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“Pow! I’m back! You won’t believe it, but the freshmen today—”
Ekko cut himself off mid-sentence when, after taking off his jacket and hanging it on the wall hook, he turned around and saw a wrench flying straight at him.
“Whoa!” Ekko ducked at the last second—the tool whizzed over his head, grazing the tips of his dreadlocks, and clattered loudly against the wall. He glanced at the wrench now lying on the floor, let out a short laugh, and picked it up, turning it over in his hands.
“Okay, okay, I’m shutting up,” Ekko raised his hands in surrender. “Did the crazy bugs bite you extra hard today?”
But when he finally looked at his girlfriend, he froze.
The girl standing before him resembled Powder—but she was definitely not her.
This doppelgänger had short, dirty hair and sickly gray skin stretched thin over bone, mottled with scars, fresh cuts, and bruises. Half of her body was covered in swirling blue cloud tattoos, barely concealed by what could hardly be called clothing—more like rags. She was smaller, frailer, as if malnutrition had hollowed her out.
But the most striking difference was her eyes—bright pink, glowing in the dim light like two neon signs.
“You’re not Powder,” Ekko said coolly, tightening his grip on the wrench.
The stranger’s cracked, purple lips twisted into a fleeting smirk.
“Wow, you finally figured it out! Only took you a decade. Congrats, Ekko.”
Her words dripped with passive aggression and bone-deep exhaustion, so palpable that Ekko couldn’t even muster confusion or anger. His body moved on autopilot, instincts screaming at him to calm the girl who almost looked like Powder, almost sounded like Powder—even though she wasn’t his Powder.
In seconds, Ekko was at her side, hands cradling her head out of habit, thumbs pressing gently against her ears as if to block out the noise—even though he knew the voices were only in her mind.
Why did he assume this not-Powder would have the same struggles as his? Ekko couldn’t explain it. He’d simply read her: the barely-there twitch of her lip, the tremor in her right eyelid. The fear in her unnatural pink eyes. Not the soft blue he knew. These eyes were alien, toxic, dull, sunken and bloodshot, shadows beneath them too deep for sleep to ever fix.
But the rest? Identical. The sharp cut of her cheekbones, the arch of her brows, the faint freckles dusting her nose—every detail matched Powder perfectly. Ekko had drawn her a thousand times, memorized every micro-shift in her face with obsessive precision. His fingers had traced her lips in sketches, his eyes had cataloged every new wrinkle, every faint line time had etched into her skin.
And now those strange pink eyes stared at him—wide with shock, disbelief and distrust, but beneath it, a desperate, aching need for comfort that made his chest painfully tighten.
Whatever had happened here, wherever his Pow was, this not-Powder needed help.
And Ekko wouldn’t be Ekko if he hadn’t made it his life’s mission to be there for Powder—every version of her.
"Don't listen to them," Ekko said softly but firmly, his gaze locked onto those unnatural pink eyes. "Listen to me. I'm real. You can touch me. I'm alive. Feel it?" Gently, he took her small hand in his and pressed it against his chest, where his heart pounded a steady rhythm. It was a gamble—Ekko wasn't sure if his heartbeat would comfort her as much as it did his Powder. And judging by not-Powder's confused expression, she didn't know either.
But her trembling lip stilled, and Ekko exhaled in quiet relief.
"That's it, sweetheart," he murmured, lightly stroking her hair as she stood rigid and silent, her focus entirely on him—on his hand still holding hers against his chest.
The size difference between their palms had always amused Powder—it was one of her favorite joking points. Ekko, on the other hand, found it endlessly endearing. His Powder was so petite, but her formidable presence more than compensated for her small stature and delicate features. She commanded attention effortlessly—people instinctively made way for her in crowded streets, and even drunken brawlers would pause mid-fight when she passed by. Powder was royalty in her own right, needing neither extravagant gowns nor imposing height to prove it.
Not-Powder was small. Not just in height, but in presence—like that scrawny alley kitten he and Pow had tried sneaking into the bar years ago (Vander had forbidden feeding strays, though Sevika always slipped them scraps when no one was looking). A fragile thing, battered by life yet clinging to it with desperate determination. The kind that might bite an offered hand, because kindness was foreign concept for her—yet still wants to press closer, starving for human warmth when the cold had seeped into her bones.
Ekko's chest ached. It had been years since he'd seen Powder this broken. He'd nearly forgotten how devastating her episodes could be. The sight carved something hollow inside him.
Thank Janna, at least he knew what to do.
"Hey now," he murmured, gently nudging her shoulder. His smile softened when he saw tears welling in those unnatural pink eyes. "Let it out. You're safe here. Nobody's touching you while I'm around."
Not-Powder tensed, her lip trembling again—but Ekko recognized this wasn't another episode. Fat pink-tinged tears carved tracks through the grime on her cheeks, smearing mascara into dark streaks as she choked out, "Y-you're really alive?" Her voice frayed like torn fabric.
Ekko nodded slowly, giving her delicate hand a reassuring squeeze. Though questions stormed in his mind, his expression remained steady—his own confusion could wait.
"Yeah," he confirmed, holding her terrified gaze. "It's me. Ekko. I'm right here." Alive. Solid. Real.
She shook like a leaf in a gale, frozen in place—terrified that any movement might make him dissolve into smoke, leaving her alone with the jeering voices that lived inside her skull.
A wheezing sound escaped not-Powder's chest, like the creak of ancient machinery reluctantly coming to life. She lowered her forehead onto his shoulder, burying her face while her ice-cold fingers twisted into his shirt. Though they weren't quite embracing—their bodies still kept cautious distance—Ekko took it as permission. His arms came up slowly, settling around her trembling shoulders with deliberate lightness: steady, reassuring, never constricting.
"You look like a Pilty," she rasped, forcing out a hoarse chuckle. Ekko rolled his eyes. This was an old argument between him and Powder, though he knew she loved how he looked in Academy uniform (even after all these years, he'd still catch those hungry blue glances when she thought he wasn't looking).
"You love how I look," he countered, fingers never pausing their rhythmic path through her blue strands. The repetitive motion soothed them both—him perhaps more than her.
"Who fed you that lie?" she croaked.
"There's this girl," he began casually, smile warming his voice. "Blue hair, small hands. Goes absolutely feral when I call her 'sweetheart' in public."
Her breath hitched. The trembling stopped abruptly, her shoulders locking rigid. The silence that followed stretched thick and viscous between them. When she finally spoke, the words came out hollow:
"You're not my boy savior."
“No,” he said calmly. “I’m not”.
She drew back slowly (Ekko let her), lifting her hollow, haunted gaze to study his face with the same intensity he'd shown moments before. Those pink eyes traced his forehead, cheeks, lips, and chin before locking onto his own brown irises in a stare that pierced straight to his soul. Whatever she found there snuffed out the fragile hope that had flickered momentarily in her bottomless pupils—and the extinguishing of that light shattered something fundamental in Ekko's chest.
When he reached to brush away the pink-tinged tear tracks, she recoiled—not sharply, but with deliberate wariness, her eyes flashing a silent warning.
This might have deterred another man (might have stopped Ekko himself, years ago), but he wasn't that uncertain boy anymore—not the one who'd floundered at Powder's every unpredictable reaction.
"I might not be your Ekko, and you're definitely not my Powder," he said. The girl grimaced at the name, but Ekko pressed on. "But I promise—I can help just as well. Don't be afraid. There isn’t a single Ekko in any world who’d hurt you."
He offered her a reassuring smile and gently took her hands—lifting them between them, pressing a featherlight kiss to her bruised knuckles (one finger cold metal, the others streaked with dried blood).
When he glanced up, the sight of not-his-Powder froze him in place.
Her face was so familiar—flushed crimson to the tips of her ears, lips parted in shock. A small fang peeked from behind her purple-stained mouth, her pink eyes blown wide. Even the roots of her blue hair seemed to bristle slightly, as if electrified by the gesture.
For a heartbeat, she looked exactly like his Powder—caught off guard by affection, scrambling to hide how much it unraveled her.
"I-I—uh… Wha—Iii—”
Her words stumbled, getting stuck in her throat, her brain obviously overheated and went on reboot. The sight of this flustered, tomato-red (not his) Powder almost made Ekko smirk. He kept her hands cradled in his (her fingers limp against his broad palms), waiting with practiced patience for his absolute favorite version of Powder to emerge: an embarrassed, spitting-mad cat.
“Sh-shut up!”
Ah. There she was.
She yanked her hands free and went for a forehead strike—classic—but Ekko dodged on reflex, years of bitter experience hardwired into his muscles. A high kick followed, he ducked again, which only fueled her fury.
“Since when’re you so damn nimble, asshole?!” she snarled, backstepping while her hand scrambled blindly across the worktable—searching for a projectile. Because Powder always fought smarter, not harder—distance was her ally.
And Ekko knew, with grim certainty, he wasn’t walking away unscathed. At minimum a concussion was guaranteed.
"Whoa, Pow—!" Ekko threw his hands up in surrender, half-tempted to rip off his shirt and wave it as an actual white flag.
"The name's Jinx!" she shrieked, and the first projectile—a screwdriver—whizzed past his ear.
Phillips, he noted to himself.
"Okay! Jinx! Message received! Quit chucking sh—"
An iron mug (with coffee? paint sludge?) exploded against the wall beside him, spattering his shirt and hair with dark droplets.
"Ugh! That's a war crime!" Ekko glared at the blooming stain on his prized academy whites. "I'm gonna never wash this off now!"
"Looks better dirty on you!" Jinx shot back, already ducking behind the central pillar.
"My Powder happens to like it!" he shot back, instinctively shielding his stained shirt like a knight protecting his dame.
"Then go fuck yourself and run back to your perfect stupid Powder, shithead!" Jinx's voice cracked like a whip from behind the pillar. Ekko winced. She was definitely pissed. He needed damage control, fast. Fighting with Powder was always like playing with wildfire—one wrong move and suddenly your whole house's burning down while she dances in the flames, pouring more gasoline to make it burn brighter.
"Shit—Jinx, no! That’s not what I meant!"
Smooth. Real smooth, genius.
"You think I'm stupid?!"
Ah. So we've reached the "arsonist" phase. Fantastic.
Ekko sighed and crept silently toward the pillar, listening to the heavy, ragged breathing behind it. He sank to the floor, knees bent, his back resting against the cold metal surface separating him from Jinx (what kind of fucked up world had she come from, to claim that name for herself?). His gaze drifted absently around the workshop—their workshop, where he and Powder had spent so much time it might as well have been a second home.
This was where they’d shared their first timid kiss at fourteen (and their second, and third—Powder had turned out delightfully insatiable). Their first slow dance, their first whispered "I love you", their first… Well. Countless other firsts that made up the mosaic of their relationship. The good, the bad, the ridiculous, the heartbreaking—this place was their sanctuary, their own little universe. If (when) he ever worked up the courage to propose, it would be right here.
He liked to think that in every world, this workshop was just as sacred to them.
"I—... No." Ekko cut himself off, shaking his head. "Powder isn’t 'perfect.' Not even close."
Jinx scoffed. "What, so even she’s not good enough for you?"
He ignored the jab—Powder always tried to rile him up when things got serious. "She’s stubborn, sarcastic, and has a sense of humor darker than Zaun’s smog. She gets nightmares so bad she won’t sleep for days. Forgets to eat. She hogs the blankets and kicks in her sleep but swears it’s me. Acts like a brat one minute and a cranky old woman the next. Holds grudges like a bloodhound and plays the meanest pranks—" A chuckle escaped him, remembering the month he’d spent with neon-green hair. "And you? You’re just like her. I’ve known you less than an hour, and I already see it. The way your lip quivers when you’re about to break. How your ears turn red when you’re flustered. All those tiny, infuriating details I could recognize blindfolded—you’ve got them too." He exhaled, tilting his head back against the pillar. "Whatever made you pick a different name, at your core? You and her aren’t so different. So yeah, I figured you’d ‘hate’ this shirt just as much as she pretends to."
The workshop fell silent—not quite comfortable, but no longer choking with tension. Then—
"...You two are really close, huh?" Jinx's voice was barely audible.
Ekko tilted his head. "And you're not? With your 'boy savior'?"
A hollow laugh echoed behind the pillar. "Me and my Ekko? Don't be ridiculous." The words dripped with something bitter. "That's impossible."
"What?" Ekko twisted around instinctively, as if seeing her face could make sense of the absurdity. "If your Ekko's anything like me, he's been stupid in love with you since we were kids."
"Oh, please!" Metal clanged as Jinx presumably threw her hands up. "Even if that was true once, that pathetic crush drowned in the well along with stupid little Powder."
Ekko's jaw tightened. Breathe. You don't know the full story. "First off?" He forced his voice steady. "Not 'pathetic.' Never. Second... I can't imagine anything that'd make me—" A beat. "—that'd make him stop loving you."
After a long silence, rustling fabric broke the stillness. Jinx's disheveled blue head peeked out from behind the pillar.
"...Really?"
Her voice trembled—small and uncertain. She kept her gaze fixed on the floor, picking anxiously at the raw skin around her nails. Ekko stayed put, giving her space. Pushing now would only spook her further.
Just how broken was her world? What had that other Ekko done—or failed to do—to leave Jinx like this? The questions burned, but one seared hotter than the rest: Why couldn't she believe she was loved by him?
"Really." His voice held no room for doubt.
Jinx dared a fleeting glance upward—just long enough to see the conviction in his eyes. A ghost of a smile flickered across her face before dying. Her shoulders caved in, gaze drifting somewhere distant. "Doesn't matter now anyway..."
"What?" Ekko edged closer instinctively. A cold knot twisted in his gut. It couldn't be that bad. Not if her Ekko was still—
"Dead." The word fell like a guillotine. She curled tighter into herself, face buried in her knees. "Gone."
The air left Ekko's lungs in a rush.
Oh.
So that's it.
Dead.
The pieces clicked together. Of course Jinx couldn't believe him. Her Ekko had died too soon probably—before he could ever tell her—
"I killed him." The confession tore out of her like shrapnel. "Shoved a grenade right in his face. Boom! Wanted to kill myself—or both of us at once. Not because I wanted him dead!" Her voice cracked. "Just thought... maybe we could do something together again. Like before. Or—I don't know. Didn't think. Just pulled the pin." A hollow laugh. "Joke's on me, right? I lived. He didn't. Because I'm Jinx. Everyone who gets close—" Her fingers clawed at her own arms. "Even you. Even Isha..."
Ekko listened, heart hammering against his ribs like it wanted to escape. He wanted to scream. To sob. Why was the universe so cruel to them? He'd always believed what he and Powder had was sacred. Impossible. Because it seemed impossible to love someone so much. That every version of them had to find each other—whether as twin flowers on a stem or binary stars burning side by side.
But a world where they weren't just apart, but enemies? Where Powder—
No. Call him delusional, but he refused to accept it.
Yet none of that horror compared to the ice flooding his veins when he realized—
"You tried to kill yourself?" The words tasted like ash.
Jinx's entire body tensed up—shoulder blades pinching together, fingers carving crescent moons into her forearms. Ekko's breath stalled.
He moved without thinking. One moment he was frozen—the next, he'd swept her into his arms, collapsing to the floor. His face pressed into the hollow of her stomach, ear straining—
Thud-thud. Thud-thud.
Her heart hammered against his cheek. Alive. She's alive. The relief nearly choked him.
Ekko burrowed closer, nose brushing the space between her ribs as hot tears burned behind his eyelids.
He imagined it, just for a second. He shouldn't have, but…
Against his will, the image came: his Powder, lifeless. By her own hand. His soul fracturing beyond repair. He couldn't—wouldn't—survive that. If she ever chose to leave, he'd follow without hesitation. A world without her wasn't one worth breathing in.
Oh.
Suddenly, Jinx's grenade made terrible sense.
Had she known? That her Ekko would rather cease to exist than lose her? That their souls were knotted too tightly for one to linger without the other?
He'd never know. But the way she'd clung to life after destroying half her heart—his strong, shattered girl—
A sob wrenched itself free.
A cool, hesitant hand settled on the back of his head. Jinx's breath came in ragged hitches—like she was the one choking on unshed tears—yet her fingers moved through his hair with unbearable lightness, as if afraid too much pressure might shatter him.
She was trying to soothe him. Just as he'd done for her moments ago.
"S'okay," she whispered, voice raw. "Still breathing. Turns out I'm harder to kill than cockroaches. Unfortunately." A muffled sob shook Ekko's shoulders, and she backpedaled instantly: "Luckily! And if your Powder's like me—which, ugh, fine, she is—she's too stubborn to croak easy. So... quit crying. Please." His name cracked on her tongue: "Ekko."
"You—" He sucked in a shuddering breath, crushing her against his chest hard enough to make her ribs creak. "Don't you dare. Jinx. Don't you fucking think about it. You're—"
"Hey." Her voice softened—the way his Powder's did when peeling back his defenses. "Look at me."
He lifted his head.
Pink eyes held his, brimming with a tenderness so foreign yet devastatingly familiar.
Blink.
Ekko recoiled. "Jinx—you vanished! Just for a second—!"
She sat up with him, though his arms refused to unlock. Her skin now flickered with an eerie cerulean glow, pulsing like a dying star.
"Guess my time's up," she mused, smiling that crooked, bitter smile. "Universe really can't stand me catching a break, huh?"
Ekko's hands turned to stone. His throat sealed shut.
No. No, no, no. He wasn't ready. Not after everything she'd confessed. Ekko refused to let her go—not until he knew she'd be okay. She might not be his Powder, but in some fundamental way, every Powder was his to protect, to hold. This couldn't be how it ended. He—
"Hey, dummy." A cold finger jabbed between his furrowed brows. Jinx wore a grin too wide to be real, her pink eyes glinting like fractured glass in the low light. Ekko's breath hitched. Gods, she was breathtaking. "Quit freaking out. Your Powder's not going anywhere. So go find her. Tell her she's a genius—and stupid-pretty—and all that gross stuff that makes me wanna gag." Her voice wavered. "She'll love it."
Ekko said nothing. Couldn't. He just looked, memorizing every detail, terrified to blink.
Jinx flickered—gone for a heartbeat, then back, her form now edged in unstable cerulean light. She squirmed under his gaze, tongue darting out to wet chapped lips. The attempted smirk collapsed before it began.
"Since I'm getting booted..." She inhaled sharply, then locked onto his eyes with startling intensity. "Say it. Just once."
Ekko exhaled hard. "Say what?"
"Ugh, you ass," she muttered, flicking his nose. When she spoke again, the words fought through sheer humiliation. "You—you said my Ekko loved me. That he was... in love with me. Back then."
"Not just back then," Ekko murmured, drinking her in like she'd dissolve any second.
Jinx huffed. "Yeah, yeah, Romeo. Let me finish." At his obedient silence, she nodded. "If you two are really the same... then..." A swallow. "Could you? Just once? Like you mean it. A... going-away present?"
"I love you."
Jinx blinked. Something fragile and true flickered across her exhausted face.
"Thanks, Ekko." Her eyes traced his features—committing them to memory. Ekko did the same, grip slackening as fresh tears blurred his vision. She leaned in, her cracked lips brushing his forehead in a ghost of a kiss. "And goodbye."
"Jinx, wait—!"
His arms collapsed through empty air. Face met floor with a crack—nose probably broken, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the yawning void in his chest.
It hurts. God, it hurts so much.
Powder. He needed to see his Powder now. His brilliant, maddening girl. His other half. He had to know she was alive, safe—
—or this grief would drag him under forever.
Jinx blinked, her eyes struggling to adjust to the gloom of her hideout.
Well. That was a new level of crazy, even for her.
Her fingers closed around the blue crystal in her pocket—its glow dull against her lifeless stare. With a mechanical motion, she jammed it into her grenade and pushed herself up, bare feet slapping against the steel floor streaked with faded crayon doodles.
Had any of that been real? Or just her fried brain's final fuck-you before the lights went out?
She was too tired to care anymore.
The void yawned before her as she reached the blade's edge. For a heartbeat, she let herself imagine what if—
—then crushed the thought.
It doesn’t matter anymore.
Her thumb pulled the pin.
"Wait!" A voice cut through the silence. "I just… want to talk."