbing his wrist to stop him. But he twisted free and came at me again, his punches fueled by pure rage, taking me by surprise. I got weaker, I noticed.  

       “I’ll kill you!” he screams, tears streaming down his face. “You deserve to die for what you’ve done!” He landed a sudden punch right in my jaw. I stumbled and let go of him, crouching down in pain. 

       “Stop!” Ekko shouted, but the boy didn’t listen as he threw himself at me, pinning me down on the ground. Looking for a second in the saviour's direction I saw he didn't actually try to stop what was happening either. 

       I didn’t fight back. I couldn’t. His fists connected with my face, my ribs, as he stood over me - but I didn’t move to stop him. How could I? He was right. I deserved this. The Firelights were agreeing with the boy, forming a tight circle around. 

       “Is this what you want?” I spat as the blood from my nose reached my mouth, my voice breaking as I grabbed his arms to attempt to hold him still again.“Go ahead! Do it! Maybe you’ll feel better, but it won’t bring him back!”

       The boy froze, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. His fists trembled in my grip, his face contorted with grief and fury. "You are not human, you are disgusting and you don’t get to talk about him,” he whispered, his voice raw. “You don’t get to act like you care. You took him from me.” 

       The words hit harder than his fists ever could. I let go of him and he stepped back as my hands were shaking. 

       “I know,” I said quietly, my voice barely audible over the murmurs of the crowd. I let my head lay flat on the grass, along with the rest of my body, sprayed out. 

       The boy stared at me, his expression unreadable, before turning and storming off into the shadows.

       The crowd was silent now, their anger simmering beneath the surface. Ekko turned to face them, his gaze hard.

       “She’s not the same person she was,” he said, his voice carrying through, trying to calm them down. “She’s trying to change. And if we’re going to be better than the people who’ve hurt us, then we have to give her that chance. More violence won't help.”

       The tension lingered, heavy and suffocating, but no one moved to argue.They probably felt very satisfied after I got punched. 

       I stood there, my body aching, my chest tight, and for the first time, I wondered if maybe they were right. Maybe I didn’t belong here. Maybe I never would.

       Ekko stayed by my side as the last of the Firelights went back to what they were doing, their glares lingering like shadows. The boy’s words echoed in my head:

       You took everything from me.

       I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “They’re never going to accept me,” I said, breaking the silence. “You saw how they looked at me. How they feel.”

       Ekko turned to me, his expression steady. “They’re scared, Jinx. They’ve lost so much, and they don’t know if they can trust you. But trust takes time. You’ve got to give them a reason to believe in you.”

       I scoffed, crossing my arms tightly over my chest. “And how do I do that? Bake them cookies? Paint them a pretty picture? I’m good at blowing things up, Ekko, not mending fences.”

       He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You start by being here. By not running the first time things get hard. You’ve got to show them you mean it—that you want to be better. It won’t be easy, but nothing worth it ever is.”

       "I'm starting to feel you brought me here so I could be their personal punch bag. Am I an attraction now, Ekko?" I  looked up at the tree again, its branches glowing faintly. The air around it felt heavy with life, with possibility, but it didn’t feel like it belonged to me.

       Ekko stepped closer, his voice softer now. “You’re not the only one who’s tried and failed, Jinx. Everyone here has scars. We’ve all made mistakes. What matters is that you keep trying. You’re here, and that’s a start." He inhales slowly. "Plus...they definitely needed to let some steam off with that. You didn't stop them either."

       "Fuck you." 

       He sighs at my remark. 

       "Oh, I’m sorry—did I accidentally ruin your ‘I’m a hero’ moment? My bad." He doesn't respond to my snappy answer. Instead, silence settles over us for a few moments. 

       “I don’t know if I can do this,” I admitted, my voice small. “I’ve tried before. To change, to be… different. It never works. I just make things worse.”

       I wanted to believe him, but the weight of everything I’d done felt too heavy, too permanent. The people I’d killed, the lives I’d destroyed—they weren’t just mistakes. They were who I was.

       “Why do you care so much?” I asked suddenly, turning to face him. “Why are you even trying to help me?”

       His gaze didn’t waver, his voice steady and calm as he laid flat next to me on the grass. “Because I know the girl you used to be. The one who laughed too loud, who saw the world like it was full of inventions. She’s still in there, Jinx, buried under all the pain and anger. And I’m not giving up on her.”

       His words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I hated how much they hurt. How much they made me feel.

       I turned away, staring at the tree again. “I don’t think she’s in there anymore,” I said quietly. “I think she’s gone.”

       “Maybe,” he said. “But I don’t.”

       We stood there in silence, the hum of the hideout filling the space between us. The Firelights didn’t trust me, and maybe they never would. But Ekko’s belief felt solid, like the roots of the impossible tree we stood beneath.

       For the first time in what felt like forever, I thought maybe—just maybe—I could take a step forward. Not for them. Not even for Ekko.

       But for me.

       “Fine,” I said finally, turning back to him. “But if they try to hit me again, I’m out and I might hit back”

       Ekko grinned, the tension easing slightly. “Deal. Just… maybe try not to antagonize them.”

       I rolled my eyes, but a small, reluctant smile tugged at my lips. “No promises.”

       He chuckled, shaking his head. “Come on. There’s more to see. And if you’re lucky, they might even let you eat dinner.”

       “Great,” I muttered under my breath. “Dinner and a side of death stares.”

       Ekko shot me a look, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You wanted a chance, right? This is part of it.”

       “Yeah, I didn’t think it involved being a sideshow attraction,” I snapped, but my voice lacked its usual bite.

       He scoffed, putting his arms under his head, looking up at the tree. We looked quite stupid, for sure, sitting in the grass like two forgotten screws in the back of a toolkit. I couldn't hear what was around me. My focus was pulled only around him. 

       He didn't ask me if I was okay. The blood  stopped rushing out of my nose, but it was smudged over my face. I didn't want him to ask me anything. I had no place to go to. The Last Drop was burnt wood now. A scrap. 

       But building with scraps is the best I am at.

       "Come on" he nudged me with his shoulder. I couldn't help but stare at him. We were children when so much happened to us. We grew up and that didn't change. "Let's continue." 

       I turned away and looked at the tree. Some leaves were falling with a purple glowing hue. 

       "Fuck you Ekko, really."

Chapter Text

     Things are a blur of cautious glances and whispered conversations. Every step I take through their little heaven feels like walking on glass, their eyes burning into me like they’re waiting for the moment I snap.

     I'm not even paid for all of this show...

     I try to stay out of their way, sticking to the quieter corners of the hideout or watching the glowing tree from a distance. It’s beautiful, sure, but it doesn’t erase the fact that I'm an invader in their sanctuary, a grenade waiting to go off. 

     I chose not to sleep so I don't have to see your face again. 

     The tension reaches a boiling point one night when I’m sitting in one of the empty workshops, working with some parts I scavenged from the trash piles. 

     I wouldn't consider this trash at all.

     It is nothing serious, just something to keep my hands busy. But when the door slams open behind me, and I don't even flinch. I knew this was coming; the whispers, the glares, the tension thick enough to choke on it was only a matter of time. I turn slowly, the small scrap of metal still in my hand, and find three Firelights standing there.

     The leader steps forward, tall and broad-shouldered, with a scar tracing down his jaw like a jagged map. His brown eyes lock onto me, cold and sharp.

     "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he snaps, his voice echoing off the walls. He wears a bright red shirt that embraces his body tightly. 

     I raise the scrap lazily, giving it a sound shake. "Just...building a toaster. Thought the kitchen could use one".

     He doesn't laugh. 

     Of course he doesn't.

     "You're not funny," he snaps, taking another step forward. His buddies close ranks behind him, their glares drilling into me.

     "Oh, I'm hilarious," I shoot back, leaning against the workbench like I have all the time in the world. My eyes gleam under the dim workshop light, catching the faint shimmer that always lingers. "It's just that you've got the sense of humor of a rock. Tough crowd tonight." I grab a small cog from the pile. 

     "Enough," he raises his voice. "Ekko's an idiot for letting you in."

     I did not like that remark.

     "Yeah, well, he's the boss," I say with a shrug, spinning the cog in my hand. "And last I checked, that means what he says goes. So, unless you've got something useful to add, why don't you just-"

     He lunges, faster than I expect for someone so big. But I'm faster. The metal drops on the floor with cling, as the shimmer in my veins ignites like a spark, and before he can even grab me, I'm on the other side of the room.

     "Whoa, easy there, big guy!" I laugh, but my pulse hands are already curling into fists. "You could've just said you didn't like my toaster idea."

     His friends step in now, spreading out to block the exits. One of them, a wiry girl with a knife in her hand, sneers at me. "You think this is funny? After everything you've done, you think you can just waltz in here and act like you belong?"

     I tilt my head, pretending to think. "Waltzing's not really my style. More of a cha-cha kind of girl. But I don't really dance anymore. Still haven't found a worthy pair of boots."

     "Shut up!" the leader roars, and this time, when he comes at me, I don't dodge and attack.

     I move like lightning, shimmering and grabbing his wrist, wisting it hard enough to make him stumble. The knife girl rushes in, slashing at my side, but I sidestep, grabbing a wrench from the table and swinging it in a clean arc. It hits her hand with a crack, sending the blade clattering to the floor.

     "Oops," I say, grinning as she clutches her hand, glaring daggers at me. "Butterfingers."

     The third guy hesitates, clearly debating whether jumping in is worth it. Smart.

     "You're all so serious," I say, twirling the wrench in my hand as I circle them. "What's the matter? Can't handle a little crazy?"

     "You're not crazy," the leader growls, shaking out his wrist. "You're a murderer."

     The words hit harder than I want them to, but I shove the feeling down. I can't afford to be weak right now. "Oh, come on. If I wanted to kill you, do you think we'd still be talking?" I lean in, my voice dropping to a whisper. "You'd be ash."

     He lunges again, but I'm already moving, dodging easily and planting a kick to his stomach that sends him sprawling into the workbench. The tools scatter, clattering to the floor, and for a second, the only sound is his labored breathing.

     "You wanna hate me?," I say, my voice cold and sharp now. The grin is gone, replaced by something darker. "Fine. Join the club. But if you ever come at me again, you'd better be ready to finish the job."

     They stare at me, the tension crackling like static in the air. 

     Finally, the leader picks himself up, wiping blood from his lip.

     "This isn't over," he says, his voice low and seething.

     "Sure, sure," I say, waving him off. "See you at the next team-building exercise."

     They barely gather themselves and leave, their footsteps echoing down the hallway, and I let out a shaky breath, laying down on the workbench, between the metal pieces.

      I glance down at the wrench in my hand, my reflection distorted in the polished metal. The pink in my eyes catches the light, unnatural, a reminder of everything I've become.

     The adrenaline still buzzes under my skin as I listen to them disappear down the hall. My chest heaves, my heart pounding like war drums. The room is eerily quiet now, save for the faint hum of the hideout's machinery in the distance. My fingers curl tighter around the wrench before I toss it onto the table, the clang breaking the silence. I slam my fists down, looking at the ceiling. 

     I shouldn’t stay here. They’ll come back. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but they’ll come, and next time they won’t be this sloppy. I can see it in their eyes—the fire of hatred, the need for vengeance. 

    But I won't be sloppy either. And I am afraid I might hurt them well.

    I should leave. Run. It’s what I’m good at. 

    Why do I even care?

    “Jinx.”

      The voice is soft, hesitant, and it makes me freeze. I turn my head slowly to see one of the younger Firelights—maybe seven, tops—standing in the doorway. His face is pale, his hands fidgeting nervously.

      “What?” I snap, sharper than I intend. For a second I hoped it would be someone else. 

     Another one in the circus! They just keep coming.

     He flinches, but doesn’t run. “I… I saw what happened. With the others.”

     “Congratulations. Want a medal?” I mutter, letting myself lay back on the table.

     “No,” he says quickly, taking a cautious step inside. “I just… I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

     That makes me pause. I glance at him while slowly sitting up, legs dangling on the side. “Sorry? For what? You weren’t the one trying to rearrange my face five minutes ago.”

     He fidgets again, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I know. But… they’re scared. We’re all scared. And I think they don’t know how to deal with that.”

     The words jug like a pebble in a still pond, rippling through the quiet rage that simmers in my chest. I look at him fully now, studying the way he shifts from foot to foot, the way his hands clench and unclench at his sides. It remind me of Isha too much.

     “What’s your name, kid?”

     “Rian,” he says softly, meeting my eyes briefly before looking away again.

     “Well, Rian, let me give you a little advice.” I push myself off the bench, walking toward him with deliberate slowness. He tenses but doesn’t move. “Fear makes people stupid. Makes them reckless. But it also makes them predictable.”

     He swallows hard, his throat bobbing. “I… I guess.”

     “Guess all you want,” I say, stopping a foot away from him. I crouch slightly, bringing myself to his level. “But if you’re scared of me, maybe ask yourself why. Is it because I’m dangerous? Or because you don’t understand me?”

     His eyes widen, his lips parting like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how.

     “Here’s the thing, Rian,” I continue, my voice dropping to a near-whisper. “You don’t have to understand me. Just don’t get in my way. Deal?”

      He nods quickly, almost frantically, and I can’t help the small, humorless smile that tugs at my lips.

     “Good talk,” I say, straightening up. “Now go run along before someone sees you talking to the monster.”

     He hesitates for a moment longer, his eyes darting between mine like he’s searching for something. Then, without a word, he turns and scurries down the hall, leaving me alone once again.

     I sigh, running a hand through my hair and glancing back at the tools scattered across the table. The fire in my chest hasn’t gone out, but it’s dulled to embers now, a restless, lingering heat.

     “Monster,” I whisper to myself, the word twisting in my mouth like a bitter pill.

     I sink back into the chair, hugging one leg, the weight of everything pressing down on me once more. If this is what Ekko meant by “second chances,” I’m not sure I want it. Because second chances don’t erase the scars, and they sure as hell don’t change the fact that some wounds never heal.

     And if this is what redemption feels like, maybe I was better off without it.

     I spend the rest of the night staring at the tools on the table, unable to shake the word monster from my head. It echoes, loud and grating. No matter how many times I try to push it away, it claws its way back, dragging memories and regrets with it like weights tied to my ankles.

     When the first rays of morning pierce through, I can’t take the silence anymore. I grab a wrench and a handful of scrap metal and start building something—anything—to keep my hands busy. The toaster is long forgotten. My mind races as I work, the rhythm of hammering and soldering giving my thoughts something to cling to. Erratic and chaotic. 

     I don’t even know what I’m making. A weapon? A trinket? Something else to break when the anger gets too loud? It doesn’t matter. It’s just noise, a distraction, a way to keep the demons at bay for a little while longer.

     Hours pass, maybe more, and I’m so lost in the work that I don’t hear the door open.

     “Good morning.”

     Ekko’s voice cuts through the haze, sharp and unexpected. I flinch, nearly dropping the wrench in my hand, and spin around to face him.

     He stands in the doorway, his arms crossed and his gaze steady, but there’s something in his eyes—concern, frustration, something I don’t want to deal with right now. The hourglass he draws on his face is not there today. 

     “What do you want?” I ask, my voice harsher than I intend.

     “You,” he says simply, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. 

     I don't process that and just stare.

     “I heard about what happened last night.”

     “Oh. Of course you did,” I mutter, turning back to the table. “Let me guess, you’re here to give me a lecture about playing nice with the other kids?”

      “No,” he says, moving closer. “I’m here to ask if you’re okay.”

     I freeze for a second, caught off guard by the question. Then I shake my head, letting out a bitter laugh. “Okay? That’s funny, Ekko. Really."

     He doesn’t say anything, just watches me with that same frustrating calmness. It makes me want to scream.

     “You don’t get it,” I say, slamming the wrench onto the table.

     “I know more than you think,” he says quietly, his voice cutting through my anger like a knife.

     I whirl around, glaring at him. “Oh, really? You ever have people whispering behind your back, plotting ways to get rid of you? You ever have people call you a monster and mean it?”

     Ekko steps closer, his expression softening. “No. But I’ve seen what that does to people. And I’ve seen what happens when they let it consume them.”

     For a moment, I can’t think of a single snappy comeback. The fire in my chest dims, leaving behind nothing but a hollow ache.

     “You’ve got a choice, Jinx. You can keep running, keep fighting, keep letting the hate control you. Or you can try to change. It’s not easy, and it’s not fair, but it’s the only way this gets better.”

     I laugh bitterly, shaking my head. “You really think I can change? That I can just… flip a switch and be someone else?”

     “No,” he says. “But I think you can try. And I think you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.” He almost plasters a smile on his lips. 

     Ekko's words hang in the air, heavy and uncomfortable. I hate how much they make me feel, how they poke at the raw, vulnerable parts of me I’ve spent so long trying to bury.

     “Whether you believe it or not, there are people here who want to see you succeed. Even if they don’t know it yet." He walks closer looking over the mess I made on the table. A wrinkled soup of metal. "What are you making here?" he sounds interested. 

     I sigh and sit up. "A sorry excuse of a toaster." 

     He smiles and I notice how close we actually are. "I have one more thing to show you." He reaches to grab my shoulder but stops midway and scratches his elbow awkwardly. 

     "You don't like the boots I brought yesterday?" Ekko points at my feet changing the subject suddenly and I try to hide them instinctively. 

     "Not my style really...." but I didn't mean to say that. 

     "Well, you still have to come with me either way. I have something to show you." 

     “Alright,” my voice is trembling, but I am not sure why. “But if this blows up in my face, I’m blaming you.” I quickly put on those rugs of shoes and leave. 

     The walk to the tree feels heavier than it should. My boots crunch softly on the grass as the glow of the Firelights' sanctuary grows brighter around me. I don’t know why I’m going—I hate this place, hate the way it feels too clean, too hopeful. But something about the way Ekko looked at me earlier, the way his words lingered in my head, won’t let me stay locked up in that workshop any longer.

     The heart of the Firelights' home is beautiful in a way I can’t explain. The tree stands tall and proud, its glowing branches stretching like veins of life. Around its massive trunk, there’s life—people laughing, working, sharing stories. It’s the kind of scene I used to dream about when I was a kid, back when I thought things like safety and family were possible.

     But my eyes aren’t on the people. They’re on the mural.

     It’s massive, covering the wall behind the tree in layers of bright, chaotic colors. Faces upon faces, each one carefully painted, each one a memorial to someone lost. Some of the portraits are detailed, intricate, and others are rough, unfinished. 

     I don’t know what draws me closer, but before I know it, I’m standing right in front of it, my breath catching in my throat.

     The faces blur together at first, a whirlwind of color and emotion. Then, slowly, one face after another begins to take shape—people I don’t know, but whose stories I can almost feel in the brush strokes.

     And then I see her.

     A small girl, her eyes wide and bright, her hair bright blue. Her smile is shy, almost nervous, like she doesn’t quite believe she deserves to be here. The paint is a little faded, but there’s no mistaking who it is.

     Me. Powder.

     I stumble back a step, my heart slamming against my ribs. My chest tightens, and suddenly, it’s hard to breathe.

     What the hell is this? I wanted to say but nothing came out.

     I reach, my fingers trembling as they brush against the paint, but it's too high. The paint is rough, textured, like it might crumble beneath my touch.

      This mural is for the lost, for the ones who were taken too soon, who didn’t get a chance to fight back. But Powder? She wasn’t taken.

     She became me.

     The thought scrambles me like a punch to the gut, and I stagger, my legs threatening to give out beneath me. The memories come flooding back, unbidden and relentless—Vander’s strong arms pulling me close, Mylo’s teasing voice, Claggor’s quiet laugh. Vi’s hands, firm and steady, always there to pull me up when I stumbled.

     And then the explosion. The screams. The silence.

     I close my eyes, my fingers digging into the bark of the tree as I try to steady myself. Flashes of everything and everyone at the same time. But the image of Powder is burned into my mind now, her innocent face staring back at me with a quiet kind of accusations.

     I stood in front of the mural, my fists clenched so tightly I could feel my nails digging into my palms. Powder’s face stared back at me, too wide-eyed and innocent, like she didn’t know the wreckage she’d grow up to cause.

     My temples pounded, and my breathing hitched. The voices were louder today, a cacophony of mockery and regret.

     “You ruin everything, Jinx.”

     "She jinxes every job!".

     “Why couldn’t you just stay gone?”

     I squeezed my eyes shut, willing it all to stop, but the mural burned into the back of my eyelids, its painted faces twisting and shifting. Powder’s smile turned into a sneer frown, her painted eyes boring into mine, accusing me.

     “Stop it,” I whispered, barely audible. “Just stop.”

     The voices only grew louder.

      My chest tightened, the air feeling too thick to breathe. I dropped to my knees, my hands flying to my head, gripping my hair in desperation. My whole body shook as I tried to wrestle the chaos.

     Before I knew it, the warmth of his arms around me startled me more than the sudden pressure, and I froze.

     Silence. 

     Ekko knelt beside me, pulling me into a firm but gentle embrace, his chin resting lightly on top of my head.

     He broke through the noise in my mind. I felt my body go limp against him, my forehead resting on his shoulder as the tension drained out of me. 

      “It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice steady and soft.

     I didn’t know how to respond. No one had touched me like this—without fear or anger—in so long that I’d almost forgotten what it felt like. My first instinct was to pull away, to shove him off and snap at him for getting too close.

     But I couldn’t.

     We stayed like that for a long time, the mural watching us in silence. The little girl in the paint was still smiling, but she didn’t feel as accusing now.

Chapter Text

     “You’re up there because… because Powder was lost. She mattered to people, and when she was gone, it left a hole. That’s what this wall is for—not just the dead, but the ones we lost along the way.”

     At first, I didn’t know what to do with myself. Ekko's words were playing an orchestra in my skull.

     Over and over. 

     All my life, I’ve been a maker of chaos—bombs, guns, traps, anything that could explode or maim or terrify. It’s what I’m good at, what I was made for. But now… now, I’m trying to build something different. Firelights don’t stop me.

     That’s progress, I guess.

     In the workshop, that became my new unspoken territory, feel almost at peace. The tools in my hands are familiar, their weight grounding me. I start small, fixing broken hinges and patching leaks in pipes. Simple, practical things.

     But then I get bored.

     On my daily errands, I spot a group of kids playing near the tree, their laughter echoing through the cavernous space. They’re using a stick and a piece of fabric as a makeshift kite, struggling to keep it aloft in the faint updrafts.

     It gives me an idea.

     I spend the next two days holed up in the workshop, ignoring the curious—or wary—looks of the other Firelights. I often forget to eat. When I finally emerge, I’m holding a bright, colorful contraption made of lightweight metal and shimmering fabric. With splashes of color, here and there. A personal touch. A proper kite, designed to catch even the smallest gust of wind.

     The kids are skeptical when I show it to them. They eye me like I might be handing them a ticking time bomb, and honestly, I don’t blame them.

     “Go on,” I say, holding it out. “It won’t bite.”

     One of the braver kids—a boy with a mop of curly hair—takes it cautiously. He studies it for a moment before running off to the open space near the tree, the others following close behind.

     I watch from a distance as they try it out, my heart in my throat. The kite catches air almost immediately, soaring high above the glowing branches. The kids cheer, their laughter filling the air, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel… good?

     Later that evening, as I’m tinkering with a busted lantern, one of the older Firelights approaches me. His name’s Kieran, and he’s made it clear from the start that he doesn’t like me.

     “What’s your game, Jinx?” he asks, his arms crossed and his tone sharp. 

     I glance up at him, then back at the lantern. “Don’t know what you’re blabbering about.”

     “You think a fancy kite’s gonna make us forget who you are? What you’ve done?”

     I slam the lantern down on the table, turning to glare at him. “No. I don’t. But I’m trying, alright? I’m trying to do something that isn’t…” I gesture vaguely, my voice faltering. “That isn’t destruction.”

     Kieran doesn’t look convinced. He steps closer, his gaze hard. “People like you don’t change. You’re a ticking time bomb, and we’re just waiting for you to blow.”

The words sting. I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms as I fight the urge to lash out. It's just a kid, no big deal. 

     “Maybe I am,” I say finally, my voice quiet but steady. “But at least I’m trying to disarm myself.”

     Kieran stares at me for a long moment before scoffing and walking away. His words linger, though, heavy and suffocating.

     Later that night, as I lie on the floor staring at the ceiling, I think about what he said. Maybe I’m fooling myself, trying to build instead of destroy. But then I remember the kids’ laughter, the way their faces lit up when the kite took flight.

     Time stretches on, and I find myself carving out a strange rhythm. The Firelights still didn’t trust me—most kept their distance or shot me glances loaded with suspicion—but they let me stay. It was like standing on a tightrope, always one misstep away from being cast out.

     I stayed busy. That’s how I coped. I took on every repair job I could find, no matter how tedious. Broken pipes, jammed gears, flickering lanterns—I fixed them all. It gave me something to focus on, something to keep my hands from itching for a trigger or a fuse. I was playing pretend with the wires.

     That morning, Ekko found me hunched over a half-disassembled clockwork toy. He always comes to me...I am starting to get used to his gritty smell of burnt fuel. 

     “Since when do you make stuff for kids?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

     I didn’t look up. “Since I stopped making stuff that blows up.”

     Ekko chuckled, but there was a softness in his eyes when he stepped closer to inspect my work. It was a little mechanical bird, its wings designed to flutter when wound up.

     “It’s cute,” he said, and I could hear the smirk in his voice. “Didn’t know you had a soft side.”

      I glare at him over my shoulder. “Say one more word and I’ll make it peck you.” 

     He laughed outright at that, but it wasn’t mocking—it was warm, genuine. It caught me off guard, and I had to look away before he could see the flicker of uncertainty in my face.

     “Seriously, though,” he said, his tone softening. “I see what you’re trying to do. And I think it’s good.”

     I wanted to brush him off, to snap at him and tell him to mind his own business. But instead, I just muttered, “Yeah, well… don’t get used to it.”

     He didn’t push, just patted my shoulder and left me to my work. Where his hand was, warmth hugged my skin. 

     The next day, I decided to take a bigger step.

     I’d overheard a group of Firelights talking about a broken water purifier that had been causing problems for weeks. It was a big job, one that required more than just a wrench and some scrap metal. Normally, I would’ve avoided something like that—it felt too… important.

     Something in me wanted to prove that I could do it.

     I spent the whole day working on it, dismantling the purifier piece by piece and cleaning out the grime and rust. A few Firelights passed by and watched me from a distance, their expressions ranging from skeptical to outright hostile.

     “You sure you know what you’re doing?” one of them finally asked, a short girl with a shaved head and a fierce glare.

     “Do you?” I shot back without looking up.

     She didn’t respond, but I could feel her eyes on me as I worked. "I just… I don’t get how you can look at something like that and know how to fix it.”

     I shrugged. “I’ve been doing this my whole life. Machines make sense to me. People, not so much.”

     It took hours, but eventually, the purifier whirred to life with a low, steady hum. Clean water trickled into the collection tanks, and for the first time in days, I felt something close to pride. The machine was noisy but it worked. 

    The  girl muttered something that sounded like “nice work” before walking away, and I couldn’t help but smirk. There were cracks in the wall of hostility that surrounded me, and I held onto them like lifelines.

     Not everything was progress.

     In that evening, the sound of my tools clinking against the metal of the workbench was rhythmic, almost soothing as I carefully adjusted the gears of a small device. I’d been keeping busy, repairing anything that needed fixing, giving my mind something to focus on that wasn’t everything else. But despite the constant hum of activity around me, something in the air felt off today. There was tension—thick and heavy, pressing down on everyone. I could feel it in the way people moved, the way they spoke in hushed voices when they thought I wasn’t listening.

     It didn’t take long for Ekko to find me. He always did, like he had an uncanny way of sensing when I needed him, or when I needed a distraction. He didn't usually give me the luxury of avoidance. 

     “We need to talk,” he said. His expression was serious, his brow furrowed as if he was weighing something heavy on his shoulders. His demeanor was usually grounded, this time a sense of urgency laced his words. 

     I didn’t look up. "Yeah?" I said, keeping my hands busy with the little contraption, even though it was already done.

     “Listen,” Ekko started, his voice tight with purpose. "A battle is coming and it concerns all of us".

     Ekko takes a deep breath, walking over to the table and running a hand through his hair. "Worse than we thought.”

     I raise an eyebrow. "They got new toys now or something?" For a split second the hive screams of the empty shelled people at the herald's sanctuary fills my mind. 

     Ekko hesitated, his jaw tightening. “They have an army and we need allies right now, even if they’re the kind we don’t usually like. We can’t afford to be picky about who we work with.They're coming. They’re powerful, and we need to start preparing. Fast.”

     “And what about me?” I ask, my voice quieter now, but still sharp. “What do you expect me to do in all this, huh? Fix the damn weapons, like always?” Saying this feels egoistical, but a part of me wanted to know where does he stand in this. 

     Ekko’s eyes softened. “I know you’re still trying to figure things out, Jinx. But the truth is, we can’t do this alone. We need you. We need everyone. Especially you.”

     The weight of his words settled deep in my chest. His eyes were rounder than what I remembered. I had no idea if I was ready, but Ekko was right. I couldn’t just hide in the workshop, pretending like the world was going to leave me alone. I longed a revenge I couldn't get. 

     "I want to know if I can count on you in all of this mess that is about to unfold. My people only have to suffer out of this. Hell, the entire Zaun and Piltover!" is the last thing he says before silence settles in. 

     "So what’s the plan?" I ask, finally, breaking the silence that gave me space to overthink. I don't answer to his question directly. Not yet. Not because I don't want to, but because I don't know how. 

     “We fight back,” Ekko said, his voice firm now, with the kind of resolve that reminded me why he was leading this place. "We need to make sure they can’t get to the Arcane and—" He stopped, his mind probably racing with thoughts. “And we need to be ready for anything. They’ll stop at nothing to get what they want.”

     "Alright." I sit up, hands on my hips. "Then I have to go and bother someone." He looks at me confused as I simply walk past him.  When I am about to reach the door, I feel his fingers wrap around my wrist suddenly, holding me back. I look at him over my shoulder and notice his white hair is slightly dirty. Seeing him so close I realise how tired he actually is.

     "Don't disappear for too long." His hold tightens around my wrist. His hand is heavy.

     "Please." 

     I don't say anything and bolt out. Processing this kind of feelings is too much right now. 

     What's your deal Ekko, what do you want from me? 

    Always nearby, checking in, hovering just close enough to remind me he you are not  leaving. At first, it annoyed me—like you were babysitting me. But it was different. You didn’t treat me like I was fragile or dangerous. Just… me. 

     Sometimes I’d catch you watching me when you thought I wasn’t looking. That quiet intensity in your gaze, like you were trying to figure me out all over again. And I hated how it made my heart stutter just a little. Like it used to, back when we were kids and he’d show off your tricks or laugh so hard your nose scrunched up.

     I hadn’t thought about that in years.

     I climb my way through Zaun’s forgotten tunnels, my boots echoing against metal, the familiar bite of shimmer still thrumming faintly in my veins. By the time I reached my old hideout—a place where everything reeked of my past mistakes, heavy with old smoke and stale regret, half dead, half burned—I was already bracing for what was coming. Or what I hoped it would.

     Sevika was there, of course. Sitting in one of the old chairs, a cigarette burning between her fingers as if she owned the place. She was staring in the broken mirror, surrounded by my things. Her presence was the same as always: heavy, commanding, filling the room without her saying a word. The dim light caught the edge of her mechanical arm, and her expression was unreadable as her eyes lifted to meet mine.

     “Well, look who decided to come crawling back. You look like hell,” she drawled, her voice rough and unimpressed.

     I didn’t answer. Instead, I kicked aside a pile of old schematics and leaned against the railing, crossing my arms over my chest like I wasn’t already bracing for her scolding. Which she obviously did not have any right to do. 

     “Didn’t think you’d miss me so much, Sevika,” I shot back, the edge in my voice sharper than I intended.

     She snorted, taking another drag of her cigarette before putting it out forcefully right in my makeup box. Ouch. The scrape of metal against the table echoed in the silence. “You think this is funny, Jinx? That what you’ve been doing—what you’ve put me through—is some kind of joke?”

     Her voice was sharp, cutting into me like a blade, and for a second, I felt like I was ten years old again, being told off for breaking something I couldn’t fix.

     I tried to smirk, to throw up my defenses, but Sevika wasn’t buying it. She stood up, her heavy boots thudding against the floor as she moved closer. Her eyes were cold, her expression hard. This wasn’t a game to her.

     “You disappeared,” she snapped, pointing a finger at me like she was driving the words into my chest. “Vanished. After everything that happened—you ran, and I was left to pick up the pieces. There is nothing left of The last drop.

     My throat tightened, but I didn’t move. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

     “No, you didn’t. But I did it anyway, because someone had to. You think you’re the only one who felt the weight of it? That you’re the only one who lost something?” Her voice cracked just slightly.

     “Isha’s gone,” I said finally, my voice cracking despite my best effort to keep it steady. My fists clench and I cannot stop chewing the inside of my cheek until I taste blood. 

     The cigarette paused halfway to her lips as her eyes narrowed, scanning my face for any sign that I might be joking. When she didn’t find one, she set the cigarette down, her metal fingers crushing it against the ashtray - makeup box with deliberate force.

     “What do you mean, she’s gone?” Sevika’s voice was low, dangerous, but I could hear the faint edge of something else underneath. Something that almost sounded like concern.

     Incredible to think she was capable of compassion. 

     “She’s dead,” I said bluntly, my throat tightening as I forced the words out. “She… she saved me. Took the hit that was meant for me.”

     Sevika’s jaw tightened, her metal arm whirring as her fingers curled into a fist. For a moment, I thought she might hit something—or someone—but she didn’t move.

     “She was just a kid,” Sevika muttered, her voice quieter now. “Damn it, Jinx. What the hell were you thinking, dragging her into your mess?”

     “I didn’t ask her to save me,” I said finally, my voice trembling with anger and grief. “She made her choice. She wanted to protect me.”

     “And now she’s dead,” Sevika said coldly, leaning forward, her eyes burning into mine. “Another person who got caught in your storm.”

     "Shut up!" I screamed in a second reaching her and lifting my fist up to her face ready to strike. "I didn’t come here to hear this. Any of this”

     “Too bad,” she barked, not even phased. “You don’t get to leave and come chickening back like nothing happened.”

     The words stung and I wanted to murder her right there and then. I just push her away instead. Sevika always had a way of cutting through the noise in my head, and right now, I hated her for it.

     She stared at me for a long moment, her expression softening just slightly. “I think you’re scared,” she said, her tone quieter now but no less firm. “Scared of facing the people you let down. Scared of seeing their faces and remembering what you did.”

     I flinched at her words, but I didn’t look away. She was not wrong, entirely. 

     “But here’s the thing, Jinx,” she continued, stepping closer. “Running doesn’t change anything. The war is coming whether you like it or not, and playing house with the Firelights isn’t going to make you someone else. You don’t get to pretend you’re not part of this.”

     Sevika’s expression softened again, and for a moment, she looked almost… tired. Like someone who had seen too much, carried too much, and just didn’t have the energy to argue anymore.

     The weight of her words sank into me, and for once, I didn’t have a snarky comeback. I didn’t have anything at all.

     Sevika sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose like I was a headache she couldn’t shake. “You’re going to have to choose, kid. Whether you fight, or whether you keep running until there’s nothing left.”

     She turned to leave, her mechanical arm whirring softly as she moved toward the door. But before she stepped out, she glanced back at me, her expression softer now, almost sisterly in a way that made my chest ache.

     "You have to come to the Firelights." 

     She didn't reply to me, instead shook her head. “Don’t make me clean up after you again, Jinx,” she said, her voice quieter this time. “I won’t be able to.”

     Then she was gone, leaving me alone in the silence of the hideout. I sank to the floor, my back pressed against the cold railing as her words echoed in my head.

     You’re still the same girl who could take anything broken and turn it into something powerful.

     I ran a hand through my hair, my fingers brushing over the blue strands as I stared blankly at the floor. The place feels empty. 

Chapter Text

     The spiraled stairs that took us there showed a panoramic view of the entire base. Ekko’s lair at the top of the tree wasn’t what I expected. The place was a controlled chaos of papers, maps, and old tech scraps spread across every surface. A giant wooden desk sat in the center, battered and mismatched against the sleek neon lights lining the room’s edges. The wet earthy smell filled my nose.

     I had been so focused on the weapons, the repairs, keeping my hands busy and my mind distracted, but it wasn’t enough. Panic still churned inside me. I knew that Ekko could see it—he always did. I felt naked under his eyes, deconstructed down to the last part of me.

     The walls were painted in deep greens and blacks, streaked with paint—vivid, messy swirls of color that only he could make look deliberate. Shelves crammed with books, tools, and glowing jars lined the room, along with a half-finished project or two shoved into the corners. The centerpiece was a massive map of Zaun pinned to the far wall, its surface marked with sharp red lines and circles, each one highlighting key points in the battle plan. A hand drawn picture of the tree along with happy unfamiliar faces was next to it.

     Ekko stood on the other side of the desk, his hand resting on its surface as he leaned over a crinkled blueprint. His brow furrowed, eyes scanning the intricate details of a sketched-out strategy.

     Well...strategy was too much said. Idea - that's more like it. 

     The faint hum of the room’s machinery filled the space between us as I sat on the edge, spinning a key in my hands and trying not to look as out of place as I felt. My fingers itched to mess with the tech piled around us, but I forced myself to focus. This was serious, and Ekko wasn’t messing around. 

     “We need an airborne force,” he said firmly taking his gloves off. “They're coming in heavy with ground troops, but they’ve got hextech artillery too. We need eyes in the sky—something fast, something mobile. Our gliders can only do so much. They could be unstable in such a situation. Not flexible if you want to bring heavy guns. We need something bigger." 

      “Airborne force...” I echoed in thought, raising an eyebrow. “What, you want me to slap some wings on a few bikes and hope for the best? ”

     Ekko ignored the jab, turning to the map around. "You know I haven't met with the others for this issue yet. You're the first I'm talking to." 

     "Should I...feel special?" 

     I do not feel special. But I am feeling a strange sense of familiarity. Comfort maybe. 

     He doesn't continue and silence settles over us for a while. I regret my initial sarcasm. 

     “Silco's burrow.” he says out of the blue, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “The one with all your experiments. Combined with those boards you were working on - That could give us the edge we need.”

     I stiffened, my pulse picking up at the mention of my old den. That place was mine— one of the few things that still felt untouched by everything else. Yet utterly ruined. Couldn't shake the feeling from my failed attempt in having a conversation with Sevika. 

     “You’re kidding, right?” I said, trying to keep my tone light, but there was an edge to it I couldn’t hide. “Those things are barely held together with sweat and wishful thinking. You want to send people up in them?”

     Ekko turned to face me fully, his expression steady. “They’re more than that and you know it. Those gliders could be a game-changer. We could use them to scout, hit them from above while they’re focused on the ground.”

     Sort of a distraction, hm? Now we're talking.

     I hesitated, fidgeting with a loose thread on my pants. “You really think they’ll hold up in a fight?”

     “I think they’re better than nothing,” Ekko said simply. “And I think you’re the best shot we’ve got at making them work. Plus...I got this idea when I found you when...you were trying to become a memory." 

     When you found me in my most vulnerable? An empty shell of a person. 

     I know what he means. I look away, swallowing hard. “It’s not that simple,” I mutter. “That … it’s not just some gliders. It’s—a collapsed balloon thingy, I guess..”

     “It’s yours,” Ekko finished, his voice softening. “I get that it was your go to for a while, Jinx. But this isn’t about just you anymore. You said you wanted to help, to make this right. This is how you do it.”

     Mine, but filled with Isha's memories, Silco's plans and Sevika's expectations. 

     I let out a shaky breath, my mind racing with images of it—the sketches pinned to the centre wall, the half-finished prototypes gathering dust, the memories of hours spent tinkering in that space, the broken mirror, the remains of that perfect life I almost had with Isha. Splashes of colours and corpses. 

     Finally, I look back at him, meeting his gaze. “You're crazy Ekko. Because it could be done." 

     He smirks, the corners of his mouth twitching up. I think smiling really suited him in a way. 

     He leans back against the edge of the table, his arms crossed as he studied the map in front of us. We’d been going over strategy for hours, but somehow the tension had eased—maybe because we’d finally started agreeing on a few things. 

     “What’s so funny?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

     He shrugs, the smirk growing into a grin. “Just thinking about the old days. Remember that time we had that shooting game in the back alley? You couldn’t miss it if you tried.”

     A laugh bubbled out of me before I could stop it, the memory feeling like a rush of warm air. “Oh, you mean when I wiped the floor with you? Yeah, I remember.”

     Ekko rolls his eyes, but he was laughing too. “Wiped the floor? Please. I let you win. Didn’t want to crush your fragile little ego.”

     “Oh, sure,” I shot back, crossing my arms. “You were so ‘kind’ to keep losing to a girl half your size.”

     “Half my size?!” he said, amusingly offended. “You were tiny, yeah, but it’s not like that gave you superpowers. You cheated somehow. I swear.”

     “You’re just mad because I was better at aiming than you. Still am. Admit it, Firelight. I’ve always been better.”

     “Better? You used to trash-talk me so much I couldn’t focus,” he shot back, laughing now. “You’d get this look, like you knew exactly how to get under my skin.”

     I shrugged, trying to keep the smile off my face but failing miserably. “What can I say? It’s a gift.”

     "You're doing it right now."

     He shook his head, a fondness settling in his expression. “You had this laugh,” he said, almost to himself. “Every time you hit a target, you’d laugh like it was the best thing in the world. Like nothing else mattered.”

     The warmth of the memory cooled, just a little. My grin faltered, and I looked away, focusing on the table again. “Yeah, well,” I muttered, twisting my own wrist more than I needed to. “That was a long time ago.”

     Ekko didn’t say anything for a moment, and when I glanced back at him, his eyes were softer than I expected. “Not everything from back then is gone though” he said quietly.

     I swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling in my chest. “Maybe,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “But it feels like it is.”

     He reached out, resting a hand on my shoulder. “Some things stick,” he said, his voice steady. “Like how I can still remember you standing there, holding that slingshot like you were invincible.”

     Or how you had me pinned down on the bridge. It's hard to pull out words from where there is none.

     “I was invincible. You just sucked.”

     Ekko laughed, the sound breaking through the heaviness like a spark. “Right. Let’s see how invincible you are when we’re out there facing something completely unknown.”

     “Oh? I’ll show you. And this time, I won’t go easy on you.”

     He shook his head, still smiling as he turned back to the map. But for a moment, it felt like we were kids again—back in that alley, laughing, teasing, like the world hadn’t fallen apart yet.

     Our moment was short lived, his focus shifted back to the plan too fast for my liking. 

     “We should uh...We’ll also hold this perimeter here,” he says, coughing, pointing to red line on the map, as if nothing has happened. Maybe for him not, but I felt warmer than I usually am. “They’ll come in strong, but this choke point will slow them down. If we can push them toward the main bridge, we’ll have the high ground. That’s where we’ll need the Firelights to concentrate.”

     “And then what?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Throw rocks at them? No offense, but we’re not exactly rolling in firepower here.”

     Ekko shot me a look, the kind that was half amused, half exasperated. “That’s where you come in, Jinx. You’ve been working on those traps, right? Smoke bombs, stun mines—stuff to even the playing field?”

     “Oh, you mean the fun stuff? Yeah, I’ve got a few surprises cooked up. Just don’t blow yourself up when you’re setting them.”

     He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, turning his focus back to the map. “It’s not just about weapons, though. If the Arcane falls into the wrong hands it’s over. For everyone. Piltover, Zaun, doesn’t matter. They’ll tear this place apart.”

     His voice was steady, but there was an edge of tension underneath it. He carried all of this—every plan, every decision, every risk—and it showed in the way his shoulders stayed rigid, even when he leaned over the desk.

     I watched him for a moment, my smirk fading. “You’re taking on a lot, you know that?”

     Ekko glanced up at me, his brown eyes meeting mine, and for a second, the weight in them made me straighten my posture. “Someone has to,” he said simply.

     I looked away. “Yeah, well. Don’t think you have to carry it all by yourself.”

     He didn’t respond right away, just straightened and folded his arms across his chest. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To help?”

     I blinked at him, caught off guard. “What, you actually trust me with this?”

     “Why wouldn’t I?” Ekko tilted his head, his gaze steady. “You’re good at this stuff. Building. Planning. And you’ve got a mind for chaos—turn that toward the Noxians, and it’s their problem, not ours.”

     Something about the way he said it—like he actually believed in me - I wasn’t used to people trusting me. Not like this. For a long time I believed he is just another hallucination.

     “Well, when you put it like that…” I set the key down and lean forward, matching his serious tone with a grin that probably didn’t belong in the conversation. “I’m in and I’m taking all the credit.”

     Ekko shook his head, and scoffed. “Just don’t blow us up before the battle even starts, okay?”

     “No promises,” I said, hopping off the desk, pretending the last comment did not hurt at all. I moved to grab the blueprints. In reality I think I wanted to stay closer. I couldn’t help glancing back at him. He was already back to studying the map, his expression focused and determined. I wasn't sure exactly what was left to look at over that map. 

     A knock on the door made me jump slightly. I did not realise I have been staring at Ekko's features. So much changed. I was unconsciously searching for remains from our childhood.

     "Someone is here to see you."

     Ekko's brows furrow. "Who is it, Scar?" 

     "You need to see for yourself." no other words were exchanged between the two. 

     The air in the hideout shifted. I heard footsteps, heavy and purposeful, approaching the door. The sound echoed through the corridors, carrying an air of authority that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

     Then, the unmistakable voice cut through the quiet murmur of our thoughts. 

     “Well, well. Looks like we’ve found the heart of the operation.”

     I froze. My stomach twisted in recognition. 

     Sevika?

     Ekko didn’t flinch. He turned, his expression impassive, but his stance was defensive. “What do you want?” he asked, his tone carefully neutral.

     How did she find me? Was I not careful on my way back? 

     Sevika stepped forward, strong silhouette framed in the doorway. Her sharp features were set in a permanent scowl, but there was something calculating in the way she looked at us, as if she was assessing whether we were worth her time. “I’m here to help,” she said, her voice low and deliberate. “I’ve got the intel you need to win this thing.”

     I couldn’t help myself. I stepped forward, my eyes narrowing. “Help?” I scoffed, the word feeling like acid on my tongue. “You’re the last person I want help from.”

     Sevika’s eyes flicked to me, an amused glint in her gaze. “I’m not asking for your trust, Jinx. And I wasn't talking to you either. I’m offering a chance to our survival. Last time you begged me to come here.”

     I clenched my fists, my fingers itching for something to smash. I hated her right now. The way she carried herself, like she always had a hidden agenda, always knew more than she let on. But Ekko stepped forward, cutting off any chance I had of telling her exactly what I thought.

     Even though I did not want to admit that she might have been like an older sister to me...

     “Talk,” Ekko said, his voice sharp. “You’ve got two minutes. What do you know?”

     Sevika didn’t flinch, only raised a brow as she casually crossed her arms. “The Noxians are trying to make a move on the Arcane energy. They’ve got someone—someone powerful—leading them. You won’t be able to beat them unless you hit them hard, fast, and with everything you’ve got. And I have the entirety of Zaun on our side. The more the merrier”

     Does she mean the metal Herald? 

     Ekko stood a minute in deep thought. 

     “And what do you want in return?” he asked, his voice laced with suspicion.

     “Nothing,” Sevika said with huf. “Except to see the look on their faces when they realize they’ve underestimated you.”

     “Alright,” Ekko said, finally smirking. “You’ve got your shot. But if you betray us—”

     “I won’t,” Sevika cut him off, her smile never fading. “I’m just here to make sure you don’t get yourselves killed. For now. Betrayal doesn't run in my blood."

Chapter Text

     I perched high above on the beam of an old support strut, my legs dangling into the void below. I started liking the boots that Ekko brought me. Added a few modifications and now they were looking proper. I was missing a few things for sure, I thought as I felt a streak or cold air hit my legs.

     Half eaten circus tent...I scoffed at the pants I'm still wearing. People nowadays have no sense of fashion it seems. Who would have thought?

     A spyglass I’d pieced together in the workshop was pressed to my eye, its lens trained on the chaos unfolding below. The base buzzed with activity, more alive than usual. People scurried between makeshift stations, their movements purposeful, urgent. The glow of the tree illuminated everything with authority. As days passed the tree had a stronger violet hue. Leaves were falling faster and faster.  

     And at the center of it all was Ekko.

     Through the lens, I watched him weave through the crowd, his posture sharp and commanding. His voice carried, even up to where I sat, low but steady, cutting through the noise like a blade. I couldn't make out the words. He wasn’t just barking orders—he was listening, nodding as his peers threw ideas his way, adjusting plans on the fly. Every gesture was deliberate, every movement filled with a kind of energy that felt contagious even from up here.

     He stopped by a group gathered around a table. They leaned in as he showed key points, his expression serious but calm. Someone disagreed—a youngster, his arms flailing as he made his point—but Ekko just listened, his hand resting on the table as he nodded thoughtfully. He wasn’t just a leader; he was a guide, steering the Firelights with a steady hand even in the face of what was coming.

     I adjusted the spyglass, zooming in closer. His brow furrowed slightly as he considered whatever was being said, his fingers tapping the edge of the table in thought. Then he straightened, clapping a hand on the younger guy’s shoulder with a grin that seemed to instantly lighten the mood. Even from up here, I could see the shift—the tension easing as Ekko gave one of those quick, reassuring laughs that seemed to draw people in without effort.

     My gaze followed him as he moved again, this time stopping to help a group untangle a mess of cables strung along the edge of the base. He crouched, as he worked alongside them, laughing at some joke I couldn’t hear. The others laughed too, the kind of sound that felt rare these days.

     “Showoff,” I mumbled under my breath, though the corner of my mouth twitched upward despite myself.

     He didn’t stop there. As the minutes passed, he checked on supply stocks, discussed tactics with his second-in-command, and even paused to help a kid hoist a crate of gear too heavy for them to manage alone. He made time for everyone, never brushing anyone off, even when I could tell he was stretched thin.

     Crack a skull before you crack a smile.

     I leaned back slightly, lowering the spyglass. Watching him like this—Ekko, the boy I used to race and laugh with, fight, hate, now commanding a group of fighters like he was born to do it—it was… strange. Part of me wanted to scoff, to pick apart the way he tried to carry the weight of all these lives like some kind of hero. But another part, one I tried to ignore, couldn’t help but feel a twinge of… what? Admiration?

     Don’t get all mushy.

     I raised the spyglass again just in time to catch Ekko calling out to the crowd, his voice ringing clear above the noise. A meeting. He was gathering everyone, the base humming with a new kind of focus as people moved toward the middle.

     I stayed where I was, high above it all, my legs swinging idly as I watched. He didn’t look up—he was too busy rallying his people, organizing his army. But for a moment, I let myself imagine he knew I was there.

     Watching. Waiting.

     Their meeting continued as he explained all the ideas we talked about previously. Probably they were really excited to tear down my memories and build something that could fly out of my sorry excuse for a hideout. 

     The spyglass dropped to my lap as my gaze drifted toward the mural beneath the tree. The faces of the lost stared back, their colors soft in the glow of the lanterns strung around the base. It was haunting and beautiful all at once, this living reminder of who we’d fought for—and who we’d failed. 

     For a long time, I hated seeing it there, the reminder of a girl I couldn’t be anymore. It used to gnaw at me, the way people painted her as if she still existed. Like she wasn’t dead and buried beneath Jinx.

     Tonight, the sight didn’t sting as much. Maybe it was Ekko and the way he’d talked about the old days. Maybe it was the Firelights, the way they fought for each other, even with everything stacked against them. Maybe it was just the way the mural glowed under the tree’s light, like it was alive somehow, carrying the memories of those who’d been lost.

     Or maybe it was because I was starting to see the cracks in myself, the tiny places where light was seeping through.

      I glanced at the paint cans stacked neatly nearby, a messy rainbow of colors ready for use. The Firelights were always adding to the mural, filling in new faces when the time came. My chest tightened as a thought crept in, uninvited but impossible to ignore.

     Isha.

     The name bounced in my skull painfully insistent. I closed my eyes and saw her, her smile bright and stubborn, the way she’d stood tall even when the world tried to knock her down. She was braver than I ever was, stronger in ways I couldn’t be. And she was gone because of me.

     But she deserved to be remembered. I claimed down from my newly claimed watch tower with lighting speed.

     The paintbrush felt heavy in my hand as I stood there, staring at the wall. My legs felt like lead, but somehow, I moved closer, the cans rattling softly in my grip. The mural loomed ahead, a kaleidoscope of faces and colors, and for a moment, I hesitated.

     Then I saw my own face, small and smiling, from a time before the world broke me. Powder stared back, and this time, I didn’t hate her. She wasn’t perfect, but she wasn’t a lie either. She was just a part of me.

     I set the cans down and knelt before the wall, dipping the brush into a deep shade of blue—the color of Isha would have probably wanted. Slowly, carefully, I began to paint. Her face took shape beneath the bristles, each stroke pulling her closer into focus. Her fierce eyes, her crooked grin, the wild tangle of her hair that never stayed in place no matter how hard she tried.

     The longer I worked, the quieter my mind became. The voices that usually clawed at me receded, leaving behind a strange kind of calm. My hands steadied as I filled in the details, the colors blending into something alive and real.

     When I finished, I sat back, staring at her face on the wall. Isha. My Isha. She belonged here, among the people who mattered, the ones who gave everything for something bigger than themselves.

     I set the brush down, my hands streaked with paint, and let out a shaky breath. “There you are,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. I did not realise I was crying this whole time. My cheeks were wet. 

     I didn’t notice Rian at first. I was too lost in the mural, staring at Isha’s face, at the soft smile I’d managed to paint there. My fingers were smeared with streaks of blue and gold, trembling just slightly as I traced the edges of her features in my mind.

     “Who’s that?”

     The voice startled me. I flinched, turning to see Rian standing a few feet away. His hands were stuffed in his patched-up jacket, his Firelight goggles pushed up onto his forehead. He looked hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure he should be there, but his curious eyes gave him away. I had forgotten the Firelights were still around, making battle preparation. For a while time stopped for me.

     I blinked, glancing back at the mural. “What are you doing here?”

     Rian shuffled his feet, but he didn’t back off. “Just… saw you working. Thought I’d check if you were okay.”

     I stared at him for a long moment, torn between brushing him off and running away so I could properly cry. My gaze flicked back to the painting, and I sighed. “I’m fine,” I muttered.

     Rian didn’t move. “Who is she?” he asked again, nodding toward the face I’d just finished.

     For a second, I thought about snapping at him. Telling him to mind his own business. But when I looked at him, his expression wasn’t judgmental. Just curious. Childlike. Patient. It reminded me of the way Isha used to look at me, waiting for me to trust her with something I wasn’t ready to share.

     I swallowed hard, my throat tight. “Her name was Isha,” I said finally, my voice low. “She was… important to me.”

     Rian tilted his head, his brows furrowing slightly. “Was?”

     A knife was twisting in my brain and I glanced down, my hands clenching into fists against my thighs. “She’s gone,” I said, my voice rough. “She—she died. Because of me. Everyone who gets close to me dies." 

     There it was, laid bare, the weight I’d been carrying, the guilt that clawed at me every second of every day. I expected Rian to flinch, to shrink back or look at me the way everyone else did—like I was a ticking bomb, a disaster waiting to happen.

     But he didn’t.

     Instead, he sat down on the ground beside me, his arms resting on his knees as he stared up at the mural. “She must’ve been pretty special,” he said after a moment, his voice soft.

     I blinked, caught off guard by the simplicity of his words. “Yeah,” I said, my throat tight. “She was.”

     Rian pointed toward the face on the wall, the bright colors still fresh. “You’re really good at this,” he said. “The painting, I mean. It’s… you can tell how much she meant to you.”

     I eyed him, unsure how to respond. Compliments weren’t exactly my thing, and I wasn’t used to people looking at me like this—like I wasn’t a walking disaster.

     “She deserved to be here,” I said quietly, turning back to the mural. “With the rest of them. She was braver than any of us.”

     Rian was quiet for a while, his gaze fixed on the mural. Finally, he said, “I think she’d be proud. Of you, I mean.”

      I had to look away, blinking hard. “You don’t know that,” I muttered.

     “Maybe not,” Rian said, shrugging. “But it feels true. Sometimes that’s enough.”

     I didn’t answer, but something about his words stuck with me. Maybe he was right. Maybe Isha would be proud—or maybe she’d just be glad I hadn’t completely given up.

     I kicked a can of paint in frustration, a golden hue spilled all over the ground. I left as tears filled my eyes again, so much I could barely see. Rian remained behind surprised and confused. 

     The weight of the mural had settled on my chest and followed me. Isha’s face on the wall lingered in my mind as I made my way back to the workshop, hands shoved deep in my pockets. My boots barely made a sound on the metal grates, the soft hum of the tree above filling the silence. The meeting of the Firelights was long done. I didn't take notice of how many hours I have spent at the mural.

     The workshop was my haven—my chaos, my sanctuary, my escape. Lately, I’d been fixing more than breaking, trying to put things back together instead of tearing them apart. But tonight, I wasn’t sure if even tinkering would drown out the gnawing ache in my chest.

     I was almost to the door when voices caught my ear, low and urgent.

     “…I’m telling you, Ekko, she reached out to us. Vi.”

     I froze mid-step, my breath catching in my throat. Scar’s voice was unmistakable, that gravelly tone carrying just enough weight to make people listen.

     “Yeah,” Ekko replied, his voice quieter but no less intense. “I know. I just—look, it’s complicated, okay? She’s looking for Jinx. She’s worried.”

     My fingers curled into fists, nails digging into my palms as I pressed myself against the cold metal of the wall.

     “She’s worried,” Scar repeated, the words sharp. “She’s not the only one. You think this is sustainable? Jinx being here? She’s unstable—”

     “She’s trying,” Ekko cut in, his tone defensive.

     “But Vi doesn’t know that,” Scar said. “And she doesn’t care about what Jinx is trying to do. She just wants her back.”

     There was a pause, heavy with things neither of them said but I could feel like a knife twisting in my gut.

     “When was this?” Ekko asked finally.

     “A few days ago,” Scar admitted. “She sent one of her people to the old drop spot, asked if we’d seen Jinx or heard anything.”

     Stupid bluebellies running everything I build. 

     I took a sharp breath, clamping a hand over my mouth before the sound could escape. A few days ago. Vi had been looking for me, and Ekko hadn’t said a word.

     “What did you tell her?” Ekko asked.

     Scar sighed. “The truth. That we didn’t know where Jinx was.”

     “That’s it?”

     “What else was I supposed to say? That she’s here? That you’re trying to fix someone who doesn’t want to be fixed?”

     “Scar, we have been together through a lot. You would understand," Ekko said warningly, but Scar didn’t stop.

     “Look, I get it, Ekko. You want to believe in her. But Vi’s not the enemy here. She just wants her sister. That’s all. And they are also on our side. I am worried for our people." 

     My stomach churned as the words sank in. Vi just wants her sister. But what about me? What about what I wanted?

     I'm not something to be owned...but Vi was looking for me. She’d reached out to the Firelights—to Ekko—and he hadn’t told me.

     It felt like betrayal, sharp and bitter in my chest. Ekko, of all people, keeping this from me? And Vi… What did she even want from me? To drag me back to Piltover? To remind me of everything I’d destroyed? Hold an entire preach lesson about the importance of a family? Class act. 

     No. I wouldn’t let her find me. She was better off without me, freer without me dragging her down. She didn’t need Jinx in her life, and I didn’t need her pity.

     I slipped away before I could hear more, my legs carrying me back down the corridor, away from their voices. My heart pounded in my ears, drowning out everything else.

     The moment I tripped, the crash echoed louder than I wanted it to. My ankle snagged on a stupid box of bolts, sending me sprawling onto the cold, grated floor. Tools clattered around me, and I bit back a curse as pain flared up my left wrist. I fell in an unusual pile of limbs, directly on it. 

     I scrambled to my feet, half-hoping no one heard. But, of course, I wasn’t that lucky.

     “Who there?” Ekko's voice called, sharp and concerned, from down the corridor. The sound of his footsteps drew closer, fast and steady. 

     I clenched my jaw, fury bubbling under my skin. Not now. I couldn’t deal with him right now.

     The door creaked open, and there he was, his eyes scanning the corridor until they landed on me, as I was going away slowly, holding my wrist. 

     God fucking damnit.

     “What are you doing?” he asked, his tone teetering between confusion and worry. “Are you okay?”

     I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. The anger that had been simmering since I overheard his conversation with Scar exploded, white-hot and blinding.

     “You didn’t tell me, saviour,” I snapped, my voice sharp enough to cut glass. “You knew Vi was looking for me, and you didn’t tell me.”

     Ekko blinked, caught off guard. “Jinx, I—”

     “Don’t,” I cut him off, changing my direction and stepping closer, fists clenched at my sides. “You lied to me. You let me think everything was fine while she—” My voice cracked, but I shoved the emotion down, hard.

     “I didn’t lie,” he said, his hands coming up in a placating gesture. “I just… I didn’t think it was the right time to tell you.”

     “The right time?” I repeated, my voice rising. “When, Ekko? When she showed up? When she dragged me back to Piltover, kicking and screaming?”

     His jaw tightened, frustration flickering across his face. “She’s your sister,” he said, his tone firm. “She has a right to know if you’re alive. I found out also just now!”

     I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “She doesn’t want me, Ekko. She wants Powder. And that girl’s dead. Gone. Buried.”

     Scar positioned himself behind, watching the circus unfold. 

     “That’s not true,” Ekko said, stepping closer, his voice softer. “You’re still—”

     “Don’t you dare,” I snarled, cutting him off again. The rage was too much, too big to contain. My hands were trembling, my chest tight. I needed to hit something, to make this feeling stop.

     And before I could think better of it, I tackled him.

     Ekko stumbled back, caught off guard as I slammed into him. We hit the floor hard, the air knocked out of both of us. He tried to grab my wrists, but I was quicker, fueled by adrenaline and the shimmer pulsing through my veins. “Stop this nonsense!” he shouted, but I didn’t listen. My fists found his chest, his arms, anything I could reach. Scar was about to interviene but Ekko shot him a deadly look. 

     “You don’t get to decide for me!” I yelled, my voice raw. “You don’t get to play the hero, Ekko! Not with me!”

     He didn’t fight back, just blocked what he could, his voice steady despite the chaos. “I’m not trying to be a hero, Jinx! I’m trying to help you!”

     “I don’t need your help! You're too late!" I spat, tears stinging my eyes even as I tried to shove them back. 

     Then Scar took over, preying Ekko to the side. I didn't sense him grab my shoulders initially, to keep me at bay, pulling me to my feet. I felt like a crazed animal as I failed to push away. "Enough of this. We have more important things to do." I turned my head and bit his hand, dug my teeth as deep as possible. Ekko protested, trying to play safe on both sides. Fast as lightning, I grabbed the box I tripped onto earlier and smashed it against Scar's head when his grip faltered. My own action surprised me, as the box clattered loudly on the ground. He held his ear. 

     Scar gritted his teeth in pain and an angry scowl met my face, as I was in the middle of them. "I told you not to intervene." Ekko said as he pinned me on the floor again. I couldn't focus on anything. "Fuck this." Scar said and moved away.

     "What do you need?” Ekko shouted, grabbing my wrists and holding them tight. I screamed in pain as the hurt wrist flared up. His eyes met mine, fierce and unrelenting. “What do you need? Tell me! Because I'm getting tired of this! You never stop to listen. You just act! I didn't know about Vi. I found it now!"

     I froze, my chest heaving, the fight draining out of me all at once. The weight of his words hit like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

     “I don’t know,” I whispered, the words barely audible. My shoulders sagged, and Ekko loosened his grip, though he didn’t let go completely.

     We stayed like that for a moment, the silence stretching between us. Then, slowly, he released my wrists and sat up, his gaze never leaving mine.

     “You’re not alone,” he said quietly, his voice steady. “No matter what you think. You’re not alone. And right now we have to fight in order to continue living. No matter where on this planet. ”

     I looked away, my throat tight, but his words lingered. The anger twisted, and I snapped again, throwing another punch. It aimed at his face, my movements wild and reckless. 

     But this time, Ekko wasn't quick enough to stop me. His hand wasn't in the right place, and instead of catching my punch, he ended up deflecting it awkwardly. His elbow collided with my nose. My head jerked back, surprised as a spike of pain shot up. An unusual smile spread across my face as I tasted blood. 

     "Just like the old times, huh?" 

     I didn't think - didn't stop to consider what I was doing. My body acted on instinct, and before I could even process it, I slammed my forehead into Ekko's face, catching him off guard. Headbutting him with all my might. 

     There was a sickening thud as my skull connected with his nose, and I felt his grip loosen for a fraction of a second. The sharp, blinding pain flared up in my own head, but I didn't care. Ekko's face twisted in pain, and he staggered back, giving me the space I needed. I sat up, legs sprawled in front of me.

     He groaned, hands coming up to his face, but I didn't wait to see if he was okay. My chest was still tight, my hands shaking as the adrenaline coursed through my veins. My vision blurred with a mixture of anger, pain, and something I couldn't quite name.

     I scrambled to my feet, my breath coming in ragged gasps. "You don't get to decide for me" I snapped, my voice hoarse turning away to leave this mess of a situation. 

     Before I could take another step, Ekko launched himself at me again, his arms wrapping around my body with surprising force, tackling me to the ground. I grunted as the air was knocked out of my lungs, his weight was on top once more, pinning me down. The hard metal floor dug into my back, but I didn’t care. My mind was spinning, and the anger was still there—pounding in my head.

     "Get off me!" I snarled, but Ekko’s grip only tightened.

     "I’m not letting you go!" he shot back, his voice rough and desperate. His eyes locked onto mine, and there was something raw and desperate in them. 

     “You're so damn confusing!” I snapped again, but this time, I could hear the frustration in my own voice. I wanted to hit him, wanted to push him away. The weight of everything pressing down on me was suffocating, but he didn’t move. Instead, he leaned closer, his breath shallow, and for the first time, I noticed the real emotions in his eyes.

     “I saw you, Jinx," he said, his voice lower, more intense. "I saw you—another you—in a different place, uh...universe. A different Powder. She was happy. She had Vander, Silco, Mylo, and Claggor. They were all alive. You were… different. You weren’t this… this version of you.” He swallowed hard, eyes flickering away for a moment before meeting mine again. “She was free. She was loved. And I—" His voice cracked, and I saw it, the pain, raw and real. "I’ve never been able to forget her. Never been able to forget you.”

     Me?

     I froze, the world around me quieting for just a second as his words hit me like a ton of bricks. A different universe? What was he talking about? And why did it feel like it was tearing something deep inside of me open?

     Ekko wasn’t finished though. He shook his head, his grip loosening slightly but still holding me down. "But the thing is, Jinx," he continued, his voice more urgent now, his chest rising and falling with every breath, "the version of you I saw—she was happy. And I want that for you. I want you to be happy, Jinx, but you can’t keep running from it. You can’t keep pushing me away like this." The blood from his nose dripped on my face. 

     His eyes bore into mine, and there was something about the way he was looking at me—something I couldn’t ignore anymore. There was no judgment, no pity, just a raw honesty that made everything else fade into the background.

     “I don’t care who you were, or who you think you are now,” Ekko continued, his voice quieter, but filled with an intensity that made my heart race. “I care about this you, Jinx. The one right here, right now. The one who’s hurting, who’s lost, and who keeps pushing people away because she’s scared. I’m not going to let you destroy yourself. I won’t let you. I left that world. To come here. For you.”

     His words landed and shattered anything human left in me. I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but the words wouldn’t come. My throat felt tight, and for a second, I wondered if I was going to suffocate under the weight of everything he’d just said.

     "You—" I couldn’t finish the sentence, my voice breaking, even though I had so many questions. 

     “I think I know you," he replied, softer now, but still insistent. "I know that you’re not beyond saving. You’re not beyond feeling love or being loved. And I’m not going to let you destroy the part of you that still has a chance to be happy. I’m not letting you go. Not this time. Not like what happened on the bridge.”

     He sighed, disarmed of his tough demeanor. 

     "I want us in this universe." 

Chapter Text

     Silence settled between us, heavy and raw. I lay there, pinned under him, chest rising and falling as I failed to process everything he’d just said in this crapshoot situation. 

     Alternate universes? A different me? It sounded ridiculous, like something out of a bedtime story. But the way he said it—the way his voice stuttered—

     "A good version of me?" I wanted to run a hand through my hair so my fingers could tangle in the strands. "What the hell does that even mean?" I swallowed hard, staring up at him. "You’re insane," though the edge in my voice was gone. The fight was gone.

     Ekko didn’t let me up immediately. His hands were still firm on my shoulders. Though the tension in them had eased. His face was so close to mine that I could feel his breath against my skin, steady and warm. He was studying me, like he was trying to figure out what was going on behind my eyes.

     “Maybe,” he said quietly, a ghost of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “But it doesn’t make it any less true.”

     I barked out a laugh, but it sounded empty, bitter. “Yeah? And what’d she do? Spend her days skipping through fields of flowers, singing songs with her perfect family? What’s your point, Ekko?” I didn’t mean to sound so sharp, but I couldn’t help it. 

     The thought of some other me—some better me—made my skin crawl. He sighed, dragging a hand down his face, finally releasing his grip on me. “There was no Vi.”

     “What?” 

     He didn’t look at me, his gaze fixed on the ground. “She wasn’t there. She died when we were kids. That job in Piltover—She didn’t make it.”

     I blinked, my heart pounding so hard it felt like it might crack my ribs. Vi? Gone? My tough, unshakable big sis, the one who’d always been there, even when I hated her for it?

     “And Powder? What happened to her after that?”

     Ekko shifted, his expression softening. “She stayed in Zaun. It was all different.  Everything ours could have been. Vander kept her close. Without Vi, Powder grew up… different. She didn’t become you, Jinx. She didn’t have to face the things you did.”

     I scoffed. “So, what? Powder got her happily ever after because Vi wasn’t there to mess it all up?”

     “No,” Ekko said firmly, stepping closer. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying it was different, not better. Powder didn’t become you, but she didn’t have your strength either. She didn’t fight like you do. She didn’t survive like you have.”

     "Vi was the only reason I even made it as far as I did. She was everything to me. And now you’re telling me there’s a version of the world where she’s gone, and everything still turned out okay? What does that make me?”

     “It makes you, Jinx. You’re not Powder, and you’re not some alternate version of yourself. You’re you."

     The thought of a world without Vi, of Powder growing up without her… it hurt in a way I couldn’t even put into words. But it also stirred something else—a strange, twisted kind of relief. In that world, Vi didn’t have to carry the weight of me or break herself trying to save me.

     I turned my head to the side, not giving him a chance to answer, trying to look anywhere else. “You’ve got a weird way of telling someone you like them, y’know that, little man?”

     His laugh was almost disbelieving. “You’re not exactly the easiest person to talk to.” His body relaxed for a moment. 

     There was a pause, a beat of calm where neither of us moved. His weight on top of me felt different now—not threatening, not suffocating. Just… there. Solid. Real. I didn’t know what to do with that.

     Finally, he let out a breath and eased off me, sitting back on his heels but staying close. He scratched the back of his head, looking like he was trying to gather his thoughts, pulling away. 

     I sat up slowly, my movements stiff and awkward. My head was still spinning, and the spot where I’d headbutted him ached. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, trying to figure out what the hell he was playing at.

     I hated how much he made me feel.

     I wanted to argue but the fight had drained out of me. I glanced up at him, searching his face for any sign that he was lying, that this was some kind of trick. But all I saw was sincerity, and it scared me more than anything else ever had.

     “Okay,” I said finally, the word feeling strange and foreign on my tongue.

     Ekko smiled—a real smile this time—and it was so warm, so genuine, that it made my chest ache.

     “Okay,” he echoed, as if it was a promise.

     This was all I could think about while I sat in front of the mirror of the workshop and tilted my head, squinting at my reflection like it owed me something. The tattered, dirty pants I’d worn for what felt like forever hung off my hips, stained with grease, bloodstained in places I didn’t even remember bleeding. Definitely had its charm and memories I didn’t want to carry anymore. They were a chain holding me to everything I hated about myself.

     Enough.

     I ripped them off, tossing them into the corner like they were nothing. They hit the floor with a soft thud, but the sound carried more weight than I expected. It felt... freeing. My fingers trembled slightly as I reached for the pile of clothes the Firelights had hooked me up as hand-me-downs, meeting a pair of long, black pants.

     They were plain, sleek. I noticed some damage around the hips so I cut them out entirely. If I was gonna change, I was gonna do it my way. A controlled explosion, if you will.

     Sliding them on, I felt a strange comfort. They hugged my legs tightly, the fabric soft but sturdy, and when I glanced in the mirror again, they didn’t scream the past. They didn’t scream her—Jinx. They were just... mine.

     For the top, I grabbed a roll of white bandages I’d found in the supply stash when I tried to bandage my wrist and gave up. They weren’t fancy or new, but they were clean. That mattered more than I wanted to admit. Slowly, I wrapped them around my chest, crisscrossing the fabric until it felt snug but not stifling. The makeshift shirt was rough.

     The mirror showed something different now. My pink eyes still glowed faintly and my hair was still a mess of wild, vibrant blue, but the clothes—these weren’t hers.

     For a moment, I let my fingers drift to the worn pants I’d thrown away, my heart tugging with the faintest ache. They’d been with me through everything, through chaos and pain, through fire and blood. But they weren’t who I wanted to be.

     “I’m not her anymore,” I whispered, the words quiet but firm. "New look, same crazy, right?" I quipped to the mirror. The reflection didn’t answer, which was probably for the best. I didn’t need another voice in my head right now.

     Stepping back, I gave myself a once-over. It was weird. This wasn’t me-me. Not Powder, not Jinx. Somewhere in between. A middle ground I wasn’t sure existed, but hey, I was giving it a shot.

     "Alright, world," I said, pointing finger guns at the mirror. "You better be ready for slightly less explosive Jinx. Same sass, new threads. And maybe—just maybe—a smidge of personal growth. But don’t get used to it."

     Walking out of the room, I felt different. Lighter, I wasn’t carrying all the baggage of who I used to be on my shoulders. Still me. Just… evolving. A shiny, chaotic butterfly. Or a moth. Moths are cool too.

     I made my way out of the lanes. Restless and exhausted. I ran away from this situation and I knew Ekko was hurting. I left saying I needed a moment. 

     The night air in Piltover felt sharp, too clean, like it had been scoured free of the grit I was used to. The hum of the city filled my ears, its mechanical heart thrumming with life and light, but I stayed to the shadows, moving like a ghost through the alleys and over the rooftops. 

     I knew this was a bad idea. Coming here where everything felt wrong, everything too bright, too loud—it was like inviting old wounds to bleed again. But I had to see her. Just once. I needed to remind myself why I was doing this, why I was staying away.

     From my perch on the edge of a clocktower, hunched angular and demeaning, the faint glow of streetlights illuminated the plaza below. There she was, Vi. The only family I had left, and yet, she felt a world away. She was sitting on a bench, her broad shoulders relaxed in a way I hadn’t seen since we were kids. Beside her, the posh Caitlyn.

     They were talking, their voices too low for me to hear from this distance, but I didn’t need to hear them to know. The way Vi leaned toward her, the soft tilt of her head, the way Caitlyn smiled—genuine, warm—it was enough. I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms. Vi had found someone. Someone who made her feel safe. Someone who made her happy.

     I let myself imagine walking up to them. Picture the look on Vi’s face when she saw me, the way her expression would twist between relief and anger. But then, the darker thoughts crept in. What would happen next? Would she forgive me for everything? Could she?

     I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t risk shattering this fragile peace Vi had found. She deserved this—a chance to be free of me, of the chaos I brought with me wherever I went. She didn’t need the reminders of the blood we’d both spilled, the lives we’d both destroyed. She needed this quiet, this chance to heal. At least for a little.

     And me? I needed to let her go.

     From my hiding spot, I pressed a hand to the cold metal railing, grounding myself as the voices in my head tried to shout louder. 

     See? She doesn’t need you. She’s better without you. You’ll only ruin this for her. Just like always. They snickered in a choir. 

     I swallowed hard, forcing the noise back down. This wasn’t about me. This was about her. 

     If Caitlyn made her any happier, they’d have to write a law banning that kind of thing for public safety. She was practically glowing. I was the dark, smudged shadow lurking on a rooftop like a total creep. 

     Below, Vi reached out to brush a strand of hair from Caitlyn’s face, a small, tender gesture that made my mind twist painfully. I stepped back from the edge, unable to watch any longer. It wasn’t jealousy—not of Caitlyn, at least. It was the ache of knowing I could never be part of this version of Vi’s life. Not without dragging her down with me.

     Vi was laughing at something Caitlyn said, the sound carrying faintly through the night. It was a sound I hadn’t heard in years.

     But as I turned to leave, the temptation lingered. To stay, to call out to her, to force her to see me. I clenched my fists again and shook my head.

     No. Not this time. Be happy, sis. You deserve it.

     The rooftop tiles were damp under my boots from Piltover's ever-present mist. I crouched low, leaning forward just enough to keep Vi and Caitlyn in view through the haze below.

     I shifted slightly, trying to find a better angle, but my foot slipped on the slick surface. My heart jumped into my throat as my weight tipped forward, and the edge of the rooftop rushed up to meet me. My hands shot out instinctively, catching the lip of the roof just before I tumbled over. For a brief, moment, I dangled there, staring down at the drop below.

     Shit.

     Slowly, carefully, I hauled myself back onto the roof, my muscles straining as I scrambled for a more secure foothold. My breathing was ragged, panic clawing at the edges of my mind. I wiped my hands on my pants, still feeling the slickness from nearly face-planting off the roof. 

     Real smooth. Top-tier stealth skills. Definitely don’t look like a lunatic dangling from a building. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I’d gotten sloppy. Too focused on her. Too careless.

     Once I was safely back on the roof, I pressed my back against the chimney stack, forcing myself to stay low and still. I glanced down at the square, searching for any sign that they’d noticed. Vi was still laughing, her head thrown back, completely oblivious to the idiot watching her from the shadows. Caitlyn reached out to touch her arm, her smile soft and warm, and Vi leaned into it without hesitation in a kiss.

     The way Vi smiled… God, it was so her. So familiar, like a piece of home I’d forgotten how to miss. But if I stepped back into her life, it wouldn’t be like this. She wouldn’t smile at me like that. She’d see the mess I’ve become and… what? Try to fix me? Pity me? Hate me?

     They hadn’t seen me. Relief flooded through, but it didn’t last long. What the hell am I doing here? Watching her from a distance like some kind of ghost, not a part of her world but unable to leave it behind entirely. I let out a shaky breath, gripping my knees to keep them steady and leaned my head back against the chimney, staring up at the smoggy sky. 

     It's not like the stars were going to answer. Hell, even if they did, they’d probably just say something cryptic like, 'Keep going, you’re doing great!' Oh, yeah, thanks, universe. Super helpful.

     I stayed there for a while longer, hidden, watching her. I wanted to make sure she is alright. And then, when the weight of it all became too much, I slipped away, silent as a wraith, disappearing into the night before the temptation to stay became unbearable.

     I am doing the right thing.

     The words felt hollow, but I meant them. I had to. Because breaking the cycle wasn’t about doing what felt good or easy—it was about doing what was right.

     And for Vi, leaving was the right thing to do. Even if it tore me apart.

Chapter Text

     Sevika stood in the center of the training ring, arms crossed, her usual smirk plastered across her scarred face. She had the kind of presence that made you want to punch her just to see if she’d flinch—and then immediately regret it when she didn’t. She didn’t need to say much to get her point across. Sevika was all business, her movements calculated, precise—everything I wasn’t.

     “Alright," she drawled, tossing me a training baton like it was a piece of candy. “You talk a big game. Let’s see if you can back it up without blowing something up for once.”

     I caught the baton mid-air, twirling it around in my hand like I’d been born with the thing. “Oh, come on, Sev. You’re not seriously worried, are you? I mean, look at me. I’m all wiry muscles and dangerous charm.”

     She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You’re all talk and stray explosions. Now, stop running your mouth and get ready.”

     “Fine, fine.” I spun the baton one more time for good measure and fell into what I assumed was a fighting stance. “But if I break you, it’s not my fault. I’m fragile and emotionally complex, you know.”

     Sevika snorted, stepping toward me with that slow, deliberate menace she always had. “Fragile? That’s the best joke you’ve cracked all day.” She lunged, swinging her baton in a clean, calculated arc aiming for a quick shot at my shoulder. Maybe you should learn. You’re not always going to have the luxury of a long-range shot, you know.” I ducked, narrowly avoiding the strike, and jabbed my baton toward her ribs. She sidestepped it like I was moving in slow motion.

     “You’re predictable, you telegraph everything” she said, grabbing my wrist and twisting just enough to make me drop the baton. It clattered to the ground, and she kicked it out of reach. “Predictable?” I scoffed, yanking my arm free and stumbling back. “Lady, I’m a walking fireworks show. Nothing about me is predictable.” Sevika cracked her knuckles, shaking her head.

     “You’re flashy, sure. But flash doesn’t win fights. Precision does.” I rubbed my wrist, glaring at her. “You mean boring wins fights. Got it.” Before I could say anything else, she was on me again. I scrambled to grab the second baton from my belt, barely managing to block her strike. The impact reverberated up my arm, and I gritted my teeth.

     “Focus, Jinx,” Sevika barked. “Stop yapping and think.”

     “Thinking’s overrated,” I shot back, dodging another swing. My foot slipped on the dusty floor, and I went down hard on my back. Sevika loomed over me, her baton pointed at my face.

     “Dead,” she said flatly. I groaned, covering my eyes with one hand.

     “Okay, yeah, sure. You win. I’m dead. But in my defense, you’re built like a tank, and I’m—” I waved vaguely at myself. “—a very artistic toothpick.”

     Sevika laughed, stepping back and offering me a hand. I took it reluctantly, letting her haul me to my feet. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” she said. “But guts won’t keep you alive. You need to learn control. Discipline.”

     I rolled my eyes, brushing the dirt off my pants. “Ugh, you sound like a boring old teacher.”

     “That’s because I am a boring old teacher,” she shot back. “Now shut up and try again. Maybe this time, you’ll last more than ten seconds.”

     “If I beat you, you owe me a drink,” I said, picking up my baton again.

     “And if I beat you, you owe me a break from your constant chatter,” Sevika replied, grinning. I twirled the baton, smirking back.

     “Don't cry when I win.” Sevika shook her head, settling into a fighting stance. “Bring it, kid." Her eyes narrowed, and her voice turned slightly colder, though still controlled.

     “You sure act like it. Always reacting. Always lashing out before you even think.” And we went at it again and again. Time was molten mess for us. Sevika paced back and forth in the training ring, her baton slung over her shoulder, muttering under her breath. I was leaning against the ropes, twirling my own baton in one hand, looking just smug enough to irritate her more.

     "You can't keep pulling that shimmer crap, Jinx!" Sevika snapped, pointing a finger in my direction. "It's cheating." I grinned, shrugging dramatically. "Cheating? Oh, come on. It’s called using your advantages. Besides, it’s not my fault you can’t keep up. Maybe you’re getting old. Knees hurting, joints creaking? Want me to fetch you a cane?”

     Her glare could’ve melted steel. "Do you ever shut up?"

     "Not really." I flipped the baton into the air and caught it, just to show off. "But seriously, you’re just mad ‘cause I’m fast. Like, blink and you miss me fast. That’s a skill, Sevika. I’m enhancing the fight.”

     “You’re enhancing my headache,” she growled, tossing her baton to the ground. “What’s the point of training you if you’re just gonna shimmer-zip your way out of everything?”

     "Uh, survival?" I said, throwing up my hands. "In case you forgot, we’re preparing for a war, not a polite fencing match. Pretty sure the Noxians aren’t gonna care about the rules of fair play when they’re trying to turn us into red smears on the ground."

     Sevika stepped closer, looming like she always did when she wanted to intimidate someone. "Yeah, and what happens when that shimmer burns you out in the middle of a fight? Huh? You ever think about that, genius? Or do you just plan to hope you don’t keel over while the rest of us pick up the slack?" I flinched at that, but only for a second.

     "Relax, Sev," I said, forcing a cocky grin. "I’ve got it under control. Been doing this for years, remember?" She folded her arms, scowling. "And look where it got you. Alone, barely holding yourself together. You think it's your edge, but it’s a crutch. And crutches break." That one stung a little more than I wanted to admit. I dropped my gaze, scuffing my boot against the ground.

     "Yeah, well," I muttered, "I’m still standing, aren’t I? That’s gotta count for something." Sevika sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

      "If you’d just focus, you wouldn’t need shimmer to wipe the floor with anyone." I glanced up at her, a little surprised.

     "Wait… was that a compliment? From Sevika? Should I mark the calendar? Write a poem about this historic moment?"

     "Don’t push it," she snapped, but there was a flicker of a smirk on her face. "Now get back in the ring. And this time? No shimmer. If you can’t beat me fair and square, you’re not ready for what’s coming." I sighed dramatically, dragging myself back to the center of the ring.

     "I think you forgot who built your hand. But don’t come crying to me when I still kick your ass."

     "Try it, kid," Sevika said, letting her mechanical arm drop to the ground and raising her baton with the other hand. "I dare you. No augmentations. I don't need two hands for you."

     The match started slower this time, a deliberate dance of strikes and blocks. Sevika wasn’t pulling her punches, and without shimmer to cheat my way out of tight spots, I had to actually focus.

     Which sucked.

     “Come on, Jinx,” she barked, swinging her baton in a wide arc. I barely managed to duck under it. "What’s the matter? Brain too busy thinking of some snarky comeback?”

     “Ha...” I deadpanned, lunging forward and jabbing at her side. She sidestepped, of course, but at least this time she didn’t immediately toss me on my ass.

     Progress.

     “Sorry, didn’t realize we were doing a talk Sevika up session. How’s this: you’re the best fighter in the whole Firelights hideout, congrats! Feel better?”

     “Not until you stop fighting like a twitchy amateur,” she shot back, coming at my legs. I jumped, twisting mid-air to avoid the follow-up strike.

     "Fighting like a what now?" I said, landing unsteadily but staying on my feet. “I’ll have you know, Sev, my technique is unique. It’s called chaos. You should try it sometime.”

     She rolled her eyes, stepping in with a quick series of strikes. I blocked two, but the third clipped my shoulder, sending me stumbling back. “Chaos doesn’t work against someone who actually knows what they’re doing,” she said. “Someone’s going to put you in the ground.”

     “Ouch. That was a bit low even for you,” I said, shaking out my arm. “You know, for someone who’s supposed to be mentoring me, you’re not very motivational.” Her baton came down fast, but this time, I didn’t try to dodge. Instead, I stepped into the attack, raising my own baton to meet hers. The impact jolted my arms, but I held my ground, gritting my teeth.

     “Better,” she said, a flicker of approval in her eyes. “Now, don’t stop.”

     I didn’t.

     I swung, jabbed, ducked, twisted—whatever I had to do to keep up with her. My arms ached, my legs burned, and my breath came in short gasps, but I didn’t stop. Not until Sevika finally called for a break.

     “Alright,” she said, stepping back and lowering her baton. “That’s enough for now. You didn’t completely embarrass yourself this time.” I collapsed onto the floor, sprawled out like a starfish. “Such high praise. I think I’m gonna cry.”

     She smirked, “Save the tears for someone who cares. You’ve got potential, Jinx. But you’ve gotta stop relying on tricks and shortcuts.”

     “You’re really bad at pep talks, you know that?” She shrugged. “Never said I was good at ‘em.”

     As she walked off, I stayed on the ground, staring up at the ceiling. My body ached, my head was pounding, and I was pretty sure I’d have bruises in the morning. Guess I’ll just have to prove her wrong. Like always.

      Later that day we still met for a drink. I was avoiding Ekko like disease. Sevika leaned back against the bar in the Firelights’ hideout, her massive frame making the stool creak slightly. She took a swig from the bottle of some questionable Zaunite brew and passed it to me without a word.

     “You sure this won’t kill me?” I asked, taking the bottle and eyeing it skeptically. “If it does, at least you’ll go out quietly for once,” Sevika deadpanned, her smirk just visible under the dim light. I tipped the bottle back and took a cautious sip. It burned, of course, but not in a bad way.

     “Tastes like engine grease.”

     “That’s the good stuff,” Sevika said with a shrug, pulling out a cigar and lighting it with the kind of ease that said she wasn’t new to this. We sat in silence for a while, the sounds of the base humming around us—Firelights coming and going, the distant chatter of planning and preparations. It was weird, sitting like this, not fighting or bickering, just… existing.

     “So,” Sevika said finally, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “You’re really trying, huh?”

     “Trying what?” I asked, taking another sip and wincing. “This whole… not blowing things up thing. Working with them. Training.” She looked at me out of the corner of her eye. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

     “Gee, thanks,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Glad to know you had so much faith in me.” She chuckled, a low, rough sound. “Don’t take it personally. I don’t have faith in anyone.”

    “Comforting,” but there was no heat in it. Another stretch of silence passed before she spoke again, her tone quieter this time. “You ever think about what comes after this?”

     “After what? The war? The fighting” I gestured vaguely with the bottle. “I dunno. Never been much of a ‘plan for the future’ kind of gal.”

     “Yeah, no kidding,” Sevika said, shaking her head. “But I do. I think about it all the time.” I glanced at her, surprised.

   “You? Really? I thought you were all about living in the moment, cards on the table, that kind of thing.”

     “I am,” she admitted, taking another drag of her cigar. “But Zaun… it’s not gonna fix itself. And I’m tired of watching it rot while Piltover pulls the strings.” I frowned, leaning forward. “What are you saying?”

     “I’m saying,” she said, meeting my eyes, “that I want a seat at the council. If we survive this, if we take down the Noxians and get through whatever hell’s coming, I’m gonna fight for Zaun. Fight to make sure we don’t get stepped on anymore.” I blinked, caught off guard by the conviction in her voice.

     “A seat at the council? Like the Piltover council? You know they’re not just gonna give you that, right?” She smirked, leaning back again. “Yeah, I know. That’s why I’ll take it.”

     I stared at her for a moment, then shook my head, laughing softly. “You’re insane, Sev.”

     “Takes one to know one,” she shot back, her grin widening. “But you can’t tell me it wouldn’t be worth it. Someone’s gotta fight for us. For Zaun. And it sure as hell isn’t gonna be anyone from Piltover.” I took another sip of the drink, letting her words sink in. I didn’t have a snarky comeback. Because I knew she was right.

     “To fighting for Zaun, then,” I said finally, raising the bottle. Sevika clinked her cigar against it, her smirk softening just a little.

     “Damn right.” Sevika took another long drag of her cigar, the smoke curling upward like lazy tendrils reaching for the ceiling. She looked at me, her eyes half-lidded but sharp, always sharp. The bottle we’d been sharing was nearly empty, but she still poured what was left into her glass, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make me uncomfortable.

     “What’s the deal with you and the hotshot of the Firelights?” she began, exhaling a puff of smoke. I blinked, caught off guard.

    “Who?” She smirked, tilting her head. “Don’t play dumb, Jinx. Ekko. Your little knight in shining hoverboard. He’s been watching you like a hawk since I got here.” I felt heat rise to my cheeks, and I immediately tried to play it cool.

     “What are you, Sev, my love life coach now?” Sevika snorted. “Hardly. Just curious. He seems… invested.” I swirled the bottle of questionable brew in my hand, trying to focus on anything but her gaze. “Yeah, well, he’s been ‘invested’ in trying to fix me for years. We’re not… whatever you’re thinking.” She raised an eyebrow.

     “Uh-huh. And you’re not curious why he’s putting in all this effort? I mean, he’s risking his neck for you. Took you in when most of his crew wanted to toss you out the first chance they got.” I shrugged, though it felt heavy. “Ekko’s always been like that. He’s the ‘save the world’ type. Thinks he can fix everything if he just tries hard enough. It’s not about me. It’s just what he does.”

     Sevika studied me for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then she took another drag from her cigar and blew the smoke out slow. “You really believe that?” I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I stared down at the bottle in my hands, my fingers picking at the label.

     “Look, Sev… Ekko’s trying to help me. I get that. And maybe I need it, but I’m not dragging him down with me. He’s got bigger things to deal with—I’m not about to let him waste his time trying to save me when I’m not even sure I can be saved.” Sevika leaned closer, her voice softer but no less firm.

     “You’re a lot of things, Jinx, but you’re not hopeless. Ekko sees that, or he wouldn’t still be here. Question is, do you?” Her words hit harder than I expected, and I felt my defenses waver for a moment before I shoved them back up. “I don’t need a lecture, Sev. And I don’t need him playing hero.”

     “Maybe not,” she said, standing straight and flicking the ash off her cigar. “But he’s here anyway. Think about why that is before you push him too far.” She turned to leave, pausing only to grab the bottle from my hands and take one last swig before setting it back down.

     “You’re lucky, you know. Not everyone gets someone willing to fight this hard for them. Don’t be an idiot about it.”

     And just like that, she was gone, leaving me alone.

Chapter Text

     I found Ekko leaning against one of the rusted railings near the Firelights’ hangar, fiddling with his hoverboard. The glow of the thing lit up his face like a lantern, and for a second, he looked like the same boy I used to know—grinning, inventive, and annoyingly good at everything.

     But then I noticed the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers moved a little too quickly over the board’s circuits, like he was trying to fix more than just a piece of tech. The faint furrow in his brow was new too—Ekko never used to let the weight of the world show, not like this.

     I hung back for a moment, watching him. He hadn’t noticed me yet, and there was something almost peaceful about seeing him like this, caught up in his own little world. The hum of the hoverboard filled the air, mixing with the distant chatter of Firelights moving cargo in the hangar below.

     He suddenly let out a frustrated sigh, raking a hand through his hair. “Come on, you stupid thing,” he muttered, tapping the board like it was a stubborn pet.

     I grinned, unable to resist. “Careful, Timekeeper, you’re gonna hurt its feelings.”

     Ekko jumped, his hand freezing mid-tap before he turned to glare at me. “Jinx,” he said, exasperated, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “How long have you been standing there?”

     “Long enough to see you losing an argument with a hunk of metal,” I shot back, leaning casually against the railing next to him. “What’s the problem? Forgot how to fix your own toys?”

     He rolled his eyes but didn’t rise to the bait, which was both annoying and disappointing. “It’s the stabilizer,” he explained, holding up a small, sparking component. “Keeps shorting out. I’ve tried everything, but I can’t get it to hold a charge.”

     “Let me see that,” I said, snatching the part from his hand before he could protest.

     “Jinx, I don’t think—”

     "Relax,” I said, pulling a multi tool from my pocket and flipping it open. “I’ve blown up more of these than you’ve probably even seen. I know what I’m doing.”

     He gave me a skeptical look but didn’t stop me, which I chose to interpret as trust rather than resignation.

     As I worked, he leaned against the railing again, watching me with that same quiet intensity. It was unnerving, the way he looked at me sometimes—like he was trying to see past all the noise in my head to whatever was left underneath.

     “Why are you really out here?” I asked, not looking up from the stabilizer. “Don’t tell me you’re hiding from your own people.”

     He chuckled, but there was an edge to it. “Just needed a minute to think. Things are... a lot right now.”

     “Understatement of the century,” I muttered, glancing up at him. “You’re holding this whole operation together with duct tape and hope. No wonder you’re stressed.”

     “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he said dryly.

     I shrugged, focusing back on the stabilizer. “Hey, if anyone can pull it off, it’s you. You’re Ekko. The kid who used to let me ride his most precious bicycle invention.”

     He smiled at that, a real one this time, and for a moment, the weight on his shoulders seemed a little lighter.

     “Yeah,” he said softly. “Guess I did, didn’t I?”

     I handed him the repaired stabilizer, brushing my hands off on my pants. “There. Should hold now. But if it doesn’t, don’t blame me. Blame your crappy wiring.”

     He took it, inspecting my work with a critical eye. “Thanks,” he said after a beat, and it sounded like he actually meant it.

     “Don’t mention it,” I said, leaning back against the railing and looking out over the hangar. The Firelights were still buzzing below, their movements purposeful and efficient. It was strange, being part of something like this. Something bigger. I snorted, trying to hide the way his words made my chest tighten. “Careful, flattery might go to my head.”

     "I think we're way past that." 

     “Details, details,” I said, waving a hand dismissively. “So, you just sit here all day polishing it, or are you gonna teach me how to not fall off the damn thing?”

     Ekko raised an eyebrow. “You want to learn? I figured you’d just strap explosives to it and call it a day.”

     I gasped, putting a hand to my chest in mock offense. “Excuse me! I’m a sophisticated engineer of destruction, not some amateur.”

     “Sure, sure,” he said, his smirk widening as he turned the hoverboard upright. “Alright, come on."

     I hopped down and grabbed the board. “How hard can it be?”

     Spoiler: it was very fucking hard.

     The second I stepped onto the thing, it shot forward like it had a personal vendetta against me. I yelped, flailing as I nearly toppled over, but Ekko grabbed my arm and steadied me.

     “Okay, first rule,” he said, trying not to laugh. “Balance. You can’t just stand on it like it’s a plank. Shift your weight.”

     “I am shifting my weight,” I snapped, wobbling precariously.

     “Yeah, onto your ego,” he shot back, grinning.

     I glared at him but focused on my footing, trying to follow his instructions as he guided the hoverboard in slow circles. It felt like trying to ride a greased-up eel—impossible to control and constantly trying to throw me off.

     “Alright, now lean forward—not that much!” he yelped as the board lurched ahead, dragging me along for the ride.

     “Why does this thing hate me?!” I shouted, gripping the edges for dear life.

     “It’s not alive.”

     “Then why does it feel like it’s trying to murder me?!”

     Ekko jogged alongside me, laughing as he reached out to steady the board again. “Okay, okay, let’s take it slow. You’re not gonna be a pro on your first try.”

     “Speak for yourself,” I grumbled, glaring at the rebellious piece of tech under my feet.

     We spent the next hour circling the hangar, with Ekko giving me tips and occasionally saving me from crashing into the walls. Every time I wobbled, he was there to catch me, his hands firm and steady as he guided me back into place.

     “You’re getting better,” he said eventually, his voice warm with encouragement.

     “Yeah, because I haven’t face-planted in the last ten minutes,” I muttered, though I couldn’t hide the small grin tugging at my lips.

      “See?”

      “Progress would be me kicking your ass in a race,” I said, stepping off the hoverboard and stretching.

      Ekko chuckled, folding his arms. “You’ve got a long way to go before that happens.”

      “Oh, you’re so dead next time,” I shot back, but there was no venom in it. Just the spark of a challenge.

      “Looking forward to it,” he said, his smirk softening into something closer to a smile.

     And for a moment, as we stood there in the glow of the hangar lights, it felt like the weight of everything—the war, the chaos, the ghosts—didn’t matter. It was just us, like it used to be. The more time we spent practicing, the less like torture the whole hoverboard thing became. I wasn’t exactly graceful—more like a baby bird learning to fly, with a lot of flapping and crashing—but Ekko was there, patient as ever, guiding me.

     “Alright, try leaning into the turn,” he called from his board, effortlessly circling me like a show-off. “It’s all about the angle,” he said with a smirk, zipping past me. “Trust it. Let the board do the work.”

     “Trust it,” I muttered under my breath. “It’s a piece of metal and circuits, Ekko, not a loyal dog.”

     I shot him a glare but leaned forward, following his instructions. For a few glorious seconds, I felt like I had it. The board smoothed out, and I managed a turn without careening into a wall.

    “There you go!” Ekko whooped, his grin splitting wide.

     “Ha!” I yelled, throwing a fist in the air. “Take that, gravity!”

     Unfortunately, gravity didn’t appreciate my victory lap. My shift in weight sent the board lurching forward too fast, its hum escalating to a sharp whine as it tilted unpredictably. Before I could react—before I could even blink—I was airborne.

     “Ekko—!”     

     For a split second, the world hung in perfect stillness. The rush of air against my skin, the sprawling tangle of the Firelights’ base below, the giant tree looming like a sentinel—it all blurred together in a dizzying swirl. My arms flailed instinctively, searching for something, anything, to grab hold of, but there was nothing but open air.

     The fall felt longer than it probably was, long enough for my brain to run through a dozen worst-case scenarios, each more dramatic than the last. Splattered against the trunk? Impaled on one of those fancy lights? Becoming a Jinx-shaped pancake on the hangar floor? Classic.

     Real poetic ending for Zaun’s most explosive mess.

     But then, just as the ground decided to speed up its approach, something solid and warm wrapped around me. The impact jarred my teeth, but it wasn’t the ground I’d hit—it was him.

     “Gotcha,” he grunted, his arms locking around my waist as he steadied us both on his board.

     I blinked up at him, stunned. “You... caught me?”

     “Obviously,” he shot back, though his voice was tight with adrenaline. “What, you thought I was gonna let you turn into street art?”

     I opened my mouth to reply, but the words got stuck somewhere between my brain and my tongue. He was holding me close, closer than I think either of us had expected, his chest rising and falling against mine as we hovered a few feet off the ground. His hoverboard hummed beneath us, steady and reliable in a way I clearly wasn’t.

     “Okay, wow,” I finally managed, my voice wobbling with a mix of nerves and relief. “So, uh, how’s my form? Did I nail the landing?”

     Ekko gave me a look—half exasperation, half amusement. “Yeah, if your goal was to terrify the entire base, you nailed it.”

     I laughed, though it came out more like a nervous hiccup. “Guess I’m a natural, huh?”

     “You’re something, all right,” he muttered, loosening his grip slightly but not letting go completely. His eyes scanned me quickly, like he was checking for injuries. “You okay? Nothing broken?”

     “Just my pride,” I said, glancing down at the ground we’d almost kissed. “Thanks to you, I’m still in one piece. For now.”

     His lips twitched, but he didn’t smile. Instead, he just shook his head and sighed. “Jinx, you can’t just wing it on these things. You’ve gotta listen when I tell you how to shift your weight. It’s not a toy—it’s dangerous.”

     “Dangerous is my middle name,” I quipped, but the way his eyes narrowed told me he wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

 “Yeah, well, try not to make it your last name too,” he shot back.

     For once, I didn’t have a snappy comeback. Instead, I just nodded, feeling strangely small under his gaze.

     “Let’s try again,” he said after a moment, his tone softening. “But this time, maybe listen to me?”

     As he carefully set us back on solid ground, I couldn’t help but notice the way his hands lingered, just for a moment, before he pulled away. 

     I felt the heat rise to my cheeks, and before I could embarrass myself further, I pulled back, wriggling out of his grip. “You know, I think the hoverboard has it out for me. Probably jealous of how awesome I am.”

     Ekko chuckled, stepping back as I brushed myself off. “Yeah, sure. That’s definitely it.”

     He grabbed my board, handing it back to me. His fingers brushed mine for just a second, but it was enough to send a weird little spark through me. I shook it off, blaming the adrenaline from almost dying. It was... unsettling, in a good way. 

     I shook my head, banishing the thought. Focus, Jinx. No getting distracted by... whatever this was.

     I pushed off the ground, the hoverboard humming to life beneath my feet. It still felt a little wobbly, like riding on the back of a really jittery cat, but it didn’t buck me off this time.

     Ekko’s voice came from behind me, steady and encouraging. “Relax your knees."

     He was already in the air, zipping up beside me with that stupid grin plastered across his face. His board floated effortlessly, like it was just an extension of him.

     “See? You’re doing fine,” he said, matching my slow pace.

     “Fine is a low bar,” I grumbled, focusing on the path ahead.

     The Firelights' base sprawled out below us, all makeshift platforms and hanging walkways wrapped around the colossal tree that marked the heart of their community. The branches above us spread like a canopy, their glowing green leaves still falling in purple hues.

     “Let’s circle the tree,” Ekko suggested, tilting his board to glide gently around the trunk. “You can practice steering. Just keep up.”

     I leaned forward, testing the board’s responsiveness as I followed him. The wind brushed past my face, carrying the faint scent of oil and damp wood. It felt free, almost. The world wasn’t such a mess when you were looking at it from up here. 

     Ekko slowed to my pace, keeping close enough to guide me if I started to spiral out of control. “You know,” he said, smirking, “most people just say thank you.”

     “Thank you for what?” I teased. “You’re the one who owes me for not crashing into you.”

     He laughed again, shaking his head as he turned back toward the tree. “Let’s see what you’ve got. Try to keep up this time.”

     With that, he leaned forward, his board picking up speed as he started to weave through the lower branches of the tree.

     I grinned, the challenge lighting a spark in my chest. “Oh, you’re on, Timeboy.”

     I leaned forward, the board responding with a sudden burst of speed. It wasn’t perfect—my turns were a little jerky, and I nearly clipped a branch—but I didn’t feel like I was fighting the thing.

     We flew together, slow enough to keep me from panicking but fast enough to feel the thrill of the air rushing past. The glowing lights of the Firelights’ base blurred below us, and for a moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the world.

     Ekko glanced back at me, his grin wide and genuine. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”

     I smirked, pretending to inspect my nails. The polish was too chipped for my liking. “Told you I was awesome.”

     He laughed, his voice warm and carefree and I found myself laughing too. After the hoverboards were stashed away, Ekko and I walked back toward the mural at the base of the tree. I couldn’t tell if he was intentionally slowing down to match my pace or if he was just lost in thought, but I didn’t mind. The buzz of the hoverboard ride still lingered in my veins and I didn’t feel like bolting.

     When we reached the mural, Ekko’s steps faltered. His eyes locked onto a new addition—a small, delicate face painted with careful strokes, tucked among the others on the wall.

     “Jinx,” he said quietly, pointing at it. “Who’s this?”

     I followed his gaze, already feeling the tight knot forming in my chest. Isha’s face looked back at me, her wide eyes full of life, her small smile more hopeful than I ever felt. I’d spent hours on it, making sure I got it right.

     “That’s... Isha,” I said, my voice rougher than I meant it to be.

     Ekko crouched closer to the mural, studying the details like he was trying to understand every bit of it. “Isha,” he repeated softly. “You mentioned her before. When I first found you. But this... you never said how young she was.”

     “She wasn’t just young,” I muttered, crossing my arms and looking away. “She was a kid. My kid. Not by blood or anything, but...”

     I trailed off, words failing me. How do you explain something like that? The way she wormed her way into my life, my heart, without me even realizing it? The way she made the world less unbearable, even for just a little while?

     Ekko looked up at me, his expression unreadable but gentle. “What happened to her?”

      My throat tightened, but I forced the words out. “She... she saved me. Gave herself up so I could keep going.” I swallowed hard, biting down on the raw edges of the memory. “And the worst part? She believed in me. Thought I could be something better. And look where that got her.”

     “Jinx,” Ekko said softly, standing up and stepping closer. “You’re carrying that weight, but it’s not all on you. You didn’t ask her to do that.”

     “No, but I didn’t stop her, either,” I snapped, my voice sharp with guilt. “She deserved better. And all I could do was paint her face on a wall like that’s supposed to make up for anything.”

     “It’s about remembering her. Honouring her. And from what you’ve told me, she wouldn’t want you to sit here tearing yourself apart.”

     I looked back at Isha’s painted face, my chest tight. “I don’t even know if I got her smile right,” I muttered. “She had this way of smiling, like she knew something you didn’t. I can’t... I can’t quite remember it anymore.”

     Ekko placed a hand on my shoulder, grounding me. “Then hold on to what you do remember,” he said. “And keep her with you. She’s part of you. Always will be.” 

     I didn't know what made me lose it this time. My feelings towards my past mistakes, or your presence so close to me. 

     Could I have been selfish for wanting this moment to last forever?

Chapter Text

     The tree hunched over the base, sicker and sicker everyday. Leaves were dropping one after another, pulsing with purple ooze. I felt egotistical to not give too much of a damn about it at that time. All I could think of was....Spending time with Ekko. I found myself lingering around him more than I wanted to admit to. It had become... normal. Well, as normal as things could get, of course. Mornings were quiet—me in the workshop, hammering away at my almost finished projects, while Ekko darted between meetings and his endless to-do lists. I think in his eyes I did not contribute to anything. 

     Afternoons?

     That was when the real fun began.

     Hoverboard practice, rounds around the base, sometimes even a shared meal if he wasn’t too busy. I would also spent time with the Firelights. It seemed they started to accept me little by little. It was weird having a rhythm to life. No chaotic or manic nights alone. No ghosts to haunt my dreams. Just... routine.

      It was almost too normal.

     “Hey, Clockstopper,” I leaned back on a workbench and tossed a wrench up in the air, catching it smugly. “You ever think about spicing things up? Y’know, beyond saving the world and all that boring stuff.”

     Ekko looked up from a map he was poring over, brow furrowed in concentration, not really understanding my very obvious point. “You do realize you’re the ‘spice’ in this equation, right?”

      I smirked, tossing the wrench at him. He caught it without even looking, because of course he did. 

     Annoyingly good at everything.

     It wasn’t until later, when he was pacing the hangar giving orders to a few Firelights, that I really noticed his outfit. A loose jacket that hung just a bit too long, boots scuffed to hell, and those patched-up pants he always seemed to wear. Functional, sure. Stylish? Not so much.

     “Okay, stop,” I said, cutting him off mid-sentence.

     “What?” He turned to me, blinking in confusion. He seemed to be bothered. 
  
    I waved a hand at him. “This. All of this. The jacket, the pants, the boots—Ekko, you look like you fell into a dumpster behind The last drop.”

     Firelights snickered behind him, and his brows shot up in surprise. “I didn’t realize we were holding a fashion intervention.”

     “We are now,” I said, grabbing his arm and dragging him toward the workshop. “Time for a makeover.”

    “Jinx—” he started, but I cut him off.

    “Nope. No arguments. I’m doing this for the good of Zaun, okay? You’re supposed to be inspiring people, not blinding them.” Ekko groaned, tugging at the sleeve of his patched-up jacket like he could somehow defend it from my incoming attack. “What’s wrong with the way I dress? It’s practical, it’s comfortable—”

     “It’s a tragedy, that’s what it is,” I cut him off, grabbing his wrist. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

     Dragging him across the Firelights’ grass-strewn base, I couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of him trying to dig in his heels without much success. “Seriously, Jinx, I have a meeting in an hour!”

      “Then you’ll look amazing for it,” I shot back, smirking as he let out an exasperated sigh. “Relax. Think of it as a favor to the people of Zaun. We deserve a stylish leader, not... whatever this is.”

     His protests continued, a mix of grumbling and half-hearted attempts to twist free and an arsenal of colorful words, but when was rioting ever useful? Especially against me. I dragged him straight to my workshop, the door slamming shut behind us with a satisfying finality.

     “You locked me in?” Ekko raised an eyebrow, finally giving up his resistance and leaning against my workbench. “What is this, a fashion intervention or a hostage situation?”

     “Little bit of both,” I said, already rummaging through a pile of fabric, old uniforms, and half-finished designs. “Sit tight, oh fearless leader. We’re about to revolutionize your whole vibe.”

     “Pretty sure I don’t need a revolution. We don't have time for this."

      I spun around, holding up a deep green jacket with golden stitching that caught the light just right. “Oh, you do. Trust me.

      He gave me that skeptical look, the one he’d perfected when we were kids and I’d just suggested something ridiculous like racing down a hill in a broken cart. But I knew better. Beneath all his grumbling, he was curious—and maybe even a little excited.

     “Alright,” I said, tossing the jacket at him and grinning as he caught it. “Let’s make you Zaun’s best-dressed hero.”

     As he shrugged on the jacket, muttering something about how bossy I was, I couldn’t help but feel a strange flicker of warmth in my chest. There was something satisfying about seeing him like this, standing a little taller, looking a little sharper. For all his protests, I knew he’d rock the new look.

     And hey, if it meant spending more time with him, dragging him into my world of chaos and color, I wasn’t about to complain.

     By the time I was done, he looked... well, good. Better than good, actually. I’d found him a cropped white shirt with bold neon accents—pink and blue, of course—that matched my own. Sleek boots, snug gloves, and a pair of goggles I’d customized with glowing lenses completed the look.

     “Okay,” I said, stepping back to admire my work. “Now that’s a look. You’re welcome.”

     Ekko glanced at himself in the mirror, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve got a theme going here, huh?” He looked at his own abs now showing from under the crop top. 

     “Duh,” I said, adjusting his glasses. “We’re a team now, aren’t we? Gotta look the part.”

     He chuckled, shaking his head. “Fine. But if anyone asks, this was all your idea.”

     “Obviously.” I crossed my arms, grinning. “Now let’s go show off. Maybe scare some Noxians with how good we look.”

     We actually looked like we belonged together. A team. I didn’t mind the idea of belonging.

      The air hummed with the faint scent of paint and metal. Ekko didn't follow me out of the workshop. He remained in the same spot staring intensely at me. His usual confidence was there, wondering what wild idea I was about to spring on him next.

     "Let's stay here." 

     That was all I needed to hear. I grabbed a can of paint from the shelf—pink, obviously—and shook it with a grin. “Level up then." 

     He raised an eyebrow. “Huh? Level up-?”

     Without answering, I dipped my fingers into the paint and swiped a bold streak across his forearm. The contrast of neon pink against his brown skin was beautiful.

     “What—Jinx!” he said, half-laughing, pulling his arm back like I’d just set him on fire.

     “Don’t be such a baby, ugh,” I said, grabbing his wrist to keep him still. “It’s art. You’re the canvas.”

     “Oh really?” He smirked, but didn’t pull away again.

     I added a streak of blue down his other arm, then dotted his chest with small bursts of pink like tiny explosions. “There. Now you actually look like you’re part of my team.”

     Ekko looked down at himself, inspecting my handiwork. “You know, if I walked outside like this, they would think I’ve completely lost it.”

     “Yeah, but they’d also know you’re the coolest one there,” I shot back.

     He tilted his head, then dipped two fingers into a jar of green paint sitting on the workbench. “Fine. My turn.”

     Before I could protest, he reached out and swiped the paint down my cheek, leaving a bright green streak in its wake.

    “Hey!” I exclaimed, swatting at his hand.

     “What? Fair’s fair,” he said, dipping back into the jar for more.

     I tried to dodge, but he was too quick, smearing another line of green across my collarbone. His laughter filled the room, low and warm, as I grabbed a brush to retaliate.

     “Oh, it’s on now,” I said, jabbing the paint toward him.

     It flew everywhere—pink, blue, green, even a bit of yellow I didn’t remember grabbing. The workshop turned into a chaotic blur of color and movement, us both laughing too hard to care about the mess.

     At some point, I ended up sitting on the workbench, with Ekko standing between my knees, his hands streaked with paint as he traced patterns along my arms.

     “Hold still,” he said, his voice quieter now, more focused. “I’m not done.”

     “You’re gonna run out of canvas,” I teased, though I didn’t move.

      “Then I’ll start over,” he replied, his eyes meeting mine briefly before he went back to painting.

     The world outside the workshop seemed to fade, leaving just the two of us in this neon-colored bubble. His hands were warm against my skin, his touch careful despite the chaos we’d just created.

     “Your turn,” I said after a while, grabbing the pink paint again. “Let’s see if I can top your masterpiece.”

       I leaned forward, tracing a small X over his chest, right where his heart was. My fingers lingered for a second longer than necessary, and when I looked up, his gaze was already on me.

     “We’re both walking murals now,” I said softly, the humor in my voice not quite hiding the way my pulse quickened.

     “Yeah,” he murmured, a small smile already at the corner of his lips. “But I think yours looks better.”

     I didn’t have a snappy comeback. Instead, I just smiled back, feeling the tension between us shift into something I couldn’t quite name. Something I wasn’t sure I wanted to name just yet.

     The workshop fell into a hush and felt smaller somehow, the air thicker as if the walls themselves were closing in on us. I was perched on the edge of my workbench, still covered in streaks of paint from earlier. Ekko stood in front of me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him, the neon glow of the equipment casting shifting shadows across his face.

     He was staring at me—no, through me—he was trying to figure me out, piece by piece, in a way that was both comforting and terrifying. My usual response would’ve been to crack a joke, something to defuse the moment, but for once, my mouth couldn’t find the words.

     I shifted slightly, my fingers twitching on the edge of the bench. “You’ve got paint…” I murmured, reaching up to trace the streak of green I’d left across his jaw earlier. The paint had smudged, blending into the natural warmth of his skin. My voice was barely above a whisper.

     His lips curved into a crooked smile. “I think I’ve got paint everywhere.”

     He didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned in, just a fraction, but enough for me to notice. His eyes locked onto mine, and there was something there—curiosity, hesitation.

    “Jinx,” he said, his voice low and steady, like he was testing the waters.

     I felt my heart slam against my ribcage, erratic and loud, like it might drown out whatever he was going to say next. I could feel electricity flowing in my veins. Before he could, I leaned in, cutting him off—not with words, but with the one thing I never thought I’d do.

     The kiss started soft, almost hesitant, like neither of us was sure if this was really happening, or we were afraid it could shatter in any moment if we weren't careful. His lips were warm, a little chapped, but they fit against mine in a way that felt... right. My hands moved almost instinctively, one resting lightly on his shoulder, the other trailing up to his neck, where the pulse beneath his skin matched the frantic rhythm of my own. 

     He responded, his hands coming to rest on either side of me, bracing himself against the workbench as he leaned in closer. The world around us seemed to dissolve—the faint hum of the machinery, the smell of paint and metal, even the weight of everything I’d been carrying—it all faded into the background. But then his hand came up to cup the side of my face, his thumb brushing against my cheek, and it deepened—slow and steady.

    It wasn’t perfect. It was messy and a little uncoordinated, we were both figuring it out as we went. But it was us, and for that reason, it was everything.

     When we finally pulled apart, our foreheads pressed together, both of us breathing heavily, I couldn’t stop the small, shaky laugh that escaped me.

     “Well,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, “that was… something.”

    Ekko’s lips curved into a small smile, his eyes still half-lidded as he looked at me. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice just as soft. “Something.”

     And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel the urge to run or crack a joke to mask how I felt. Neither of us said anything. He was waiting for me to bolt or throw another can of paint at him?  

     I didn’t feel the need to overthink it. To question if this was a mistake or if I deserved this. I just let myself enjoy the moment—messy, imperfect, and painted in every color imaginable.

     Ekko’s laughter faded, his thumb still brushing my cheek, tracing circles on my skin as if he couldn’t bring himself to let go. His eyes flicked to mine our breaths mingling in the stillness of time.

     Then, without a word, he leaned in again, capturing my lips in another kiss. This one wasn’t tentative like the first—it was deeper, fuller, we’d both decided this was okay, that this was real.

    His hands slid to my waist, pulling me closer as I tilted my head, letting the kiss linger. The faint taste of paint clung to the air between us, a reminder of the chaos we’d created together. My hands found their way around his shoulders, clasping them together, holding him as if I needed something to anchor me.

     When we broke apart again, I rested my head against his chest, my arms looping around his neck in a hug that felt instinctive, natural. His arms wrapped around me too, steady and warm, holding me like I might slip away if he let go.

     “We’re really leaning into this mural thing, huh?” I muttered against his shoulder, trying to keep it light even as my mind was racing. 

    “Yeah,” he replied softly, his voice rumbling against my ear. “But I don’t mind it.”

     I closed my eyes, letting myself sink into the moment—the warmth of his embrace, the quiet hum of the workshop, and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under my cheek. I just let myself be still, held in the arms of the boy who, somehow, managed to see me even though all my troubles. 

     A boy who never stopped trying to save me.

     Until he actually did. 

     The boy saviour. 

     After a moment of silence, Ekko broke it, his voice soft but direct. “So… what should I call you? Jinx or Powder?”

     I froze, the question hit me harder than I expected, like a sucker punch I didn’t see coming.

     I looked over at him, my usual quip on the tip of my tongue, but it didn’t come out. He wasn’t teasing, not this time. His expression was open, patient in that way Ekko always acted, all knowing - he had all the time in the world to wait for an answer I didn’t even know how to give.

     “What kind of question is that?” I asked, my voice sharper than I meant it to be.

     “It’s an honest one,” he replied, tilting his head as if trying to get a better read on me. “I mean, do you even know what you want to be called?”

      I laughed nervously, though it came out more bitter than amused. “What does it matter? Pick your poison.”

       Ekko didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile. He just kept watching me, his gold-flecked eyes steady and calm. “It matters,” he said finally. “Because you’re not just either of those things.”

     I looked away, pretending to focus on the smudge of paint on my fingers. I never really noticed how ghostly they seemed to be. “Powder’s dead,” I muttered. “She died when everything fell apart. And Jinx? She’s just… what’s left. The dust at the bottom of the bin."

   “That’s not true, you're just rambling,” Ekko said softly, but firmly.

      I shook my head and glanced at him, caught off guard by how certain he sounded, how utterly convinced he was of something I couldn’t even see in myself. He does not know how to give up on people, or situations. I felt completely deflated from the high we just had, his lips were a memory, because now he changed the subject as if nothing has happened. 

     "You will figure it out." 

     “Thanks,” I muttered, barely audible, but he heard it. It sounded empty. 

     Ekko smiled, that lopsided grin that always managed to make my chest ache. “Anytime, Jinx… or Powder… or whatever you want to call yourself tomorrow.” I felt a shift in his behaviour and I couldn't understand it. I felt guilty for no reason, maybe I have upset him? 

      I rolled my eyes, the corner of my mouth twitching despite myself. “You’re such a pain.” But he was hiding his emotions well. Deflecting the feelings from the intense experience we just had. He never really talked about his side of the cookie. It had to be about me, always.

     Was he going to leave now? 

     “Yeah, well,” he said, leaning back against the wall with an easy shrug, “Tough deal, it's not for everyone.” And then he turned towards the door. 

     "Tomorrow we have a really big day ahead of us. We will pull out your old workshop. We need a lot of people and we do have them it's just...Be ready, okay?" He sounded unsure, not knowing where to place himself. His usual confidence was melting slowly like a candle, right in front of my eyes. 

     "Yeah, I know, but -" 

     He was already out before I could finish my sentence. The door was left open. I felt myself spiral in a circle of uncertainty, hugging my arms. Stupid thought I had a chance. 

     Have we gone too far? All I could comprehend was the tangible phantom of his lips on mine.

Chapter Text

     The Firelights moved with purpose, swarming the jagged skeleton of my old workshop reminiscing ants in a hive. Ropes tangled as veins across the steel beams, pulleys screeched with the weight of years, and the rusted corpse of my sanctuary groaned in protest. They worked together like clockwork, each gear turning in time with the next. The plan was simple enough on paper: tear my workshop from the belly of the undercity, drag it into the light, and crown it with wings. A floating fortress, a ghost reborn or maybe a very tired phoenix. 

     It should’ve been exhilarating. Watching the husk of my past—my prison, my sanctuary, my battlefield—become something new. Something untethered. But the air felt thick today, heavy with a charge. 

     I leaned against a crumbling support beam, arms crossed as I watched the Firelights toil below. The workshop moved slow like a beast waking from a long slumber, its walls buckling and shifting as they coaxed it toward the surface. The hum of gliders overhead filled the cavern like a chorus, their wings flickering with green light. It was beautiful in its own way, this chaos. But I couldn’t shake the feeling crawling up my spine, the strange weight pressing against my chest.

     Maybe it was the smell of rust and oil, sharp and familiar like the blade of a forgotten memory. Or maybe it was the way the light cut through the smoke, illuminating the broken edges of what used to be mine. Or maybe it was really him.

     Ekko was somewhere below, barking orders to the Firelights as they swarmed the perimeter. His voice carried over the clatter of metal and the creak of strained ropes, steady and sure, as he worked alongside them. I could see him in flashes between the scaffolding—his head turning as he gave instructions, the gleam of his hoverboard strapped to his back. I could tell his skin was slick with sweat, even from here. He hadn’t looked at me once. Not since we’d started.

     Not since yesterday.

     I forced my gaze away, fixing it instead of the faint glow of the remaining neons. And yet, standing here, surrounded by the ghosts of my past, it felt like I was watching from the wrong side of a pane of glass.

     “Hey, you good up there?” a voice called, snapping me out of my thoughts.

     I glanced down to see Rian, one of the younger Firelights, squinting up at me from the ground. His hands were wrapped around a coil of rope, his face smudged with grease.

     “Peachy,” I called back, forcing a grin. “Don’t let me distract you, kid. That workshop’s not gonna haul itself up.”

     He laughed and shook his head "Come down here from your throne and help us". He then muttered something to the Firelight beside him before turning back to his work. I scoffed and stepped down. 

     I crouched near one of the old supports, pretending to check the tension on a rope. My fingers worked mechanically, but my mind was elsewhere, replaying the kiss in my head. It had been messy, rushed, and painted with streaks of blue and green—literally. But it had been real. Or at least I thought it had been.

     Now? Now it was like nothing had happened.

     I glanced over at him, hoping for… something. A smirk, a glance, even one of his sarcastic little jabs. But he didn’t even look my way. "Rope’s too tight, Jinx," one of the Firelights grunted, snapping me out of my thoughts. Rian snickered and came next to me. 

     "Yeah, yeah, I got it," I muttered, tugging at the knot until it was just loose enough. My hands felt clumsy, my mind still stuck on him. "You're very colourful. Is this paint? You look like the murals!" Rian pointed at my clothes, still smeared faintly from yesterday. I slept on the floor of the workshop after he left. "Yes they are, that's true..." but I didn't have in me any conversational sentences.

     The grinding sound of metal against rock filled the air as the first section of the workshop began to shift. Dust and debris rained down, and the Firelights cheered, their excitement buzzing through the cavern. I should’ve been cheering too, but my chest felt heavy, like something was dragging me down as much as we were pulling my workshop up. We pressed on so the ropes groaned louder, the pulleys straining under the weight of steel and memory. The workshop shifted again, rising inch by inch toward the surface.

     I tightened my grip on the beam, my nails digging into the rusted metal. I wanted to feel something—pride, excitement, relief. But all I felt was the strange, suffocating weight that had followed me here.

     It wasn’t just the workshop that was rising today. It was everything I’d buried inside it—every mistake, every regret, every piece of me I’d tried to leave behind.

     “We gotta move faster! We’ve got limited time and this thing looks like it will give out!” Ekko shouted, his voice echoing off the cavern walls.

     I clenched my jaw, the sharp taste of frustration rising in my throat as I stood, brushing the dirt and rust off my hands in quick, agitated swipes. My voice came out louder than I meant it to, cutting through the hum of the Firelights’ work like the snap of a whip. “What’s with the drill sergeant routine, huh?”

     Ekko’s head turned at the sound, his shoulders tensing like I’d plucked a string too tight. For a second, I thought I saw the familiar spark in his eyes—the one that used to shine when he’d laugh at one of my stupid jokes or call me out. But it flickered and died, replaced by something harder, something distant.

     “We’ve got a lot to do,” he said, his voice flat and clipped, like every word was measured out carefully to keep me at arm’s length. His gaze met mine for barely a breath before it darted back to the Firelights, back to the ropes and pulleys and metal that demanded his attention.

     I opened my mouth to snap back—something sarcastic, something sharp enough to break through whatever wall he was putting up—but the words caught in my throat. He didn’t even wait for a response, just turned his back on me and went back to barking orders like I hadn’t spoken at all.

     My hands curled into fists at my sides, and I could feel the heat crawling up my neck. “Seriously? Nice to see you’re a ray of fucking sunshine today.” I muttered under my breath, the word bitter and quiet, swallowed up by the sounds of creaking steel and humming gliders.

     No response.

     He wasn’t usually like this. Ekko was always the steady one, the one who’d meet me head-on even when I was a mess of bad decisions and worse timing. But now? Now it felt like I was standing in front of a stranger, and the sharpness in his voice cut deeper than I wanted to admit.

      I stayed where I was, frozen in the middle of everything, watching him move through the crowd of Firelights like a storm contained in flesh and bone. His commands were calm, calculated, but there was something in the set of his jaw and the way his fingers gripped the edge of his hoverboard that told me otherwise.

     Fine. If he wanted to play it cold, I could play along. I was Jinx, after all. I’d been dealing with cold shoulders and closed doors long before Ekko decided to turn into Captain Iceberg. But the truth was, it stung. More than it should have. And as I stood there, watching his back disappear into the crowd, I couldn’t help but wonder what the hell I’d done to deserve it. The ropes groaned again as the Firelights tugged, the workshop shifting another few feet. The sight should’ve made me proud. Instead, it just felt… hollow. 

     That was my bread and butter. I’d grown up in the frostbite of rejection and built my empire on its ruins. Captain Iceberg thought he could freeze me out? Cute. Yet I wasn’t even sure why it bothered me so much. I should’ve been shrugging it off, laughing at the way he was marching around like the King of Efficiently Moving Crap. Instead, my chest felt tight every time he brushed past me without so much as a glance.

     So, I did what I did best. I shoved it down. Wound it up tight and stuffed it in that messy little box where all my other feelings went to die. My hands found something to do—securing bolts, yanking at ropes, smearing grease on my cheeks just to feel like I was contributing. The Firelights swarmed like a hive, pulling my old workshop from the depths of Zaun inch by inch, but I focused on the work in front of me, ignoring Ekko’s voice barking orders from somewhere nearby.

     “Jinx, can you—” one of the Firelights started to call out to me, but I cut them off with a sharp wave of my hand.

     “I got it,” I snapped, grabbing a length of rope and tying it off with more force than necessary.

     Ekko’s voice drifted over the noise—calm, steady, and so maddeningly competent that it made my skin crawl. I didn’t even look up. Not once. If he wanted to act like I wasn’t there, then I’d return the favor.

    “Hey, careful with that pulley!” he shouted at someone, his tone clipped and commanding. The old Ekko, the one I’d raced hoverboards with and thrown wrenches at, was nowhere to be found. This new version? He was all business, all precision, and I hated it.

     I busied myself tying knots, tightening screws, and pretending I wasn’t hyper-aware of every time he was near. When his shadow fell across me briefly as he walked by, I didn’t even glance up. Not even when he paused, like he might say something, before continuing on like I was invisible.

    The workshop groaned as it shifted upward, the ropes straining under its weight. “Come on, you rusted piece of junk,” I muttered under my breath, pulling hard on a line as sweat dripped down my temple.

     “Watch it!” someone called as a beam swung too close for comfort.

     “I’m fine!” I shouted back, frustration bubbling up. I wasn’t fine. I was anything but fine, and the fact that Ekko was stomping around acting like nothing had happened between us wasn’t helping.

     But as I yanked the rope tighter, my mind betrayed me, replaying the memory of his lips on mine, his hands steadying me like I was something precious.

     The rope slipped through my fingers before I even realized what was happening. I’d been too busy glaring at Ekko—or rather, pretending not to glare at Ekko—to notice the frayed edge catching against the pulley. One second, I was yanking with all my might; the next, the tension snapped back like a viper and burned my palm through the glove.

     "Son of a—!" I hissed, jerking my hand back and cradling it against my chest. A sharp sting bloomed across my skin, the kind of pain that wasn’t catastrophic but enough to make my temper spike. A thin red welt lined my palm, and the sting was quickly replaced by a dull throb.

     A couple of the Firelights turned to look, but I waved them off before they could say anything. “Don’t just stand there! Focus on the ropes before the whole thing falls!” I shouted, my voice sharper than I intended.

     Of course, that’s when Ekko decided to notice me. He was on me in seconds, his expression flickering between exasperation and concern. “What the hell, Jinx? You’re not even paying attention. Are you ok?”

     “I’m fine,” I snapped, backing up and shoving my injured hand behind me like a kid hiding a broken toy. The last thing I needed was him lecturing me in front of everyone. “It’s nothing, just a scratch.”

     “Let me see.” He reached for my hand, and I jerked away instinctively, but he wasn’t having it. His hand caught my wrist gently but firmly, and I felt a jolt of heat—annoyance- I couldn’t tell.

     “It’s nothing, Ekko,” I said through gritted teeth, but he ignored me, prying my hand open to inspect the damage.

     “You burned your palm,” he said flatly, his thumb brushing the welt like he was checking for worse injuries. “And it’s not nothing.”

      I rolled my eyes, trying to tug my hand back, but his grip didn’t budge. “Oh no, a tiny rope burn. Call the medics! Alert the council!” I said with a dramatic gasp.

     He gave me that look—the one that was equal parts tired and unimpressed. “You think this is funny? You could’ve made it worse.”

     “Worse? What, I could’ve lost my hand?” I snorted, but the sound felt hollow even to me.

      “You could’ve let go of the rope and sent the whole damn workshop crashing down,” he shot back, his tone harsher now. “You’re not the only one here, Jinx. We’re all in this together.”

     The words hit harder than I expected, and for a second, I just stood there, my mouth opening and closing like I was a fish out of water. Then, before he could say anything else, I snatched my hand back, cradling it protectively.

     “I said I’m fine,” I muttered. The truth was, I wasn’t mad at him. Not really. I was mad at myself—for letting him get to me, for letting my frustration distract me, and for caring so damn much about what he thought. “What’s your deal, Ekko? You’ve been acting weird all day.” I continued, fully planted in his line of sight. 

     “Just focused,” he said without looking at me, his tone clipped.

     “Yeah, I can see that. Doesn’t mean you get to treat me like I don’t exist,” I snapped.

     That got his attention. He looked at me, his eyes flickering with—guilt? Frustration? Both?

     “I’m not treating you like you don’t exist,” he said, his voice softer but still distant.

     “Could’ve fooled me,” I shot back.

      He sighed, running a hand over his face. “We got a lot on the plate right now. This whole operation? It’s risky. If something goes wrong—”

     “If something goes wrong, we fix it,” I interrupted, stepping closer. “That’s what we do. That’s what we’ve always done.”

     He didn’t respond, his gaze dropping to the ground.

     “Ekko,” I said, my voice quieter now, “is this about yesterday? The kiss?”

     His shoulders tensed, and I knew I’d hit the mark.

     “It’s not… about that,” he said, but the hesitation in his voice betrayed him.

     “Bull,” I said flatly. “If you regret it, just say so. Don’t do this weird cold-shoulder thing.”

     “I don’t regret it,” he said quickly, finally meeting my eyes. “I just… I don’t know what to do with it. With us.”

     Us. The word hung in the air like a live wire.

     “You don’t have to do anything with it,” I said, my voice softer than I expected. “Not now. Not yet.”

     He looked at me for a long moment, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “I’m trying. I just… I don’t want to mess this up. Or mess you up.”

     I snorted, the sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “You’re not gonna make it worse.”

     A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and for a second, it felt like things were alright again.

     “Lovebirds! We’re ready for the final pull!” one of the Firelights called out, breaking the moment.

     Ekko turned back to the crew, his leader mask slipping back into place. But as he passed me, he paused, his hand brushing against mine for the briefest moment. It felt he would have wanted to grab it. 

     “Thanks,” he said quietly, before moving on.

     I stayed where I was, my heart doing somersaults in my chest as I watched him go. We could figure it out together.

     The final pull to lift my workshop was a chaotic symphony of creaking ropes, grunting Firelights, and the occasional shower of dust. I kept myself busy tying knots and securing cables, but my mind was still stuck on Ekko’s words.

     I don’t regret it. I don’t know what to do with us.

     “Heads up!” Rian shouted.

      I jolted, barely dodging a falling chunk of rock. “Geez, a little more warning next time!” I yelled back, shaking the dust out of my hair.

      The workshop groaned as it shifted again, rising higher and higher. It was strange seeing it like this, pulled from the depths like some ancient relic. This place had been my sanctuary, my prison, and my playground all at once. Now it was just another piece of the Firelights’ plan.

      Finally, with one last almighty heave, the workshop broke free from the earth. The Firelights cheered, the sound echoing through the cavern. I stepped back, staring up at the hulking thing as it hung suspended in midair.

      “Looks like we did it,” Ekko said, his voice steady, but there was that glint in his eyes—a flicker of something I almost didn’t recognize. Pride, maybe. Or was it relief? It was hard to tell, but whatever it was, it wasn’t enough to crack the ice that had settled between us.

     I stood there for a moment, surveying the workshop—my old sanctuary, now somehow floating above the ground like a mockery of everything it had been. The pulleys and ropes, the blaring buzz of the engines coming to life, the clinking of metal—everything moving in perfect sync to get it off the ground. A part of me wanted to feel something about this, something triumphant or victorious, but the sharp sting in my chest kept me from fully enjoying it.

    “Yeah,” I said, wiping my hands on the legs of my pants as if I could clean away all the dirt, all the frustration, all the distance that had crept in between us. “Guess my junkyard is officially airborne.”

      Ekko gave me a small smile, the kind that barely touched his lips, and I could tell it wasn’t for me. It was for the moment, for the success, but not for us. He was still holding something back, his usual warmth gone. And that… that pissed me off so incredibly much.

      Just like that, the wall was back up.

Chapter Text

     The base hummed with quiet activity as night settled over Zaun. I had slipped away to one of the quieter rooms with tools and supplies shoved into corners, the faint scent of oil and paint still lingering from our work on the workshop-turned-balloon. The room was dim, lit only by the flicker of a nearby lantern, but it felt comfortable enough. My eyes were dry from all the dust that had been around. I kept squinting uncomfortably. 

     I stared into a cracked mirror propped against a pile of junk. My hair was a tangled mess, frayed and uneven from the dirt and sweat of the past few days, right above my shoulders. It was the last remnant of some old version of me—incredibly tired. I didn’t want to see her in the mirror anymore.

     With a sigh, I grabbed a pair of scissors from the workbench and held them up to one of the long strands of hair that had been clinging to my neck like dead weight. The metal caught the dim light of the workshop, glinting like it had something to say about my decision.

     “Alright, Jinx. Time to snip this crap off. Who needs precision anyway, right?” I muttered under my breath, trying to make it sound like a joke. But my voice wavered, just enough to betray me. My hands were shaking, and it wasn’t just the exhaustion catching up to me. I hadn’t slept since we came back.

     My fingers gripped a chunk of hair, ready to hack it off, but I hesitated. The scissors felt heavier as if they carried all the weight of what this meant. Cutting away the past, trying to feel lighter, trying to feel something. The mirror shard on the workbench caught my reflection, and for a second, I didn’t even recognize the girl staring back.

     “Ugh, come on,” I growled, yanking harder at the strand I’d grabbed. “It’s just hair. Get it together. You already did this before" But the more I tried to convince myself, the shakier my hands got.

     Because it wasn’t just hair. It was the last piece of Powder, of Jinx, of all the versions of me I wasn’t sure how to be anymore. And as much as I wanted to leave that girl behind, something about taking these scissors to her felt like giving up. Like admitting I didn’t know where I was going from here.

     My grip faltered, and the scissors slipped a little, nearly nicking my finger. “Dammit,” I hissed, tossing them back on the workbench. I pressed my palms to the edge of the table, leaning into it like it could hold me up, and closed my eyes.

     “Planning to stab yourself with those or cut your hair?” a familiar voice called from the doorway.

     I froze, my reflection in the cracked mirror catching the flicker of surprise in my eyes. Slowly, I turned my head, already knowing who it was. Ekko stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe like he hadn’t been colder than Zaun steel. His expression was softer now, almost hesitant, but there was still something guarded in his eyes, like he was walking a tightrope between being himself and keeping some kind of invisible distance.

     “Don’t you knock?” I muttered, turning back to the mirror and raising the scissors again, trying to act like his sudden presence didn’t send my thoughts spiraling. My hands tightened on the scissors, but I couldn’t bring myself to make the first cut.

     He stepped further into the room, the door groaning on its rusted hinges as it swung shut behind him. The sound felt heavy in the small space, like it had locked us into some kind of confrontation I wasn’t ready for. “Didn’t think I needed to,” he said, his tone light but carrying an edge of something deeper. “Thought we were past that.”

      I let out a dry laugh, shaking my head as I looked at his reflection in the mirror. “Yeah, well, considering you’ve been acting like a stranger lately, maybe knocking wouldn’t be the worst idea.”

     Ekko winced, and for a second, I felt bad. Not bad enough to take it back, but enough for the silence between us to feel heavier than usual. He walked over, his footsteps soft and leaned his hands on the workbench beside me.

     “What are you even doing?” he asked, nodding toward the scissors in my hand. His voice was steady, but there was a hint of concern laced in the question.

     “Giving myself a makeover,” I said with mock enthusiasm, flashing him a grin that didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Figured if I’m gonna keep pretending everything’s fine, I might as well look the part.”

     “You’re really gonna butcher it like that?” he asked after a moment.

     “What, you’re suddenly a hairdresser now?” I snapped, spinning around to face him. “Or are you just here to get revenge after I dressed you?”

    Ekko didn’t flinch at my jab. Instead, he sighed, the weight of it dragging his shoulders down like he was finally letting go of something too heavy to carry any longer. His footsteps were deliberate as he stepped closer, his movements slower than usual, like he was treading carefully. “I’m here to say I’m sorry,” he said, his voice quieter than I expected.

    That caught me off guard. My fingers froze, scissors hovering near a stray strand of hair. “For what?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant. But I knew. I knew exactly what for.

     “For being an ass,” he said simply, his honesty cutting through the room like a sharp edge. He shoved his hands into his pockets, his gaze dropping for a second before finding mine again. “For shutting you out. For being cold. I—I don’t know how to do this, Jinx. How to deal with... us. Everything between us. It’s a lot, and I guess I got scared. Took it out on you. That wasn’t fair.”

     I blinked, my mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. Ekko? Scared? It didn’t compute. He was Ekko. The kid who always had a plan, always knew which way to run even when the rest of us were lost in the chaos. And yet, here he was, standing in front of me, admitting that he’d screwed up. That he was scared. That he’d taken it out on me.

     I shifted my weight, suddenly feeling awkward under the rawness of his confession. My fingers fidgeted with the scissors, the cold metal biting against my skin. “You’re not the only one who doesn’t know how to deal with this... us.”

     His eyes softened at that, and he took another step closer, close enough that I could see the faint freckles dusting his cheekbones. “I know,” he said. “You’ve got your own stuff going on. And I’m not saying I’ve got it all figured out, but... I don’t want to push you away. Not anymore.”

     His words hit harder than I wanted them to. I looked down at the scissors in my hand, suddenly feeling stupid for standing there with half a mind to hack off my hair in the middle of an emotional conversation. “You really are a jerk," I muttered, but there was no bite to the words.

     A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, a faint echo of the boy I used to know. “Yeah,” he said, almost chuckling. “I guess.”

    The silence that followed wasn’t as heavy as before. It was... lighter somehow, like his apology had chipped away at the wall that had been wedged between us.

     I glanced up at him, my grip on the scissors loosening. “You really mean it?” I asked, and it wasn’t just about the apology. It was about all of it. The trust, the vulnerability, the unspoken mess of emotions between us. His gaze didn’t waver. 

     “Every word,” he said. “Let me make it up to you. Starting with...” He reached out and took the scissors from my hand gently. “This. Let me help.”

     I raised an eyebrow. “You? Cutting my hair?”

     He smirked faintly. “Trust me, I’ve got steady hands. I won’t mess it up.”

     I hesitated, then let out a huff and sat down on the edge of the workbench. “If you make me look like one of those Piltie aristocrats, I’m setting your hoverboard on fire.”

     “Noted,” he said with a chuckle, grabbing a comb from the mess on the bench. He stood behind me, his fingers surprisingly gentle as he combed through my hair, untangling knots with care.

     As the scissors snipped away, I felt the weight of the past few days start to lift, piece by piece. It wasn’t just my hair he was cutting—it felt like something deeper. Each strand that was falling was freeing me.

     “You know,” Ekko said after a while, his voice quiet, “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just... care about you. A lot more than I probably should.”

      The words hit me harder than I expected, but I didn’t turn to face him. Instead, I let a small smile creep onto my lips. “Well, don’t get too soft on me now, time boy. You might ruin your tough-guy image.”

     He laughed under his breath, the sound warm and familiar, the wall between us started to crumble.

     Ekko’s hands worked steadily as he trimmed the back of my hair, the scissors making soft snipping sounds in the otherwise quiet room. I sat on the workbench, my fingers gripping its edge tightly. Every so often, I’d glance at the mirror, watching the transformation.

      “Leave the front,” I said suddenly, leaning forward to catch his eye in the reflection. “I want one longer piece. You know, something dramatic. A statement or whatever.”

     Ekko paused and tilted his head, giving me that signature thoughtful look. “A dramatic statement, huh?”

     I smirked. “Gotta keep them guessing.”

     He shrugged and went back to work, his fingers careful as he shaped the strands near the back of my head. “Alright. Short in the back, long in the front.”

     “Damn right,” I quipped, my grin widening.

     When he finished, I twisted my head side to side, running my fingers through the choppy layers. It felt... lighter, freer, like I’d shed a piece of my old self. But something was missing.

     “Hand me that,” I said, pointing to a tin of purple paint sitting amidst the chaos of my workbench.

    Ekko arched a brow. “Purple?”

    “Yeah, why not? It's a middle finger to the world.”

     He handed me the paint, and I dipped my fingers into it without hesitation. Carefully, I worked it into a strand of hair, letting the vibrant color streak through the blue like a jagged lightning bolt.

    "I saw you lost a finger." 

    "Don't even open this subject." 

     As I finished, I turned to Ekko and flicked my hand, sending a tiny splatter of paint toward his cheek. “There. What do you think? Jinx-approved?”

     He wiped the paint from his face with a chuckle, shaking his head. “Looks like you, it works.”

     “Fuck yes it works,” I said, hopping off the bench. I caught my reflection in the cracked mirror again, the purple streak glowing under the dim light. It was just a strand, but it felt like a declaration, a piece of me that said, I’m still here.

      Ekko stepped behind me, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror. “It suits you,” he said softly, and for once, his voice wasn’t teasing. It was sincere, almost warm.

     “Yeah?” I asked, brushing the strand with my fingers.

     “Yeah,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Now you just need to stop throwing paint at people.”

     “Never,” I shot back, grinning. But deep down, I felt something I hadn’t in a long time: pride. I liked what I saw.

     I ran my fingers through the freshly painted purple strand, tilting my head to the side as I studied myself in the cracked mirror. It wasn’t perfect—neither was I—but it felt... right. Like I was carrying a piece of Isha with me, a piece I wouldn’t let fade no matter how much the world tried to chip away at it.

     “I’m gonna paint the balloon,” I said suddenly, glancing at Ekko, who had been silently cleaning up the scattered hair on the floor.

    He paused, his hands stilling. 

     “Like Isha. To bring a memory of the people that were lost.” My voice came out softer than I intended, but I didn’t try to hide it. “The purple. The brightness. She... deserves that, you know? Something up there, floating above everything, carrying her. She’s still soaring.”

     Ekko leaned back against the wall, his arms crossing over his chest as he studied me. “That’s a good idea,” he said finally, his tone low and calm. “She’d like that.”

     I nodded, swallowing hard as I glanced at the strand again. “It’s just... she mattered, you know? She made me feel like I wasn’t just... Jinx. Like I could be more. And I—I don’t want to let that go.”

     Ekko stepped closer, his eyes softening. “You’re not letting it go. You’re carrying it forward. That’s the difference.”

     I tried to smile at that, but my chest felt tight, the emotions threatening to overflow. “Ekko, I...” My voice faltered, the words tangled up in my throat.

     He didn’t push me, didn’t rush me. He just waited, his gaze steady and patient.

      I took a shaky breath and looked him in the eye. “I don’t know what’s happening to me. You’re—you’re getting under my skin, and it’s terrifying, okay? I don’t do feelings, or... or trust, or any of this, but you... you make me feel like maybe I could.”

     His expression shifted, something soft and raw flickering across his face. 

     “I like you Ekko,” I said quickly, my voice shaking. “But, you deserve better than whatever this is, but I can’t stop myself. I just—"

     Before I could finish, he closed the distance between us, pulling me into a hug that knocked the air out of my lungs. His arms were solid, warm, grounding in a way that made me feel like I wouldn’t shatter.

     “Just stay still for a moment,” he murmured into my hair. “You drive me insane half the time... but you’re also brilliant, and strong, and so much more than you think you are and you know I like you too.”

     I clung to him, my fingers gripping the back of his shirt like he was the only thing keeping me tethered to the ground. “I’m scared,” I admitted, my voice barely a whisper.

     “I know,” he said softly, his hand brushing lightly against my back. “But you don’t have to do this alone, okay? I’m here. No matter what.”

     I stood there in Ekko's arms, the warmth of his embrace sinking into my skin. The flood in my head quieted, the voices and doubts retreating into the background like shadows under a floodlight. His heartbeat was steady, grounding, and I pressed my cheek to his chest, letting myself get lost in the rhythm of it.

     A shaky breath escaped me, and before I could stop it, the tears started to fall. Silent and unrelenting, they streaked down my face as I buried myself deeper in the hug. I wasn’t even sure why I was crying. Maybe it was because I finally let the dam break, or maybe it was because I wasn’t used to being held like this—like I wasn’t about to crumble to dust in someone’s arms.

     Ekko didn’t say anything. He didn’t ask why or tell me it was okay to cry. He just held me tighter, his hand resting gently against the back of my head as if to shield me from the weight of the world.

     It hit me then—how much I cared about him. How much I wanted him to stay. It scared the hell out of me, but I couldn’t deny it anymore. I felt it in the way my hands refused to let go of his shirt, in the way my tears kept soaking into the fabric, in the way my heart seemed to ache and heal at the same time.

     I sniffled quietly, trying to regain some semblance of control, but he didn’t seem to care about the tears or the trembling in my hands. He just stayed there, solid and constant, like some unyielding anchor in my storm.

     “I hate this,” I muttered weakly, my voice muffled against him.

     “Hate what?” he asked softly, his hand moving in slow, calming circles on my back.

     “That you... that you matter this much,” I whispered, the admission breaking out of me before I could think twice. “I don’t know what to do with it. With you.”

     He exhaled a soft, almost amused breath, and I felt his chin rest lightly on the top of my head. “You don’t have to do anything. Just... let me be here.”

     The words cracked something open inside me, and I clung to him tighter, letting the silent tears fall freely now. I hated how vulnerable I felt, but at the same time, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this... safe.

     As much as I fought it, as much as I tried to convince myself I wasn’t capable of this kind of thing, I knew now there was no going back. I’d let Ekko into my world.

    The scissors sat forgotten on the workbench as I leaned against him, my head resting on his shoulder. His arms wrapped around me without hesitation, holding me steady as I felt myself fall asleep. 

     The next day every Firelight was moving with purpose, their steps deliberate and their faces steeled with determination. Around the towering tree at the heart of their home, everyone gathered, weapons strapped to their backs, armor clinking softly. It was like the calm before a storm, and I could feel the weight of it pressing down on my chest. 

     The balloon—my balloon—loomed nearby, its massive frame painted with deep purples and blues, with streaks of pink trailing like smoke and huge bunny ears. I’d poured everything into it, every ounce of creativity and precision I had, crafting it as a tribute to Isha and as a weapon for what was to come. 

     The weapons I’d built—massive, deadly, and undeniably me—rested near the launch pads. The Z-Drive, Ekko’s masterpiece, shimmered faintly in his hands, its potential buzzing like static in the air.

     Ekko stood under the tree, his usual cocky smirk tempered by a seriousness I didn’t often see. He held the attention of everyone there like he was born for it, like the tree itself leaned in to hear him speak.

     “We’ve all seen what they’ve done,” he began, his voice clear and strong, “to Zaun, to Piltover, to the people we love. They think they can come into our world, use it, break it, and leave us to clean up the mess. But they’re wrong. This time, we fight back. Even if out enemy is new." 

     Cheers rippled through the crowd, fists raised in solidarity.

     “This isn’t just about us. It’s about everyone they’ve hurt, everyone they’ve taken from us. It’s about building something better, something they can’t destroy.” His gaze swept over the crowd, sharp and deliberate. “We’re not just fighting for Zaun. We’re fighting for the future.”

     The cheers were louder now, a roar of agreement that echoed up into the canopy of the tree.

      I stood by his side, arms crossed, watching him command the Firelights like he was born for it. He caught my eye for a moment, and for a brief second, the weight in his expression softened, just for me.

     It was strange, being here, being part of something like this. I’d always been the wildcard. Now, I was standing shoulder to shoulder with people who actually believed in something bigger than themselves. I didn’t feel out of place.

     Ekko’s voice brought me back. “Jinx.”

     My name rang out, and suddenly every eye was on me.

      “You’ve given us the tools to win this fight,” Ekko said, his tone warm but firm. “And I think I speak for everyone here when I say... thank you.”

      I froze. Gratitude wasn’t exactly something I was used to, and I had no idea how to respond to it. So, I just shrugged, letting my lips curl into a wry grin. “Don’t thank me yet. We’ll see if it works.”

     The crowd laughed, and I relaxed a little, the tension easing as Ekko nodded at me with that knowing look of his.

      “Alright, Firelights,” Ekko called out, raising his fist into the air. “Let’s fly.”

     The roar that followed shook the tree itself, and as everyone began to disperse to their positions, I looked up at the balloon, its painted surface glowing softly in the light. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was part of something.

     And as we prepared to take to the skies, I realized... I was ready to fight for it.

     As I stood beneath the tree, watching the Firelights scatter to their stations, a wave of something unfamiliar settled over me. It wasn’t chaos, not the heady rush of destruction I used to crave. It was purpose. Belonging.

     I glanced up at the balloon towering above, a tribute to the people I’d lost and the hope I still held on to. Isha’s face smiled down at me from the mural, innocent and bright, untouched by the horrors of this world.

     I wiped my hands on my pants, smudging the grease and paint even further into the fabric, and let my gaze wander over the Firelights. My people. The thought hit me like a punch to the gut. When had they become my people? When had I started thinking of them as something worth fighting for?

     Maybe it didn’t matter when. What mattered was that they accepted me, scars and all. They didn’t flinch at my broken edges or the way my mind sometimes ran wild. They saw me—truly saw me—and they still let me stay. They let me work beside them, build beside them, fight beside them.

     And I loved them for it. I loved them for giving me a place to land when the rest of the world turned its back on me.

     I’d never forget Isha. Not the way she laughed, not the way she made my heart feel lighter when everything else felt so heavy. She was gone, but this fight was for her. To make sure no one else had to lose someone they loved because of greed and power and violence.

      And Vi. My anchor, even when I felt like I was floating away. I knew I’d never be what she needed me to be, never fully undo the pain I’d caused her. But I could respect her. I could stay out of her way, give her the space she needed to heal. 

     I took a deep breath, the weight of everything settling on my shoulders. But it didn’t feel crushing. It felt steadying, like it was grounding me to something real. Something worth protecting.

     “Isha,” I whispered, glancing up at her painted face on the balloon, “this one’s for you, kid.”

     The Firelights were my family now. And for them—for Isha, for Vi, for everyone who deserved a better world—I’d fight. Not because I had to. But because I wanted to.

      I was a Firelight. And this was my home. 

     And now it was time to fight back for everything I have lost.

     All because you're my vengeance. 

Chapter Text

     They thought she was a goner. 

     Jinx could almost hear the silence settling over the wreckage, the stunned hush that followed something catastrophic. The weight of her absence would press into the cracks of the city, thick as the smoke that never quite faded.

     The ghost of her lingered there, left behind in the ashes. A whisper in the rubble. A shadow in the stories they would tell.

     The girl who burned too bright, too loud. The girl who set the world on fire just to see if she could. Killed Vander - her father, her protector and Silco - her betrayer.

     They would talk about her like a cautionary tale. A wildfire burning. A name etched into the bones of the city, spoken in hushed voices, with equal parts fear and regret. Some would call her a monster. Others, a martyr. None of them would get it right.

     What a headline. But it didn’t matter.

     Because Jinx was dead.

     For good. 

     And whatever was left of her… whoever she was now… still breathing, in the outbounds.

     She drifted beyond the edges of the world, past the maps, past the stories. A place where no names carried weight, where history did not reach, unwritten, untethered. In sync with the world yet outside of it. 

     Here, the stars flickered without knowing her name. The wind howled without whispering her sins. She was neither Jinx nor Powder, neither villain nor a lost child. Just a ghost, slipping through the universe, unchained and unseen.

     Forgotten.

     It was a kind of freedom, wasn’t it? To be nothing. To be no one. No past clawing at her heels, no future waiting with open jaws. Only the endless, open sky and the silence of a world that no longer called for her.

     All her thoughts mingled as she crawled through the air ventilation ducts of the hexgates. 

   To be continued.