Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Vampires do not dream. 

Their rest is cold and hollow, a stillness that almost mimics the death they yearn. It’s a reminder that they’re nothing more than corpses, cursed to wander the mortal plane, forever barred from the afterlife. He doesn’t know if this is a blessing or a curse, to be given so much silence, so much time.

But Ekko is an exception. He dreams, and he doesn’t know why. 

But he knows they’re only dreams because he can never return to those moments—never able to redo the mistakes, fill the gaps, and find peace. It exists only behind his eyes, stitched into memory by something older than him, older than the books he holds close to his heart.

His memory had been fading, only a few moments could reach past the fog of time.

This was lifetimes— centuries —ago and the landscape reflected it. 

Sundown spilled gold across the grassy plains behind his home, painting everything in warm orange light. The beauty was indifferent—uncaring that Pa hadn’t come home in days, and Ma was trying to pretend everything’s fine. She'd been working harder than ever to keep herself focused, the town’s herbalist, but the cracks were showing. There was a new kind of tension in her eyes now, something paranoid and brittle. Sometimes, she’d watch him like she’s afraid of something only she can see.

Then—a force barreled into him from behind, wrapping him in arms warmer than the sun’s fading glow.

“I missed you,” Powder murmured into his back, voice muffled but unmistakably hers.

He turned, lips already pulling into a tight smile. “You’re late.”

Still, he kissed her temple, then her lips. She smelled like lilacs, honey, and ash, and tasted like the sweet bread he always loved.

She smiled, but there’s worry tucked beneath it. “Had to help Vander clean up. Some men got rowdy at the saloon.”

“Right–Sorry. Are you alright? Sorry. I just—” He felt bad. As if having a missing father wasn’t reason enough to be a little ticked off.

“I know, Buster.” She cut him off with a understanding nudge. “And I’m all in one piece. Might need an army to take little ol’ me down.”

He tucked a strand of her blue hair that strayed from her bonnet behind her ear. His beautiful girl had always been strong and kind despite her fears and everything she’d been through.

“Any news?” she asked.

He shook his head. Her brows drew together in worry as she took his hand and kissed his palm, trying to soothe him. 

“I was talking to Vi,” she started after taking a deep breath.

He raised an eyebrow. 

The sisters hadn’t been exactly talking in a while, well not properly, not since Vi started becoming a bit more closed off and leaving town for god knows what, and Powder started blowing all her coin on tools and gunpowder and spending most of her time protesting against unfair labor in their town. It was kind of funny and sad, how Mylo and Claggor had to suddenly adjust to the two sisters being snarky instead of being affectionate like they used to be.

Still, Powder went on, sheepish. “She said she’ll try to get some Pilties to help. To find Wyeth.”

She spat the word like acid—Piltover had been the reason for her father dying in the mines and her mother of a broken heart. But her eyes stayed soft, and that softness ruined him.

He pulled her into his chest, burying his face in the crook of her neck. “Thank you. I know that wasn’t easy.”

She shrugged, holding him tight too. “Anything for you, Little Man. You know you’d do the same for me.”

Silence followed as he nodded, backing away to stare into those blue eyes of hers he loved so much.

“Just keep me with you,” she whispered, words a breath away from his lips, “you’re stuck with me. For the rest of time.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Morning, noon, and night. Forevermore.” They kissed like it was their last.

Then she smirked, tugging his hand, leading him down the hill.

“I’m visiting Inna tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she said firmly, then raised a brow. “If my mother-in-law seems hellbent on teaching me how to be a good wife and keep you safe in the future, I probably should go.”

His heartbeat quickened, hearing her call his Ma ‘mother-in-law’ made him so sure of the ring he’d made for her— soon he’d give it to her, when all of this was done.  

“I can take care of myself, Little Lady.” 

“Maybe. But you should listen to your mother more.”

“You and I both.”

Her laughter rang through the dusk like a bell. And for a little while, the weight of everything felt easier to carry.

---

They never had the chance to know what growing old together would look like—wrinkled hands, silver hair for her, the quiet peace of time well spent. He realized that the kind of future he had always felt possible, was just too out of reach.

Because the next thing he remembered was blood.

Powder, angry, bloody, and bruised in front of his Ma’s lifeless body, was waving her gun, ready to shoot despite her trembling body. Broken glass from molotov cocktails shimmered in the firelight, scattered like stars fallen to the floor. The air stank of ash and death. Charred bodies burned where they lay, stakes jammed through their chests—but not all of them had stayed down.

Some were still standing. Still snarling. He couldn’t remember all the faces.

But one of them turned toward him.

His Pa.

Eyes aglow, and grinning like it was all a game. 

“Hello, my boy.” The once warm eyes now were lit with a monstrous hunger, gleaming like polished amber in the dark. A man—their sire, Reveck, he learned afterwards—joined him in smiling at him, welcoming him like this was some family reunion.

“You must be Ekko. Your father thinks very highly of you. And your sweetheart, very strong and beautiful too,” he nodded back at Powder chillingly. “You’d be perfect additions to my family, siblings to my poor lonesome daughter—and you’d be free of flaws and from the curse of time.”

“What the fuck are you on about?! What did you do to my Ma?” he snarled.

Reveck, the bastard, cocked his head. “It was her unfortunate decision to pass on my offer, but don’t fret, you still have your father and the … little lady . I’m sure she’s quite the willing victim when it comes to you.”

He waved at her and Ekko nearly skinned the monster with his eyes. Powder’s gaze found him. No. Run. Please.

But then his Pa stepped forward. “We can leave this place Ekko. Be better men.”

Powder cut in, growing more and more desperate by the second. “Don’t listen to them, please, Ekko! I can’t lose you too.”

Ekko felt his stomach turn. Every instinct screamed to run, to vanish—but his head screamed for Powder louder. He knew what she was going to do—sacrifice herself. She was the kind of soul that would take a bullet for the people she loved, to take the pain and blame, and laugh at the feeling. He wouldn’t let her do that.

“Ekko, no!”

He moved anyway.

Hands shaking, he grabbed a splintered chair leg, anything, something. He swung wildly, rage and grief surging through every nerve as he drove the jagged wood into one vampire’s chest. Then another. Blood sprayed hot against his cheek. He didn’t stop.

He wouldn’t stop. Not until Powder was safe. Not until he reached his Ma.

He saw her struggling, locked in a desperate fight against his father, teeth bared, eyes wild with fear. Every part of him strained to get to her—legs burning, breath ragged, heart thundering—and he did. He reached her.

Then pain. A sharp, searing flash at his neck.

Powder’s scream split the air.

And then. Nothing.

A pit. A suffocating, endless dark. His body felt submerged in tar, too heavy to move, his thoughts thick and sluggish like someone was pressing down on his skull. There were voices, muffled, echoing, too far to understand. He wanted to answer. He wanted to live.

But he was so tired.

Time lost meaning.

All he knew was that he missed them—his Ma, his Pa before everything twisted, Vi, Mylo, Claggor, Benzo, Powder most of all—with an ache that hollowed him out from the inside.

And then, one day, he blinked his eyes open.

Like something ancient and cruel had finally let go. His limbs remembered how to move. His thoughts returned—slowly, painfully, like thawing after a long winter.

He could breathe again. But the first thing he tasted was ash.

And she was already gone .

His eyes moved to the most horrifying sight. Powder laid limp in Vi’s arms, her blue hair stained with soot and blood, her eyes closed like she was only sleeping. But she wasn’t. The fire had burned out. So had she.

His beautiful girl had left him just moments before his waking. 

Vi was shaking and mumbling, cradling her little sister like she could hold her soul in place, like if she didn’t let go, Powder might still come back.

Ekko sobbed as he crumbled to the ground on his knees. “Vi… Vi—what happened? Please . She–she can’t. Not her.”

“She did it,” she whispered, voice barely holding together. He knew there was a bit of anger there, a disdain borne from her sister choosing death for him to live. “She saved you.”

Ekko slammed his head to the ground, hands clutching Powder’s. The ground was biting cold beneath him, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

He wanted to scream, to tear something apart. But the grief was too heavy, too vast. It crushed the sound right out of him. He just wanted her warm against him again. Just one last time.

At that moment he called for all the gods he knew, and when none answered he decided they were never real. Not to him. 

She had freed him with her last breath. And he hadn't been able to save her. Not even his family. Not in time.

Everything crashes back down as he wakes with a jolt. The dream slips from him like silk, and reality floods back in—quiet, cold, and merciless.

The curtains are still drawn. No light creeps in from the edges. He curses under his breath as he runs a hand against his face.

He’s alone again.

The last of their family.

He misses Vi terribly—who somehow survived it all, who fought beside him for years to build something better—long gone now. She lived a full life with her wife, one not untouched by grief, but at least it was a life. 

And now he keeps her legacy alive, the one they built together. The Firelights.

Named after the story his Ma used to tell him, Powder, and the other kids: the firelights guide the lost to the real light. A myth, maybe. But he clings to it anyway. Keeps it burning, even if his body is cold and his soul aches like a bruise that’ll never heal.

He sighs and forces himself upright. His limbs are stiff from rest—rest, not sleep—and he feels the familiar hollow thrum in his gut. He’ll need to feed soon.

Not from a human. Never that. He’d rather burn.

Contrary to the old tales, not all vampires sleep in velvet-lined coffins. Ekko hasn’t seen a coffin since the day he and Vi buried his Ma, Powder, Benzo, Silco, Vander, Mylo, Claggor, and the rest of the town. 

The Firelights don’t do theatrics. They sleep in beds—absurdly soft ones, plush enough to quiet overstimulated nerves that never quite died. Comfort is expensive, but after decades of stolen time, none of them have any excuses left not to afford it.

They’ve earned softness where they can find it.

Ekko hums and it’s loud against his ears. The sanctuary is quiet, as it always is at this hour—just before the stirrings of dusk. The Firelights call an old monastery home now, perched on a forested hill far enough from the nearest town to avoid suspicion. Moss creeps up the stone walls, and wildflowers push through the cracks in the courtyard. Ivy chokes the outer bell tower. It looks abandoned to outsiders.

But inside, it breathes.

The scent of candle smoke and drying herbs lingers in the air. Stained-glass windows cast muted reds and blues across the stone floor, their depictions carefully vague—saints with no names, angels without faces. Ekko had those altered decades ago, with the help of a particularly skilled man in Prague. It’s safer that way.

This isn’t a coven. There are no rituals here. No bloodletting in bowls. The Firelights are a community of the freed—vampires who killed their sires, severing the psychic chains that once bent their minds. They roam the world under the guise of a missionary group, wearing rosaries and soft smiles. Preaching peace. Practicing survival.

And when they can, they take in the lost and wounded. Difficult with their bloodthirsty condition but they make do with what they have.

This sanctuary holds nearly forty now. The one in Europe—where Ekko just spent almost a decade before returning here—had a little less, but more Firelight sanctuaries meant more people saved. Some are vampires, the newly freed and the elders who’ve chosen to serve their community. Others are human orphans, children whose parents were taken by vampires or worse. They’re raised here, protected and taught, until a human family adopts them. It’s the least they can offer.

Ekko runs his fingers through his hair, gathering locs back from his face before dressing. His vestments are modest—black, long-sleeved, clean—but unmistakably priestly . He wears the role well. Has, for centuries now. It keeps people at a distance. No one questions the priest who runs an orphanage. No one dares look too closely.

There’s a knock, and the heavy wooden door creaks open.

“Come in.”

Scar, his oldest friend and the Firelights earliest recruit, steps in with a smile. Ekko remembers how sudden the shift in his eyes was when Ekko drove that stake through Scar’s sire. He’s been with the Firelights ever since. 

“Welcome back, Father ,” Scar greets with a huff of quiet laughter as they embrace. “Hope Europe’s been treating you well.”

“Fuck off. Don’t call me that.”

“We’ll be calling you Your Holiness if you keep wearing that getup,” Scar replies, clapping him firmly on the arm. “We missed you.”

Ekko rolls his eyes and shrugs into his coat, the familiar weight of the weapons hidden settling around his shoulders. “Missed you all too. How are things here?”

Scar sighs as he sits down on Ekko’s desk chair. “Quiet. Mostly. Jill and Simi, the oldest we had and the two who keep trying to smoke behind the chapel, just got adopted by the Salazars last week. Bless them.”

He hums, low in his throat. The whole time he was in Europe, helping them secure their Firelight sanctuary, he missed this place. 

Their oldest sanctuary to last this long into the 21st century. The creaky floors, the patched windows, the way the walls seem to remember the weight of silence and grief. The walls that watched him grow, watched as they brought more people and vampires in, watched as Vi visited less and less often, watched him as he saw more of her in different faces—

“You found her there? In Europe?” Scar asks, trying to be casual, and yet the air stills around them.

Ekko’s chest tightens. “I… no. I don’t think so.” A beat of silence passes.. “I think Heath was the last of her. Or maybe this time, we won’t meet again. Maybe it’s better that way.”

Scar looks up at him—not with pity. Not anymore. Not since the day Heath vanished and Scar made the mistake of saying I’m sorry like it was something Ekko hadn’t already torn himself apart over. That was the first time Scar ever saw Ekko flinch like he’d been hit.

He learned. Now, he just nods. 

Ekko doesn’t speak for a while either. He stands still, letting the ache curl behind his ribs. Scar, older and wiser now, doesn’t press.

Then, softly—like it slips out without permission—Ekko murmurs, “I could smell her before I even saw her.”

Scar looks up, startled by the crack in his voice.

“When Lia…” Ekko starts again, slower this time. “When I met Ophelia, and she was the same soul—I couldn’t believe it. I thought I’d forgotten her. Powder. I spent so long trying to repay her with Vi, trying to… live so her sacrifice meant something. Then I had to continue living like I wasn’t starting to forget what she even smelled like, looked like.”

He swallows hard and sits down on the edge of his bed.

“But then there she was while I was on a hunt. On the side of the street. Honey, lilacs… ash. Then I remembered. That was her. Always.”

Scar’s breath hitches. He’s known Ekko for years, fought beside him, watched him tear down monsters and bury brothers and sisters. But he’s never heard this.

“She was there for an audition,” Ekko says, voice rough with something close to wonder. “Wanted to be an actress. A goddamn actress, Scar. Powder always had a flair for the dramatics. She loved entertaining people at the saloon. She said she wanted our kids to hear stories from her in the best way possible.”

A short, humorless laugh follows.

“And I watched every single play she ever did. Didn’t matter if I was the only one in the damn theater. I’d sit in the back and clap and hope it would bring her to me without cursing her.”

Scar tries to keep his voice light. “Hope she was good.”

Ekko smiles, just barely. “She was the best… Eventually.”

He tries to laugh but only ends up exhaling.

“It was inevitable she’d start to recognize me in the crowd, so I let us become friends.” But then Ekko’s eyes go distant, and quieter still, he adds, “I never told her who I was. I just… let her live.”

And there it is—the gut punch and the pain. The love too big for words, the grief too old to scream. Scar doesn’t respond. He just sits with him in the silence. Letting Ekko remember her in peace.

“How many more?” Scar finally asks, voice low.

Ekko closes his eyes. Flashes of her—of them —ghost behind his eyelids. Different faces, same soul. Always her.

“Two,” he says quietly. “I don’t think I ever told you about Alisa. You only knew Heath.”

“You’ve mentioned him. And besides, your secrets aren’t exactly my favorite bedtime stories,” Scar replies, but there’s no bite in it. Only understanding.

“Not much of a secret, to be honest. Just that no one ever asked.” Ekko lets out a wet laugh. “Anyway—Alisa. I knew her the least. But she broke my heart the most.”

Scar waits.

“I met her when I was hunting down that cult in Los Cacicazgos—the one that took Bia’s sister.” His eyes drift, unfocused. “Same scent. Lilacs, honey, and ash. And she was just... there. Living in this grand house that felt like a mausoleum. Married to a man who never loved her, not really. He just wanted to own something beautiful.”

“And she let him?” Scar asks, not accusing, just curious how someone whose soul seemed so strong could let that happen.

“She didn’t care,” Ekko says, remembering how she believed his lies about him being a priest and proceeding to confess to him her ‘sins.’ “She said the woman she loved died years ago. A sweet girl named Lucia. She used to talk about her like she still expected her to walk through the door.”

He breathes in, but it trembles on the way out. Red floods his vision, but he forces himself to calm down.

“I was going insane, seeing the bruises and being helpless and too late again. I killed him, Scar. I killed her motherfucker of a husband. Tore him apart with my bare hands.”

He shudders in disgust, with what he’d done and what Alisa’s husband had done to her. They were both monsters , just different kinds.

“And it doesn’t matter,” Scar says. “You saved her.”

“No. No.” Ekko shakes his head. “She–she’d already taken the pills.”

Scar’s eyes widen. Silence again, heavier now.

“I stayed in that house for weeks,” Ekko murmurs. “Lit every candle. Read her letters. Held the clothes she left behind. But she was already gone.”

Scar stands to put a hand on his shoulder. Doesn’t squeeze. Just leaves it there, grounding.

“There was nothing you could’ve done to save her. It was her choice.”

“You’d think I know that by now,” Ekko replies, sitting back down on his bed. “I think… I think I’m only ever supposed to watch her fade into death.”

“That can’t be true, Ekko.”

They don't say anything for a while. 

“Heath, then?”

Ekko nods, almost smiling—but it’s a broken thing. “He was the kindest.”

Scar lifts his brow.

“A science teacher,” Ekko says, voice soft. “Taught little kids. Would sit with them for hours after class just to help them with their volcano projects or solar system dioramas. He used to bring extra snacks because he knew some of them weren’t eating at home.”

Scar exhales slowly. “You said he looked almost exactly like her.”

Ekko looks away. “I exaggerated. But same smile. Same stupid way she’d furrow her brows when she didn’t get a joke. He had her laugh—lighter, somehow—but it still hit me like a truck the first time I heard it.”

“You were friends, right?”

“Yeah.” He swallows. “We met in the park. I was sketching the people passing by, and he asked if he could join. Said he used to love drawing as a kid, but life got in the way. So every Saturday, we’d meet. No questions, no expectations. Just two people with pencils and paint.”

Scar doesn’t speak, and Ekko’s hands curl faintly, remembering.

“I never told him. Never hinted. Just let myself have those few hours a week. He was happy, and I—I could pretend I was just someone else. Not a priest. Not a vampire. Not someone dragging a graveyard’s worth of guilt around.”

He stops. Breathes.

“Then one week, he didn’t show up.”

Scar closes his eyes.

“I waited 78 hours.” Ekko’s voice cracks. “Called the hospital. The school. Searched the entire world for him. Nothing. I never even got to say goodbye.”

Scar turns to him, gentle now. “You ever find out what happened?”

Ekko shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. He was good. He deserved peace. I hope he got it.”

For a long time, neither speaks.

“Sometimes I think he was the life she lived just to rest. Like the universe gave her a quiet one. No war. No fire. Just classrooms and crayons and paper airplanes.”

“And you let her have it.”

“I had to,” Ekko says. “She didn’t need me that time. Just someone to sit beside her and let her laugh.”

Scar watches him for a while in silence. “That’s the part you always forget, you know.”

Ekko furrows his brow. “What?”

“That you helped her. In all her lives. Even when she didn’t know you. Especially then.”

Ekko swallows. His hands curl loosely in his lap, callused fingers twitching like they’re aching to hold something they can’t.

Scar continues, gentler this time, “And you weren’t just looking for her. You were helping people. You helped us, helped me. Restarting our clocks. Gave us time we never thought we had.”

He pauses, and sits down beside him nudging Ekko’s knee with his own.

“You think you’re running out of time,” Scar says. “But you gave so many people theirs back. Including her. Again and again.”

Ekko doesn’t speak right away. He just stares ahead at the walls — old wood, stained glass, a crucifix someone made from rusted metal and wire. He lets the silence hold him, lets the ache settle in a place that doesn’t hurt as much anymore.

Then he says, barely above a whisper, “It’s never enough.”

Scar nods once. “But it mattered.”

Ekko exhales. His chest lifts and falls slow, like a wave pulling back from shore. For the first time in what feels like years, he lets himself believe that might be true.

Lilacs. Honey. Ash.

It lingers like a memory before thought, soft and mournful in the back of his mind—too vivid to be imagined, too sacred to forget.

His nose twitches. No, not imagined. It’s closer now.

Too close. Bloody too.

His body moves before his thoughts catch up, startling Scar as he rises to his feet in a sudden, silent rush.

A phantom heartbeat later, he whispers hoarsely. “Someone’s here.”

Chapter Text

After alerting the Firelights to stay in the safest chamber of the sanctuary, Ekko and Scar burst through the stone corridors, their footsteps echoing on the arched pathway that led to the chapel, located at the most exterior parts of the Sanctuary.

Ekko’s chest thrums with pressure, a phantom beats from his long silent heart, thunderous and ragged. He hasn’t felt that in years.

The scent had been faint but unmistakable: blood and Powder.

“We’ll be alright,” Scar says beside him, voice calm knowing they’ve been through worse.

But he doesn’t know what Ekko can sense.

Yes, vampires can’t enter a sealed space uninvited. Every Firelight child is protected by the old rites. That should be enough. It should be.

But what if it’s not a threat trying to get in? What if it’s her, some version of her? What if they’re the one in danger?

Ekko pushes forward, faster. He doesn’t wait for Scar to keep up.

As soon as the grand doors of the chapel creak open, his eyes scan the space —

And land on a child.

Who turns at the sound of their approach, golden eyes going wide. With fear? With shock?

She's a small mousy thing with her brown hair sticking up in every direction, her face is the only part visible, the rest is swallowed by her dark clothes. Dressed to disappear. Maybe to mask the stain of blood and dirt, like the Firelights also do when needed. Ekko and Scar can smell it — copper mixed with wood and sugar.

Her heartbeat is slow. She’s alive, barely. Mortal. But not quite. 

A dhampir. A daywalker. Borne the union between a vampire and a human. 

Ekko slows, confusion knitting his brow. This isn’t what he expected. It’s nothing like what they’ve encountered before. He’d rather take a group of angry torch-wielding humans accusing the Firelights of whatever crimes they think up in their bigoted minds. A dhampir means something is terribly wrong. It’s been outlawed for its outright torturous process for humans. She means the balance the Firelights have been keeping has been broken.

But there it is again, underneath it all, like a note hidden, the echo of her. Of Powder. Faint, impossible. But real — to him.

He exhales to himself, shaky, and quiet. “What the fuck is going on?”

The girl flinches as they approach. Her hand darts to her belt and draws a silver dagger, eyes locked on them with feral defiance as she snarls, baring her sharp teeth.

“Hey-hey,” Ekko says quickly, raising both hands. “I’m Ekko. That’s Scar. We’re not here to hurt you, okay? You’re safe here. We don’t bite.”

The girl doesn’t lower the blade. Her gaze flicks between them, calculating. Then she shifts her free hand, making small, precise movements.

Scar squints.

Ekko steps forward slightly, eyes narrowing. Recognition dawns. “She’s signing,” he says. “Her name’s Isha.”

The girl, Isha, signs again, faster. Urgent.

Ekko’s heart seizes.

“She says — they’re coming.”

Scar’s voice drops. “Who?”

But the girl looks like she’s struggling to answer. She just stares at them, terrified.

Human children, even with vampire blood, are fragile, Ekko reminds himself. He crouches down to meet her gaze. “Do you know what we are,” he gently asks.

Though she hesitates, she nods. Her wide eyes bleed of youth, it almost makes Ekko jealous. Vampires, she signs.

“Who told you?”

Her eyes brighten. The witch, she signs.

“Did the witch tell you to go here?”

She nods. Safe here.

Scar is grim. He puts on his silver-clawed leather glove, careful not to touch the metal to his skin. “Do you think…”

“Only one way to tell.”

Vampires and witches have never trusted each other. The old ways keep them apart — witches choosing isolation, hiding their craft from those who would weaponize it. Vampires fear them for good reason: witches can command the mind without blood, walk beneath the sun, twist fate itself into obedience.

With the right price paid, if a witch decided to side with another coterie out for Firelight flesh, it could mean immense danger for them.

“Ani,” Ekko calls.

In seconds, a small woman is beside them, her eyes warm despite her sharpness.

“This is Isha,” Ekko says, offering the girl a reassuring smile. “Take her below.”

Isha looks ready to protest, but Ani crouches and murmurs comfort. Whatever it is, it works—the girl nods, reluctantly, and lets herself be led toward the safe rooms where the youngest Firelights wait behind rune-sealed doors.

When they’re gone, Ekko exhales and draws his iron-hilted silver kopesh from the hidden pocket inside his longcoat. The blade hums faintly, as if it’s feeding on the air’s tension.

“Firelights,” he calls. His voice is quiet but carries through the air. “To me.”

They emerge from the shadows one by one. Eve. Def. Dean. Vian. Lemon. Serrano. Vegas. Tricky. Jonathan. Isa. Onyx. Kasino. Jeongyeon. Pink. Eric.

A family forged in blood and rebellion, standing in the dim amber glow of the chapel torches, their eyes reflecting faint sparks of hunger and loyalty.

Ekko twirls the kopesh once and lowers it. “We hold the line,” he says. “Clean it up before anyone tries to lure them into welcoming the outsiders. No one gets through, vampire, witch or human.”

Scar steps to his side, rolling his neck. 

Ekko grips his kopesh tighter, already striding toward the grand doors. 

The old hinges groan as he pushes the doors open, sound reverberating in the quiet night. Scar and the others fan out, each taking a portion of the borders. When Ekko turns back to close the doors behind them, the echo of the latch feels final. No vampire could enter now without welcome.

But other things could.

Things older.  Or stranger.

Enemy coteries were the worst of them. But he’s learned, over the centuries, that there’s always something worse waiting.

The night is unnervingly still. Even the wind holds its breath.

Ekko’s jaw tightens, a muscle jumping in his cheek. He adjusts his grip on the kopesh, scanning the shadows. The scent of lilacs and ash lingers faintly in the air, and it makes his gut twist.

He wants this to be over already.

The first hiss cuts through the silence.

Then the night explodes.

Figures dart through the trees, fast, feral, a blur of claws and teeth. The wards crackle against the first wave, burning with old magic as the Firelights meet them head-on.

“Positions!” Ekko shouts.

They move like lightning, centuries of training turning chaos into rhythm. Scar flanks left, Pink and Onyx take the high ground, their movements a blur of steel and shadow.

“Shit,” Pink spits, wiping ash from her cheek. “It’s the Exsequor!”

Ekko’s head snaps toward her.

That name alone makes his stomach drop. The Exsequor are one of the oldest coteries — reclusive, secretive, zealots who believe in cleansing the world of “sickness.” They don’t attack without reason.

And yet here they are, descending like vicious storms. For what?

He doesn’t have time to think much. A vampire lunges for his throat, and Ekko twists, the kopesh singing through the air. Silver flashes. Flesh tears. The creature collapses into ash before it even hits the ground.

Another. Then another.

He moves through them. Each strike is deliberate, efficient, merciless. 

But something about them feels wrong.

They don’t fight like Exsequor. Hells, they don’t even fight like elder vampires. But like fledglings. Impossible. Their eyes are empty, their movements erratic. Puppets on invisible strings.

“Scar!” he yells over the chaos. “They’re not controlling themselves!”

Scar claws one clean through the chest, panting. “Then who the hell’s?”

Before Ekko can answer, a ripple of cold air washes over him.

Dean is hit from behind. Ekko scrambles to help him, but Vian gets to him injured first. 

Ekko hears Eve struggle with the huge hoard that came her way. 

His nostrils flare.

Lilacs.

Honey.

Ash.

His grip falters. The world narrows to that single, impossible scent. It cuts through the blood and smoke like a bell tolling in his ears.

He turns.

And somewhere beyond the flames and ruins, a shadow moves.

Something, or someone is leading him away from the fight.

Fuck. 

It’s a trap. Obvious and a slap to his face. But he can’t resist.

That scent pulls him like gravity. He curses under his breath and pushes through the smoke, frustration curling into something dangerously close to hope.

He follows the trail past piles of ash and shattered sigils, his boots silent against stones. The air grows even colder. Quieter.

Then, he sees them.

A cloaked figure stands in a small clearing, moonlight pooling at their feet. In front of them kneels a vampire, trembling and bound with heavy silver chains burning through flesh.

Not Powder.

Not anyone he’s ever seen before.

So where in the godsdamn world is that scent coming from?

He steps closer, weapon raised, voice low and sharp.

“Who are you,” he demands, “and what do you want from us?”

A scratchy voice cuts through the still air, hoarse as if from disuse. “A present for you.”

The chains loosen. The vampire straightens—slowly, deliberately—like a corpse remembering how to move. The silver burns hiss as the chains leave his skin, but he doesn’t flinch.

Ekko freezes.

The man’s face is wrong — wrong in how familiar it is. Skin pale as marble, dark hair streaked with ash, eyes like old blood. But it’s the smile that stops him cold.

He’s seen that smile before. In firelight blazing over Zaun. Behind the bodies of people, behind the vampire that tore his mother and father apart.

No.

NO.

His head throbs. The burning flesh, his mother’s voice, Powder’s scream. It all floods back, a tidal wave he thought he’d buried centuries ago.

The vampire laughs, low and cruel. “Interesting. You’ve kept my little gift all these years. How touching.”

Ekko doesn’t wait. He lunges.

Their blades clash, sparks splitting the dark. The vampire moves like some predator, but Ekko’s faster, angrier. Every strike carries decades of grief sharpened to an edge.

“Now you seek revenge?” the vampire snarls between blows, but he was already weak. “What price did you pay for this? The Eye is not one to give their services freely.”

“You come to our home and accuse us of inciting all this?!” Ekko snarls.

But the elder didn’t seem to accept that. “You should be thanking me, boy. You’d be dust without my mercy.”

Ekko finally drives his kopesh against the vampire’s chest, teeth bared. “Mercy?! You should’ve just killed us all!”

The vampire grins, ash in his teeth. “Oh, but I made you perfect.”

The words crawl under Ekko’s skin like old maggots. He kicks the vampire back, sending him sprawling into the dirt.

From behind, the cloaked figure still stands, silent. Just watching.

Ekko laughs, wet and ragged, the sound cracking under the weight of too many ghosts. He turns slowly toward the figure, kopesh twirling once in his hand, the silver catching the moonlight like a warning.

“Is this some kind of joke?” he spits. “Why send the child? Why bring them here? Who are you?” He gestures at the pile of ash that once was the Exsequor vampire in the dirt. “Answer me!”

The figure doesn’t move.

Ekko takes a step forward, voice breaking with fury. “Why?” He tries to strike them.

The figure lifts a hand, and the air bursts. A pulse of energy slams into his chest, throwing him back a few paces. He grits his teeth, sliding to a stop, kopesh raised again.

“Magic,” he snarls. “Figures. You’re the witch.”

The figure doesn’t answer, but the shadows seem to thicken around them, swallowing every trace of them, every detail but the faint outline of a human form. It’s not a vampire’s trick. No glamour could hold this long.

Something in him snarls. “Show yourself!”

Ekko lunges before the silence can mock him again.

His blade sings through the air, sure and meant to kill.

The figure dodges.

The air around them ripples, warps, and Ekko’s momentum falters as if he’s wading through water. His boots grind against the dirt, every step heavier than the last. Magic. Ancient, slick like tar, and wrong.

Another pulse answers, pushing him to a knee. His teeth bare, rage igniting every nerve.

He’s seen fast. He’s been fast. But this. This is something else. The precision, the restraint, the way they never strike to kill, only to stop him.

It feels personal.

Ekko roars, shoving against the weight of the magic, forcing his body upright again. “Stop hiding!”

The magic is toying with him. Teasing. A predator’s play, close enough to hurt, far enough that it doesn’t have to get its claws dirty.

A cold clarity snaps through Ekko: they want him to dance. To be landed and led and bled for sport. If he keeps playing, the game never ends.

He can end the game.

He steadies his kopesh with a hand that doesn’t tremble so much as feel every century in it. The silver edge glints; the metal tastes like promises. He lifts it slow, deliberately—not toward the enemy, not toward his foe, but toward himself.

An ultimatum.

The cloaked thing pauses, the rippling air around them stuttering like a held breath. For the first time since the fight broke, the thing’s chaotic rhythm stutters.

Ekko breathes out and lets the tip rest against the hollow just under his jaw. He can feel the cold.

He thinks of her: Powder’s laugh bubbling from her throat and from her every reincarnations’, Vi’s strong hand on his shoulder, Inna praying over him. He thinks of every life he let go. His Firelights will be alright. Afterlife may not be in the cards for him, but at least he’ll finally find peace.

If they move, he will finish it. 

It is no bravado. It is an honest, ugly lever, and it works.

The shadow recoils as if burned. The pressure in the air snaps. The magic that braided the darkness around them twitches and loosens like a string cut. A sound like a laugh and a sob leaves the figure’s throat.

Then the cloak falls away.

“Have you gone insane?!”

Ekko freezes. The world narrows.

The once-faint scent floods his senses — lilacs, honey, ash. It’s all he can smell, all he can breathe.

“Powder.”

She stands there in moonlight, hair tied into twin braids that fall to her knees, the same careless style that he tried to make neater. Her skin is too pale, and littered with almost iridescent blue veins. Her eyes burn — no longer sky blue but electric pink, still bright enough to shame the stars.

It’s the most her she’s ever been. And somehow, she’s someone entirely else.

“Dramatic ass.” Her mouth curves into a rueful smirk. “It’s Jinx now.”

He stares at her. Time and fate have played their cruelest trick.

“Po-Jinx,” he breathes, testing the name like it might burn. “You-how are you —”

She laughs, and it’s brittle. “Alive? Oh, you know me. Never one to back down.”

She twirls a knife between her fingers, its edge humming with faint runes. “Guess I just got tired of dying.”

He’s trembling. He doesn’t remember trembling in centuries. “You remember.”

Her face falters. “Every life,” she says. “Every stupid ending. Every time you left me to rot in another skin while you stayed your annoying, perfect self.”

She takes a step forward, and the air around her warps faintly — heat and magic and something darker.

“I thought maybe the gods were playing a joke on me. Turns out, it was just you, father.”

The hair on his neck rises, Ekko shakes his head. “That’s no t—”

“Oh, save it.” She cuts him off with a flick of her wrist. “You wanna know how I did it? My magic? How I got here?”

Her tired glowing eyes make him think the answer is something he’d rather not hear. 

“Daemon blood,” she continues.

Ekko goes still. Even for a creature without a heartbeat, his body feels colder.

Daemon blood meant corruption — the kind that shredded body and soul both. No mortal or vampire could survive it without becoming something worse. It’s a miracle Powd–Jinx can still stand before him, breathing.

He fights the sob that threatens to burst. 

Her eyes blaze. “I bled myself with their blood. Made myself their equal. Immortal, but not like you. A real monster, finally. All so I could finish what you should’ve done in the first place.”

His grip on the kopesh tightens. “The Exsequor. You bright them here for me.”

“Bingo.” She gestures toward ash littering the ground. “That bastard you just gutted? Leopold. Their supreme. The one who ordered the sweet little massacre in Zaun.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.” His voice comes out rough. “You don’t know what you’ve unleashed. Their allies won’t forgive —”

“Forgive?” she snaps, laughter jagged as broken glass. “Oh, that’s rich. You think I care what a bunch of blood-drunk fossils think?”

“Powder —”

“Don’t.” Her tone cuts. “That’s not my name anymore. This time I get to choose who I am.”

He nods, but his eyes betray his hesitation, and it sets her off even more. The air cracks, her aura flaring bright pink and violet.

“Now you can’t leave me,” she snarls, striking first. “Now I’m your equal. You die, I die. You live, I live.”

Her blows with the knife are sharp, precise, and fast, unnervingly so. Ekko blocks and deflects, unwilling to hurt her, trembling as sparks fly with every clash.

“You chose them,” she hisses, every word a strike. “Those half-starved Firelight strays over me. I could burn them down the same way I destroyed the Exsequor!”

“Stop —” he tries, but she doesn’t.

“I only wanted you to live your life,” he says, desperate.

“Liar!” she spits, eyes blazing. “You left me every time. Do you think I’m stupid?!”

The sound of steel and crackling magic fills the night. Anger, grief, love, and centuries of unfinished words all blur into violence.

And through it all, Ekko trembles, not from fear, but from the feeling of finally having her near him.

A tear slips from her eye.

Then she drops the knife, grabs his throat, and shoves him hard to the ground. Her hands are shaking. So is he.

“Fight me!” she screams. Her fists hammer against his chest, over and over, each hit weaker than the last. “Fight me!”

Ekko doesn’t move. He just looks up at her: the blue flames for hair, the fury, the pain, the pink glow of her eyes. She’s so beautiful. His girl.

“I missed you, Blue,” he whispers.

Jinx’s breathing is ragged, her tears falling hot and fast. “You told me you loved me.”

“I do,” Ekko says, voice trembling.

“You promised you’d never leave me.”

His eyes glisten. “I’m sorry.” He wipes away her tears. His other hand finds her neck, thumb brushing her skin where her pulse beats through. “I’m so sorry.”

Fury still burns in her gaze — but the heat shifts, softens…

He pulls her closer, breath mingling with hers. For a heartbeat, the world stills.

Then he presses his lips to hers.

He hopes this is enough to make her believe just how much he missed her. How much he loves her, yearns for her. He’d long accepted that he’d never get to hold her flush against his skin again like this, so this all feels all too otherworldly.

“Jinx,” he whispers against her lips. “Jinx.” It sends a shiver down her spine. She lets go of his shirt to grab his locs and pull him closer to her.

“I was always too late to remember,” she murmurs. “In every life, I’d finally remember when I was close to death. I fucking hated it. I felt like I was drowning in time. But now you’re here.”

She opens her mouth, inviting him in, and Ekko can’t help but let his tongue taste her. It’s electric and sickly sweet. He doesn’t know who those sounds belong to anymore — him or her — as they merge into one being.

They lose track of time, locked together, melting in their own heat.

At some point, Jinx grabs him by the jaw, scattering kisses along his face before catching his mouth again — then nicks her tongue with his fangs, smiling against his lips.

His eyes widen as arousal and hunger cloud his mind. When they kiss again, her blood mixes with their saliva, and the taste is divine. Dangerous. Addictive.

Ekko growls, pinning her to the ground. He breathes her in as he trails wet kisses down her throat and collarbones.

“Like how I taste, Little Man?”

He chuckles, voice rough. “Just as sweet as I remember.”

Her fingers stay looped around his neck, thumbs tracing skin. “Hope not. After all the trouble I went through, I better be better.”

Her grin is wild and radiant, the kind that used to make him forget reason. But he’s grown now, with bigger responsibilities.

Ekko straightens slightly, breath still ragged. “We do have to talk about that.”

Jinx’s hands are still tangled in his locs when he tries to sit up. She tugs him back down, voice low and coaxing,

“Don’t go all priest on me now, Little Man. We were doing so well.”

He lets out a shaky laugh, pressing his forehead to hers. “You think this fixes everything?”

“Doesn’t it?” Her tone is almost pleading. “You said you missed me.”

“I did.” He cups her cheek, thumb brushing the tearstains on her skin. “And I do. But this —” he exhales, eyes fluttering shut, “— this isn’t what I wanted for you.”

Her smile falters.

“I tried,” he continues quietly, forcing the words past his throat. “I tried to give you peace. A chance at a life that wasn’t bound to mine. You deserved that, Powder.”

She lets out a trembling laugh that turns sharp at the edges. “Deserved? I deserved to be with you, you idiot.” Her voice cracks. “If it weren’t for Inna’s blessing — curse — whatever it was, I wouldn’t even be here.”

Ekko looks down at her, guilt flickering through the gold of his eyes. “And now you are. So come with me to the Firelights. They’ll love you.”

Jinx’s expression shifts, subtle, but he notices the hesitation, the flash of something uneasy in her gaze. “The Firelights?” she repeats, mouth twitching like she’s forcing back a smile. “You mean your little nest of vampire orphans?”

“They’re family,” he says simply. “They’ll protect you. You won’t have to run anymore.”

She laughs again, but this time it sounds almost nervous. “Or…” she drags the word out, eyes darting to his lips before returning to his. “We could leave. Just us. Start over. No coteries, no magic, no blood politics. I know someone who can help us. You and I, somewhere they’ll never find us.”

Ekko shakes his head, though his voice stays gentle. “You know I can’t do that.”

She exhales sharply and looks away, something fragile breaking behind her eyes.

He tries to reach for her hand, afraid of losing her again. “What about Isha? She seemed to know you.” Like her, even.

That earns him a reaction. Her eyes flicker, a small spark igniting there — genuine, unguarded warmth.

“The dhampir,” she murmurs. “Is she safe?”

“You sent her to me,” Ekko says softly. “Of course, she’s safe.”

Jinx’s lips part, but whatever she was about to say gets lost in the night air.

For the first time since they’ve been together centuries ago, she looks uncertain to be with him.

“A month.”

Her eyebrows knit.

“Give me a month to settle things.” He takes her hand, thumb tracing the back of her knuckles, his voice soft but sure. “Stay with me, and take care of Isha — she seems to trust you. Then we can go. Wherever you want.”

Jinx stares at him for a long time, as if trying to find the trap hidden between his words. Her lips press into a thin line, the faintest tremor betraying her composure.

“‘Wherever I want,’ huh?” she murmurs, voice brittle with disbelief. “You make it sound so easy, Little Man. Like you didn’t spend lifetimes finding ways to leave me behind.”

Ekko flinches. “That’s not —”

“Kidding.” ”She laughs, sharp, but her eyes shimmer. “You always think you know what’s best for me. Always making the choice for both of us. I kept dying angry at you, you know that? Again and again.”

“I know.” His voice cracks. “And I kept hoping you’d get to live, at least once.”

Her expression wavers. “And now?”

“Now I want you to live with me.” He steps closer. “Pretty little house with a big workshop for you and me. Like we promised to.”

Something in her falters then. The fight drains out of her shoulders, replaced by something quieter, almost fragile.

“You really think I can take care of the brat?” she asks, voice small in a way that undoes him completely.

Ekko’s smile is soft, tired, genuine. “She already does.”

“How about your insects?”

He lifts a brow. “Well for starters, don’t call them that. I’ll explain everything to them. It’s not our first time to have a rabid coterie attack us.”

Jinx exhales shakily, wiping at her eyes before they can betray her. “Fine. A month,” she says, trying for a smirk and almost pulling it off. “But after that, you’re mine, priest boy. No take-backs.”

“Deal,” he says, standing and offering his hand.

For a heartbeat, she only stares at it — as if she doesn’t trust it, or herself. Then she takes it. Her fingers tremble.

Without a word, Ekko pulls her close and lifts her easily into his arms, her legs hooking instinctively around his waist. She’s lighter than he remembers, and colder too.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

She presses her face into his neck, voice soft but sure. “I love you.”

Something in him breaks and heals all at once. “I know,” he whispers back. “I love you too.”

When they step out into the ash-littered grounds entrance area of the sanctuary, Scar and the others are waiting, silver weapons glinting under the lantern light. 

Eve gives a low whistle.“Well, shit. We thought a succubus got you.”

Ekko shoots her a look, but it's Scar that replies, deadpan. “Half the coterie heard you, father.”

“You need to learn to respect other peoples’ businesses,” Jinx snarls.

Scar scoffs. “We’re vampires. Comes with the package.”

Ekko exhales through his nose, resigned, but that sliver of hope only grew in his heart. 

A month might be enough to change her mind, but even so, he’s ready to build a new life with this Powder, with Jinx.