Chapter Text
The world felt like it had dimmed within Ekko's mind, as if someone had snuffed out every source of light. He sat precariously on the edge of a crumbling rooftop, a single piece of paper trembling in his hands. Below him stretched the battered remnants of Piltover, its once-proud skyline now marred by smoldering wreckage and jagged shadows. The faint, mournful glow of burning paper flickered into the sky, illuminating the civilians mourning their loved ones, mourning their city, mourning what could never be reclaimed.
Ekko's thoughts churned like a storm. The events of the last few days—or was it mere hours?—played on a relentless loop in his head. His chest ached with exhaustion, yet his adrenaline-fueled mind refused to stop. Every sight, every sound from the aftermath was burned into his memory. The streets below bore fresh scars of violence: bodies scattered among the rubble, their blood trickling into the cracks of the broken concrete like rivers of crimson sorrow. The air hung heavy with silence, a deafening void where life and laughter once thrived.
And then, amidst the chaos, there had been Vi.
Ekko's heart twisted at the memory of her. He had found her stumbling through the wreckage earlier that day, barely upright, her broad shoulders hunched in pain and defeat. She was dressed in her signature combat gear—a tough leather jacket, singed and torn, and worn metal gloves that clung to her hands like a second skin. But now her outfit was soaked with blood, some hers, some belonging to others. Her powerful build seemed diminished, her movements labored. Vi's left arm hung limp at her side, mangled beyond recognition, the bruised flesh already swelling grotesquely. Her once-fiery pink hair was dulled by grime, sweat plastering the strands to her forehead. And those eyes—sharp, blue, unyielding—were now hollowed out by anguish, her usual defiance shattered.
Ekko himself looked worse for wear. His lithe frame, often concealed beneath loose, patchwork clothing, was battered and bruised. His face, typically bright with youthful energy, was darkened by fatigue and streaked with dried blood. His hoverboard—a marvel of Zaunite ingenuity he'd crafted with his own two hands—buzzed faintly under him, the once-vivid glow of its underside dulled by soot and grime. His dreads, a statement of defiance, was mussed and matted with sweat.
He had been searching tirelessly for survivors, weaving through Piltover's ruined streets on his board, scanning every shadow and corner. But he wasn't just looking for anyone. He was looking for her.
Jinx.
The wind whipped at his face as he flew, sharp and cold, stinging his eyes. Anxiety clawed at his chest with every passing moment, every flicker of movement in the corner of his vision. Was she alive? Was she hurt? Was she even here anymore? The questions battered him like waves, threatening to pull him under.
And then, he had seen Vi.
He had descended from the sky with urgency, calling out her name. At the sound of his voice, Vi froze mid-step. Slowly, she turned to face him, her blue eyes meeting his. For a moment, there was only silence, thick and suffocating. Then, as if a dam had broken, she crumpled.
Her knees gave way, and she fell to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. Her good hand clawed at the dirt as if trying to anchor herself to something, anything, while her mangled arm remained pressed protectively to her side. The sight struck Ekko like a hammer to the chest. Vi—strong, indomitable, unshakable Vi—reduced to this.
He didn't need to ask what had happened. He already knew. The truth was written in her tears, in the raw, broken way she wept. His voice trembled as he forced out the words he dreaded to hear.
"She's dead... isn't she?"
Vi didn't answer. She didn't have to. Her silence was confirmation enough, and it hit him like a physical blow. Grief washed over him. He collapsed to his knees beside her, staring blankly at the ground, his mind spiraling into the abyss. Somewhere deep inside, he had held on to hope, even as everything else crumbled around him. But now, that hope was gone, snuffed out like a fragile candle in the wind.
The two of them sat there in the ruins, bound by their shared loss, their broken city a cruel testament to the cost of war.
The memory played on an endless loop in Ekko's mind, a relentless torment he couldn't escape. No matter how hard he tried to focus on the present, his thoughts dragged him back to that fateful moment. He shook his head and inhaled deeply, his chest tight, as he tried to steady his trembling hands. The crisp night air bit at his face as he stared out at the ruins of Piltover. Slowly, almost deliberately, he struck a match and held it to the corner of the paper in his grasp. The fire caught quickly, the flames licking up its edges.
Ekko watched as the heat consumed the paper, the light flickering and dancing like a living thing. The ember's glow rose into the dark sky, a fleeting moment of brightness before it crumbled into ash. It was beautiful in its own fleeting way, and that beauty made his chest ache. It reminded him of her.
Jinx.
Her beauty, her terror, her violence. She was a contradiction in every sense, a kaleidoscope of chaos. Ekko let the ash drift from his fingers, his mind pulling him further into her memory. Jinx wasn't just one person. She was a thousand fractured pieces of a single soul. The Jinx he knew—the Jinx he fought that day in the ruins—was not the girl he had grown up with. Powder was buried deep within her, suffocated under layers of trauma, grief, and madness. But in brief, fleeting moments, he had seen her.
He had seen Powder.
It was there, in the cracks of Jinx's manic laughter, behind the shimmer in her veins that made her a force of destruction. It was there in the way she had hesitated, just for a second, when he called out her name in desperation. Powder was trapped beneath years of pain—the loss of their father figure, Silco; the unbearable weight of Isha's death, the young girl Jinx had tried to protect. Those memories had broken her, leaving only shards of who she once was. The Powder he loved was gone, replaced by a volatile, unpredictable woman consumed by her grief. And yet, in some ways, she was still there. She always would be.
Ekko closed his eyes, exhaling sharply, his breath visible in the cold night. He thought of how close he had been to a happy ending. The thought twisted like a knife in his gut. Just days ago, he had glimpsed another world. Another dimension. A world where things had gone differently. He had seen another Jinx; Powder, one who was whole.
In that world, Powder had been strong, defiant, and full of life. She had been well-fed, her gaunt face filled out and healthy. Her wild, electric-blue hair, which was a chaotic cascade of braids in his dimension, was cut short and had shone with vibrance instead of being dulled by grime. Her eyes—which were beautifully blue—had sparkled with something he hadn't seen in years: hope. She had been free, unburdened by the crushing weight of her past, a vision of who she could have been.
Ekko had fallen in love with that version of her, just as deeply as he had loved the Powder he grew up with and the Jinx he fought against. He had loved her in every lifetime, every iteration. And for one fleeting moment, he thought he might finally get to save her. He thought he could bring that happiness back to his world, to his Jinx.
But he was too late.
That chance, like everything else he had ever wanted, slipped through his fingers. He came back to his own broken reality only to find her gone. Jinx was dead. The girl he fought for, the girl he never stopped believing in, was lost forever. The realization crushed him, a weight so heavy he thought it might tear him apart.
Ekko lowered his head, his white hair slipping down slightly over his eyes. He had fought so hard, risked so much, all for her. The girl with pale, almost ghostly skin, her features sharp yet delicate. Her body was a canvas of chaos, scars and tattoos sprawled across her frame like battle-worn trophies. And those eyes—oh, those eyes. They had haunted him since the moment he saw them when she was first injected with the shimmer. Both pink, shimmering, both filled with a manic energy that could ignite entire cities. Jinx had been fire and fury, destruction and brilliance, all rolled into one fragile, unstoppable force.
Now, she was nothing more than a memory.
Jinx.
The ashes of the paper in his hand floated away on the wind, scattering into the darkness. Ekko sat in silence, staring at the spot where they had disappeared, his heart aching with the weight of his grief. For the first time in his life, he had truly believed in the possibility of a happy ending. Now, he wasn't sure he could believe in anything at all.
Ekko drew his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around them as if trying to shield himself from the world. His head sank low, his forehead pressing against his knees, and the dam he'd been holding back finally broke. He began to sob, the tears spilling freely and soaking into the dark, scarred skin of his arms. His shoulders shook with the force of his grief, each choked breath rattling in his chest as if his body were unraveling from the inside out. He had held it together for as long as he could—for Vi, for the city, for the countless lives depending on him. But now, alone on this rooftop with nothing but ash and memories, the weight of it all came crashing down.
He was lost. Completely and utterly lost. The world around him was broken, and so was he. Who was he supposed to fight for now? What purpose did he have when everything he'd been fighting for had crumbled to dust? The people he had loved, the ones who had shaped him into who he was, were gone. The vibrant city he had sworn to protect was in ruins. And Jinx—his Jinx—was gone, slipping through his grasp just like everyone else.
His tears fell harder as another name burned its way into his mind: Heimerdinger. His mentor, his teacher, his friend. The old yordle had been a constant in Ekko's chaotic world, a voice of wisdom and guidance when everything else felt uncertain. Ekko could still hear his calm, measured tone, the way Heimerdinger would remind him to slow down, to think things through, even when the young inventor's impatience got the better of him. The little professor had believed in him, in his vision for Zaun, in his ability to bring about change.
And now, Heimerdinger was gone too.
Ekko clenched his fists, his nails digging into his skin as his sobs turned into a quiet, guttural wail. Heimerdinger had sacrificed himself for him, giving his life to save the pupil he had so much faith in. Ekko could still see it clearly—the old yordle standing tall despite his small stature, his bright eyes filled with determination as he made the ultimate choice. He had jumped out of the way, using his last invention to send Ekko home instead of himself. Heimerdinger's last words echoed in Ekko's mind, a mix of encouragement and finality:
"Ever since I met you lad, I've truly lived."
But how was he supposed to carry that weight? How was he, a broken, grieving boy, supposed to live up to the vision of a man who had given everything for him? Ekko felt hollow, his chest aching as if a black hole had opened inside him. He didn't know where to go, what to do, or even who he was anymore.
The tears continued to fall in heavy streams, soaking his tattered clothing and mixing with the grime and blood on his skin. Every breath felt like a struggle, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him, threatening to crush him entirely. For the first time in his life, he felt small. He felt powerless.
The rooftops of Piltover, which had once been his playground, now felt like a prison. The sky above him, vast and infinite, mocked his insignificance. He had always been the kid with the plan, the one who could outsmart anyone, outmaneuver any enemy. But now, for all his brilliance and ingenuity, he couldn't see a way forward.
Ekko curled tighter into himself, the cold seeping into his bones. His mind screamed for answers, but the only response was the crushing silence of a world that no longer made sense. He had lost Heimerdinger. He had lost himself. And he lost her.
Jinx.
And he didn't know if he could find his way back.