Chapter Text
With everything in Benzo’s abandoned shop at Ekko’s disposal, constructing a makeshift respirator with an attached headlamp was childsplay. His movements were sure as he secured it in place, his eyes forward-set and unfaltering, even as he knelt before the yawning maw of the miles-long, maze-like ventilation system. He thumbed Powder’s scribbles, the map clenched in his fist. With each pass, he steeled himself further.
The way things stood now, Ekko was one of the last four people on Runeterra who knew Powder— who really knew her, who were so fundamentally aware of her precious existence. Her high score at the arcade. Her wacky dance moves. Her favorite candies to steal. Her habit of naming bugs, and of hitting herself, and remembering her mom’s face each night before bed so she wouldn’t forget what she looked like.
A world without Powder was a world impoverished of something fantastic. And Ekko would do whatever he could to keep from living in that world, unless forced to. He took one last deep breath, visualizing his friend… and opening his eyes, he set out.
_____
Minute by minute, the sparse light of Zaun grew dimmer and dimmer behind him.
The Grey gathered thickly and snuffed it out further, and the dense smog made Ekko’s eyes water… he knew he should’ve found Claggor first and asked to borrow his goggles. Oh well. Too little, too late. He could’ve done his own work better too. For all that the mask kept Ekko’s lungs clear, the headlamp was barely effective. Left helpless against the molasses-thick darkness that inundated his senses, Ekko kept one halting hand on the wall, his nose buried in Silco’s map.
But being starved of stimulation leaves intelligent minds room to wander. And what was it that Mylo used to freak him out with, those stories about the deep ocean? Something about how when you go far enough down even sunshine can’t reach or remember you? An awful shudder ran through Ekko’s shoulders. The blood in his capillaries turned to ice-water. If my respirator craps out and I die here, he thought, no one’s finding my body. And seventy or eighty years out from now, no one will be around to remember me.
Now, the word on the street was that Vander was getting a statue. Heroes like him got memorials (and deserved them) but what about everyone else? What metric measured how much one “deserved’’ to be remembered, and shit, what about Benzo? Benzo’s parents were long since dead. Did he have nieces or nephews? Or was Ekko the only one left with his memory, a solitary candle against the great gloom of Zaun? More than The Grey was stinging his eyes, now. It’s just the dark messing with you. Quit thinking about this and get yourself out. He’d kill you for dying in here.
(There was a second part to the deep-ocean thought, though. How if you lived in the depths long enough to evolve, you’d transform into something unrecognizable. He hoped Powder wasn’t spending much time here.)
And gritting his teeth, he went on.
And went on further, the only sounds being his trembling breath and scurrying rodents.
And went on further, stepping through puddles of rank liquid that soaked through his socks.
And went on further, for more than an hour, scaling walls and sliding down inclines. Sometimes the passage was narrow enough that he'd crawl. Others, and the wide expanse gave him the impression of wandering through an auditorium. The map didn't detail it well. Between that, how long he’d been squinting and the tearful, blurring burn of The Grey, it wasn’t long before Ekko got all turned around. He couldn’t help but start breathing faster. And who would’ve guessed hyperventilation could clog up his mask? He managed to dash between bouts of coughing, attempting to outrun the clock, and not a minute, no, not a second went by that fear didn’t cling to him fiercely. The fear of dying with unrealized potential, never knowing if his friends were okay, the fear his short life was running down to the wire—
And then there was light at the end of the tunnel.
In his rush to get out, Ekko tripped on his own feet, tumbled ass over teakettle and skinned his knees in the dirt. He briefly attempted to take in his surroundings, but that only led him to shield his face with a wince. Sunlight filtered in through a grate far above and his eyes were far too unacclimated. That must be why The Grey’s not so thick here, he reasoned, and pulled the mask from his face, damp with sweat. It dried clammy and cold on his cheeks. Somehow, no warm sunshine reached him. Pushing down the discomfort, Ekko peeked through his fingers and gasped in awe at what hid behind them.
He knelt in the shadow of a flourishing tree. A tree, all the way here in Zaun. The trunk was so wide that if he and the other four kids stood around it, their hands wouldn’t form a closed circle. The branches bore fresh, copious fruit— a delicacy in The Lanes. Some of the roots weaved between hissing pipes and some pipes passed through the trunk, and the shadows of its fan-shaped leaves danced in the sunshine, leaving dappled patterns all over the ground. The entire oasis was peacefully silent save a chorus of delicate birdsong.
For a moment, it was beautiful enough to make Ekko forget how stupidly lost he’d gotten, but as soon as he came back to his senses, he went scrambling for Silco’s map. It wasn't hard to find where he was. Not too far from Powder’s hideout, but not so close that he could go on without cleaning his respirator. He'd never been more thankful for rain. Whereas last night's storm left The Lanes damp and muddy, all of the puddles here were crystal clear, clean enough to drink if you wanted. They hadn't had grime to mix with. “Of course,” Ekko grumbled as he tugged out the filters, “Pilties even get cleaner rain.”
He washed the filters, hung them on a thin branch, and courageously climbed the enormous tree to rest comfortably in the embrace of its boughs. With the sun-warmed wood solid against his back, Ekko felt all the tension in his body dissolve, like a thousand knots coming untied. He plucked a fruit without sitting up, no exertion. Smiling, brought it to his mouth. The crisp skin split under his teeth and the tart juice soothed his sore throat, running in sticky-sweet rivulets down his fingers. He fed the seeds to the birds. And as for the distant clattering of Piltovan carriages that drifted to him on the breeze, that passed from beyond the rusty grate which separated him from the sky, Ekko was nowhere near envious.
No, he was richer than a fucking Medarda, with a kind of freedom no amount of disposable income could buy. For once, he had something they didn’t. A piece of the Undercity foreign to Piltovan jurisdiction; a vision of Zaun as it could be, liberated from Zaun as it was. And when it came to things like visions, blueprints and plans, Ekko was never one to skimp out on actualization. He made himself a promise that day. Joy would be his rebellion.
And there was so much joy to be had. He couldn’t wait to show Vi, Mylo and Claggor this place, to race Powder to the top of the tree. They could spray-paint the walls. They could have picnics. Surely, this place was a sign.
If a single seed could make it down here, there was no reason they couldn’t.
_____
Invigorated and inspired, Ekko turned toward the next tunnel and accepted its unspoken challenge. His trek went on for about half an hour, but eventually the monotonous darkness of the ventilation shaft was broken by a smattering of fluorescent blue lights, shockingly similar to the ones Powder used to string up along her bunk-bed. As he moved closer, picking up pace, a flickering violet window came into view. Underneath it sat the low glow of a desk-lamp, and illuminated by the lamp—
“Powder!” Ekko’s voice cracked through a laugh, his eyes shining with tears of excitement as he bounded toward his best friend. “Powder,” he shouted, “I'm so glad to see—”
But her shriek pierced and swallowed his greeting.
Powder’s tearful gaze was that of a bird torn from its cage, knowing surely it was prey for a lion; some insurmountable thing whose only purpose was to find her in peaceful moments and crush her between its unloving teeth. The fragile, pale arms that guarded her face were covered with stab-marks from pencils. Her hair, an unwashed, tangled nest. Powder’s chest rose and fell rapidly as she contorted herself under her cluttered desk, which sat around the fan’s central hub.
“Woah, woah, slow down,” Ekko panicked. He squatted down to get on her level and tugged his mask from his face, “it's me, it’s— see, it’s okay, it’s Ekko—”
“...Little Man?” she sniffled, “what’re you doing here?”
Ekko placed his chin on his palm and looked at her like she'd asked him something painfully obvious, like whether Pilties had gold toilet seats (they probably did) or whether you could drink water in Zaun without boiling it first (not unless you had a death wish). “What wouldn't I be doing here?” he shrugged and crawled over, “what kinda friend would that make me? I had to make sure you were okay.”
Powder snort-laughed at that. She wiped the snot from her nose and scrambled out from the desk, throwing her arms around her best friend, and Ekko couldn’t help but feel like all the puzzle pieces fell into place. Her smell was the same, her smile was the same, her cold cheek pressed against his. He could almost pretend everything would be fine until she giggled into his ear— “making sure you’re okay, hah! Talk about a good joke! Good ol’ Ekko,” she patted his back, “always putting too much effort into your pranks. Now go tell wh-whatever—” she pushed him away, stood up and slammed her hands on the desk, “whatever pink-haired liar-bitch sent you here where she can stick how freakin’ okay I am!”
“Joke?! Wha— pink-haired—” Ekko pushed himself to his feet and tried to catch Powder’s gaze from the left, and when she avoided him, moved to the right. “You think I’m pulling a prank on you now? Are you kidding me? I’m worried sick! I’ve been worried sick! And I had to see and do some real unsettling shit to get here!”
“Well, I’m sorry my grief made your life so hard,” Powder knocked a spray-paint can to the floor. “People’re always— they keep doing things for me ‘cause they think they know best, saying it’s all for my sake, and then,” she trudged around her circular workdesk with her fists pressed over her eyes, “they have the nerve to call me ungrateful?! News flash, genius!” she snapped back around, “I didn’t ask you to look for me!”
Ekko, who had been making to follow her, stopped dead in his tracks. He drew his lips into a frustrated line. She doesn't mean it, he convinced himself. There’s no way on Runeterra she means it.
“Do you know how hard this place was to find?” Ekko pinched the bridge of his nose, with his concern for Powder’s well-being equal to his offense. Her back was still turned to him, now. His pleading words slipped down her shoulders like raindrops off of an awning. “I didn't come looking ‘cause I think you're weak, or because I wanna put you in danger. If I never came looking,” he took her hand from behind, “I might've never seen you again.”
“You wouldn't be the first one.”
“What’s that supposed to—” Ekko began, but trailed off almost immediately. Around the bend, on her desk, an object glinted in the sickly, low light. “Are those…” he swallowed, “are those Claggor’s goggles? Powder, why're they broken?”
She drew her arms into a silent self-embrace and said nothing.
“This isn’t like Claggor,” Ekko pushed past her to examine the goggles up close. “There's no way Vi would’ve let him go it alone if he was gonna get his ass handed to him. I figured she took them out to the docks, but… was she not around to help when Claggor got hurt? Was she— did Vi get hurt too? I thought Vander got everyone out before he, uh… y’know.”
Powder’s mouth trembled as she looked away. She shook her head, lowered it and covered her face with her hands.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay…” Ekko circled around to rub Powder’s back, a futile attempt to soothe her. His gaze flickered over the cluttered space, rushed, nervous and thoughtful, trying to piece together something to say to make her feel better, even though he knew nothing could. This was the most pressure he’d ever been under. If he so much as breathed wrong, he swore she would break.
But there was also his own situational ignorance, which was starting to make him feel nauseous. He needed to know what happened that night. It couldn't wait until Powder felt better.
Ekko chose his words carefully.
“I’m not gonna pretend to know what you’re going through, Pow. Don’t think I could if I tried. I mean, sure, I saw Benzo more than I see my parents, but— no, that’s… not gonna help. If it’s okay with you though,” he squeezed her shoulder, “I wanna tell you something my Pa said. There’s nothing we could’ve done, Pow. We’re kids! None of this is our fault! And I know I’m asking a lot right now, but I need you to tell me what happened. If Vi got hurt that means the others did too, and way worse. If you don’t want to talk about Claggor, can you tell me if Vi is okay?”
Powder wasn’t listening. From the moment Ekko said her sister’s ex-sister’s name while holding the goggles, Powder hadn’t been listening. She didn’t do it on purpose. It was happening more and more now. She’d think of Violet, and all of a sudden, the sounds around her went fuzzy like she was listening through a wall.
Vi, Vi, Vi, the newfound voices in Powder’s mind taunted. Strong, sisterly, steadfast Vi. He thinks she's such a good person! He's so concerned! He wouldn't believe if you told him!
In a split second, her movements ablur, Powder grabbed Ekko’s hand from her shoulder and wrestled him to the floor. His head smacked against the cold, metal platform. And even as he looked up at how she straddled his chest, how she fisted his shirt by the collar, he remained too confusedly terrified to push her away or break eye contact. Her spit spattered across his face as she screamed, “VI’S DEAD TO ME, JUST LIKE THE REST OF ‘EM!”
Ekko spoke as if he were scared of his voice.
“...Dead to you, or… or dead dead?”
Powder tearfully wheezed like someone was wringing her lungs out. Ekko took it for the answer it was.
And before the grief-dagger twisted, there was a moment of unbearable clarity, a silence in which Ekko realized his life would be forever divided into The Before and The After. The time he ran with Vander’s kids was just a few seconds. The rest of his life would be an eternity. His own words repeated trance-like in his head: we’re kids, we’re kids. They were just kids. His breath was suspended on a terrible precipice.
Powder’s shattered sob did him in. She crumpled down and touched her forehead to his; he wrapped his small hands around hers and squeezed.
Neither child knew for how long they clung to each other and wept, only how the cavernous space distorted their cries, how their sleeves soaked with tears, how their eyes and throats both grew sore. Eventually, Powder swung her leg over and sat next to Ekko, who remained exhausted and prone. She pulled her knees to her chest. “Vi might be dead,” Powder mumbled, “I have no idea where she is. But— but Claggor, and Mylo, and Vander? Everything was my fault.”
“You can’t keep saying that, Pow. You’re gonna drive yourself nuts.”
“Ekko, trust me, please trust me, it was—”
“No, I’m not gonna help you make yourself feel bad!”
“But I messed up everything—”
“There’s no way that’s true!”
“YOU WEREN’T THERE WHEN IT HAPPENED!” Powder howled. She tugged on her hair until her scalp screamed with pain and smacked her fists against the front of her skull, her voice quieting to a frustrated stage-whisper. “It’s all ‘cause of those— those stupid jawbreaker-looking gem-things I stole from that Piltie apartment, the ones that made the explosion...”
“I was wondering why that happened,” Ekko sat up, “so, the guy was making something like cherry-bombs?”
“Yeah, if cherry-bombs were blue, ten times smaller and worse. I thought I dumped everything in the canal,” she sang nervously, “but apparently I had some in my pocket. I also thought telling Vander would be the smart thing, but Vi told me we’d keep ‘em our—”
Wasn’t she right that you should’ve kept them your secret, that you never should’ve used them at all? I wonder what else she could’ve been right about, like maybe the fact you’re a—
“SHUT UP!” Powder shifted to sitting cross-legged, the crooked world lagging behind her. Bitten-short nails vice-gripped her knees as her pounding head hung low between them. “She wasn’t right, she wasn't, she wasn’t! Quit telling me she was RIGHT!”
“Wha— don't blame me, I didn’t say anything! Who’re you even talking to?”
“I don’t…” she swallowed, “I don’t know. Or maybe I know and don’t want to know. But you know how the story goes, right? Vander gets kidnapped by Enforcers or something! And three of his kids follow after him. And then Big Bad Powder— oh no, Super Powder,” her voice took on a hysterical edge, “she cooks up a plan to break ‘em out lickety-split and save the day like some big fat hero! So, she makes a surprise,” she stood up unsteadily, “with a blue jawbreaker and Jolly Chimp toy. And then she draaags herself down to the docks and she… and, and she…”
Powder’s gaze caught on the stuffed rabbit crucified above her desk.
We loved you, Powder. We loved you and you killed us.
Powder looked like she was going to throw up.
The terrible tremor started at the base of her spine and moved feather-light along every vertebra, splayed its dread-cold fingers over her shoulder blades and tickled the hairs on her nape, fought its way down her forearms and into her fingertips rather than up to her mouth— causing her to swing her arm down, latch onto a stray monkey-bomb and throw it headlong into her mirror…
“IT WAS A MISTAKE!”
…where it exploded into a glittery cloud, refusing to take her out with it. Powder screeched with frustration, kicked a spray-paint can and grabbed a sharp shard of stray silver glass. She hadn’t tried this yet. It wasn’t for lack of deserving it (at least in her mind), she’d simply never been brave enough. Her hand shook like the mere act of holding it made her skin blister, before she resigned herself against self-harm and hurled it over the railing.
Ekko’s voice shattered the silence, “...and she what, Pow?”
Her tone was almost too quiet to hear and unnervingly matter-of-fact.
“And she tried to save her family. And her monkey-bomb was too strong for their bones to hold their bodies together. And her sister slapped her across the face and hated her for the rest of her life.”
Powder braced her back on the railing. Her gaze was glazed and distant, numb, like the windows to her soul were obscured with frost. Her shoulders dropped, her fists uncurled. It seemed uncharacteristic how relaxed she became.
“So, there. There’s the big I Told You So you’ve been chomping at the bit for. You think I need your help to make myself feel bad? Pshh, please. Like I said, it’s all my fault. I ruin everything I touch. It’s my speciality.”
Ekko stared up at Powder resolutely, not with the naive certainty that she was wrong or had lied, but with the dedication that if she was going down the road of self-hatred, he had no excuse not to walk that road with her. “You think I can’t say the same thing?” he stood and placed one hand on his chest, a shameless statement of responsibility. “I told Vi where they took Vander. I was the one who was stupid enough to follow a Piltie across the bridge in broad-goddamn-daylight and figure out where he lived, and take that tip back to you so anyone could go there in the first place!”
“Oh no,” Powder pointed, “no, no, no. I’m not gonna let you make yourself into some— some fucking boy savior to try to get me out of the mess I’ve been coming to terms with for— ughhh! Why don't you get it?! It was all my fault, it can’t not be my fault—”
“If it’s your fault, it’s mine too!” Ekko gesticulated violently, “I’m the reason you found those gems, I’m the reason more Enforcers came down here, and I’m the reason Benzo got killed! You’re never gonna shoulder the blame alone Powder, not while I’m here!”
Doesn’t that sound an awful lot like Violet? Something, something, No Monster’s Gonna Get You When I’m Here? Can’t you imagine her strong arms around you?
“Don’t call me that anymore. My name’s Jinx.”
Ekko’s response was stunned and monotonous, “I’m not going to call you that, ever.”
“It isn’t an insult anymore, I’m— I’m taking it back! That’s how Silco said I should—”
“Woah, woah, slow down! You’re working with Silco?”
Now it was Powder’s turn to narrow her eyes like he’d asked something painfully obvious, “...didn’t you find the map, bozo?”
“I don't know what I thought, but it wasn't that he adopted you!” Ekko walked toward her brusquely, fists clenched and eyes wild. “You have to get as far away from him as you can, as fast as you can. Silco’s lackey is the one who killed Benzo! Silco’s the one who—”
“Shut up, shut up!” Powder clawed at her shirt, “Silco said he held me when I was a baby! I want to be with Silco, he LOVES me! What’s the problem with that,” she stomped toward Ekko, “no one’s allowed to love me anymore, is that it? No one’s allowed to care about me? You want me to be lonely and sick?!” she spat, her nose mere inches from his.
“No, what are you talking about? I care about you, Powder! I care about you! Have you ever cared about anyone but yourself?!”
“My name is JINX!” Powder shouted, and with a thoughtless instinct toward injury, she cracked Ekko across the nose with a punch so forceful he collapsed to the floor in shock. Glancing down at her fist, Powder felt neither remorseful nor satisfied. She only felt detached from everything. Empty. Like her consciousness hovered, blurry and buzzing, never settling comfortably in her body. She hoped Ekko could help her with that. She hoped he would punch it clean out of her. Powder didn’t bother to raise her pale forearms; she resigned herself to the hurt she deserved.
But the sudden, dull thud never came. And bothered as she was by a punch that refused to land, Powder hesitantly peeked from one eye, catching a brief glimpse of Ekko’s limp body as he began to hiccup with tears.
The last reliable thing in his life was the cold, hard floor underneath him. No rhythm remained for his days. No mentor to meet at a specified time, nowhere to play after work and no one to play with, either. Every scaffold had forsaken him, rotted away, and Ekko had half a mind to rot along with them. It would be so easy. He had every reason. Every reason, except one.
“I’m sorry I said that,” Ekko’s voice cracked. He fought to get the words out through a tightening throat, sobbing under the cage of his arms. “Everything’s going sideways, I’m so tired, but that— that doesn’t mean I can act like an asshole! It’s just, I don’t know how to act anymore, how to exist,” he stared up at Powder. A trickle of crimson dripped from his nose; Powder’s eyes widened as she turned her back. “Wh— I said I was sorry!” he scrambled to sit, “we have to stick together! Everyone’s gone, we can’t abandon each other!”
“Get used to it,” Powder shrugged. Her tone was cold and disturbingly nonchalant as she drew her thin arms about her. “Silco says that’s how we get strong. By getting rid of what doesn’t serve who we are anymore, or who we’re becoming.”
Ekko was un-becoming, entirely. Something in his brain unraveled itself at her words. Every second they sank in felt more relentless, and he could only grit his teeth and look away, clench his eyes shut through tears, as his fragile endurance was tested.
He remembered the way his Ma soothed him after the docks blew, when his anticipation of death and loss spiraled out of control. I wish none of us had to die someday, honey, but when we’re gone, you'll still have our love. He held those words close after Benzo died. Clung to them as he grieved for Vander, Mylo and Claggor. When they passed on, they went out loving Ekko. In a strange way, they gave him a gift: a hundred places and things in this world, made more special by the fact their lives touched them. But as for Powder? Powder, who stood here alive?
She only took from him.
She dangled the promise of friendship— a salvation from grief— in front of his face, then ripped it from his reach without mercy. It didn’t have to be like this; they were both still alive. No, she wanted it like this. She saw benefits to abandoning him. Furious resentment roiled beneath his despair; he couldn’t stand to be without her, nor with her.
Stumbling to his feet, Ekko swiped his fist under his nose and smeared blood across his tear-stained cheeks. With a moment's hesitation, he spit at her. There was a sliver of satisfaction, watching her shoulders jump while he glared with pure indignation. He hoped she felt his gaze burning into her back. He hoped his instinct toward compassion could die, even if just for a minute.
Because leaving Powder behind would be so much easier if he could manage to hate her. Instead, he was forced to cover his ears as she sobbed out apologies, hysterically begging for Ekko to stay in much the same way he did her. It was blood-curdling, the way the cavernous tunnel turned her cries into a cacophony. He fought so hard to put on a brave face, push down the guilt, steel himself and keep walking…
…but Ekko wasn’t a fighter by nature. He wasn’t sure he would ever be.
He made it as far as the tree before he found the nearest wall, pressed his back against it and slid down to rest, knees-to-chest. As he wearily tilted his head back, the blank pillar of a watchtower greeted him. Its bare surface mirrored the emptiness in his chest. Unnerved, he set his gaze further. A few wispy clouds, honeyed, pink-gold and melancholy decorated the sunset. They were obscured by what tears still clung thick to his lashes, their reservoirs having long since dried up. Ekko lowered his gaze, took a deep, shaky breath and buried his face in his knees.
There was so much to process in the aftermath. It was exhausting and inevitable.
Ekko’s barren existence was the antithesis of the verdant oasis around him. Normally it would have pissed him off to be mocked like this, but frankly, he was just… beside himself. Shocked and numb. Why was he still clinging to the belief he could save her? He saw how she hurled that monkey-bomb, how she clutched the shard of her mirror. It was a coin-toss, whether she’d do it. Whether she’d… choose not to be around anymore. And even if she stayed, Ekko doubted he’d see her again— at least not the girl that he knew. Powder was going to die in one way or another, and with her would go the last person who loved him without the obligation to do so.
This fact might’ve pushed Ekko from despondency into surrender if only he weren’t so confused. The only thing he couldn’t understand was how? How was Powder willing to do this to him, and moreover, to herself? How could she choose to be lonely? How could any child be asked to bear such burdens alone, and most importantly, how could the Undercity treat circumstances like theirs as unfortunate, yes, but acceptable?!
Ekko clenched his hair between his fingers. Oh, he was getting angry now— both furious and helpless, a downright cruel combination. He shouldn’t have been asking why he thought he could save her! The question to be asking was why he ever childishly believed either of them would be saved in the first place!
Nothing could have saved them from the circumstances of their births: from poverty, from the threat of mental and physical illness, from street violence, from the imbalance of power enforced by Piltover and those dynamics battling actors enacted in their very own streets, turning bystanders into pawns. No, Ekko had overestimated the imaginary armor provided by their innocence. He and Powder were going to be affected by their surroundings, to end up hurt one way or another, and regardless of how it happened, what would’ve been the consistent response of their home, of the city that should have protected them? To shrug it’s shoulders. To let them be taken advantage of. To say this was their trip to the school of hard knocks, as if becoming traumatized was a right of passage. It was ridiculous, that things should be like this.
But it wasn’t as if he had a say. Ekko’s youth, class and citizenship placed him at the bottom of the proverbial totem pole. Who would even listen to him? Hell, what if speaking out got him too deep in trouble? He’d never thrown a serious punch (not outside training with Vi). Not to mention that his courage had always been bolstered by the support of his loving community. What use was he now, ashamedly afraid, more alone than he ever feared possible? Ekko’s endurance scraped the edge of all ingenuity— there was no way out by himself. The most he could do was survive. He couldn’t say for how long he sat there, paralyzed, consumed by a shadow of reluctant resignation that threatened to swallow him whole…
But then, a slight itch on his forearm. And then on his neck and his ankle. You’ve got to be kidding me, Ekko cursed under his breath. The forces that be seemed hell-bent on not letting him catch a single damn break. He tilted his head back to scratch at his neck, and that was when he saw it.
Firelight bugs.
Hundreds— no, thousands of them, flickering against a velvet-dark sky. Ekko inhaled a sharp gasp of wonder. A few had even landed on him! Their bioluminescence danced near-electric in the awed reflection of his dark eyes, and as another fluttered down to rest on his hand, an epiphany hit him as suddenly as streetlamps click on at dusk.
He couldn't help but feel like the astounding insects were attempting to share something with him.
It was almost sympathetic, how carefully the firelight landed on his fingertips, how utterly gentle it was. He brought his hand to his face to examine it closer; the bug blinked in time with his breath. It was as if it consoled him: you are heard, you are seen, your pain deserves tending. It’s unacceptable, how much you've been asked to endure. That's a quick way to burn your light out. With a couple of wing-beats, the little creature landed on Ekko’s nose instead, and despite how draining the long day had been, he couldn't help but start laughing.
The bugs that rested on him scattered at the sudden motion and sound, joining back in with their brothers and sisters. Ekko watched with wonder as they moved in a grand, synchronized swarm, acting as one body, illuminating every place to which they drew near in a diffused, greenish glow. From verdant vines that burst through the concrete to families of birds nestled warm in their nests, every precious detail of the space was revealed. And this, too, had something to teach him.
That a thousand tiny beacons, each powerless by itself, could gather enough strength when together to look the encroaching darkness in the eye and refuse its approach, forcing even night itself to surrender.
Ekko rose slowly and ambled awestruck through the hidden oasis, forwards at times and backwards at others in an effort to see the whole space, pleasantly and entirely dumbfounded at his own logical blind spot. His suffering was unique, but not special. How many people knew a victim of murder in the Undercity? How many people had been orphaned or widowed, or inflicted with any of the other hundred ways a person can be forcibly isolated? The only thing more ridiculous than their downtrodden circumstance was the idea he was ever alone.
And if he wasn’t alone, then survival was no longer a begrudging option, but a choice he was defiantly determined to make— and one he was resolved to convince others to choose. He had no idea how, but he'd do it. Like the climbing vines, they would grow where they were planted. Like the birds, they could make even the most inhospitable of places into a home. Like the firelights, they could illuminate the path to a small slice of Zaun where children reached their full potential, where trauma qualified as a tragedy, where no one was left to fall through the cracks, and they would make their voices heard to all who mistreated them. Like the firelights, they were stronger together.
Ekko might’ve not been able to save Powder that day, it was true. Maybe he would try again and fail miserably. But there were so many people out there with whom he could still find mutual salvation, with whom he could form a community. And maybe, if their guiding light shone bright enough?
She would have no choice but to see it.