Chapter Text
Breeze curled around the ship, tugging at the sails as if guiding it home.
Steadily as it neared the shore, cutting through the mist that clung to the water like a living thing.
The faint scent of damp earth and cherry blossoms drifted on with the wind, it was so different, so… pure - compared to the smog filled air of Zaun. It almost felt disgustingly unnatural for him once again.
He stood by the railing attempting to steady his breath from his disorientation.
The walk from the cabin had been clumsy, the lingering fog of sleep was still tugging at his limbs.
Yet the ship’s subtle rocking served as a soft reminder—keep your footing, or pay for the consequences.
Although now, the shoreline pulled his gaze…
The towering trees with their canopies kissed by the morning sunlight, stretched endlessly beyond the docks.
A few wooden bridges arched over clear streams, and in the far distance, temples stood nestled among the cliffs, half-hidden in the fog. It was far unlike anything he had ever seen—ethereal, almost unreal.
“Aye! Are ya deaf or just completely daft?” a rough voice snapped him from his trance.
A broad sailorman, grizzled and already bulky arms from the years at sea— gestured toward the dock with a noticeably impatient wave.
“Unless you intend to sail back with us, ya best get a move on. We don’t linger here the whole day.”
Before Ekko could respond back, heavy footsteps came up behind him— even and deliberate.
“Easy on the lad, Parry,” the voice said, worn by the salt and time—but patient.
Ekko turned to see Captain Valrik approaching. His dark mocha coat flared slightly with the breeze, revealing a glimpse of the weathered shirt beneath it.
As strands of grey threaded through his short, dark beard, and a few wind-tossed curls had fallen across his brow. His eyes, sharp and clear despite the years, carried the ease of someone who’d seen the tempests and come through smiling.
He walked as if he belonged on the deck—not because he demanded it, but because the sea had long since claimed him as one of its own.
“Don’t mind him,” Valrik said, clapping a firm hand on Ekko’s shoulder. “you’re not the first to get lost starin’ at these shores, and I doubt you’ll be the last."
He turned his gaze toward the horizon, where the glimpse of sunlight painted the sky with warm colors—as if drawn into the quiet promise of a new beginning.
"They’ve… got a way of holdin’ your eyes, don’t they?”
Ekko definitely didn’t want to admit it out loud, but the old man was right. Something about this place clawed into the back of his mind—and wouldn’t let go.
He let out a small breath, half a laugh—shaking his head.
There was always something in the way Valrik spoke, in how he saw the world with quiet beauty—that Ekko had come to respect more than he expected.
Long hours above deck with passing banter over meals and weather, and a shared silence during a storm one night had turned the old captain from just another sea dog into something closer to a friend.
“Thanks, Cap.” he said, shifting the strap of his duffel on his shoulder.
Valrik nodded toward the dock. “You’ll do fine here. Place like this… it gets into your bones, if you let it.”
Then, after a pause: “Maybe we’ll cross again— world’s smaller than it looks when you’ve got wind behind you.”
Ekko gave him a tight nod, not trusting himself to say more.
And then he turned, stepping down the plank, the wood creaking softly under his feet. A greeting from the land curled up his spine.
Aware now of the surroundings, the fellow passengers, merchants and wanderers— all of them moved with reverence, as though they too could sense the weight of this place.
As his feet touched the wooden dock, a strange sensation washed over him.
The air was alive here, thick with something he couldn’t name—elusive?
Ekko wasn’t sure if the feeling comforted or unsettled him. Maybe both.
It pressed against his skin, filled his lungs, whispered at the edge of his hearing.
He had finally arrived in Ionia— The First Lands as the natives would call it.
More specifically—Bahri island.
But something told him the journey here might be a slightly change of weather from the previous places he had been to.
This land was nature and spirit moved as one, where mist-veiled mountains watched over ancient forests, and magic pulsed through every leaf and stone. It was a place of beauty and balance, yet beneath its serenity, old wounds still bled.
As the echoes of past wars had not faded, and its people stood divided—some clung to tradition, seeking harmony, while others burned for vengeance.
Monks, warriors, and spirits walked the same paths, their fates intertwined yet their purposes at odds.
The land itself watched, its magic flowing like breath, rewarding the patient and punishing the reckless. Though Ionia stood at the edge of change, one truth remained—peace here was never meant to last.
Ekko’s breath hitched as his mind went back to nearly a year prior to his departure from his home.
His hand clenched onto the piece of document, pulled from his pouch
The crest on it slowly drew him back…
Dim light crept through the curtains, cutting across the room as they sat down—once again inside the Kiramman’s mansion.
A decade ago, if someone had told him that he would walk into a Piltie’s house for a visit—without enforcers breathing down his neck, he would’ve accused that person of being hooked on shimmer.
But now, here he was. Unbothered. Not a bruise on him.
No cuffs. No cracked ribs. No chase.
Just awkward silence and polished furniture that looked too expensive to touch.
He never thought Vi would trade her life in Zaun for this kind of atmosphere—cozying up with a Piltie.
And now that Piltie sat right across from him, her navy blue hair was gleaming in the dim sunlight that was spilled across the room.
Visits like these were kinda irregular for him. Given that Vi wasn’t even here and Sevika was absent—Ekko hadn’t brought backup with him. So he sat there… on the couch… all alone.
Which only meant this was a personal matter of a case.
Lucky him.
Near the fireplace, the last of the wood burned low, a gentle glow was cast across the room, stretching long shadows along the walls.
The warmth that it offered, wrapped around him like a comforting blanket, but the atmosphere was rather heavy with tension.
But the heat wasn’t as intense as the one that came out from those delicate teacups that sat on the table—the steam swirled upward like ghosts rising reluctantly from the surface
He took one sip—and his tongue burned.
Gee, did she want him to burn himself so bad or something…?
Caitlyn had repeatedly asked him if he needed anything more. But his answer remained the same “No”.
So the silence returned once again into the room.
His eyes scanned the room for something- anything—that could break this silence. Needing this to be over and done with.
The Kiramman sat across from him, her legs crossed and her fingers drummed lightly against the armrest—impatiently punctuating the silence.
Glancing at him, seeking a hint of reassurance in his expression—but found only a cloud of uncertainty.
Then, as her lips twitched—she broke the silence.
“So… I heard you’re gonna be traveling off for a while,” she finally said, tilting her head slightly.
“For the Gray cleansing, I suppose?”.
His gaze locked onto hers, searching for any signs of hidden agenda behind her cool, measured tone.
For a second, he wondered if Sevika had gotten word of his trip and passed it along. Wouldn’t be the first time she stirred the pot just for sport—tossing something like this to Caitlyn.
Is this her way of showing her genuine interest after he declined the Kiramman’s offer before?
Realization sank in.
Ah…of course.
It was Vi. Big mouth and bigger heart—always trying to keep Caitlyn in the loop, even when no one asked her to.
“Vi’s big mouth strikes once again” he replied, forcing a light chuckle that barely masked his discomfort.
Her lips quirked up in a slightly knowing smile, though her gaze remained sharp.
“Hm, she’s rather talkative when it comes to family and friends.”.
Caitlyn leaned forward, hands clasped together in her lap, the warmth of the emitting fire catching a trace of the softness in her expression.
“You could’ve asked for help. There’s no reason to tackle the Gray all alone.".
Ekko’s shoulders tensed, but he shrugged as if brushing it off.
Although the weight of her words hung in the air— pressing in on him.
The silence stirred once more, but it didn’t lift the heaviness in his chest.
He didn’t like where this was going… not at all.
She glanced at him, voice softer this time.
“If you need any resources for the trip of yours-“
He knew what was coming, and he didn’t want to hear it.
“No.”
Ekko cut her off, his tone sharp—almost defensive.
He shifted in his place, trying to dispel the tension coiling within him as he shook his head.
“Help’s overrated," he replied with a flat tone.
“I’m not really your charity case.”
She was taken back a bit by his sudden disagreement, could she blame him though? No. But was this - is this really what their bridges of progress has come to?
As she tried to resonate in her mind.
She took a deep breath and tried to lower the tension from her face, it was for sure effecting her as she crossed her arms.
“I’m not suggesting a charity… but rather an alliance. A partnership,”" she stopped, turning her head to the side slightly.
“You’re dealing with the Gray” she pressed, her voice dropping into a whisper.
Ekko leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knees. His jaw tightened softly.
“You already gave me enough access to research those parts, it’s the shimmer part that’s still leaking out- which you and Sevika wanted to deal with.”
She winced a bit, as she lifted her hand - rubbing her temple.
“I know- we don’t always see eye to eye on things, but…”
He cut her off, his voice dried from the patient.
“Try, never seeing eye to eye.”
Caitlyn’s lips twitched, but her gaze never waver.“Piltover is trying to rebuild its old bridges with Zaun.”
Ekko’s eyes narrowed. He shifted in his seat, trying to control the rising frustration that was bubbling under the surface. Reconsidered her words carefully. He bit the inside of his cheek, pressure betraying the calmness.
“By sending enforcers? By actually pushing the divide deeper?
People in Zaun don’t want soldiers in their streets. They want recognition. A chance for better potential - which you won’t get with force.”
He said, his frustration barely contained.
What did she know about Zaun? The people? The daily struggle? The unnecessary enforcers that was roaming around the streets weren't the solution; they were only a reminder of everything that was wrong.
Her eyes — eye.
Was studying him, was for sure analyzing every inch of him. Trying to find a sharp target of a thought to pull.
But he could see it’s wearing her down slowly- too much pressure.
“Yet Zaun is still tainted by shimmer and Silco’s goons.”
The room felt empty again, the crackling fire was providing the only sound as the warmth.
Ekko sighed deeply, his gaze drifting to a large poster-board on the wall. It was cluttered with plans, targets, suspect - the progress laid bare like a map of their struggle.
He let out a heavy breath, as he leaned his head on his clasp hands.
“Progress doesn’t belong to one city,” he said in a low tone.
Caitlyn’s eye was settled on him, noticing how he hunched slightly, his youthful feature belying the weight he carried.
Sometimes she forgot that this young man was the leader of a whole sanctuary.
Not out of choice.
It was- Out of necessity. Out of survival - forced to rise when Silco had menaced the lanes, carving order out of chaos.
With him gone, his shadows still lurked - stirring the trouble amidst their tenuous hope.
Her thought came to an erupt when he uttered.
“Is this what you dragged me here for?” He asked in a low voice.
“What?”
He rose from the couch, body tense— ready to bolt out at any moment.
“Just lecturing me, like Vi does — minus the fits or mittens crashing into the damn walls” his lips twitched as if holding a smile, but the humor of it didn't reach his eyes.
“No,” she said firmly.
“No, what?”
“Ekko, would you please” she sighed, gesturing for him to sit back down.
He tilted his head to the side, as his eyes rolled in exhausted motion - with that he plopped back down on his seat.
She looked away thinking for a moment of how she should go in with this discussion.
“I… actually have some questions, which I would like to hear your thoughts about.”
“Hm?”
“Do you perhaps know anything about how much a shimmer user could withstand a blast—from a hextech bomb?”
His eyes widened.
“What did your enforcer lapdog do this time?” he said in an accusing tone.
“Ekko- this isn’t about-“ she stopped mid sentence.
His eyes were searching for her… there’s something she’s hiding.
What are you hiding this time, Kirammen?
“Vi mentioned your little sponsor project at the academy," he said, his voice taking a casual tone, though his eyes remained sharp.
"Gotta admit. I’m impressed. Didn’t expect you to be putting in work like that”
Caitlyn didn’t respond right away, but the change in her expression told him she was caught off guard.
So he pressed on, with his voice low but curious.
“And you’ve been digging into hextech and detonation patterns, too. Can you explain that?”
She cursed under her breath. Her lips pressed tight together as she watched him, her expression unreadable for a moment.
But Ekko tilted his head slightly, as if waiting for a response.
“Alright then," she got up from her seat looking at him with less intensity than before.
"Follow me to my office, I got something to show you”
As the weight of his thoughts began to lift like fog burned away by morning sun, he blinked.
The memory unraveled, slipping from his mind with the scent of fire and tea still faint in his senses—but fading.
The paper crackled in his hand. Coarse and damp now from the sea air, not the clean parchment it had been when Caitlyn handed it to him.
He looked up.
Cherry blossoms drifted lazily across the dock. The breeze carried a sharp cleanness that didn’t belong to Piltover’s smoky skyline or Zaun’s stale vents.
He was here.
Ionia.
Bahri Island.
And this time, there was no warm fire, no guarded conversation across tea. Just spirit-choked air and a land that watched him as closely as she had.
A heavy sigh escaped his lips as his eyes were set on course for his destination.
Let’s get this over with, Ionia here I am…
The sun had already peaked fully over the horizon, so the market must’ve been quite awake by now—some stands and stalls getting set up.
Some people around here considered this a good sign. Not too early, not too late.
Just enough sun to feel alive without burning
They didn’t care either way.
Out in the distance, a lone figure made their way through the open greenfield, hood pulled low over their face. As their steps left no mark in the grass;
Presence? More shadow than substance.
They wore nothing out of the ordinary—frayed edges, dust-worn boots, sleeves pushed halfway up but falling again and again.
But there was something about them, like a painting smudged at the corners.
And now… they had arrived.
As she finally stepped onto the edge of the market, the hood had slipped halfway off her head—tugged by a lazy breeze that couldn’t decide if it wanted to be warm or cold. Although it pulled a few blue strands of hair into her face, and she blew them out of the way with sigh.
Her eyes squinted against the light.
Gods, she hated this.
Too bright. Too loud. The air was too clean—like it’d been filtered through these monk’s robes bleached of any grime or grit, purified until it had no bite left.
She rubbed at her temple as a dull throb started behind her eye.
But still…
It was better than Bilgewater.
At least here, she didn’t wake up to screams and cannon fire echoing off rusted hulls.
At least here, she didn’t have to sleep with one eye open in case someone tried to slit her throat for a shiny coin.
She’d take clean air and nagging headaches over that any day.
Even if it grated.
Still, she kept trudged forward shoulders hunched beneath her cloak.
The scents around her of dried herbs, grilled rice cakes, and morning sweat tangled in the air. But she didn’t stop for any of it, had no time for—she was already late to open up the place.
“Shay!”
The voice cracked through the haze—young, bright, too full of life.
Her eyes flickered toward it.
There, a small little blur in the crowd was charging full speed toward her way. His limbs flailed like he’d never tripped once in his life—which meant it was due for a fall.
“Koja—”
Thunk
The boy collided into her legs with a force that would’ve knocked her flat if she hadn’t braced for the impact.
He grinned up at her, cheeks flushed from exhaustion and eyes wide—what a reckless kid.
“Good morning to you too, little frogmouth,” she muttered, ruffling his mess of black hair with a sigh. “What’re you doing, huh? Following ghosts again or just trying to crack my knees open for fun?”
Koja laughed, already tugging at the sleeve of her cloak.
“I knew it was you! Old Lady Jun said she saw someone sneaking through the fields like a lost spirit.”
Shay—if that’s what she was still going by today—tilted her head and gave him a crooked smirk.
“Pfft. She ain’t wrong, I only do haunt that path of the town.”
The market pulsed around them—people shouting, the flap of tent cloth, a bell somewhere far off. Alive like the absurd colossal ancient tree existing in the center. But for a second, Shay let it all blur out.
She could almost pretend this was normal.
Koja tugged on her arm again, practically bouncing with every step as he led her down to the shop.
“Come on, Dad said you’re gonna help him with his project today,” he said, breathless and eager.
She raised a brow, dragging her feet a little for effect.
“Ohhh, did he now?” she said, letting herself be dragged. “Guess that explains why he sent a bounty hunter to track me down.”
They made their way through the thinner part of the market toward a squat wooden building half-hidden behind rows of lanterns and some dried herb. The old workshop hadn’t changed.
As they stepped into the small workshop the smell of incense drifted past fully, mixed with the faint scent of oil and old woods.
Inside, a semi-older Vastaya man was leaning over the counter—deep in conversation with a customer. His fur was speckled with age—short and silvered at the chin—and his ears twitched at the sound of the door creaking open.
His gaze lifted—and landed squarely on her.
“Re’sha,” he greeted, a slow smirk forming beneath his tired eyes. “Coming in late again?”
Now that was the name she’d given them. Re’sha. Or just Shay, when they didn’t feel like being formal.
She gave him a half hearted shrug, pushing her hood back with a flick of her hand.
“Time’s a lie and clocks are snitches,” she muttered, stepping further in.
The customer beside the Vastaya gave her a side glance, but she didn’t see it.
He wore some travel-worn robes with a satchel slung over one shoulder, glanced over his own. Eyes lingered briefly on her before he gave a small unsure nod.
“I’ll take my leave then” he said, as he adjusted his bag and stepped back from the counter. “We’ll discuss this matter another time, Xeiron.”
Xeiron gave a small grunt of acknowledgement, already focused on her now. The customer turned and made his way out without further words, the door creaking shut behind him.
Shay tilted her head toward the Vastaya.
“Sooo… what was that about?” she asked curiously, a brow lifting.
Xeiron stood for a beat, a small frown tugging at his features.
“Don’t know,” he said, then turned toward her with a grin and a dismissive wave.
“But nothing for you to worry about.”
She squinted at him for a moment, not convinced but she was unwilling to push it.
Xeiron raised a brow, and leaned further at the counter.
“So what’s your excuse this week?”
“New lifestyle. New neighbours,” she smirked faintly, pointing upward “some realllly loud feathered friend.”
He rolled his eyes to the side, already used to her flimsy excuses—but he gotta admit they were entertaining to hear the least.
One time she’d stumbled in just before closing, cloak torn, her blue hair an absolute mess, ranting about being chased by some half-feral Ionian spirit-beast.
Xeiron hadn’t gotten the full story—she was too busy swearing and stealing his drink—but the image had stuck with him.
“ Also , I was kidnapped by a short menace with too much energy on my way here.”
She nodded toward Koja, who beamed like that was the highest praise he could possibly receive.
Xeiron turned to look at his son, brow raised.
Koja just grinned wider—unapologetic, proud, and maybe a little mischievous.
He sighed under his breath and shook his head. “Kidnapping accomplices now, huh? Guess I’m raising an outlaw.”
Koja gave a triumphant little shrug, then leaned casually on Shay’s arm like he’d just claimed victory in a street race.
“Startin’ young. Gotta respect the hustle.” She said with an amused look.
He shook his head in a disapproving manner.
“Well I hope he didn’t talk your head off, Shay,” the Vastaya said, though the corners of his mouth twitched like he was holding back a grin. “
Shay snorted “Nah, he’s good”
She leaned casually on the counter.
Her fingers drummed idly—except for the prosthetic one, which tapped slightly off-rhythm, making a duller sound.
She didn’t even notice it anymore. Others might do; but she hasn't since…
A cough interrupted the thought, as her gaze lifted up to meet him.
"We’ve got a lot to do if you’re serious about this project,” he said.
“I’m here now, am I not?”
He uttered a noncommittal grunt, reaching behind the counter—a rolled up draft of some kind.
Ah, so this is what he’d been up to lately.
Xeiron unrolled the blueprint across the counter, revealing a series of finely inked diagrams.
Not just any mechanism—this was a lightweight modular harness, something like an exo-frame, meant to support heavy loads with minimal strain.
“I've been going over this idea of trying to make,” he said, with his hand rubbing the back of his neck." theses types of jobs are easier for people like us."
Not looking at her, but she could hear the weight in the words.
They were designed for couriers, salvagers, maybe even smugglers. The joints were clean, the movement curves accounted for, and the structure adaptable for people missing limbs or carrying makeshift replacements.
She studied the design silently, then nodded. “This isn’t bad y’know? Might even hold together with a bit of coaxing.”
“That’s why you’re here.” He handed her the draft and small sack with metal junk—already knowing she liked using old ones.
“Go on. Let’s see if you still remember how to tinker instead of just running your mouth.”
She snorted but moved around, making her way to the workbench that stood in a small corner behind the counter.
An hour in, and a small figure appeared beside her, dragging over a stool and clambering up like it was a mountain.
She knew this kid wouldn't let her work in peace even if she told him, he was always fascinated by her works —though she now didn’t mind the audience she wondered how long it would take him to ask to-.
“Can I help?”
Shay glanced sideways, he now stood there already rolling up his sleeves, face bright with unearned confidence and grease already smudged across one cheek like he’d earned it. She gave him a slow blink, mouth twitching in reluctant amusement.
His eyes were already scanning the sketch like it was a treasure map. Trying to understand with the little knowledge he had about this type of thing.
But a grunt or rather warning grunt came from behind them.
Xeiron glared at his son, but Shay waved it off.
“No biggie, he can help” she said, the father shook his head and started muttering something she couldn't hear clearly.
That’s when a smile flickered on her face and she swiftly turned to the boy, who was more than ready.
“Do you know how to handle fine wiring without turning it into confetti?” she asked.
Koja nodded solemnly. “Dad lets me hold the torch sometimes.”
Shay gave him a weird look, as she turned her head toward where his dad was.
“Dangerous man,” she muttered, but shifted over to reach for some goggles. “Alright, here put this on— and aim this," she pointed the soldering pen at the wires "while I’m holding it. No shaking, no breathing, no dying.”
He did as she ordered and stuck his tongue out in concentration, Shay was gripping the slender support bracket like it was the most important job in the world. He leaned in, soldering the link in place with a flick of the tool. Sparks hissed; Koja flinched but held steady.
As she adjusted the wire beneath a hinge joint on the exo-frame, she glanced at the boy with a grin.
“Not bad, little frogmouth.”
“Thanks,” he whispered. “You’re good at this.”
Her prosthetic finger twitched as she adjusted the alignment, but her mind wasn’t entirely on the task anymore.
The way he hovered just a little too close. The earnest focus. The wide, curious eyes watching her every move like he was trying to memorize the whole process…
It sent a jolt straight down her spine.
Because that used to be… Little man
Back when they were kids with more scrap metal than sense, back when the world was smaller and dreams were bigger—he used to look at her just like that. Eyes wide, always asking questions, hands always reaching for something half-built and humming with promise.
She saw some of those flashes of him again, during those final days before the war reached Piltover—the way he moved through his workplace, focused and fast, his hands sure as he adjusted timepieces and circuits in place.
The fire in his voice when he spoke of resistance. Of hope. Firelights. Zaun.
And then—
Gone.
Koja blinked up at her. “Did I mess something up?”
Shay shook her head quickly, the memory retreating like a tide pulled out to sea. “No no,” she said, a little hoarse. “You’re all good, kid. You’d make a half-decent Firelight, if they still existed.” she said the last sentence in a low tone, leaning on her workbench as she looked at the draft.
The mention of Firelight for a moment seemed to hang heavy in the air, as if summoning a ghost from her past.
Koja tilted his head. “What is a Firelight?”
A sudden chill crept along her back, sending shivers through her.
Crap, bigmouth strikes again.
Shay's eyes darted away, her fingers gripped on the edge of the workbench. Trying to take liberated few slow breaths, just to compose herself. After a few seconds, she then looked back at the boy with a softer expression.
“They… were a bunch of weirdos who liked building stuff and fighting bad guys,” she muttered. “Too smart for their own good.”
Koja’s eyes widened, fascinated. “That sounds cool!”
Shay nodded, a wistful smile touching her lips. “Yeah, I guess something like that."
She cleared her throat. “Anyway, let’s continue with this”
For the next few hours, the shop settled into that familiar rhythm—the scent of oil and incense thick in the air, metal ticking and clicking against wood, the faint hum of the market drifting in through the windows.
Her hands moved faster after that—sharper, more aggressive. She shoved down the memory that wanted to crawl up, locked it behind rusted metal and smoke.
Shay was a blur of precision and casual defiance. She worked fast, her movements economical—wires stripped, hinges checked, lightweight steel slotted into place like puzzle pieces. Her prosthetic clinked softly every time it gripped something too tightly, but she didn’t flinch.
She has to fix it sooner than later.
Xeiron hovered nearby, occasionally offering adjustments, but mostly letting her do what she did best.
By midday, the frame had taken shape—bare-bones but functional, with the beginnings of a harness designed to shift weight across the hips and shoulders rather than the spine. It was a beautiful piece of ugly engineering.
Shay dusted her hands off, smearing faint black grease down the side of her pants, and stepped back.
“It’ll hold,” she said. “You’ll want to reinforce that back brace once the full cargo weight comes in though.”
He nodded slowly. “Already planned for it.”
Koja, still perched on his stool, beamed like he’d helped build a rocket. “That part was my idea,” he whispered proudly.
Shay ruffled his hair. “You’ll be building your own stuff soon. Just don’t blow things up, yeah?”
They both laughed, as sounds of murmur from the front of the shop—new coming customers on their way.
“Well it’s that time of the week,” she said, while she finally stretched her body, making her spine crack loudly. She walked up and grabbed her cloak from the hook near the door.
“I gotta go. Market’s getting new arrivals today—shipment came in from the southern part this morning. I need to grab the crates before some idiot stacks them upside-down again.”
Xeiron waved a dismissive hand. “Tell the dockmaster I still want the tools he promised. And don’t forget your list this time, Shay.”
She made a face. “No promises.”
“And don’t get in a damn fight, this time!”
She paused halfway through the way and gave him a mischievous look over her shoulder. “Also no promises.”
“Take care Shay!” yelled the boy, from now sitting on the counter.
She slipped toward the backroom.
At last, Shay pushed through the back door, letting it swing shut behind her with a quiet thud.
But it was Jinx’s feet that stepped lightly onto the path—same boots, different rhythm. She made her way out into the noise, tugging the hood a little lower, grin tugging at her mouth like a secret.
Tevasa wasn’t even on most maps. A handful of winding streets, a shrine or two, and a market barely large enough to justify the title. Still, Ekko had managed to get lost.
Did he regret listening to that crewmate who told him to “follow the river, not lantern”? Maybe. Depends who was asking.
In Zaun, his instincts kept him alive. In Ionia? They just got him turned around under the same damn tree three times.
Hours later, the sound of life finally reached him—laughter, bartering, the occasional squawk of an animal. He pushed forward, boots kicking up dust.
Now, sweat clung to the back of his neck, his bag was digging into his shoulder, and his boots had picked up enough dust to pass for local clay.
Pushing up the hill, with all the energy he had left, thinking— this better be worth it .
A few more grunts, and he reached the top, legs trembling, lungs dragging in whatever air they could find. He dropped to his knees, half in exhaustion, half in prayer to whatever spirit might have mercy on tourists with bad directions.
Then—he looked up.
And everything else fell away.
There it was: Tevasa’s heart.
A tree so impossibly massive it seemed to hold the sky together. Its roots coiled through the ground like ancient veins, twisting beneath temples and over shrines. Branches stretched wide, tangled in streaming orange banners that danced like flame against the pale sky. Light filtered through in golden shafts, turning dust into floating embers.
The market unfurled beneath it, chaotic and beautiful. Stalls leaned like old friends, strung together with rope, laughter, and the scent of grilled fruit and spice. Musicians played something soft and winding, and painted symbols hung like guardians watching from woven canopies.
It was alive—not just the people or the tree, but everything. The air. The stone. Even the shadows seemed to hum.
Ekko blinked.
“Okay…” he breathed. “worth it.”
He adjusted the backpack so it was slung over one shoulder, the weight of it digging had funny enough been forgotten.
Though trenchcoat hadn’t been his brightest idea either—not in this humidity.
It had presence, sure. People gave him space when he wore it. But right now, he would’ve traded it for a tank top and a clear route.
Note to himself: Get better clothes after the weather.
The market was for sure something, it was packed tight with life. Fruits and vegetables glistened under hanging silk cloths.
Ekko pushed himself through it, sometimes by instinct he pressed his pouch close to his hips as he wandered down the market.
People wandered around selling and buying.
Calling from each stand to come.
As a group of kids shrieked and laughter could be heard behind him, they were chasing each other through the market.
Zipping between stalls.
He finally paused beside a wall draped in moss and fabric, he rubbed the back of his neck—letting it all settle.
“Lost, or just deep in an existential crisis?”
The voice came casually, with the kind of warmth you don’t hear in city guards or merchant bouncers. He turned.
A man leaned against the wall across from him, beside a crate of folded fabrics. Red hair, sun-worn skin, eyes with the kind of smile that came from watching people, not mocking them.
He looked like someone who built things for a living. Or broke them well, depending on the occasion.
Ekko gave a tired smirk. “Bit of both actually.”
The man chuckled. “You’ve got the look. Because you have been orbiting around with no direction.”
Ekko tilted his head.
“So you’ve been stalking me?” he said with an accusing glare, but tried to not sound like it.“Observing. Local habit.” The man stepped forward and offered his hand. “Name’s Reimeh.”
There was the briefest flicker of pause. Ekko looked at the hand, then shook it.
“…Ekko,” he said after a beat.
Reimeh didn’t blink at the delay. If he noticed it at all, he filed it away without fuss. His brain probably skimmed over the name—unfamiliar, maybe from the northern cities, or somewhere rougher other regions—but he didn’t pry.
A quick glance at the coat, the boots, the odd rhythm to Ekko’s gaze—fast, weighing escape routes, like someone who didn’t trust places to be simple.
“New in Tevasa?” he asked instead.
Ekko gave a dry smile. “You could say that. Been walking in circles for about an hour… or so.” he rubbed the side of his neck.
“Well, lucky for you,” Reimeh said, “you finally circled into someone helpful.”
He nodded toward the busier edge of the market. “Need anything in particular? Food, hardware, translation help?”
Ekko let out a short breath of amusement. “I didn’t think it’d be so… twisty here.”
“Tevasa is a hard place to get lost in,” Reimeh said, “but somehow everyone does.”
“C’mon let me show you around, a decent tour around this town will do you good” he said, walking a bit further from where Ekko was standing.
The young man sigh, but nod at the man “Alright, show me”
They walked in quiet for a bit, the market’s color and noise swirling around them—silk flags in the wind, kids running through puddles. A flute played somewhere out of sight.
Somewhere between those sounds of flute and kids shriek, it took him back to the Firelights and how things are going for them now.
Scar did tell him repeatedly before the departed, the people will do alright even if he was gone for a long while—I mean they did survive for months without him before.
Also Sevika and Vi are helping around there occasionally.
“So are you looking for something in particular?” Reimeh asked eventually, interrupting his thoughts..
Ekko had a pause for a sec to think, but he nodded. “Eh, some tools. Parts. Stuff that lasts.”
Reimeh tilted his head. “Are you on a job?”
The former Firelight leader hesitated. “Kind of. More like… groundwork.”
More like a side project, he has been trying to revive but havent had time to.
Reimeh rubbed his jaw, thinkin then gave a knowing nod. “There’s a shop—a bit off the main stalls. Local-run. You want honest work and trust, you’ll find it there"
Ekko quirked a brow. “You vouch for them?”
“I let my nephew work there from time to time,” Reimeh said with a shrug. “That’s my version of trust.”
They started walking. Ekko noticed how Reimeh didn’t try to fill the space too fast. He just matched pace and let the market speak—vendors calling out specials, birdsong tangled in wind chimes, someone strumming a lute in a language Ekko didn’t know.
He liked that. That Reimeh wasn’t rushing. Not trying too be too helpful. He walked like someone who understood people needed to think for themselves.
They turned a corner. Just ahead was a squat little workshop behind a crooked fence, its sign barely
hanging straight: “The Lillie’s Vines” tangled in the wooden frame.
“Okay then,” Reimah said, turning his head to look at Ekko. “Let's see if they got what you want here.”
A rich scent of oil and incense hung faintly in the air, just before going in.
“Well I hope, Xeiron got my order done today,” the man mumbled as he reached for the door.
They both took quick steps and walked into the shop.