Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You ever think about leaving Zaun? Not forever—just… for a while.”

“Leaving?” 

“Not like running away. Like… someone out there sends you a postcard from a place you’ve never been. Says it’s worth seeing, worth the trip to visit."

“You act like I wouldn’t cross oceans for you, Blue.”

It shifted on her arm, claw tapping against worn leather. Pale feathers shimmered with a hint of violet where the light touched—like dusk held in motion. Three trailing plume-tails curled behind it, braided with a thin ribbon of memory-silk, faded but intact.

She slipped the postcard into its harness. 

“I'm ready this time. Find him.”

The bird blinked once, a gold ring glinting around its iris.

Then vanished into the mist.

It’s been one year since the war in Piltover. 

A year since Zaun rose alongside the resistance—against Ambessa, against Viktor, against the Noxian army and the so-called Glorious Revolution.

A year since Jinx vanished from the twin cities.

A year since one night tethered two lives.

Ekko hadn’t gone a day since without thinking about her.

But like Piltover and Zaun, he kept building—just like he promised.

Zaun and Piltover stood in the fragile hush of reconstruction. The Hexgates hummed again, recalibrated under cautious eyes. The shimmer labs were sealed, their wreckage repurposed into gardens and gathering halls. Council seats shifted, alliances softened, and somewhere under all the noise, people began to look each other in the eye again.

Sevika now sat on the council.

She'd traded her punches for a gavel—though rumor claimed the blade still lived in her coat. She spoke for Zaun with bite and backbone, flanked by Scar, who had become something of a civic architect: youth programs, community hubs, grief circles. Together, they pushed the city forward with a ferocity that even Piltover had learned to respect.

Vi still wore her gauntlets.

But her battles were different now. With Caitlyn at her side, she’d turned toward enforcement reform—negotiating jurisdictional lines and challenging elite Piltover justice from its polished ivory towers. The two had built trust from shared exhaustion... and something else neither spoke of often.

Ekko kept his distance from it all.

His work stayed grounded—in metal, motion, and time.

The Firelights Enclave was no longer just a refuge. It had become a sanctuary—one that kept evolving with its people. 

With the help of Scar and Aven, it had expanded to a school, a workshop, a space where memory met blueprint.

Ekko taught sparingly. Led quietly. Designed more than he spoke. 

Because staying in motion kept grief from anchoring too deep.

But he remembered.

Every day, he remembered that last night—her hand on his chest to steady herself, the tremble in her voice when she said his name, her warmth against his skin. 

They had kissed like the world had stilled. 

They spent the night together as if choosing each other was the only thing that made sense.

And then they parted—eyes open, hearts aching, hands steady.

They wanted to stay. But chose to go.

Not from each other, but for themselves.

He never forgot the promises he’d whispered into her skin:

That when she needed him, he would cross oceans.
And when she was ready to come home, he would be there—home in hand.

He never spoke of it. Not to Vi. Not to Scar.

He held that night like an ember—not to mourn but to protect.

He moved forward for her, not away from her.

He built because he believed she was out there, trying to heal.

Because when she finally saw it—he wanted her to feel it.

That she belonged here.

That she’d never been far from his heart.

To know he was always with her. Even from their distance.

And then… the day came when the bird arrived.

It landed without warning.

A shimmer against the glass. A hush of feathers in the low light.

Ekko was still in his room, seated at the edge of the bed, boots unlaced, hands slack on his knees. Morning was creeping in behind clouded rooftops. His desk bore scattered schematics and solderwork plans, but he hadn’t touched them yet—just stared, mentally aligning a day that hadn’t started.

Then came the tapping.

He turned, expecting wind.

But there it was.

The bird perched at the window—pale feathers lit with violet at the edges, dusk caught mid-flight. Three trailing plume-tails curled behind it, braided with memory-silk, faded but holding.

It blinked once, gold ring gleaming around its iris.

He stood, slow and careful. He didn’t recognize the bird—whether it was from a friend or foe, native to the region or somewhere far. 

The bird didn’t flinch when Ekko stood in front of it. Simply offered him the message bound to its harness.

As soon as the message was between his fingers, the bird took flight once more.

When the bird disappeared from view, he glanced down, realizing it wasn’t a letter—it was a postcard. Handmade.

Ekko took a sharp intake of breath when he recognized the art.

Edges frayed, corners thumb-smudged.

Lanterns painted in motion—some trailing smoke, others glowing steady. One blue flame off-center—waiting.

In the lower corner, almost missed: a tiny sketch of an airship, drifting toward a horizon.

Midway up the right side, a boat carved in two strokes—one for hull, one for river.

Nestled in the top crease, a jagged mountain line. Not imposing—more like a heartbeat caught in the paper grain.

He turned it over. Her handwriting met him like a whisper:

Firefly,
Found a place worth seeing.
Worth a trip to visit.
You coming?

And at the bottom corner, instead of a name: a blue heart.

The ember in his chest kindled brighter into a flame, warming his chest as he read and re-read the words. 

He exhaled—soft, slow. The kind that left room for remembering, to try steadying a quickened heartbeat, in relief knowing she was still alive—in motion. 

His eyes drifted toward the far wall—faint shadows painted months ago. Two handprints, still pressed into the wall. One pink. One blue.

Their goodbye, immortalized in silence. Her mark. His choice to keep it.

He smiled.

She was still out there.

Not gone. Not lost.

Just elsewhere—finding pieces worth returning to.

And maybe… this was her way of saying, it’s time.

The day moved slow, deliberate.

Ekko started with the obvious—tools sorted, workshop logs updated, safety systems checked twice. The Firelights sanctuary had been built to last, but he still spent hours reviewing contingency protocols, sketching out fallback plans, leaving notes tucked between gears and blueprints.

He had walked around the enclave like someone rehearsing absence.

His last absence had happened without his choosing. The wild rune had pulled him out of Zaun like a tide swallowing the moon. But he hadn’t returned empty-handed. The time lost had taught him how to shape systems that didn’t hinge entirely on him—how to fortify a future that didn’t demand his constant presence. Since then, he’d set into motion quiet operations, redundant fail-safes, people trained to lead without leaning. 

He hadn’t planned to leave again, not like this—but the sanctuary could stand now. He was sure of it.

Sevika raised a brow when he told her—more surprise than challenge. She didn’t ask where, just grunted and nodded like something long overdue had finally surfaced. Scar gave a smile that bordered on smug, then clapped him on the shoulder and passed a binder filled with rotation schedules. Aven didn’t say anything at first, just stared for a moment before quietly offering to fill his satchel with food and medical supplies—a care package crafted by the Firelights healer. 

They understood, even if none of them had ever seen him step away.

The Firelights kids were a lot less understanding—especially Ember, who had grown attached to him ever since Jinx had been said to be lost to the war. She didn’t cry, but her expression said plenty. They all did their best to smile, begrudgingly wished him well, and waved him off with reluctant hands and lingering eyes.

Ekko left behind steady rhythms. He’d earned this pause, even if it felt unfamiliar in his own bones.

The final stop was a place he rarely ventured.

He crossed the upper tramline just after dusk, when the fog had rolled in light and slow. Piltover’s spires blurred beneath cloud and lamp-glow, and Zaun’s pulse receded behind him like a heartbeat held in suspension.

The Kiramman estate stood quiet, its gates curled with ivy and security glimmers stitched into the stone. He walked the path up through the courtyard, past the polished stone fountain and vine-choked statues. 

He paused at the threshold of the door.

Then he raised his hand.

And knocked.

The door opened quicker than he expected.

Vi stood framed by warm light and a house that felt lived-in but never entirely hers. She blinked at him once, then tilted her head like she was trying to figure out what pieces he’d left behind to come here like this.

“Heading off to an adventure?” She teased, smirk tugging at one side of her mouth.

He glanced down at the satchel. “Something like that,” he said. “A break. Small one.”

Vi’s brow lifted. “Vacation?”

It wasn’t quite a lie. “Yeah, pretty much. Thought I’d stop by before I headed out.”

She didn’t press—didn’t question the vague tone he was offering. Just stepped back and gestured inside with an easy tilt of her head. “Caitlyn’s still on duty. You’ve got me till shift change.”

The doorway smelled like metal polish and old paper. He took a slow breath, then stepped through like he hadn’t been standing outside it for too long already.

They’d invited him over a few times this past year—casual meetups, friendly check-ins—but he’d never stayed long. The Kiramman estate always felt too polished, too symmetrical, like it hadn’t grown so much as been manufactured. Still, he’d grown to respect Caitlyn, especially after the war. After Ambessa. The way she stood her ground and didn’t flinch.

He followed Vi inside, boots quiet on the tile. 

Everything in the entryway gleamed—metal fixtures burnished to a shine, paintings aligned with surgeon precision, not a speck of dust out of place. It made his fingers twitch. He knew this wasn’t Zaun, but it felt like another world entirely.

Vi led him through the corridor without ceremony, cutting past the archway into the living room where fire from the hearth flickered against trimmed stone. She reached for a half-full wine bottle on the counter of the small bar area—something Piltover-grown and vineyard-approved—poured herself a glass with muscle memory, then offered him water. Ekko nodded. His usual whenever he came. The Piltover drinks always tasted like they’d forgotten the point, and he’d given up trying to find one for his simple taste.

The living room was quiet—too quiet, if he thought about it. 

Ekko sank into the armchair near the window, satchel resting against his leg, posture half-guarded, his cup of water placed on the coffee table in front of him. The fire crackled low in the hearth across from him, casting gold shadows that danced over bookshelves and polished wood. Everything about the space screamed Piltover: organized warmth, intentional ease. A kind of comfort that had to be learned.

Vi crossed the room like she lived in it—barefoot, relaxed, a cloth slung over her shoulder from cleaning something he hadn’t seen. She dropped onto the opposite couch, loose-limbed and watching him with eyes that knew too much.

“So,” she started to say, “you wanting to see the sights? Everything okay, Little Man?”

Ekko let the silence stretch just long enough before answering. “Just heading out for a week or so. Change of scenery.”

Vi tilted her head. “That all?”

He gave her a faint smirk. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

She chuckled, tossing the cloth onto a side table. “You deserve one, honestly. But knowing you, it’s not just for the scenery.”

He shrugged, letting the pause do the talking.

Her gaze lingered before a smile formed. “Whatever the reason, I trust it’s a good one.”

Ekko nodded, resting his elbow on the armrest, fingers tapping once against the leather. “Scar’s prepped to cover things at the sanctuary. He’s been keeping tabs on rotation schedules anyway. Crew’s solid. They’ve got this.”

Vi leaned back, one ankle resting atop the other, arms folding. Her voice was softer now, drifting toward the firelight. “I’m glad. And I mean it—I think it’s good, this vacation. For you to breathe a little.”

Tilting his head, he glanced in her direction. “How are you and Cait?”

Vi snorted, swirling the liquid in her wine glass. “Still oil and water.”

Ekko raised a brow, waiting, already feeling the amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“But we’re getting better at mixing,” she added, a grin stretching slow across her face. “We actually talk now. Even when we’re mad. She makes space for me to be me. I let her be right once in a while.”

Ekko laughed. “Bet she documents every victory.”

Vi rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered. “Oh, absolutely. There’s probably a whole log somewhere. Vault-sealed.”

He propped his head up with a hand on the armchair, a warm smile showing.

“I’m happy for you,” he said, genuine.

She paused at that, just for a heartbeat. The sincerity curled in her chest in ways she hadn’t expected.

“Thanks,” she said, returning his smile. “Really.”

As Vi settled into the couch across from him, Ekko leaned back into the armchair, letting the firelight warm one side of his face. His gaze wandered—not aimless, just untethered—until it landed on the shelf above the hearth.

Photographs lined the mantle in quiet symmetry.

One of Vi and Caitlyn, mid-laugh, elbows thrown into each other like they’d been caught teasing between patrols. Another of the two alongside Caitlyn’s father, hands clasped and smiling—not performative, just proud, accepting. The frame next to it showed the ceremony: Caitlyn standing tall in her enforcer blues, eyes fierce beneath the banner of Piltover’s crest, newly appointed Sheriff. And beside it—Ekko’s breath slowed.

The last photo.

He remembered that day.

Vi, Sevika, Scar, and himself—Caitlyn could be seen in the crowd—lined up against the mural wall in Zaun, paint still drying behind them. Lanterns strung overhead. The mural had stretched the length of the alley—a vibrant chaos of color, outlined in flame and memory. And right there, in the center: Jinx.

Not wild. Not broken.

Just… remembered.

Her short blue hair and teal bangs windswept. Shark hood perched around her shoulders. Half-smile smeared across neon skies.

Right underneath it were two imperfect lines—pink and blue—that stretched across the wall. As if done by two carefree rebellious individuals who had left behind a mark of love for each other. 

A story told only to Ekko by Jinx. A mural painted by the community coming together. 

With his voice low, hesitant, Ekko asked, “Do you ever think about her?”

Vi’s gaze lifted sharply, then softened again, realizing what he was looking at. “Powder?”

He nodded, not quite meeting her eyes.

Ever since the war, Vi and Ekko had found themselves referring to her as Powder instead of Jinx. Not as a way to forget who she was as Jinx, but to remember the young girl who they wouldn’t allow to be forgotten.

“All the time,” Vi said. “Even when I don’t mean to.”

She looked down, thumb grazing the edge of her glass.

“There isn’t a day that goes by where I wish…” Her voice thinned. “Where I wish I’d told her more. That she didn’t have to be anyone else. Not for me. Not for Zaun.”

Ekko didn’t speak right away—listening, looking. 

He watched Vi’s shoulders curl inward slightly—like each word cost her a breath.

Then he said, voice quieter still: “I’m sure wherever she is… she’ll get your message one day.”

Vi glanced up at him, eyes narrowing in silent suspicion. Something about the way he said it. Like he knew more than he let on.

But Ekko held her gaze with practiced deflection, brow arched just enough. “Just saying.”

She let it go— for now.

Maybe because somewhere inside, she still hoped, too.

Vi leaned back, lifting the glass again. “What about you? Still miss her? We haven’t talked about her, just between us, since… everything.”

Ekko’s eyes flicked toward his satchel—barely a glance. “More than I should admit.”

She scoffed softly, the memory of the war tugging at her. “It still blows my mind—you two were a thing. I mean, I knew you had a crush on her when we were kids but—”

“Tch. I did not,” he immediately interjected, pink tinging his cheeks.

“Oh, you so did, Little Man.” Her grin broke through, teasing but familiar. “It was pretty obvious you wanted her to be your Little Lady. Can’t hide anything from me.”

The memory of Benzo from the alternate timeline using that same nickname for Powder drifted across his mind.

Ekko rolled his eyes, but it wasn’t out of irritation.

The laugh that stirred in his chest wasn’t at Vi’s words—it was at how close she was to the truth. That if she pressed just a little harder… the postcard tucked in his satchel might give too much away.

He took a breath, grounding himself again. “Wherever she is… I know she wouldn’t want the past to be holding me back.”

Vi watched him for a long moment, the teasing faded. Her voice gentle. “Maybe not. But it’s okay to carry her with you.”

Ekko glanced up, still. “Is that what you're doing?”

“Every damn day.” 

Vi’s mouth pulled into a familiar grim line. Her thumb brushed the rim of her wine glass again, slow and deliberate.

“In her words... even when we’re worlds apart, she’s always with me.”

The laugh that stirred in his chest now began to mildly ache. 

He watched Vi—the lines etched into her face deeper than they had been a year ago. He’d seen her grieve in fragments. Not loudly. Not publicly. But in the way she fell quiet around certain alleyways. In the way she’d stop mid-sentence when Jinx’s name surfaced. In the way her hands would tighten anytime Zaun's murals came into view.

She had been shocked when he first told her—months ago—that just before the war, he and Jinx had found each other again. He told Vi about the wild rune, the alternate timeline, coming back to reappear and face the moment where they could've lost Jinx forever. He confessed it was messy, but he and Jinx had found the broken parts, letting the jagged pieces meet the light. He’d told her enough to explain it wasn’t just forgiveness. It had been deeper than that. Friendship rethreaded. Feelings acknowledged. It hadn’t been simple, but it had been real.  

Vi hadn’t judged. She’d just listened. And then gripped his shoulder like it cost her something. She’d smiled—soft, bittersweet—then offered sympathy he hadn’t known he needed. She understood the ache of wanting more time. The kind that hums beneath the surface even when the world keeps moving.

But Ekko hadn’t told her everything.

Not about the rooftop. Not about her voice appearing that night.

Not about how their last night together still lived in the corners of his room.

He let Vi believe what the city believed—that Jinx had been lost in the chaos after the war, another cloud swallowed by the sky.

And now, as he sat here in her home, preparing to see Jinx again—knowing she was alive, knowing she had reached out—he felt the guilt settle low in his ribs.

Not because he had hope.

But because Vi didn’t.

And he couldn't bring himself to steal her grief away until Jinx chose to return.

Ekko's fingers flexed restlessly against the edge of his chair, the faint click of metal stitched into his fingerless gloves on wood echoing in the hush. Guilt hadn’t left—not really—but it had softened into something quieter, something that let him breathe. Barely.

Trying to shake the weight sitting in his chest, Ekko glanced up, meeting Vi’s gaze.

“Hey,” he said, voice low. “I might need your advice on something.”

Vi leaned forward, forearms on her knees, chin tilted just enough to make her skeptical.

“What’s up, Little Man?”

He hesitated. “I’ve got this… friend. Visiting his girlfriend. They’ve been apart a long time, and he’s trying to figure out what kind of gift might make her happy when they see each other again.”

Her breath hitched just slightly, eyes wide in surprise. “Y—you met someone?”

Ekko coughed, brushing it off. “My friend.”

“A friend, huh?” She echoed, lips quirking.

Ekko nodded, but the heat crawling up his neck betrayed him. He glanced sideways at the floor, like the dim concrete might absorb the moment.

Vi didn’t call him out. Not really. She didn’t have to.

“Well,” she said slowly, putting her glass on the coffee table, “congrats to your ‘friend.’ Not sure why he’s suddenly being so secretive, but I’ll respect his privacy.” She took a second, meeting his gaze with genuine warmth. “Glad he found someone. After... everything.” Her voice dropped a register, suddenly rough. “Not that I didn’t want him to. Just—” 

She stopped herself, a smile making its way to her face as she shook her head. 

“Guess I should’ve known better.”

Ekko caught her glance, and for a second, he understood what she meant—that she thought he’d have a hard time moving on after losing Jinx. 

Before Jinx had shown up on that rooftop that fated night, he remembered thinking he’d never be able to find the same connection he had with her ever again. So, on some level, Vi had assumed correctly. 

“I’m happy for him,” Vi added, interrupting his thoughts. “Really. Sounds like he found someone who makes him feel... happy. Enough to suddenly take a vacation to see her.”

He smiled, a small breath escaping with it. 

“What’s she like?”

He leaned back at the question, taking a moment to consider. A small smile started forming on his face as blue hair wisped through his memory. “She’s—funny. Smart. Dramatic.”

Vi arched a brow. “Sounds like a riot. So, what’s he thinking for a gift?”

Ekko’s gaze drifted to his satchel where the postcard was tucked away. “Something personal. Not flashy. Something to remind her… that he remembers. That he’s still hers, even if he can’t always be there.”

“She into gearwork?” Vi asked, already thinking ahead.

He nodded. “Yeah, actually.”

“Then you—” She caught herself, clearing her throat, “ your friend should make something. Doesn’t have to be perfect. Just... real.”

Ekko looked down, eyes tracing the faint scars along his palms. His thoughts turned—a gear pendant etched with her chaotic glyphs, a pulse-light gadget rigged to beat in time with his, a voice box hidden inside a scrap grenade. But none of it felt right. 

He wanted something quieter. Something she’d stumble on and maybe laugh at, maybe cry. To keep with her whenever she needed a reminder of him. 

He didn’t notice the silence until it stretched. Like the gap between heartbeats.

Ekko looked up. Vi was watching him. No teasing now—just a wry smile, half-hidden in the shadows.

“Thanks, Vi,” he said, voice soft.

She gave a slow nod, leaning back into the dark. “Glad to be of service… to your friend.”

“Thanks for chatting with me for a bit,” he said, voice low. He stood up and grabbed his satchel from the floor. “I should get going. Still need to take care of a few more things before I take the airship in the morning.” He shifted the weight of his satchel, fingers fussing with the frayed strap. 

Vi gave him a nod, arms crossed loosely. “Yeah. Thanks for stopping by. Safe trip. Hope she ends up liking the gift.”

She pushed to her feet, stepping closer almost on instinct. The room felt smaller now, like the walls were listening in. She hesitated, one arm half-lifted before dropping it again.

They stood there—close, but not quite close enough. The soft hum of Piltover's skyline buzzed faintly through the window, while the scent of oil and polished steel clung to the furniture Vi now called home. And Ekko, with his soot-streaked boots and Zaun-dusted cuffs, looked every bit like the place he'd come from.

They’d rebuilt a bridge between them, sure—but there were still rivers beneath it. 

They’d both survived more than they ever expected to. That alone stitched something strong between them. Respect, maybe. Gratitude. A kind of soft ache for the days when their lives tangled naturally—when laughter came easier and leaving didn’t carry weight.

And now…

Vi lived in neat corridors with Caitlyn’s quiet stability, reforming and empowering. Ekko thrived in the hidden corners of Zaun, building and restoring. They weren’t kids anymore. Just two people going through the motions and having different lives who used to share one.

Vi cleared her throat. That ache in her chest? She didn’t know what it was. 

Ignoring the ache as she tends to do, a thought crossed her mind as their gazes met once more.

“So,” she said, lips curling into a smirk, “you need any tips for under the sheets? I’d call myself a subject matter expert at this point.”

Ekko choked. “Vi—seriously?”

Before he could recoil, she looped an arm around his neck and pulled him into a headlock. 

“C’mon, Little Man. I’m just trying to help. Cait says my delivery’s blunt—I say it’s efficient.”

His face flushed, trying to twist free. “You are not whispering this in my ear.”

“Oh, but I’ve got great advice locked and loaded. Timing. Rhythm. Posture—”

“Okay, nope, I’m out.” He pried himself loose, half-laughing, half-embarrassed. “I think I’m good in that department.”

He meant it to sound dismissive. Like he wanted to just move on from the subject. But Vi tilted her head, mischief flickering.

“Oh?” She blinked, mock-dramatic. “Ekko’s not a virgin? I shouldn’t be as shocked as I am considering how old you are.” She put her hands on her hips with a grin. “Guess it’s hard for me to see past the short twerp who tripped over his feet trying to impress my baby sister once upon a time.” 

The flush deepens, and Ekko has to face palm to cover his face, a groan audible at the back of his throat. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re easy to mess with.” Her grin broadened as she stepped back. “Maybe Little Man’s not so little after all.”

Ekko blushed deeper, but the smile tugging at his lips spoke for him.

“Don’t worry,” Vi said, leaning in just enough to make him squirm. “I won’t ruin your mysterious traveler vibe. Go win her over. But when you come back?” She pointed at her own eyes, then at him. “I’m demanding details.”

Ekko rolled his eyes, already halfway to the door. But in that moment, surrounded by Piltover marble and Zaun-born memories, he felt it—gratitude. Pure and unspoken.

They didn’t speak it aloud. Didn’t need to. It lived in the way Vi had hesitated when reaching for a hug, the way Ekko lingered just a little too long before heading for the door. A quiet knowing: they weren’t who they were, and wouldn’t be again—but the care hadn’t left. Not for a second.

Vi called out after him, “Tell your ‘friend’ I’d love to meet his girlfriend one day!”

Ekko lifted a hand in farewell, his silhouette vanishing past the polished archways.

The airship tilted gently as it descended through low cloud cover, the engines humming a dull rhythm beneath Ekko’s boots. He stood at the observation window, arms folded, watching Ionia unfurl beneath him in mist-veiled green. Peaks rose like folded silk from the valley floor, their slopes stitched with cherry blossom groves and mineral streams that caught the light like veins of breathless crystal.

After Zaun's jagged rebuild and Piltover’s polished steel, Ionia felt like a dream colored in watercolor. The kind of silence that meant peace, not tension. A place that didn’t demand anything from him.

The Firelights Sanctuary flickered in his mind. This wasn’t the same. But it echoed.

Maybe that’s why she came here.

He pictured Jinx—post-war, raw and untethered—wandering wildflower paths, chaos trailing behind like a ribbon unraveled. This land wouldn’t ask her to change. Wouldn’t ask her to answer. There was space to breathe. To fracture. To build. 

And maybe, for once, nobody demanded she pick a side.

His fingers drifted toward the satchel slung across his chest—the gift nestled inside, hidden, waiting.

He had stayed up all night working on the gift before catching the first airship to depart at dawn. 

Sketching. Refining. Carving. Tinkering.

He had been able to get sleep the first night during the flight, but the anticipation got to him on the second night, keeping him awake. 

He was excited. Nervous. 

Mostly nervous.

He fidgeted with his red scarf, tugging it into place.

He wasn’t sure if he was ready.

Wasn’t sure if she was.

He thought about their last night together, the memory surfacing—unprompted, vivid.

“…Was a good night, huh?” 

“Yeah. Just us. Just ours.”

"Maybe we’ll have another one like it beyond this place?"

“We will.”

It hadn’t been dramatic. No explosions. No promises carved in gunmetal.

Just two people holding on for a few hours longer than they thought they deserved. 

Since then, he poured himself into motion—mentoring, building, translating memory into blueprint. A whole year of progress. A quiet ache behind the wins.

“Don’t wait for me. You’ve got your own thing to build.”

“This owl only sees blue.”

And now... she was asking him to come.

Ekko looked down as the land came closer—soft angles, terraced cliffs, lanterns strung across moss-covered archways. Water gardens carved into the mountainside, glowing like memory laid into stone.

Did they know who she was? The chaos she'd carried? The ghosts she left behind?

No. That was the point.

Ionia didn’t know Jinx.

Maybe it knew a girl named Powder. Or some name she stitched together out of sketches and dusk. But not the girl with the grenades. Not the name that burned on wanted posters.

He watched the wind ripple through temple flags. Caught the scent of cherry blossoms ghosting across the filtered air.

She came here for stillness. For something new. A place where she wasn’t a warning.

He exhaled slowly.

Please let her be okay.
Let her want this— me —still.

The airship dipped lower.

And the landing bell chimed.

The airship touched down with barely a whisper, its hex-plated wings folding like petals as the engines dimmed. They landed on a moss-cushioned platform beside a monastery port, where hooded monks offered quiet nods before disappearing into lantern-lined corridors.

Ekko stepped off the ramp, boots meeting wood softened by rain and memory.

The moment his feet touched the ground, the wind changed.

Not Zaun’s humid thrum. Not Piltover’s sterile chill.

Ionia exhaled warmth—earth-rich, slow, as if even the air had learned how to breathe.

He pulled the hood of his jacket over his head, gaze shifting across the port.

Because he had given Jinx his jacket a year ago, he’d taken to wearing a new one—one that was less about practicality, more about remembering.

Styled more like a sweater, it clung close: one sleeve tucked beneath fingerless gloves, cropped fabric just below his navel. The hood formed the head of an owl, patchwork stitched in deep greens and blues—a single pink stitch at his wrist-cuff, the same hand that would hold his stopwatch. Tribute. Reminder. Marker of where he'd been—and who he hadn’t let go.

As if the wind knew his path, a breeze curled gently around him, nudging his gaze toward the dock.

A ferryman waited, gestures minimal, respectful. The boat was handcrafted—wood grain polished to a sheen, glyphs etched where story met spirit.

Ekko boarded in silence, and eventually, the boat began to drift toward the opening of a river.

The river twisted through shimmering valleys. Water slipped through mineral trenches like silk, cherry petals drifting atop it like thoughts left unsaid.

Near the bow, Ekko sat with arms folded over his knees, lanterns passing overhead in slow, steady rhythm.

One lantern bore a painted gear. His breath caught.

He pulled the postcard from his satchel again—airship, boat, mountain, blue flame. Each symbol pulsing now with quiet intent.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, carefully, he reached deeper and pulled out a cylindrical container. Inside, something older.

Their map.

Edges tattered, ink bled along its lines, but the soul of it remained. With practiced care, he flattened it against his knee—the creases groaning like old hinges.

Runeterra, as drawn by two kids. Wild arcs. Sketched monsters. Borders that made no sense and starlines that stretched forever.

He remembered their last night together in Zaun.

A map that once started as childhood dreams was finished that night, a promise unspoken between them. 

She’d added the upper ranges of Ionia, mountains curving like laughter, rivers sneaking between cliffs like whispered secrets.

He’d watched her hand hover—careful in a way she rarely let herself be.

Now, the symbols she’d left on the postcard traced those same lines.

Airship—he’d seen the sketch tucked beneath the northeast cloudline.
Boat—where the river vein thinned into a braided path.
Mountain—high corner, with a small flame drawn next to a ridge that resembled nothing at all. Unless you knew to look.

It wasn’t precise. But it felt like her.

He rolled the map carefully, returning it to its container. His eyes scanned the mist ahead.

The village remained unnamed. Unmarked.

Jinx had always been truthful in her own language.

He couldn’t say he knew how to fully understand her, not yet. But he was learning—by heart, by hope, by the silences she left behind.

As he stored the map and placed it back into his satchel, he took a deep breath, knowing he was getting closer to her.

Eventually, the boat slowed at a reticent landing shrouded in soft mist and root-bound stone.The ferryman gave a single nod. Ekko stepped off.

Stilllight Village didn’t arrive all at once. It eased into view—homes nestled against mineral cliffs glowing faintly from within. Cherry blossoms bloomed overhead. Lanterns swayed low.

And somewhere past the outer ridge, he knew she was there.

Ekko adjusted his satchel, eyes drinking in the scene. Terraces climbed toward distant heights, softened by creeping moss and strings of colored lanterns. A cherry blossom drifted past his cheek, curling like it had somewhere to be.

Damn.

His fingers reached for a vine trailing from an overhead archway—soft, damp, alive. Like the old tree at the Firelight enclave. The one he used to sit beneath when time felt too heavy and he needed gravity that didn’t hurt.

This whole place felt like his tree. Like somewhere people didn’t run, just stayed .

She came here for this, he thought.

To slow down. To be unknown. To stop being the ghost everyone feared—and let herself become someone new.

He glanced around. A thought hit him—slow, sharp.

How do I find her?

There’d been no name. No address. Just the postcard.

His gaze shifted. Something stirred at the edge of his vision.

And then—he saw it.

There—tucked against the stone ledge beneath a carved lotus bloom. 

A symbol. Faint but deliberate.

A green hourglass. Outlined by a messy, asymmetric blue heart.

His chest tightened.

No one else noticed. Subtle enough to vanish into the background.

But he saw it.

His feet moved—closer. He reached out, fingers grazing the paint.

The sun dipped toward the horizon. Shadows blanketed the village. And in the fading light, the paint began to softly glow.

He studied the symbol. Traced its lines.

Fresh. But smeared.

Like it was meant only for him. A signal designed to disappear unless you knew where—and how—to look.

If it had rained, it would’ve been gone.

He scanned the cliffside.

Another mark. Lower down, near a lantern pole.

Then one more—tucked beneath a bench leg.

All in sequence. Not loud. Not obvious.

Just enough to catch a timekeeper’s eye.

Ekko smiled.

She’d built him a trail.

He adjusted his satchel, squared his shoulders, and started walking.

The path curled upward along the cliffside, symbols half-hidden in wildflowers and etched into stone worn smooth by generations of wind. The trail thinned as it climbed—less a road, more a whisper guiding him away from the living village and into solitude.

Below, Ionia stretched in full bloom: terraced orchards, winding rivers gleaming gold in the dusk, shrines shaped like petals unfolding toward the sky, the scenery growing bright as scattered lanterns began to light in the twilight.

It felt alive in a way Zaun never had. Not because Zaun wasn’t real, but because Ionia remembered the earth—welcomed it. And for a breath, Ekko felt like he’d stepped into one of his old sketches. Drawings from years ago when escape meant more than survival.

Here, nature wasn’t background. It was architecture.

The cliff narrowed again. More symbols—a green hourglass inside a blue heart. Hand-painted. Just messy enough to be hers.

When the sun finally disappeared beneath the skyline, the glow of the symbols were more visible. 

Each one brighter than the last as he continued the climb. 

And like a sketch coming to life, it appeared.

A hollow carved into the mountain’s edge. Not empty. Not abandoned.

Alive.

Strings of handmade trinkets swayed at the entrance—gear fragments threaded into wind chimes, crystal shards scattering light. A patchwork flag stitched from fabric scraps fluttered gently from a branch.

His heart kicked. Hard. Bright.

Every doubt dissolved.

This was her.

This was real. This was her home.

His final steps echoed as he stood at the mouth of the cave. 

From inside the shadowed cave, her voice cut through like a match struck in silence—

“One whole ocean, huh? I’m starting to think you meant it.”

Chapter Text

“One whole ocean, huh?” 

Her voice echoed down the stone throat of the cave—half a tease, half a truth.

Soft footsteps followed as her silhouette began to form through the dim glow—emerging from shadow, stepping into the lantern-lit haze.

“I’m starting to think you meant it.”

His eyes adjusted to the dusk-wrapped shadows, but he didn’t need perfect light to know it was her.

Her silhouette leaned against the curve of the cave wall, haloed in the glow of flickering crystal lanterns. Somewhere off to the side, a wind chime clinked—soft, metallic, unmistakably handmade. The kind of decoration only she would piece together from scrap and memory. 

His fingers tightened around the satchel strap.

Ekko smiled, breath catching in his throat. He pulled back his owl hood. 

“I did say I’d cross oceans for you, Blue.”

With a clap—resounding, sharp, and familiar—light burst forth. Lanterns flared to life at her signal, casting a haze of yellow and blue across the cave. It was just enough for them to see each other, lit against the twilight fading down the mountain path behind him.

They stood there—quiet, suspended.

And then their eyes met.

Like a wave rising.

Her buzzed blue hair had grown over the past year, now softened into a short bob that brushed the base of her neck. The once-faded dye had deepened back into her natural blue—vivid and deliberate. Her long bangs, parted to the left, split into two braids that wrapped like a crown, framing her bareface in quiet grace, the ends tied together with a single thread of Ionian silk—off-white and frayed, but still luminous.

She wore a skin-tight halter top, dark and sleeveless, stopping just beneath her bust. A leather armband clung to her upper arm—weathered, scratched. Her shorts were rugged and practical, scraps and seams woven with a mixture of what looked like Zaunite cloth and Ionia fabric. Over her shorts was an Ionian wrap-skirt flowing from a knot at her waist, open in the front so the fabric trailed behind her like a ribbon caught in a breeze. It bore faded spiral motifs and soft windstroke embroidery.

She stood barefoot, but the faint tan line at her ankles suggests she typically would wear boots. One ankle held a two-toned green-threaded anklet—the colors recognizable if you’d ever been with the Firelights. It gleamed faintly when she stepped, catching the light like memory made wearable.

And through it all, he could still see the soft traces of her ink-cloud tattoos that curled along her torso and trailed the curve of her arm. They peeked out beneath the wrap of her top and the sweep of her skirt like lingering echoes—smudges of storm and sky. 

It was still her—still unmistakably Jinx—but in the way her braidwork was neater, her stance more rooted, her chaos dialed into rhythm… there was a steadiness Ekko hadn’t seen before. Like she’d been sleeping through the night. Eating. Breathing. Choosing to exist.

He’d anticipated her looking different. He’d braced for change. He hadn’t braced for this.

Ekko felt like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

Jinx stared back, heart thudding. 

She hadn’t known what to expect. Everything about him hit different. A good different. 

His buzzed sides remained, but his locs had grown—no longer tied in the half-bun she once styled, now swept into a loose half-ponytail that rose with each breath. His pulled back owl hood rested around his shoulders, the attached sweater cutting off just below his chest. Underneath his sweater, he wore a charcoal vest layered over a maroon shirt, the fabric worn but intact, shaped by time and work. A red scarf circled his neck, familiar and weathered, the same one she'd seen him wear in the aftermath—in the final battle, later on the rooftop, and even later that night as he threw it carelessly to the side to ignite a flame within her. 

The white hourglass still marked his face, painted fresh, stretching from brow to nose like a vow carried forward. Seeing it in front of her now brought a wave of nostalgia and warmth over her skin.

His fingerless gloves had metal plates—braced against the back of his hands like he'd been building things that didn’t want to stay built. She noticed the patchwork on his pants, the stitched Firelights cloth, the careful utility of every seam. The belt at his waist was sturdy, scuffed, and coiled with the silver chain of his stopwatch—wound tight, like he still measured time even when it felt like it had unraveled.

His frame had broadened, his jawline edged sharper, but the deeper shift lived in the quiet between his movements. In the way he looked at her: with the calm of someone who had kept walking forward—with her in mind, for her, as if he’d never stopped being beside her.

She grinned. Something warm ignited in her chest.

The wave crashed.

And suddenly, she broke into a sprint—like gravity pulling her. Toward him, only him, as if the rest of the world had fallen away.

Ekko dropped his satchel carefully to the floor without looking. Took one step—then another—and caught her mid-air as she leapt, legs locking around his waist, arms wound tightly around his neck.

Like she did that one night—like it was just yesterday yet so long ago. 

He held her so tightly, like gravity finally made sense.

Like every second had led to this one. 

Laughter broke from her chest as she buried her face in his scarf, breath shaky with joy.

“I’ve missed your voice saying my name.”

He chuckled, eyes damp, forehead resting against hers.

“I’ve missed hearing you laugh.”

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, grinning like she wasn’t sure how to contain the relief.

“Is it a bad time to admit I sent you across the world…” she said, teasing resurfacing, “just because I missed your scarf?”

Still wrapped around his neck—she slid it off in one motion, draping it over her own shoulders like it belonged there.

Ekko blinked, half-laughing. “I’ve been here four seconds and you’re already stealing my clothes?”

“Hey Firefly,” she chided, “you gave me your jacket— insisted on it, even.”

“And now the scarf. Completing the ensemble. Wow, Blue.” He rolled his eyes, but the moment she called him Firefly, warmth flared through him. He tightened his hold around her, pulling her flush against him. “Didn’t know you missed me that bad.”

She leaned in, grin curling sharp and bright.

“Four seconds in, and still no kiss? Thought you’d mastered time travel.”

His breath caught. Eyes dipped to her lips, then rose again—lids lowering like surrender.

“I see you’re still as impatient as ever.”

Jinx’s grin lowered, the overwhelming warmth taking over, and she leaned her forehead against his.

“Actually,” she murmured, “I’ve been practicing patience a lot this past year. Funny how someone from your past dances back in… and something quiet inside you starts moving again.”

Ekko blinked slowly, a faint shimmer of nostalgia chasing the curve of his smile. For a second, it felt like that night in Zaun again—the music, the motion, her.

Their faces were so close now, teasing smirks lowering into warm, open smiles.

Neither moved for a moment.

Ekko’s breath mingled with hers in the hush between heartbeats, anticipation tightening the air.

They leaned in together—achingly slow, like they’d forgotten how to rush.

When their lips met, it wasn’t fiery, not yet. Just a brush—barely there. Reverent. Remembered.

And in that soft touch, it was all there:

The memory of the Zaun night sky on the rooftop, their breaths held in nervousness, cheeks flushed from the prospect of experiencing something new.

But this time, instead of chasing clouds, they kissed with the gravity of knowing—what had been lost, what had endured, what was still possible.

The kiss deepened—imperfect and incandescent.

Not rushed. Not desperate.

Just two people rediscovering warmth in a shape they’d never quite let go of.

And when they finally pulled back, the space between them didn’t feel empty.

It felt full.

Heavy with memory. Light with possibility.

Her forehead touched his, breath still shared.

He smiled first. She echoed it without thinking.

Outside, the world was quiet.

Inside, everything had started moving again.

And somewhere in the distance—whether real or remembered—a lantern floated skyward, golden and slow.

Not a spark.

Not a crash.

Just light, rising.

Like them.

Ekko didn’t let go—not right away. Jinx was still wrapped around him, arms tight, legs hooked at his waist like the moment hadn’t caught up yet. Their foreheads brushed, breath shared in silence.

“I’m glad you came,” she murmured, gazing deeply into him, almost as if afraid he would disappear if she looked away. 

A half-smile tugged at Ekko’s mouth, his own gaze softening. “Your hints helped.” He started to lower her gently to the floor. “I also got help from a map made by two reckless kids with ambitious dreams for the future.”

She eased down, bare feet landing soft on the ground. One of his hands lingered at her waist before he reached down to unlatch the flap to his satchel, pulling out the cylindrical container.

As soon as he had carefully taken out the rolled up and frayed parchment, just enough for it to peek out of the container, Jinx’s eyes softened in recognition. Her fingers traced the edge, the pads of her fingertips feeling the familiar material, catching glimpses of faded childlike doodles inside.

“I’m still surprised that you kept this,” she said. “I guess finishing that map meant something after all.”

Ekko nodded, remembering that night—her picking up a pen and making a mark, him drawing another landmark, them continuing an unspoken dream. 

He closed the container with care and slid it away back into the safety of his satchel. 

He threw the strap of his satchel over his shoulder before casting his gaze briefly to the scenic view of Ionia behind them. “Was this the plan? Coming here?” 

“Not exactly," she admitted, following his gaze. "I wanted out. When we worked on the map together that night, I started seeing where I could go next. Somewhere different than Zaun. So, I ended up here. This place... it felt quiet.” Jinx tilted her head, gaze flicking past him toward the cave mouth. “And I stayed. Figured out a few things.”

His eyes followed hers into the cave, this time really seeing. The lights of the lanterns pulsed soft and steady against the stone, casting patches of gold and blue across the space.

Crates were stacked, edges worn, lids cracked from use. A firepit sat in the center—ash settled cold inside. One corner held a cluttered workbench covered in scraps and sketches. A tucked-away alcove had a folded blanket, two mismatched bowls, a tiny bundle of dried herbs tucked beside a jar.

It looked lived in once… but now looked more like a storage, a temporary shelter. 

“You lived here?” 

“For a while,” she said, voice soft. “Not anymore. But this place mattered. I wanted you to see where it started.”

Her hand drifted to his, fingers brushing lightly before settling. It wasn’t uncertain—just careful, like reaching for a memory she wasn’t sure would still hold.

She intertwined their fingers together slowly, testing the shape of closeness. For a breath, she didn’t look at him.

Then—

His thumb grazed the back of her hand. Gentle. Sure.

When she looked up, Ekko’s gaze was already on hers, warm and steady, like he felt the same fragile hope.

Her breath caught just slightly. The smile that bloomed wasn’t surprised, but deeply relieved.

She tipped her chin toward the cave and gave his hand a subtle tug. “Come on.”

Her steps echoed softly as she moved deeper into the cave. Ekko followed, the space narrowing and curving until it opened into a rounded chamber. The air was cooler here. Lanterns flickered from small hooks—soft gold light painting everything in a warm haze.

Jinx paused, then gestured gently toward the far wall.

“I… made something,” she said quietly. “Took a page outta your book, Firefly.”

Ekko stepped forward, eyes scanning the mural. Painted directly onto uneven rock, faintly visible under the lantern light. 

The paint was rough. Uneven. Not symmetrical or delicate. But it sang.

A firelight bloomed from the center, its shape imperfect but bold, like a burst of hope. Behind it, an abstract tree unfurled—branches curling into bright streaks of sky blue, gentle pinks, mossy green. Like memory threading into growth. Symbols dotted the edges—pink Xs, blue hearts, green hourglasses. 

Each mark echoing something they’d shared, layered over something she’d tried to rebuild.

“When I first found this place,” she said, her tone growing quiet as she began to recall those earlier moments, “I painted this. It kept me feeling like I wasn’t alone. Like… maybe someone was still watching. Protecting me.”

She moved to the lantern closest to the wall and quietly turned it off, one by one. Shadows deepened. And then—

The paint came alive.

Luminescent strokes shimmered in the dark, casting a soft glow across Ekko’s face. The firelight centerpiece pulsed gently, surrounded by scattered trails of luminescent ink. Blues and greens curled around the tree’s shape like mist.

Ekko’s chest tightened. He reached out slowly, fingers hovering just shy of the wall.

Jinx stepped beside him, gaze lifted to the wall. “Wasn’t about getting it right. I just needed somewhere to remember. To feel like I was still connected… to something bigger.”

He hadn’t noticed the rest until he moved his gaze to the floor.

Nestled around the mural were small items placed with care. A yellow colored cloth, similar to the yellow scarf he once had. A rusted gear tied with pink thread. A faded sketch of the Firelight Enclave pinned into a crevice. A coil of wire in the shape of a bird. A stone painted half-pink, half-green. A quilt with stitches of blue and green.

He didn’t need a blueprint to see what this was.

It was a shrine.

It was belief. Memory. Love. 

Scattered in symbols across stone like a whispered promise.

This was her way of saying: I remember. This place let me heal because you showed me how to trust.

He turned to her, eyes gleaming under the luminescent glow.

“It’s beautiful, Blue.”

“It’s messy.”

“So are we.”

She couldn’t stop the grin forming on her face.

And Ekko, standing in the glow of her memory, felt something deeper than pride.

He felt cherished . Not just for what he’d built.

But for how it had helped her find this.

He stepped forward, wordless, and wrapped his arms around her. 

Jinx leaned in, like her body remembered how to fit into it, letting her forehead rest against his collarbone. 

Ekko’s hand moved to cup her cheek as she looked up, and he kissed her once—slow and steady, like he was sealing something in place, etching this moment within their memories. 

When he pulled back, he lingered close. 

“I have something to show you, too.”

He reached into his bag and pulled out a small wrapped bundle. Unfolded it slow.

Inside was a metal-and-wood creation. At its base, a carved rabbit—ears perked, body tucked like it was listening. Flanked behind it: a carved owl, wings slightly tilted, wide-eyed, bigger than the rabbit, as if protecting it. Atop them both, two Firelights—metal wings folded, gently twitching in the air as if waking.

Ekko pressed a small button on the side. The Firelights lit up, their glow soft and warm—not bright, but present. Like stars when the sky was quiet.

“I made a light source that only activates at night,” he said. “So whenever it gets dark, you’ll still have this.” 

He paused, letting the glow settle between them.

Jinx stared at the delicate craft, eyes widened with disbelief.

“You built this?” Her voice was barely there, laced with awe. 

Ekko nodded, and his voice gentled further.

“The rabbit’s Isha. The owl’s me.”

Jinx reached out slowly, fingers brushing the edges with care. 

“No matter where you are,” he said, softer now, “if it’s dark or quiet, or you forget what it feels like to be seen—this’ll remind you. We’re still with you.”

Her thumb gently ran along one of the rabbit’s carved ears before gradually caressing one of the owl’s feathers. 

Jinx’s fingers paused on the owl’s wing. Her lips parted slightly, not quite ready to speak.

Then, just above a whisper: “Thank you.”

Their eyes met—a steady pulse of realization behind their eyes, that every scrap of paint she’d left on mountaintops and every blueprint he’d buried in the dark were always reaching for each other. 

Time hadn’t dimmed it. Silence hadn’t ended it. They were never really apart.

He handed her the metal-and-wood figure, and the glow from the metal-constructed Firelights flickered gently in Jinx’s palms.

Then—a whisper of motion. A hush of wings through air, like the past drawing close.

A bird descended, pale feathers shimmering where lantern light caught—violet flares curling at the edges. Three trailing tails danced behind, one braided with a faded ribbon of memory-silk. It drifted down with an elegance that felt practiced, but not rehearsed.

It landed on Jinx’s shoulder, talons feather-light. Its eyes, gleaming with quiet intelligence, met hers.

Jinx’s expression softened. “There you are, Silky.”

Ekko straightened, taking a closer look at the bird. “Silky?”

She ran her knuckles along the bird’s neck, slow and familiar. “Found me in the forest. Didn’t leave. I don’t know what he is… just that he feels things. Magic, I guess.” Her voice was absent of explanation, but full of meaning.

Ekko watched the bird. It was too still, too aware. Not the twitchy unpredictability of Zaun creatures—this was something older, intuitive. The kind of thing that chose where to belong.

Silky turned, fixing Ekko with a gaze that lingered. Something behind the eyes shimmered—an echo of intent, maybe recognition. Ekko felt the weight of it—like he was being held up to the light.

A soft flap broke the moment. 

Silky lifted off, leaving a brief shimmer behind him, and soared toward the cave path ahead. Where the stone mouth opened and the peak waited.

Jinx watched Silky disappear into the path ahead, his violet shimmer fading into the curve of stone.

She turned to Ekko, her hand finding his once more and intertwining their fingers. Her expression shifted—lighter, certain. The glint in her eye held something close to mischief, but softer now. Grounded.

“You ready to see what I’ve built?”

Ekko blinked, feeling something pulling at him in the silence after her words.

A memory.

A year ago, he stood before her at the Firelights Enclave, hands open, voice steady but cautious. “I can show you what we’ve built here.”  

She’d barely spoken, hid mostly. Her eyes were raw, guarded. That version of her had been all splinters and doubt.

But now—

She was the one inviting him in.

And not to something borrowed, not to a space she’d been given—but to something she’d shaped herself. 

Her voice didn’t tremble. Her eyes didn’t run. She was steady. 

Still carrying that familiar chaos, but letting it bloom now, not just break.

Ekko felt something rise in his chest—not nerves, exactly. 

Something between awe and anticipation. Grateful. Enlightened. A little afraid to want too much, and still wanting it anyway.

He nodded, quiet. His grip tightened around hers.

And together, they followed the path upward.

The cave’s throat gave way to the darkening twilight. Not the hollow dark of Zaun’s undersides—this was Ionia’s kind of night. Deep, quiet, deliberate.

Ekko followed Jinx through the winding path like a breath held too long. The air was cooler here. Not cold, not biting—just fresh enough to make him feel like he hadn’t truly exhaled in weeks.

Tree limbs leaned over the path like sleepy guardians, their leaves whispering above. Moss clung to stone in soft patches, vines curling around ancient steps that hadn’t been walked in generations. And Jinx—barefoot, steady, almost reverent—moved like she knew exactly what the ground remembered.

The slope ascended gently, and with every turn, the ambient hush grew richer: the low murmur of river water gliding along the edge, the distant trickle of a waterfall hitting rock far below, and the soft chimes dangling from carved wooden poles and crooked branches. They hummed when the breeze teased them, their sounds uneven and strange. Unfamiliar. Peaceful.

The path opened at last—not to a summit of jagged stone, but to a cradle.

Ekko let out a quiet gasp—so soft it barely caught air, but Jinx heard it. 

He noticed the firepit first, off to one side. Its edges were soot-stained from many nights, with clustered stones shaped just imperfectly enough to know she built it by hand. Just past it—a worn stone table and bench, marbled with age and moss, now reborn under bits of metal scraps and carved sticks. 

Her tools. Her meals. Her mind.

The view settled into him slowly. The trees curled around the space like old sentinels. Beneath them, bursts of mountain flora peeked from stone beds and sloping moss. The central pool shimmered beneath the stars, perfectly still, with the reflection of Ionia stretched wide across its surface. The soft lap of the river nearby added motion without disrupting the quiet. Wind teased the spirit-chimes into a low pulse, not musical exactly—just alive.

Jinx hadn’t spoken. She didn’t have to. 

The way she stood just outside her home—with vines braided along the walls, planks tilted, and fabric gently rustling—he could feel it.

She hadn’t found this place. She’d been claimed by it. And it had been waiting.

It was beautiful. Not like the Firelights tree—monumental and curated and purposeful. 

This… this was wild and tended and real. And she had made it hers.

Jinx’s voice broke through, light and hopeful.

“You like it?”

Ekko could only nod. 

She turned toward him fully, eyes gleaming with a restrained kind of excitement. “Came across it my second week here,” she said. “Was overgrown, kinda spooky. Like it’d been waiting but forgot it was allowed to hope again.”

She walked ahead, leading him toward the table beside the firepit. Her arms spread out slightly as if to say this is mine .

“I cleared it all,” she continued. “Weeds, vines, roots like snakes trying to strangle everything. Took me days—and let me tell you, I kicked every single one of those weeds' leafy butts. I even screamed at a bush once. It screamed back. Not even joking.”

Ekko huffed a laugh, and she grinned wider.

“Then some of the villagers saw me up here—told me it used to be a spirit site centuries ago. Monks came to meditate or whatever. Said spirits might still linger around, so, you know... don't fart too loud.”

She brushed a loose vine from the edge of the stone bench, her eyes ghosting over the surface. 

“They helped, too. Small stuff. Got me some moss-friendly planks. Taught me how to tie those chimes so they don’t sound like metal teeth. I didn’t ask, but they helped anyway.”

Jinx leaned forward, eyes scanning the stars like she was trying to line them up with her thoughts.

“Guess they saw something in me.” Her fingers tapped against the stone absently. “Or maybe the mountain did. It felt like it… called me here. Like it was waiting for someone stupid enough to stick around.”

“You’re not stupid.” Ekko said, his fingers caressing the back of her hand. “Just stubborn in a way that works.”

She huffed, subconsciously squeezing his hand in response. “Pfft, poetic much?”

“Nah.” His eyes softened. “Just telling it how it is. You never quit—even when everything told you to run.”

Jinx glanced sideways, the corner of her mouth lifting. “Careful, you’re starting to sound like a monk.”

He cracked a crooked grin. “Maybe there's an Ekko out there somewhere scribbling proverbs and sipping lotus tea. Bet he's stuffy and uptight. Glad you’re stuck with this one.”

She snorted—full-bodied and sharp—and grinned like he’d handed her a sparkler.

She tugged at his hand once more, her feet moving with a bounce and a flourish. “Wanna see inside?”

Ekko looked ahead in the direction she was pulling, toward her home with mossy planks, arches covered in vibes, and multicolored quilt fabrics at the base of a mountain stone.

“C’mon,” she said. “It’s not booby-trapped. Not today , anyway.”

She continued to lead him and padded ahead barefoot across the stone slabs. Ekko followed, boots scraping gently against moss-lined paths as the cool mountain air dipped into something warmer—more intentional. The walls bent into view like part of the terrain had decided it was tired of waiting and built itself a home.

And just like that, he was stepping into her world.

Ekko ducked beneath the low arch where the roof curved inward, brushing aside a curtain of knotted vines she’d trained to grow into makeshift beads. The scent hit first—damp stone warmed by fire, old incense lingering in the cracks, and machine oil faint enough to be nostalgic.

The floor was uneven—repurposed temple stone laid in wide slabs. Cracks spidered through them, filled in with moss or paint in bright streaks. Not Ionian patterns exactly. More like Jinx had looked at traditional symmetry and gone, “eh,” then drawn spirals until they made her smile.

The walls curved around him like a ribcage. Bamboo slats and wooden beams stitched together with scrap metal and dyed fabric. 

Light filtered down from the roof overhead—layered, partially open, partially swallowed by vines. There were hinges built into the beams, her own invention by the look of them, allowing it to twist open or seal tight depending on mood or storm. One edge was propped open tonight, enough for moonlight to spill through, and Ekko saw Silky curled up on a perch overhead: a ring of branches woven into a hammock. 

The small firepit near the center still crackled, tended by some mechanism that added twigs at intervals. Bits of copper piping fed into a small pressure valve nearby—of course she’d automated it. A kettle sat to the side, half-covered in soot. A firepit meant for intimate warmth than for cooking. 

To his left was the nest.

Cushions stacked high, blankets layered thickly—some frayed at the edges, others hand-stitched. The hum of tiny gadgets pulsed just beneath the surface. The whole thing was shaped into a cocoon, like the eye of a storm.

And then the wall—chalk and charcoal markings covering the far curve like it had been scribbled on in fits of insomnia. Ekko stepped toward it, slow.

Spirals. Gears. Explosions rendered like dream bursts. Faces drawn in overlapping layers. Ekko saw himself in at least three forms—one with goggles, one as a blur mid-leap, and one with his owl mask. A constellation of thoughts. Technical schematics beside emotional wreckage. Half a timeline winding upward into a cluster of stars.

Jinx appeared beside him, arms crossed, weight tipped onto one hip like she was trying to look nonchalant and very much failing.

“That one up there”—she pointed toward a squiggly coil shaped like a moon crashing into a gear—“was supposed to be an energy converter. Or a bad dream. Hard to tell, really.”

Her tone was bright, but Ekko heard the thrum beneath it. Not just pride. Ownership.

She turned and padded toward the firepit, gesturing toward the copper piping.

“Automated twig drop. Because of course I got tired of hauling kindling all the time. Also because I nearly caught this place on fire once trying to use explosive pebbles instead.” Her grin flicked sideways. “Turns out some Ionian minerals are way too polite for combustion.”

She turned again and pointed upward. 

“And that’s Silky’s throne.”

Her tone was softer now. 

“He chose it himself. Didn’t ask me—just settled in like he owned the stars.”

As if knowing she was talking about him, Silky’s head tilted, eyes catching Ekko’s with a sharp kind of stillness. A look that felt more understanding than inquisitive.

“He showed up one morning,” Jinx continued. “Found me in the forest after one of those messy nights where I couldn't sleep or breathe properly. I thought I imagined him at first—some Ionian fever-dream. But he came back. Stayed.”

She shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, but her eyes lingered on him longer than she meant to.

“He doesn’t talk or chirp or anything. Just responds . Like... he knows what I mean even when I don't say it right.”

Ekko smiled faintly, the weight of that unspoken connection settling between them.

Silky blinked slowly, then shifted on the perch, wings half-fanned—not in alarm, but greeting.

“Pretty sure he likes you,” Jinx added, revealing a lofty grin. “But maybe he just senses you’ve got good posture.”

She heard Ekko chuckle from next to her, and she felt herself relax at the sound. 

Then, she turned, shifting closer to the chalk wall, fingers trailing through the air like she was drawing even when she wasn’t. “You know, I didn’t mean to draw half this stuff. Sometimes I just wake up and it’s here. Like it crawled out of me while I was dreaming.”

Ekko leaned in, eyes narrowing at a newer scrawl near the bottom corner. Two figures—one with wild hair, the other wearing a jagged timepiece on their arm. Her. Him. Holding hands… or maybe throwing bombs. The linework was messy, kinetic. Somehow tender.

He cast her a sideways look. Not mocking—just amused, warm, curious.

Jinx caught it and narrowed her eyes.

“What? You think you’re the only muse around here?” She elbowed him lightly. “Keep looking smug and I’ll draw you wearing robes next time. Full spiritual makeover. Maybe drinking tea that I know you love so much. ”

Ekko huffed. She remembered when he had mentioned not liking the tea Jayce had brewed for him once. “Hey, if Aven’s making the tea, I know better than to complain to that wise old woman.”

“Shall I tell her that you mentioned her age again?” 

“Don’t you dare. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

They laughed together again, echoing against the temple stones and the beams overhead. The sound settled into the fabric of the room, like it belonged there.

Jinx led him toward the low alcove that cradled her nest, motioning with a theatrical sweep like she was unveiling a palace suite.

“Behold—my sleep fortress,” she declared. 

He let out a chuckle and ducked slightly beneath a sagging strand of cloth hanging overhead.

The area was thick with fabric: layered cushions and quilts, temple textiles patched over with strange designs, some clearly hand-stitched, others scrawled on with wax charcoal.

He noticed his old jacket laying in a particular spot, as if she had recently slept with it next to her. 

She seemed to notice him staring at it. “I don’t want to lose it, so I keep it here. Despite all the quilts thrown in here, your jacket keeps me the warmest,” she said.

Her words kindled at the warm fire stirring within him. 

She dropped onto the edge of the nest and ran a hand over a deep violet blanket, soft but worn at the corners.

“This one was a gift,” she said, voice dipping into something quieter. “Villager near the shrine found me knee-deep in gears and moss and asked if I’d ever slept without having to listen for a knife. Gave me this the next day. Said it was blessed for dream protection or something Ionian like that.”

She paused, fingers smoothing the edge over another quilt. 

“This red one came from a merchant’s kid. Wanted me to teach him how to make smoke bombs. I said yes. Probably shouldn’t have, but hey, learning builds character.”

There was a messy quilt near the center—stitched unevenly with mismatched patches, scattered with oil stains and what looked like poem fragments embroidered sideways. She tapped it lightly.

“Made that one myself. With assistance from fury, music, and an angry pecking bird.”

Ekko was grinning now—not at her jokes, but at the way her voice softened with every memory threaded through cotton and color.

Then Jinx reached behind her and grabbed the metal-wood creation he’d given her—bunny perched beside owl, both illuminated by tiny firelight constructs. Its soft lights bloomed through their bodies, casting warm flickers across the stone.

She placed it carefully on the nearest ledge, angled just so that it faced the nest.

“Fits here, doesn’t it?” She chimed, staring at it. “Not too sappy, not too flashy. Just the right amount of weird.”

Her fingers lingered a moment longer, brushing one of the firelights gently.

“But really… thanks. It’s nice having something here that’s you. And Isha. And Zaun. All rolled up into something small that glows.”

Ekko smiled, letting the stillness speak for him. 

He unfastened his bag and set it down out of the way. Then he stepped into the nest and sat beside her, letting the space wrap around them like it had been waiting.

“Glad you like it,” he said quietly. “Didn’t know where I fit into all this. Still not sure if I do. But I’m happy you found this place. Made it yours.”

Jinx leaned back, pulling one of the quilts over her lap, and cast him a sideways look.

“It’s because of you that I was able to get here.”

His smile softened, eyes watching the glowing firelights once more.

“You never really needed me. You’ve gotten this far on your own.”

“You believed in me when I couldn’t. That’s what carried me this far.”

Ekko stilled, letting her words stretch out inside him. It wasn’t loud, wasn’t dramatic, but it hit somewhere deep. Like a lock turning.

He let the quiet settle, watching the light flicker through the bodies of owl and rabbit, the gentle pulse of the firelights catching the edges of Jinx’s face. 

Her expression had softened—not distant, not guarded. Just open. Brave.

He kept his breath steady, his gaze low, like if he looked at her too long, he’d start overthinking—questioning what happens after this moment. She wasn’t asking him to carry her. She wasn’t promising anything, either. Just… sharing the truth of how far she'd come, and how he’d mattered in it.

And wasn’t that enough?

It should be. It had to be.

Jinx tilted her head, eyes catching the moonlight like she was listening to something overhead. Then she glanced at Ekko, that spark re-lit behind her grin.

“You ready for the best spot on this mountain?”

Ekko nodded, already feeling something quiet shifting beneath the moment.

She grabbed a quilt off her nest, slung it over her shoulder, and reached for his hand. Her grip was firm—no hesitation, no second guessing.

They climbed.

The path was narrow, curving through trees with low-hanging branches that whispered as they passed. Vines curled like sleeping serpents along the stone steps, and patches of bioluminescent moss bloomed in clusters along the edges—soft glows pulsing like the mountain’s breath. The air grew cooler, quieter. Above, spirit-chimes from below echoed faintly, then disappeared.

Near the top, the terrain leveled out into a small landing. Just enough space for two people to sit. A single tree stood at its heart—its bark pale and streaked with silver veins that caught the starlight like mirrors. It didn’t feel haunted, or sacred. It just felt present.

“Tada. Here we are. Best seat in all of Ionia.” She huffs out a breath, eyes on the stars. “First time I came up here, everything was quiet. Like, too quiet. But it didn’t feel wrong. Felt like the silence actually saw me.”

A warm breeze drifted through, lifting a few strands of her hair as it passed. 

He felt like he understood what she was trying to say—as if being here made her feel real. 

Jinx dropped the quilt, spread it out with one practiced motion, and sat cross-legged beneath the tree. When Ekko settled beside her, she leaned into him without asking—her shoulder brushing his, head tilted just enough to rest lightly against his.

He looked toward her, his eyes glimmering, glancing to their positions.

“Nah,” he murmured, and with a quiet tug, repositioned them.

He settled himself against the base of the tree, back resting against the silver-veined bark. Then he guided Jinx to turn, easing her so she was seated between his legs, her back pressed to his chest. His arms looped around her middle, firm but soft, like he’d done this a thousand times in his head and was only now catching up in real time.

Jinx didn’t resist. She let the shift happen, leaned back without question, and nestled into him like his heartbeat was something she’d always been meant to hear this close. One hand found his forearm; the other tugged the edge of the quilt over their legs.

Below them, the village was reduced to tiny lights blinking like fireflies. Ionia stretched out in still layers of forest and cliff, glowing in soft blues and greens. The stars overhead shimmered, quiet and clear. No smog, no noise. Just the breath between two people who had waited a long time to sit still like this.

Her fingers curled around his, grounding herself not in silence, but in everything the silence had made space for.

And Ekko—he looked at her, then at the sky, and knew this was a moment he’d carry long after it passed.

Under the stars, wrapped in the hush of the mountain and each other, they didn’t speak for a while. Their breathing synced, slow and even.

And in that stillness, with the village flickering below and the sky wide above, it didn’t feel like they were hiding. It felt like they were at the edge of something new—to trust in, to believe in. A truth still blooming.

“I missed you.” 

Ekko’s voice was low, threaded with a warmth that didn’t demand attention—it earned it. His breath near her ear made her warm, warmer than the quilt wrapped around their legs. 

“I knew you’d go far—I always believed that. But I still worried. More than I probably should’ve, especially after seeing everything you’ve built here.” He continued, casting his gaze back to the view below. “Just… didn’t think I’d be lucky enough to see it myself.”

Jinx let the words settle within her. Her eyes flicked upward, tracing the edge of a passing cloud. Then she laughed—quiet, crooked.

“You were the first person I wanted to share this with, Ekko.” 

His heartbeat thudded hard against his chest at her words, the way she spoke his name, subconsciously holding her hand tighter in his.

“But I figured you might want to forget me. Makes sense, right? That manic paintbomb who tore through Zaun like a storm with no off switch.” Her fingers reached up to his scarf still wrapped around her neck, fingering the fabric thoughtfully. “I thought maybe distance would do the trick. You’d find someone calmer. Brighter. Easier to love.”

Ekko’s lips curled just enough to show the truth in his smirk, holding her closer. “I told you before—this owl only sees blue.”

She turned her head to glance at him, blinking slowly like she didn’t trust what she heard... but wanted to.

“I mean, you crossed an ocean. ” A whisper of disbelief. “Hard to argue with that.”

“I’d do it again,” he said, without hesitation.

Jinx’s shoulders softened. Her fingers found the edge of his forearm and brushed across it—not searching, just anchoring.

“...It took me four tries to get Silky to carry the postcard.”

Ekko chuckled under his breath. “Silky’s got opinions?”

“You have no idea.” Jinx snorted, rolling her eyes, lulling her head to rest against the crook of his shoulder. “Little feathery punk kept dropping the damn thing. I think he knew better than me. Like, ‘nah, not yet. You’re not ready to let him see this.’ Judgmental little creature, that one is.”

“Silky local to this region?”

“Some village kid told me he’s a messenger bird.” She shrugged lightly, sifting through her memories of when she first met her bird companion. “Sentient, kind of. Only flies when the sender’s... heart’s aligned. I dunno. I thought it sounded like nonsense until the fourth time of trying to send your postcard.”

He let the words sit as he stared past the glowing moss toward the canopy, watching a couple of fireflies dance through moonbeams.

“Funny,” he said finally. “Sounds like the message wasn’t just in the postcard. It was in the sending.”

Jinx stilled, absorbing that.

She took a deep breath, resting her head against the side of his.

“Yeah. I only knew you were coming when Silky disappeared. Gone for three days. Then he came flapping back, postcard gone, acting like he hadn’t just flown halfway across the world for a damn bird errand.”

Ekko nodded, his voice softer now. “I’m glad he made the journey.”

And though he didn’t say it outright, Jinx heard the deeper truth riding underneath: that he was grateful she had made it—not just the decision to reach out, but the long, tangled internal path it took to get there.

Ekko moved one arm to wrap around her shoulders and the other to cradle her hand touching the scarf—as if his muscles remembered holding her this exact same way, before his voice caught up.

“I saw Vi before I came.”

Jinx didn’t flinch, but her body went still. “She doesn’t know I’m alive, right?”

“No.” He exhaled, a sliver of guilt still felt within him. “Told her I was taking a vacation. I didn’t say where.”

Jinx nodded, gaze fixed somewhere down the slope toward the village lights. There was relief in her expression, but it was worn thin—threadbare. Like she’d rehearsed what she’d feel when this moment came.

Ekko’s voice dropped, turning his head to look at her. “She misses you.”

“Yeah,” Jinx said, almost flippant, her lip curling at the corners. “I’d be pissed if she didn’t.”

But then silence settled again, her bravado waned, and she leaned her back just a little harder against his chest.

“I miss her, too,” she said softly. “But… it's better this way.”

Ekko frowned. She felt it in the way his chest rose against her shoulder blades, how he didn’t agree with that sentiment. But, he didn’t argue, didn’t push.

She could feel the rumble of his voice through his chest against her back as he spoke. “Vi told me she wishes she’d said more. To you. That you didn’t have to become anything for anyone. Not her. Not Zaun. That just being you… was enough.”

Jinx’s breath hitched—barely, biting at her lip.

After a moment, she asked—almost in a whisper, “Is she happy?”

She paused, her eyes dropping to her hand still wrapped in his. 

“With the Enforcer?” She added, almost like an afterthought, but he knew better. She was acknowledging the person who she once believed had replaced her. Now, she saw Caitlyn as someone who made her sister feel less alone—someone Vi didn't need to hide from. That was something.

He nodded once. “Yeah. She is. The Enforcer promoted to Sheriff.”

Jinx rolled her eyes, but her tone didn’t match the gesture. “Figures. Probably bossing everyone around from her shiny little tower. And bossing Vi around in her shiny little… sheets.”

Ekko groaned, his head dropping back against the bark behind him. “I’d rather not think about your sister like that. She almost locked me in a chokehold trying to give me tips.”

“Vi? Miss ‘Punch First, Regret Later’ trying to give you dating tips?”

“Not just dating tips,” he muttered, grumbling into the sky. 

Jinx immediately picked up on the tone, and her mouth dropped open. “She did what?! ”

“I am begging you not to make me relive that moment.”

“Nope. You opened the floodgates, Firefly. I’m demanding details.”

He groaned again, almost laughing now. “You two are impossible. She said the same exact thing.”

“I gotta know how you even got to that topic with her!” She cried out with a laugh, turning in his hold to face him. “So you told her you were off to meet a mystery girl? What is this, Firelights betrayal by the leader himself? I’m faux-cheated on and I didn’t even get a breakup postcard?”

He’d spread his arms apart to allow her to shift more easily, but as soon as she faced him and shouted these words, he started to tickle her sides. 

“Yup, told her I was off to waltz with a dramatic chaos queen and win her heart. She said she wants to meet her.” When Jinx starts to squirm against his tickle attack, he locks her arms against her sides, holding her in place, and throws a smirk at her. “Wait till Vi finds out she’s related to the royalty of theatrics herself.”

“And as your royal queen,” she begins indignantly, a wide toothy grin shining through, “I demand to know why Vi wanted to give you tips on sex!”

“Your king has denied your request,” he quips back, and at that, she launches herself at him again. 

Their laughter cracked through the quiet like breaking ice—unexpected and sincere. Jinx twisted in his arms, playfully elbowing him, and Ekko hooked an arm tighter around her waist, trying (and failing) to fend her off as she wriggled into a mock wrestling match.

It wasn’t chaos. Not really.

Just warmth. Movement. The kind of touch that said I see you , even when the words danced away.

They folded back into each other slowly, breath soft again, arms knotted loosely. And below the tree, the village kept blinking like a lullaby.

They lay side by side now, limbs just barely touching, quilt in disarray, as if the laughter had shaken something loose and left behind only calm. The stars above blinked slowly—lazy, unfazed by the gravity of history. Jinx traced one with her eyes, then another, her breath settling. For once, there was no hurry. No one chasing.

She thought of all the constellations she'd imagined over the years: gun barrels and gears, clouds that looked like memories. But up here, with Ekko's arm a quiet weight beside hers, they didn’t seem so far away.

Ekko let his gaze roam the sky, counting seconds between blinks, between breaths. He was aware of her beside him, in the way quiet sometimes had a shape. He let himself lean into it, just a little.

Then, slowly, Ekko turned on his side to look at her. His eyes traced the familiar blue clouds along her right shoulder, erratic shapes like storm fronts mid-collapse. But something new caught his eye on the opposite side—a soft pink puff inked on her left shoulder. It nestled there like it had always belonged, a gentle anomaly.

He reached out, running his finger delicately over the pink ink. “Is that one for Isha?”

Jinx followed his gaze, tilting slightly to expose the tattoo better. Her fingers brushed the pink cloud once, briefly.

“Yeah.”

The memory of the young girl lingered between them like smoke—quiet, but present. A girl they had lovingly declared as the Badass Beacon with the Firelights. A girl who hadn’t needed words to be understood. A girl who had been Jinx’s beacon of hope.

Jinx finally broke the silence, voice low. “Found someone in the village. They seemed to know what it meant. What it was for.”

Ekko’s eyes softened, understanding what she meant without any words needing to be said. 

Jinx sat up from the floor, catching his attention. She looked down at him, her eyes reflecting a warmth, a decision. 

She turned her back to Ekko, letting the quilt that had tangled around them fall loosely around her hips.

“That’s not the only new ink on me,” she said, voice low, wistful.

She started to remove his scarf from around her neck, placing it gently on the floor beside them.

Ekko shifted, rising onto one arm. He hadn’t gotten a good look before—not really. But now, his eyes followed the curve of her back, the shine of her halter’s clasp barely visible in the moonlight.

Jinx reached up, parting her short blue hair at the nape. Beneath the crown braid, against bare skin, was a familiar symbol—clean, green, unmistakable.

The hourglass.

The Firelights’ emblem, etched softly against her neck, resting just above the small clasp of her halter top, like a quiet echo of everything they once were. 

He blinked, words caught somewhere between his breath and his ribs.

“There’s more,” she murmured, breath barely above a whisper, as if anticipation was holding the air in her lungs.

Her fingers found the neck clasp, and with a soft click, it loosened. 

The fabric shifted. 

Ekko watched as vines began to surface—winding downward along her spine in steady, chaotic grace, tangled with wildflowers in bloom and gears that shimmered faintly like old brass.

The design unfolded like a memory. Each inch was a story. Each curve, a choice.

His breath hitched. His eyes widened. There was reverence in his silence.

Then she reached back again, tugged at the narrow horizontal strap.

The top slipped off completely, and her back unveiled. 

His heart stammered, then surged, each beat echoing like thunder beneath skin. There, etched across the space between her shoulder blades, was an owl. Wings outstretched against a faint clockwork backdrop—white feathers, haloed by thin, sketched lines of time. The owl perched like a sentinel, serene yet watchful. 

“This was for you,” she said, tentatively but sure. 

Something inside Ekko folded. 

His chest ached—like the past had finally stopped being jagged, like maybe all their broken pieces had found the light. 

He saw the whole story now. The hourglass that marked her beginning, the vines tangled in time, the owl etched like a promise. Her back told a truth that words couldn’t carry.

He reached for her without speaking, hands gentle as they found her waist. Then he leaned forward, lips brushing first the edge of the owl’s wing. Slowly, carefully, devotedly, he kissed along her spine—upward through vines and gears and wildflower ink—until he reached the hourglass once more.

Arms wrapped around her from behind. His head rested against hers, and his voice was nothing but truth:

“I love you so much.”

Jinx turned toward him, gaze soft and unwavering. 

She didn’t respond with words. She didn’t need to. 

The story was already etched in her skin—it had spoken for her, and so had every moment that led them here.

Her fingers slipped behind his head, cradling him gently, her touch steady. 

And then, their lips met, a kiss full of meaning and unspoken words. 

Slow. Deep. Certain.

Ekko held her tighter, arms firm around her waist, drawing her fully against him like he finally had permission to believe it.

It wasn’t just confirmation.

It was everything they hadn’t said and everything they’d already shown—wrapped into a kiss that made their hearts take a soft breath.

They lingered in each other’s arms, breath mingling, skin warm from starlight and closeness. The night had deepened around them, wrapping their silhouettes in quiet shelter. Somewhere between kisses and comfort, laughter and stillness, the distance they'd once known became a memory.

Eventually, sleep found them—curled into each other, limbs tangled and hearts steady, the quilt half-shielding their bodies. 

Jinx slept with her back tucked into Ekko’s bare chest, his arms wrapped loosely around her waist. Their bodies fit with practiced ease, with tenderness earned, like they’d known this shape for years—even when they hadn’t.

She breathed evenly now, her heartbeat slow—like the weight she carried had finally eased, and the world no longer felt so loud. The broken pieces are still jagged but she accepted their beauty now in the light. 

And Ekko, eyes half-closed against the stars, held her closer—not because he feared losing her, but because he knew she’d stay. Because in every mark she’d chosen, in every silence she’d kept, she had also chosen him.

Moonlight shimmered along the owl’s wings on her back, and Ekko traced it with his eyes like a vow only he’d been allowed to hear.

Above, the stars kept watch. 

No ghosts to chase. No past to hide from. 

Only them, held by ink and ache and everything unspoken. 

The last three days slipped past Ekko in a haze of motion, sleepless hours, and emotions on high to finally get here to Ionia, to Jinx, to his Blue. Yesterday in particular left him crackling with nerves and heat, like his heart had been stretched to fit something new.

Now, in the pale blush of dawn, his body surrendered at last. Limbs heavy, breath slow, skin pressed against the warmth he’d yearned for—he sank into a sleep so deep he forgot he was someone with responsibilities.

He was used to being jolted awake: by Firelights yelling, courier birds divebombing windows, even kids yelling greetings through closed shutters.

But not this.

Muffled voices breached the quiet. Jinx's, low and grumbling—but two others joined her. Unfamiliar voices to him.

“Found her, and definitely not alone,” one said, dry and amused.

A theatrical gasp was heard. “Oh-ho! Is this a mountaintop honeymoon? Stars above, they look like artwork. But like... very private artwork.”

“Oh for the love of—” Jinx muttered.

He felt her shift, just enough to sit up—movement subtle, still nestled within his arms. There was a rustle of fabric, then the quilt draped over him (and presumably hers) with quiet intent to retain some modesty.

“How long have you two been standing there?” He could hear the embarrassed irritation in her voice.

“Long enough to say congratulations,” the theatrical voice chimed. 

“And too long for my eyes to unsee anything,” the other voice added. 

Ekko blinked drowsily, starting to sit up. 

Using his hand as cover from the beaming sunlight, his eyes adjusted—just enough to see a tall man with tousled platinum hair and a shimmering feathered mantle leaning dramatically against a tree trunk, and beside him, a sharp-eyed woman whose crimson braid snapped like a warning signal in the morning wind.

Ekko didn’t recognize who they were.

But Jinx knew exactly who she was flusteredly glaring at—familiar faces with impeccable timing.

Standing before them were Rakan and Xayah, with matching smug expressions that said one thing: We won’t be forgetting this view anytime soon.

Chapter Text

Sunlight crept over the horizon, golden and drowsy, casting long lines across the mountainside. The breeze ruffled the quilt draped over them, cool and curious, like nature itself was peeking in to see how the night had ended.

Jinx stirred first, her back still warm against Ekko’s bare chest. Her face was buried in his scarf—discarded sometime last night, now serving double duty as a pillow and hiding place. One of his arms remained lazily looped around her waist, the other half-pinned beneath her from some half-conscious attempt at cuddling and not letting go. Her legs were tangled with his, one knee hitched over his thigh, and the wild mass of their quilt had mostly migrated to one side—offering little protection against the morning light or, more importantly, unexpected visitors. 

Footsteps. Two sets.

“Found her,” came Xayah’s voice, dry and amused. “And definitely not alone.”

“Oh-ho!” Rakan gasped theatrically. “Is this a mountaintop honeymoon? Stars above, they look like artwork. But like... very private artwork.”

Jinx’s eyes snapped open.

Ekko stirred from next to her, using half a second to cuddle closer to Jinx’s back, before realization settled in. 

His eyes cracked open. Blinking groggily awake. Processing unfamiliar voices.

“Oh for the love of—” Jinx jolted, bolting upright, and haphazardly tugging the quilt over hers and Ekko’s bodies.

Once the quilt was covering a decent amount, she turned just enough to confirm the worst—there they were, Xayah with her arms crossed and smug, Rakan leaning with mock reverence against a tree trunk like he’d stumbled on a sacred shrine. They were just coming up the path to the mountaintop, their torsos sticking up over the level Jinx and Ekko were currently laying on.

“How long have you two been standing there?” Jinx cried out, quickly reaching for Ekko’s scarf as another layer to cover her chest. 

“Long enough to say congratulations,” Rakan beamed.

“And too long for my eyes to unsee anything,” Xayah added. 

Trying to fight grogginess, Ekko slowly sat up next to her, using his hand to shield his eyes from the sunlight. The quilt slid down his chest due to gravity, but he kept it close to cover his lower half. He peeked through his fingers, studying Xayah and Rakan. 

He glanced over to Jinx. “I assume you know them?”

“We’ve come unannounced but to be fair, we usually come unannounced,” Rakan chimed. 

Xayah gave Jinx an amused stare. “This is probably the first time I’ve seen you with overnight company.” 

Jinx’s cheeks brightened in color. 

Suddenly, Rakan’s features lit up, smirking wide. “You must be her Boy Savior that she never stops talking about.”

“I do not ,” Jinx blurted, red-faced.

“She does ,” Xayah confirmed, biting back a smirk. 

“I swear to Janna, I will throw a paintbomb at you,” Jinx snapped, glaring at the two. It would look a lot more threatening if her cheeks weren’t a bright rosy color. 

Rakan lets out a hearty laugh. “I keep telling you, I have no idea who Janna is, but I hope she’s a riot like you!”

Xayah turns her gaze back to Ekko who had stayed quiet, taking in the situation. “Sorry to make this your first impression of us. We were passing by the village and came up to check in on her.”

“We also wanted to see the view of the sun rising,” Rakan started. He raised his hands up, forming a square frame with his fingers and pointing it at Jinx and Ekko, smirking, “But this view? Chef’s kiss. ”

Ekko raised an eyebrow. Chef’s kiss? Must be a foreign saying. 

Jinx groaned roughly. “For crying out loud, do you mind?!” 

Cheekily, Rakan said with a wider smirk, “Nah, we don’t mind. Compared to some other disasters we’ve walked in on unannounced, you two are a breath of fresh air.” 

Xayah rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue, turning around. “Alright lovebirds, we’ll let you two have a moment to throw your clothes back on.” She started to step back down the path, her head disappearing from sight. 

Rakan sent Ekko an amused wink and a deliberate smirk in Jinx’s direction before also following after Xayah and disappearing from view. 

A visible sigh of relief mixed with exasperation left Jinx. 

She sheepishly turned to Ekko, offering him an apologetic gaze. “They’re harmless, mostly. They’re not from the village but they’re Ionian. They usually come by whenever, I’ve just accepted them as perpetual guests… I just didn’t expect that kind of wake-up call.” 

A lighthearted chuckle left Ekko as he leaned back on two hands. “Possibly the most mortifying morning of my life. But, I wouldn’t trade this moment of waking up next to you.”

He returned her gaze with a warm smile, his eyes taking a moment to admire her in the morning sunlight. 

His hand moved up, running through her hair, smoothing it out and fixing her crown braid before tucking some strands behind her ear. Her breath caught as his fingers trailed along her hair, gentle and unhurried—as if he didn’t want to fix it, but memorize it. 

A tingle wrapped around her spine and a warmth spread across her chest at his touch. A grin slowly crept up her face. 

His locs were somewhat messy but his half-lidded gaze on hers made him look like the most beautiful thing on this mountain. 

“Waking up next to you is something I could get used to,” Jinx said, leaning into him, her grin shining—spoken in partial tease, more truth. 

Ekko huffed, smile broadening. “Me too.” 

Their lips met in a quiet kiss, steeped in warmth and the kind of hope neither dared name just yet. 

The sound of splashing from below interrupted them, and they could hear the voices of Xayah and Rakan in the near distance—

“Congratulations. You’ve discovered gravity.” 

“It interrupted my flow. Rude.”

Jinx huffed and rolled her eyes. 

Ekko couldn’t help but let out a low laugh before starting to get up. “C’mon. Let’s not keep them waiting.” 

“Why not?” She grumbled, reluctantly following him and bringing the quilt up with her. 

They took a moment to put their clothes back on and fix their appearances to look presentable. 

Ekko reached for his scarf and gently wrapped it around Jinx’s neck. She grinned at the gesture—no words, just warmth and intention. It was part affection, part quiet claim: covering the visible love marks he’d left behind on her pale skin, and making a statement without needing to say it aloud.

Jinx reached up to re-style his locs, earning a smile from him. She fixed his half ponytail, her fingers caressing the sides of his scalp. Her eyes glimmered when she noticed different colored ties still dispersed across his hair, like he had wanted to keep an echo of her style for him from before. 

When they were situated, the two began heading down the mountain path with Jinx in the lead. 

Neither spoke as they descended, but the morning felt different—lighter, somehow. Like something unspoken had quietly settled between them.

The mountaintop air still smelled of damp stone and herbs as they reached the main landing, the firepit crackling lazily under soft morning light. Rakan was already lounging near the central pool, one arm draped theatrically over his knee, shirt still clinging to him in damp patches from his gravity mishap. Xayah leaned against one of the carved posts with a smirk that matched the sharpness in her eyes.

“Well, look who finally decided to descend from heaven,” Rakan quipped, not bothering to stand. “Jinx and her mountaintop muse. Or should I say—musecle?”

Jinx groaned. “You are never allowed to name anything. Ever.”

Xayah tilted her head toward Ekko, eyes observant, assessing but not cold. “So. This is him.”

Ekko blinked as they looked at him, not quite sure what him meant yet.

“The Boy Savior ,” Xayah clarified, gesturing with two fingers like it was a codename she’d plucked from a scroll. “She used to talk about you like you were half miracle, half myth, with a side story of being an insufferable know-it-all. I thought maybe you were a metaphor.”

“That’s a lot of pressure,” Ekko muttered, half smiling. “Good to hear she’s aware I’m the genius between us.”

“Well yeah,” Jinx played along, smirking, "being the madness is way more fun.” 

“She’s dramatic when she’s nostalgic,” Xayah added. “But we’ve learned not to take her first impressions lightly.”

Rakan leaned forward. “You did live up to the entrance, though. That pose up there? Very heroic. Very tangled.”

Jinx’s cheeks flared pink again. “Can we not relive that moment?”

Ekko chuckled, then glanced between them. 

Xayah caught his gaze, bowing her head. “I’m Xayah.”

Rakan clapped his hands once like he’d been waiting for the intro. “Rakan. We’re just passing through—songbirds on a mission, you know how it is.”

Xayah smirked faintly, gaze flicking between Ekko and Jinx. “She’s earned herself a bit of mystique here,” she said. “Around Stilllight, they call her Mistwake .”

Rakan leaned back on his elbows, nodding toward the firepit. “Though that’s more of a ceremony name. If you’re not reciting scrolls, some of us just go with Misty. Easier to yell if she’s halfway up a rockface again.”

Ekko’s smile faltered, just slightly.

Mistwake.

Something detached from Zaun, from Firelights—from her. Yet the cadence was soft, intentional, like someone had tried to rebuild her name from silence and fog.

He turned to Jinx.

She didn’t speak. Just met his gaze, mouth still, expression unreadable for a moment before it gentled. Like she knew what he was thinking and wasn’t ready to explain it yet.

And maybe she didn’t need to.

There was weight in her silence, not avoidance. A name carefully chosen or gratefully accepted, maybe even both. Something she wore because it let her move freely. Because it kept Blue tucked safe somewhere deeper—still hers, still his.

Rakan cleared his throat with theatrical lightness. “Anyway, unless you want us calling you Boy Savior or Mountaintop Musecle, would love to know the name behind Misty’s blast from the past.” 

Ekko didn’t reply, but his eyes lingered on her a second longer, the unspoken question behind his teeth. 

Jinx blinked slowly, her gaze steady on Ekko’s.

“This is…” She said at last, voice gentle but clear, like laying down a stone in a stream. “Kairo.”

His eyes held hers, searching, parsing something that didn’t need words. 

Kairo.

It meant nothing to him, not yet. But the way she said it—like a promise, or a boundary lovingly drawn—told him enough.

He nodded once.

“Sure,” he said quietly. “Kairo.”

Rakan tilted his head, amused. “ Kairo ,” he echoed, dragging out the syllables like he was tasting them. “Sounds like a swoony ballad waiting to happen. Misty and Kairo, scaling cliffs and dodging scrolls…”

Xayah gave Jinx a measured look, one brow arched—not in judgment, but recognition.

“Not his actual name,” she observed aloud.

Jinx tossed a half-smile toward the firepit, fingers flicking a stray ember into the dirt.

“No,” she said, soft and unapologetic. “But it fits.” 

There was silence for a moment too long, and then Rakan exhaled dramatically and waved a hand.

“We’ll play along.” He grinned, tipping an imaginary hat toward Ekko. “Welcome to Ionia, or more specifically—Stilllight, Kairo. Just don’t go changing names mid-climb, yeah?”

Ekko offered a chuckle and nod. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Rakan’s words hung briefly in the morning air, and though the mood remained light, a shared understanding passed between them. 

In Ionia, names were fluid things—shaped by purpose, transformed by healing, sometimes shed like old skin at the edge of a trail. It wasn’t rare to cross paths with wanderers who carried new titles stitched from silence or longing. As long as their steps didn’t disturb the region’s balance, no one asked too deeply. 

Rayan and Xayah had seen enough of Stilllight to know that Mistwake—Jinx—was searching for something she hadn’t named, and hadn’t harmed. So they gave her space. Whatever ghosts she had brought with her were hers to wrestle in the quiet. 

And now, her companion Kairo would be offered the same grace. 

Names, after all, weren’t always given. 

Sometimes, they were chosen in the moment that mattered most.

Jinx tilted her head at them. “So, you staying for breakfast, or are you two just passing through?” This appeared to be a usual pattern when they visited her.

Xayah smiled. “If you’re offering, we wouldn’t say no. We got some time.”

Rakan placed his hands on his hips, quickly glancing over the firepit crackling quietly. “How about some morning refreshments? Tea, anyone?” 

Ekko immediately scrunched his nose before reverting to neutral, but Rakan had seen the change of expression.

“Alright, not a big tea fan. Then, that means we can leave you and Misty to make breakfast. Xayah and I can go on a tea run.” 

Xayah briefly glanced toward Jinx and Ekko before nodding, following Rakan on a trail to the side. They were still within earshot if they yelled but distant enough so that casual conversations couldn’t be easily heard. 

Jinx retreated into her home before reemerging with a basket of eggs, dried fish, and sweet potatoes. She took a seat on one of the stones, setting the basket down before tending to the firepit, increasing the heat. 

As she started to set up the firepit for cooking, Ekko sat beside her on the stone. 

“I never thought I’d see the day Blue wasn’t trying to burn water,” Ekko quipped, reaching for the sticks she’d stacked, lining up the fish and sweet potatoes like he was falling into a domestic rhythm with her.

Jinx snorted, shooting him a sideways look. “Tried that diet—uncooked fish, wild greens, regret. Didn’t stick.”

She took a nearby small pot and filled it up with the eggs and water. As she placed the pot near the fire for boiling, her eyes danced across the flames, thinking, remembering. 

She shifted her weight, shoulders loosening a little, voice dipping into something quieter. “Pulled some of the recipes from memory. Stuff you showed me, from that night.” She paused, a little smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Started messing with it, cooking whatever I could hunt or trade for. Wasn’t always edible—okay, usually wasn’t. But you were right. Cooking’s just explosions you can eat.”

Ekko grinned, remembering their night, where they had argued whether or not she needed to know how to cook. He was glad he taught a few recipes to her. Grateful that she took it with her here.

The two settled into a rhythm, preparing the food, the warmth of the fire flickering across stone and skin. 

After a few moments of quiet, Ekko leaned forward in his seat, grabbing a stick to start gently poking at the logs in the fire. His expression was pensive, as if something on his mind wanted to be voiced. 

“You don’t have to explain it,” he said eventually. “I get it. New name, clean slate—keep Zaun out of it.”

Jinx’s gaze stayed on the flames, like she was watching something inside them that hadn’t settled yet.

“But?” She asked, barely above the crackle, knowing there was more he wanted to say.

“But...” He ran his thumb along the stick, then let it drop. “You could’ve picked anything. So why Kairo ?”

Jinx pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. A breath slipped from her lips, slow and measured.

“I heard it once,” she said. “Didn’t know the spelling, didn’t know the origin. Just… liked how it sounded. Soft around the edges. Solid in the middle.”

She glanced sideways, her voice quieter now.

“And then I asked one of the village elders. They gave me one meaning—it’s about the right time. Not just any time. The one that matters.”

Ekko stilled.

“It felt like you,” she continued. “Showing up when no one else could. Changing things without trying to fix them too hard. Not storm or past—just… now.”

He swallowed that for a moment. Let it fill the silence.

“That’s what you are here for me,” she added.

Ekko’s eyes stayed on the fire. And this time, when he said it, it held shape.

“Kairo,” he murmured. “Alright.”

And it felt less like a disguise now. More like something true that hadn’t been spoken until she gave it a name.

The silence between them held, warm as the fire. Then leaves rustled behind them, footsteps growing louder—Rakan’s voice cutting in like a breeze through a closed door.

“Smelling good over here!” Rakan exclaimed, carrying his own pouch of gathered leaves. 

Rakan and Xayah returned with handfuls of curled tea leaves bundled in cloth, their steps light as they approached the firepit. The morning had mellowed into a hush—heat from the flames cast long shadows behind the stones where Jinx and Ekko sat.

The rhythm didn’t stop. 

The four of them worked together to finish cooking and distributing breakfast. Tea was poured for the group with Ekko politely declining, opting for filtered purified water. Short casual exchanges took place as the calm settled around them. Eventually, they migrated themselves to the table next to the firepit. 

Then, with a half-grin and a glint in his eye, Rakan turned to Ekko. “So, you wanna know how we met this mystery moss witch?”

Ekko lifted an eyebrow, already sensing a dramatic tale incoming. “Wouldn’t say no to the story.”

Jinx groaned. “There’s always a title upgrade whenever you tell this.”

“Only because you earn them,” Rakan shot back. “Anyway–first time we saw her, it was the middle of the green months. Xayah and I were trekking through one of Ionia’s quieter ranges, near the Echoing Pines. Heard rustling. Thought it might be bandits.”

Instead, they’d found her crouched atop a branch like a wildcat, eyes sharp, fingers wrapped around a blinking little gadget that hissed once before vanishing into her satchel.

She hadn’t offered a name that day. Just tossed back a wry, “If you’re here to rob me, you’re about five minutes late,” and dropped from the tree, disappearing into brush before they could blink.

The second encounter came weeks later—Jinx half-covered in soot and oil, adjusting gears on an old windmill in a coastal village that had been without air circulation for days. She didn’t stick around long enough to explain. Just muttered something about “symmetrical integrity” and slipped away before they could ask her name.

It wasn’t until the third meeting, deep into autumn, that the pieces started to click.

Stilllight Village was newer then. The word Mistwake had started circulating—a name whispered between traders and pilgrims, someone who fixed broken things and created unconventional ways to improve village systems. Curious to learn more about this mysterious wanderer, Xayah and Rakan climbed the nearby ridge.

They had arrived to see her clearing thornbushes from a terraced mountaintop, weaving vines and moss planks into the skeleton of a home, bamboo stalks rising like ribs from the foundation. Villagers wandered in and out—some offering stones, some advice, others just watching.

It hadn’t looked like she’d claimed the space.

It looked like the mountain had waited for her to return.

She was barefoot, hammer tucked in her belt, sleeves rolled to her elbows. And when she turned at their approach, her gaze was wary, like someone guarding something fragile but unnamed.

“We didn’t know if she’d run again,” Xayah said. “But she just stared at us. And then said, ‘If you’re not allergic to half-cooked fish, I’ve got dinner.’ ”

Rakan chuckled. “The stew was awful. The company? Decent.”

Jinx rolled her eyes. “Be grateful it was at least edible.”

“That’s debatable,” Xayah quipped, smirking. 

Ekko caught Rakan’s eye, nodding his head in gratitude. “Thanks for sharing the story.” 

Rakan shrugged back, gesturing loosely at Jinx with a grin. “She became our favorite puzzle we stopped trying to solve.”

Jinx didn’t look up, but a smile curled at the edge of her lips.

Ekko smiled, soft and fading at the edges, watching the ease between them. 

The ache that had sparked the night before now settled deeper, winding itself into the rhythm of his ribs. He could hear it in their laughter—stories exchanged across firepits, small tasks split without negotiation, a quiet agreement not to dig too deep unless invited. It was a kind of closeness that didn’t demand shape. And maybe for Jinx, that was enough. 

A place to exist without explanation. Without the weight of history pressing into her every breath.

He watched as Jinx passed a cup to Xayah with the ease of someone who’d done this a dozen times before—familiar motions, inside jokes, rhythms he hadn’t known existed. It was a picture of her that felt whole in a way he hadn’t expected, maybe even hadn’t prepared for. There was a steady grace in how she moved through this life, how Stilllight had folded around her without asking for credentials or past names. 

And for the first time, a flicker of uncertainty bloomed behind Ekko’s ribs. 

Not mistrust, not regret—just the quiet question of place. 

She was carving out something real here, roots growing in soil he hadn’t touched. 

He’d always believed he was part of her becoming. 

But sitting here, watching this version of her stretch into the morning without needing anything from him, he wondered if maybe she had already begun becoming without him at all.

Their eyes met from next to each other—Jinx, still mid-laugh, paused just slightly, the humor lingering but her gaze sharpening. 

Something in Ekko’s look caught her off guard: not worry, not disappointment, but a shift. A silent cog turning somewhere behind his steady eyes. 

She didn’t speak it aloud—not here, not with Xayah and Rakan sitting close enough to feel the breath of a confession. But her expression softened, like she knew the feeling even if she couldn’t name it.

And Ekko, gears spinning too fast to halt, told himself it was nothing. Just a moment. Just smoke in the wind. He loved her without a doubt—but the question was planted now, quiet and uninvited, resting in the pause between them.

Where did his gear fit in her rhythm?

A hush of wings stirred the morning air.

Ekko looked up just as Silky descended from the canopy, pale feathers shimmering with a hint of violet where the light touched. His three trailing plume-tails curled behind him, memory-silk ribbons swaying like echoes of something felt but unspoken.

He landed near Ekko’s hand, talons brushing the wood with weightless grace. No sound, no call—just presence.

The bird’s gaze met his, unblinking and strange.

Like he’d felt the shift in Ekko’s chest. Like he’d come not for Jinx, but for the part of her that still lived in him.

Jinx glanced between Silky and Ekko, her expression unreadable for a breath—then a sense of understanding, as if she was piecing together why Silky had flown to him.

Xayah and Rakan had also taken notice of the bird’s entrance. 

“He doesn’t do that often,” Xayah murmured, her voice low but clear. “Not unless he’s answering something.”

Rakan leaned forward, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Birds like him are great mood trackers,” he said, eyes flicking between Ekko and the bird. “Especially him—he’s got a knack for sniffing out the broody ones.”

Silky remained, poised and silent.

Ekko felt like he was being held up to a glass again under the bird’s eye. 

Then Xayah cleared her throat, and the moment folded back into the morning.

Xayah tilted her head toward Jinx. “Speaking of puzzles, the village’s mosslight grid’s acting up again. You got time to look?”

Jinx raised an eyebrow, lowering her cup of tea. “What’s going on with the moss now?”

Xayah dusted her fingertips on her robe and leaned toward her. “The villagers were telling us last night about it. The grid’s been pulsing weird again. Flickered out near the herbal grove last night—Rakan nearly kissed a briar patch.”

Jinx squinted. “That section? That’s never glitched before.” She drummed her fingers against her thigh, gears clicking. “Did someone reroute the panel or poke the resonance veins?”

“Nope, not as far as we heard.” Xayah replied. “We checked the anchors—it’s like the moss forgot its rhythm.”

Jinx snorted. “Forgot its rhythm? Yeah, that sounds like moss alright.” She stretched her arms overhead with a groan. “Alright. I’ll grab my stuff before the system decides we’re better off stumbling around blind.”

She gathered all the dishware on the table, swiftly cleaning up, and disappeared inside, the archway with the curtain of vines swaying behind her as she walked through them. 

Rakan plopped beside Ekko on the edge of the seat, tossing a pebble and watching it bounce. “She calls it a ‘grid,’ but it’s more like a chaotic garden that glows when she sings at it. Not literally, but you get what I mean.”

A nostalgic tug pulled at the corner of Ekko’s mouth. “That sounds about right for her.” 

Rakan leaned his elbow on his knee, gazing toward the central pool. “She moves like storm-wind threading the canopy—fast, electric, but with purpose. The village knows to catch her when they can.”

Xayah’s fingers traced the rim of her tea cup, quiet for a moment. “Didn’t think she’d nest here. Not her style, right?” She caught Ekko’s eye at this, and the way he looked at her gave her the answer she expected. She moved her gaze to Silky who had remained perched on the table. “But even the wandering bird finds a branch where the stars feel familiar.”

Ekko watched the chimes in the distance. “She talks about this place like it breathes with her.”

“She sings to it,” Rakan said. “Not with words, but rhythm. The moss listens. The stones shift.”

Xayah added, “And the village hums along. Not following her—just… attuning.”

Ekko tilted his head. “You think she’s rooted here now?”

Rakan shrugged. “Rooted like mist. She flows, but you can taste her in the air. Stilllight feels brighter when she’s here.”

Xayah offered a faint smile. “She still calls you her Boy Savior . With the kind of softness that doesn’t fade.”

Ekko nodded slowly, the nickname catching like burrs in his thoughts.

Rakan gestured toward the path leading down to the village. “You staying long, Kairo?”

Ekko rubbed his thumb against the edge of his glove. “A few days. Then I’ve got to head back. My people need me.”

Slowly, they watched as Ekko’s gaze moved toward the clouds passing in the overlook.

Xayah glanced at Rakan, and he met her look with quiet understanding. No words passed between them, but the silence carried weight. 

They could feel it—not in what Kairo said, but in what he didn’t. That ache of someone who wasn’t searching for a home, but for where he fit in someone else’s world . It wasn’t the village that unsettled him. It was realizing how much of Misty’s rhythm was composed without him. And while she still sang of him warmly, like a favorite old verse, it was clear her melody no longer waited on his arrival. 

They didn’t press him. Vastaya knew how loss sounded, even when it wore a smile.

Xayah cocked her head. “Fair enough. Misty—she’s found her own tempo here. Doesn't mean there’s no space for harmony.”

Rakan added, “She’s got a groove now, yeah. But you don’t mess the music up. Might even make it richer.”

Ekko gave a small smile, but something in his gaze darkened.

Because harmony implied a melody already in motion. And he wasn’t sure if he still knew her tune.

They heard footsteps near them, and they turned their heads to find Jinx exiting her home. 

She stepped back into the clearing, a satchel slung over one shoulder, fingers brushing dust from the buckle. Her goggles hung loosely around her neck, glinting faintly in the light.

“Alright,” she said, voice light but purposeful. “Let’s go see what kind of tantrum the moss-grid’s throwing.”

Xayah stood, smoothing the folds of her coat. “Thanks for the meal and company. We should get moving—there’s a report from the port we need to check.”

Rakan stretched, arms high overhead with a dramatic groan. “If we don’t start flying, Xayah’s going to leave me in the dust.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it.

Jinx nodded, lips curling. “Try not to fight gravity again while you’re with the ferryman.”

Xayah gave a soft snort. “No promises.” She turned to Ekko with a more measured glance. “You’ll like the village. It listens better than it speaks.”

Rakan clapped a hand on Ekko’s shoulder in passing. “It was great meeting Misty’s muse. Don’t let the villagers feed you their special mooncakes; you’ll never want to leave after having them.” Then, lowering his voice with casual weight, he added, “And hey—don’t think too hard about the rhythm, yeah? Just walk beside it. See what kind of song it makes with you in it.”

Xayah gave a wave to them both, moving in the direction of the mountain path. “We’ll probably pass through tomorrow. Don’t want to miss Stillight’s festival.” 

Ekko raised an eyebrow. Festival?

“Just warning you both now: our arrival will most definitely be unannounced,” Rakan chimed in with a smirk, following after Xayah. “So, if you don’t want a repeat of this morning’s wake up call, I’d suggest taking your artwork inside.” 

On cue, both Jinx and Ekko’s faces erupted in a deep maroon color.

Before either of them could reply, they were already stepping away—sleeves trailing, boots brushing the dirt, conversation folding into the wind.

“Stupid little spark-feather showman." Jinx muttered under her breath, her mouth almost burying itself into Ekko’s scarf still wrapped around her neck. 

She took a deep breath, shaking the heat from her cheeks. Then, she turned to Ekko, gaze sharp and oddly gentle, the way sunlight shifts through fog.

“You ready to meet the people crazy enough to let a stray in?”

Ekko looked at her for a moment too long, the ache still settling into place.

But he smiled—true enough—and stood.

“Lead the way.”

The trail down from the mountaintop wound like a memory—soft bends beneath moss-heavy trees, bamboo stalks swaying with a rhythm that felt older than language. 

Jinx led the way, boots scraping lightly against the worn stone path, her satchel thudding softly with each step. She didn’t speak much. Just glanced back now and then to make sure he followed, a quiet ease in her movements that hinted she’d done this walk more times than she could count.

As the trees parted, Stilllight unfurled beneath them.

Ekko had walked a similar path the day before, thanks to Jinx’s trail she left for him to find her. But this time, he was taking the time to observe his surroundings.

The first thing he noticed was the color. Not the painted kind—but living hues. Moss glowing faintly in crevices, strings of lanterns strung between rooftops, glinting with morning light caught in crystal shells. 

The village didn’t bustle. It pulsed. A slow, deliberate rhythm—people moving in time with the land.

Villagers were already at work. 

A child with a shaved head and sun-patched robes darted past, trailing a ribbon behind her like a comet. 

In the distance, a cluster of women—dressed in haltered wraps and flowing skirts not unlike Jinx’s—worked at a loom beneath a shaded archway, fingers weaving dyed reeds into intricate spirals. A few of them nodded toward Jinx as she passed. Not reverent. Familiar. Their eyes lingered on the presence of Ekko walking next to her, hushed whispers faintly hovering in the air. 

A row of men haggled gently at a stone-walled shopfront, exchanging beetle resin and feather-inked scrolls with the casual air of morning ritual. 

A trio knelt beside a trough, repairing garden tools, voices low as they tested the balance of carved handles. 

The scent of herbal smoke curled through the air from a makeshift tea stand near the moss-grove—a vendor stirring brewed roots with a carved ladle, laughter tumbling like wind chimes nearby.

The architecture spoke softly of Ionia—arching rooftops lined in bamboo ribs, open-sided walls built for sunlight and wind. Stained fabric panels fluttered from doorways, each bearing symbols hand-painted in fading ink: fox tails, water swirls, coiled roots.

Ekko’s gaze caught on a shrine archway at the far end of the square, carved from pale stone and etched with moss. A woman knelt there, face lifted to the wind, a quiet song drifting from her lips that didn’t seem meant for anyone but the air itself.

The village square opened up like a woven basket—wide, sun-dappled, brimming with quiet life. 

Morning traders laid out satchels of lotus-seed bundles and coils of cloth dyed in forest ochre. Wind fluttered through the hanging scripts above shopfronts, and the faint clink of chimes echoed from rooftop corners. A group of villagers under a roof looked to be creating lanterns.

Jinx stepped into the space first, boots sinking softly into moss-lined stone. 

Ekko followed, gaze flicking from stall to shrine, absorbing the rhythm of the place. 

Everything in Stilllight moved like breath—not rushed, not still. Alive.

A figure peeled away from a shaded alcove by the weaver’s stand. 

Bent with age but straight in presence, the elder woman’s robes shimmered faintly with threads of memory—worn blue wrapped in strips of plum and moss-green. Her long silver hair had been braided and looped like climbing vines, and her walking staff carried symbols carved deep into its surface: moon phases, waves, a single wind spiral.

She moved directly toward Jinx, one hand lifting to touch Jinx’s forearm—a gesture soft but grounding.

"I see the mountain has returned one of its storms," the woman said, voice like braided reed. Her eyes then flicked toward Ekko, studying the new edges in the air beside Jinx. "And this one walks differently. Not from these woods. A guest?"

Jinx glanced back at Ekko, who stood next to her, before nodding her head at the woman. 

“This is Kairo,” she said, offering a grin. “He’s with me.” 

Ekko felt the words settle in his chest—soft, but weighted. He’s with me.

She’d said it easily, without hesitation. No explanation. No qualifiers.

Just a name and a truth.

When Rakan and Xayah first saw Ekko, they’d seen it instantly—not just the embarrassing wake up call, but they read the closeness in their body language, the history in their eyes. Lovers, no question.

But here, in Stilllight, the villagers didn’t have that context. All they had was Jinx’s word.

And she’d offered it freely.

It didn’t matter that she’d used his alias. It didn’t matter that no one here knew the full story.

What mattered was that she hadn’t hidden him. Hadn’t deflected. Hadn’t made him a footnote.

She’d named him as someone who walked beside her.

It warmed something in him, low and steady.

Even if the ache lingered, he was grateful for this moment—where she’d chosen to share this with him.

Jinx briefly turns to Ekko, breaking him away from his thoughts, and she gestured toward the woman, “This is Vireli, one of the village elders. She’s the first person to let this stray into the village.”

Ekko offered a nod in greeting, trying to ensure he kept this woman’s name in memory—someone who had welcomed Jinx into their part of the world.

The elder paused. Her gaze lingered on Ekko with a flicker of gentle understanding. “Ah,” she murmured. “The breath between two winds. You wear the name well.”

Recalling Jinx mentioning she had asked an elder what the meaning of the name Kairo was, Ekko tried to remain steady under the elder’s lingering gaze. 

Behind her, a small group of villagers paused in their weaving, a few glancing toward the pair with bemused smiles. One woman elbowed the man beside her and said, loud enough to be heard:

“You think his shadow curls around Mistwake’s light?”

Ekko blinked, momentarily thrown. He hadn’t gotten used to Ionian’s way of speaking yet, but he could determine from the woman’s teasing tone what she was implying.

Being somewhat fluent in Ionian speech by now, Jinx had heard the woman’s comment and coughed—loudly—adjusting the strap on her satchel with theatrical nonchalance.

Vireli chuckled under her breath, eyes crinkling with familiarity. “Ignore them. You know how threads talk when they’re tangled together too long.”

But neither Jinx nor Ekko denied it.

And that said more than enough.

A soft tug brushed against Ekko’s arm.

The child was maybe seven—round-cheeked, barefoot, wrapped in a sleeveless tunic dyed with charcoal swirls and moss-green trim. A single feather was tied into a braid behind her ear, bobbing as she looked up with wide eyes and a gap-toothed grin.

“Where are you from?” She asked, voice curious but not demanding. “Your clothes look like metal clouds.”

Ekko blinked, startled by the phrasing. He looked down at his single-sleeved jacket, his patchwork pants, the utility buckles and owl hood—Zaun’s influence all over him.

“Far from here,” he said after a moment, offering a small smile. “A place below the sky. Not nearly this quiet.”

The child’s eyes sparkled with interest. “Do people wear clouds there?”

“Sort of. You’d be the brightest thing on the streets,” he said, gesturing to her feather.

She nodded solemnly—perfectly satisfied—and then pivoted to Jinx without hesitation.

From behind her back, she revealed a small flower—soft orange with flecks of blue near the core. No ceremony, no flourish. Just a hand extended upward.

Jinx blinked, taken aback. “For me?”

The child looked at her like the question made no sense. “You’re Mistwake. It grows on your trail.”

Jinx blinked before bending down, allowing the young girl to place the flower in her hair, weaving the stem through the crown braid. When the child was done, Jinx offered a smile, reaching to pat the girl on her head. “Thanks, little sprout.”

Ekko watched the exchange before his eyes, a smile tugging at something inside him.

Before anything more could be said, another voice cut in from nearby—low, rich, laced with amusement.

“You’ve got good wind around you, Storm Shadow.”

Ekko was taken aback by the sudden name.

A man approached from the woven fence line, walking with the ease of someone who didn’t need to prove presence. His tunic bore the emblem of twin leaves curled toward a rising sun, and across his back was a short-blade wrapped in barkcloth.

“You walk like someone who’s hunted things. Big or fast?”

Ekko gave a sheepish shrug. “Fast, maybe. But I didn’t hunt them. Dodging’s more my specialty.”

The man grinned, gaze flicking to Jinx where she stood beside him. “You walk with Mistwake now. That means you’re already kin here.”

He raised two fingers, pressing them lightly to Ekko’s shoulder in silent welcome, and then gave Jinx a subtle nod—acknowledging her not just as companion, but as one of them. With that, he gave them both a quick wave before walking back to his duties. 

Ekko felt the air shift around him. Not heavy. Just… claimed.

He didn’t know what to make of it—the feeling of being so readily welcomed by Stilllight. 

Jinx glanced sideways at him, and there was something in her face—not smug, not soft. Just quietly proud.

Vireli remained nearby as the child vanished and the male villager returned to his weaving. 

The elder’s staff tapped softly against the stone as she approached again, her robes catching the wind with each step. Her gaze lingered on Jinx a moment before sweeping to Ekko—thoughtful, measuring, and ever so faintly amused.

“I trust Xayah and Rakan have told you what has happened in the village?”

Jinx nodded, her voice steady. “They passed the message. Something’s off with the mosslight grid.”

Vireli exhaled through her nose, a slow breath like the wind dragging through bamboo. “It faltered in three lanes. The north trough blinked out at dusk last night—and the central coil burned too dim to guide our young ones back after dusk training.” She glanced at the square’s far side, where vines wound through latticed metal frames, some still pulsing with faint bioluminescence. “We’d prefer it be mended before the sun turns down again.”

Ekko tilted his head, eyes curious. “Why the rush?”

Vireli looked at him without surprise. “Tomorrow marks the Lantern Festival. Stilllight’s hands and hearths will carry flame and memory across the river. We cannot light the skies if the ground below has gone dim.”

The mention of what this festival represented hit Ekko gently—anchoring something deep inside him. It reminded him of the memorial Piltover and Zaun held together after the war, where they wrote down the names of those lost and lit a flame, letting their ashes and embers pass into the wind, a way to mourn—to remember, to let go. 

He glanced at Jinx, but she was already watching the mosslights.

“I’ve been to a few of your festivals,” Jinx said, her tone casual but edged with curiosity. “But not that one. Doesn’t ring any bells.”

The elder offered a small smile, cryptic and knowing. “You came to us three days after the last one. I remember it clearly. The lights had barely faded when your boots crossed our outer ring.” Her eyes crinkled. “I suspect fate was still brushing our hearths when it let you in.”

Jinx tilted her head, one brow raised—but didn’t argue. Fate wasn’t something she fought much these days. Just punched when it got annoying.

Ekko shifted, watching the interplay, unsure whether to speak. But Vireli turned toward him now, her voice still steady.

“We craft lanterns—some for ancestors, some for memory, some for hope. They drift through the canopy and over the river’s edge until sunrise. We call it The Luminous Crossing —the lanterns guide spirits, memories, and hopes across the luminous path that threads through the village and beyond. It’s how we mark change. How we bless new paths.”

She glanced toward the mosslight vines, dim even in morning shade.

“We hope you’ll join us. But first, we must restore the lights below—so the sky can carry ours properly.”

Jinx straightened, hand gripping the strap of her satchel. “Then we better fix this grid fast, huh? Can’t have your send-offs blinking out midair. I’ll take it on.”

The elder nodded, satisfied, and raised one hand toward a nearby villager—a tall youth with curled hair and hands stained from carving work.

“Cirin,” Vireli beckoned, “take Mistwake and her Storm Shadow to the source. Begin with the north trough.”

Ekko caught the name again— Storm Shadow —and his breath hitched. 

Elemental, right, he thought. As if thunder in your veins made you worthy of myth. He’d been given many names in Zaun—but never like this, never with awe woven into it.

Jinx didn’t bother hiding her grin.

Storm Shadow, she echoed in her head, tasting the syllables. Ionians spun names like spells, draping meaning over muscle and mess. And this one fit him too well. Thunder in his fists, dusk in his silence.

Cirin walked up to them, looking just a bit younger than an adult, and he nodded to the both of them. “Mistwake, Storm Shadow, I’ll guide the way.” 

And just like that, they were moving again—toward whatever waited between the moss and the light.

Cirin didn’t speak much as he led them through the village’s winding lower paths, but he didn’t need to. 

The mossy stones beneath their feet remembered every step taken before them—soft depressions where boots had paused, patterns where rain had soaked and evaporated. Stilllight grew quieter the deeper they went, like the air itself preferred whispers over conversation.

They passed under hanging vines that pulsed with residual light, brushed past worn prayer flags strung between rooftops carved from bamboo and woven iron. 

Time felt braided here. Not linear—layered.

When they reached the first mosslight trough, Cirin paused beside a panel sunk into the earth, framed by quartz-strung vines and cracked nodes carved from riverstone. The crystal clusters inside flickered erratically, light pulsing out of rhythm, like breath caught in panic.

He gestured once. “This is the first fault,” he said simply, then took two quiet steps back. A bow of the head. No flourish. No explanation. Just Stilllight’s way of trusting Mistwake to listen better than most would ask.

Then he left them.

Jinx crouched immediately beside the panel, satchel swinging to the ground with a gentle thud. She slid her goggles down, eyes skimming the conduit grooves like they were second nature. Fingers moved before thoughts had names—checking for root-breaks, brush damage, decay in the energy channel. Her boots dug into the moss, steady and unflinching.

Ekko stayed back at first. Hands in his pockets. Watching.

The mosslight nodes sputtered again—one gave a low hiss, releasing a tiny thread of heat. Jinx barely flinched.

This village had built itself around her like it knew how to hold her weight. Every knot in the grid bent toward her. Every pause between flickers seemed to wait for her breath.

A flicker of memory caught in Ekko's ribs—her hideout in Zaun, carved between fault lines and echo chambers, where the Firelights had gathered scrap and dreams and fire-retardant paint. Together, he and Jinx had made the impossible airworthy. She’d sketched out the frame with blue chalk and manic precision, he'd handled the stabilizers and intake flow. A hot air balloon hovercraft stitched from chaos and trust. 

Back then, she needed him—spoke to him in raw equations and jittery thoughts, letting him sort the signal from the static.

Now she hummed with clarity. She was the equation. 

Stilllight seemed to hum with her, too. Its quiet bent toward her, soft and instinctive, like moss reaching for warmth. 

Ekko didn’t want to interrupt the rhythm.

And he couldn’t help but wonder—had the Firelights ever been this for her? Not just teammates, not just a cause to wield chaos against—but a space that softened around her edges. A place that breathed with her rhythm. He remembered how she used to crack jokes mid-blueprint, how she'd toss him a wrench and call him a genius with one eye twitching. They’d worked well—better than anyone expected. 

But Stilllight didn’t just work with her. It welcomed her. Like it knew her frequency before she spoke.

The mosslight grid was misfiring again—veins pulsing out of sync, flickering like a bad joke. Jinx crouched low, wrench in hand, watching the erratic glow stutter across the stone. She tapped one of the channels, and it sparked in protest.

“Okay,” she muttered, “this is weird-weird.”

She leaned closer, squinting at the moss’s behavior. The decay wasn’t spreading like usual—it was jittery, unstable, like the system couldn’t decide whether to collapse or reboot. She frowned, chewing the inside of her cheek.

Behind her, Ekko lingered at the edge of the grid, gaze sharp but unreadable.

A soft rustle overhead drew his attention. 

On a nearby branch, Silky had landed—his violet-tinged feathers catching the filtered light, plume-tails curling like ink in water.

He didn’t call out. Just watched.

Ekko’s eyes met the bird’s for a breath, something unspoken passing between them. Recognition. Maybe reassurance.

Jinx twisted around, flashing a grin. “What do you think, Storm Shadow? Gonna stand there looking mysterious, or help me decode this moss tantrum?”

He hesitated a second before moving in motion. 

Silky remained on the branch, silent and still.

Ekko stepped forward, crouching beside her with practiced ease. He didn’t smile, but his eyes tracked the mosslight veins with quiet focus.

“How’s it supposed to regulate energy?” He asked, voice steady. “Is it reactive, or does it anticipate shifts?”

Jinx perked up. “Bit of both. It’s got this whole root-memory thing—stores patterns, spits them back when the grid gets twitchy. Like a nervous system, but moodier.”

He nodded, brushing his fingers along a vein that pulsed faintly under his touch. “These channels—are they syncing through resonance?”

“Yup. Resonance veins. They mimic each other’s behavior.” She raised her hands, moving them to enact how the veins behave, “One gets twitchy, the other throws a tantrum in solidarity. Real codependent.”

Ekko’s brow furrowed. He leaned in, tracing the moss’s glow with his eyes, calculating something. “So if the decay’s not spreading linearly, it’s probably reacting to a feedback loop. Maybe the pulse channels are misaligned.”

Jinx watched him work, her grin fading into something quieter. 

He was talking like usual—precise, methodical—but there was a hitch in his rhythm.

A pause too long. A glance that didn’t land.

“You’re off,” she said suddenly, standing up. 

Ekko blinked, looking up at her. “What?”

“Acting weird-weird,” she repeated, nudging a moss strand with her boot. “Not just the grid. You.”

He hesitated, fingers still on the moss. “I’m fine.”

“Sure,” she said, not pushing, but not backing off either. “Just weird seeing you talk moss physics like you’re somewhere else.”

His jaw tightened, and he shifted his weight like he wanted to stand but didn’t.

“I’m just trying to help,” Ekko said finally, restrained. “That’s all.”

Jinx tilted her head, watching him. “You always help. That’s not new. What is?”

He exhaled through his nose, sharp and quiet. 

Finally, he stood up, trying to meet her gaze. 

“I don’t know where I fit here.” 

He gestured toward the forest surrounding them, the mosslight veins casting soft shadows across his skin.

“Stilllight’s yours. You built something here. I feel like I’m just… passing through.”

Ekko’s gaze drifted to the mosslight veins, their glow pulsing faintly beneath the floor. His voice stayed steady, but something in it frayed at the edges.

“When you left Zaun, I knew you weren’t running. You were searching. Trying to build something that wasn’t born out of smoke and explosions."

His fingers brushed the chain of his stopwatch, cool against his skin. 

“I’m proud of what you’ve made. What you’ve become.”

A breath.

“And I’m grateful you still remember what we were. What I tried to be for you.”

He looked up, eyes catching hers.

“I came here for you. To see if we were something worth still building for.”

His voice dropped, strained—like he was holding back something sharp and aching.

“But now it feels like you’re building without me.”

A soft flutter broke the silence that fell after Ekko’s words.

Silky descended from the canopy above, landing with quiet precision on Ekko’s shoulder. 

Ekko didn’t flinch. Just blinked, once, as the bird settled against him—light, steady, present.

Jinx’s gaze shifted. Not to Silky, but to Ekko. Her expression changed—something in it opening, softening.

She didn’t laugh. Didn’t deflect.

Just watched him, gaze steady and unreadable.

“You know,” she said, voice low, “a year ago, you brought me to the Firelights. After I tried to—” 

She stopped. 

The silence filled in the rest, thick and unflinching. 

“I didn’t think I’d stay. I felt like a ghost in someone else’s story. Your story. Just passing through.”

His gaze flickered to her, then back to the grid beneath them.

“But I stayed,” she said, after a moment. “I learned how to build again. Not just tech. People. Places. Rhythm.”

Her fingers skimmed the mosslight grid, its flicker syncing with her touch.

“Because of you. Because of them.”

Ekko’s jaw tightened, but his voice stayed quiet. “You didn’t need me to build this.”

It wasn’t bitter. Just quiet. Honest.

“No. I didn’t.” Her words landed without hesitation

The ache in Ekko’s chest deepened at her words.

But then, her gaze softened. “But I wouldn’t have known how to start without you.”

He exhaled, slow and uneven.

The ache receded a breath back.

His eyes traced the mosslight veins again, like they might offer a blueprint for something he couldn’t name.

“I just… I don’t know if you still want me in it. Your life.”

Her breath stilled, eyebrows furrowing. 

Words had never been her strong suit.

So instead, she reached out, fingers brushing his wrist—light, but grounding.

“You know,” she said, echoing his own words from long ago, “I learned from someone… very special. That no matter what happened in the past, it’s never too late to build something new. Someone worth building it for.”

Slowly, her fingers moved from his wrist to his hand, intertwining their fingers.

“I made this place mine, not because it was where I started, but because I put myself in it.”

It was like Ekko went back in time, back to Jinx’s hideout. He and Jinx are sitting on the floor of what was her hideout—Jinx hugging her knees, her fingers clinging on to Isha’s tent tightly. He was trying to convince her to make an altar for Isha, to remember her. Jinx had been hesitant, until he had said the same words Jinx was telling him now.

Jinx seemed to understand where his mind went, and she tilted her head in understanding. “You’re the one that taught me that a place can belong to us because of what we bring to it, not the other way around.”

When their hands joined, Silky moved from Ekko’s shoulder to Jinx’s. His head tilted, plume-tails brushing Jinx’s shoulder as he watched their fingers lace—like he understood the shape of something being chosen.

Jinx glanced at Silky, feeling reassured that the bird was staring at their joined hands. 

She offered a gentle squeeze to Ekko’s fingers, and his gaze locked with hers, fully listening.

“No matter where you are or where I am, it’s enough to make it matter, too.” 

Ekko’s breath caught, just slightly, his hand subconsciously squeezing hers back. 

Jinx smiled—not wide, not wild. Just real.

“Why don’t we build something together?”

For four long seconds, Ekko didn’t move. 

The offer hung between them, fragile as glass.

He didn’t know if he belonged here—not in Stilllight, not in her world. 

But maybe belonging wasn’t something you waited for. Maybe it was something you chose.

He reached for a tool.

Jinx handed it to him without a word.

Silky flew back up to the nearest tree, plume-tails trailing like ink in the wind. He perched without a sound, watching from above—as if the moment no longer needed him to hold it.

The forest was quiet as the sun set at the highest point of the day, save for the soft rustle of leaves and the distant hum of insects settling into dusk. Overhead, the mosslight grid flickered uncertainly—Glowthread vines stretched across the enchanted bamboo lattice, their bioluminescence dimming in uneven pulses. Three lanes had dimmed—one completely dark, another pulsing erratically, and the central coil barely glowing. 

Jinx crouched beneath a warped archway of spiritwood, one boot braced against a moss-covered stone. Her fingers traced the faded chalk runes etched into the lattice, brow furrowed. The moss here looked sickly—its glow sputtering like a dying ember, veins tangled and overgrown around the binding stone.

She clicked her tongue. “This one’s throwing a tantrum.”

Ekko knelt beside her, scanning the junction with practiced eyes. 

Jinx had explained to him how the village’s mosslight grid system worked. It was designed by Stilllight’s elders and herbalists as a spiritual lighting source. It uses bioluminescent moss—known as Glowthread—that naturally emits soft light when thriving in optimal conditions. Moss is laid across woven lattice paths made from enchanted bamboo and spiritwood, which align with leylines. These grid paths run through rooftops, walls, and village archways. Each node contains a binding stone, spiritually tuned to the local terrain to regulate the moss’s health and glow. 

Think of it like natural ‘circuit calibration,’ she had said with a grin. 

She told him that it wasn’t unusual for there to be disruptions in the system. They were typically related to overgrowth in certain sections, or bamboo lattice warping over time. Sometimes, it wouldn’t be something she’d be able to fix; the village’s herbalists would have to reestablish flow by singing to the moss or inscribing on harmony runes. 

But this time, a new issue had made itself known.

The pulse node was misaligned, and the feedback loop was choking itself. He reached into his satchel, pulling out a coil wrapped in copper thread. 

“We could stabilize the surge with anchor coils,” he said, voice low. “Redirect the pulse through the lower lattice. Might give the moss room to breathe.”

Jinx didn’t look up. “Or we could slap a beetle patch on it and jam a resonance crystal into its guts.” She grinned, pulling a jagged contraption from her bag—scrap metal fused with crystal shards and copper wire. “ Boom. Instant chaos magic.”

Ekko raised an eyebrow. “From what you’ve told me, that’s not how leyline harmonics work.”

“Not usually, ” she drawled out, finally glancing at him. “But it could work. If we reroute the feedback loop through the moss clusters and amplify it with bug-drones, it might even sing.”

He blinked. “Sing?”

“You know. Like... hum. Buzz. Do the thing.” She gestured vaguely toward the canopy, where the mosslight grid pulsed like a heartbeat on the verge of arrhythmia.

She wasn’t joking. She’d already sketched a schematic in chalk on a nearby stone—messy, brilliant, unmistakably hers. Glowing vine failsafes, whirring bug-shaped light drones scavenged from a ruin, and a chaotic rerouting system that looked like it had been dreamed up mid-explosion.

Ekko crouched beside her, studying the diagram. It was wild. But it made sense.

They fell into rhythm—not arguing, not competing. Creating . 

Jinx climbed a low branch to reach a faulty junction, her boots scraping bark. 

Ekko passed her tools with quiet precision, grounding her chaos in structure. 

She soldered with reckless flair; he calibrated with steady hands. 

The copper thread glinted in the mosslight as they wove it through the lattice, fingers stained with dust and ink.

The forest around them seemed to lean in, listening.

By the time the sun set into the twilight, the repairs were done. 

The mosslight grid pulsed in steady rhythm now, casting soft green-blue halos across the forest floor. Fireflies drifted lazily through the air, drawn to the renewed hum of energy. Stilllight’s chimes rang faintly in the distance—acknowledgment, not celebration. The kind of quiet praise reserved for work done with care.

Ekko stood beneath the lattice, gaze tilted upward. The vines above shimmered like a woven sky, each node humming in quiet harmony. His fingers still tingled from the copper thread, but it wasn’t the sensation that held him still.

It was her laugh.

Jinx had climbed a nearby tree, arms stretched wide, boots kicked off and discarded in the moss. She was talking to one of the bug-drones that had flown up to the height of the upper branch, coaxing it to buzz in harmony with the grid. Her voice was light, almost musical, and for a moment—just a moment—it sounded like Powder.

Ekko’s breath caught.

He hadn’t expected it to feel like this. Working with her had been... easier than he’d hoped. Not effortless, but real. Tangible. 

They had worked together before, a year ago, a time that felt so long ago that he worried they wouldn’t be able to find their rhythm this time. And now, with the grid glowing and the forest settling into its twilight hush, the quiet pressed in around him, and something inside shifted.

He remembered the way Powder used to hum when she worked, all those years ago, when they were kids chasing after adventures. The way she’d lean too close to her inventions, hair singed and eyes wide with wonder. The way she’d look at him like he was the only person who understood the language she spoke in sparks and scribbles.

Fast forward to a year ago, when he worked next to Jinx, when he’d first started calling her Blue , she still hummed but it was different back then—still chaotic, but lost, searching. Like she was afraid to be herself yet bits of who she was escaped like sparked wires. She would look at him like someone who wanted to be seen. 

And now…

Ekko glanced up at the Jinx above him, then at the grid they’d restored together. 

The vines, the copper thread, the chaotic brilliance of her design—it was hers. But she’d made space for him in it. Not just in the work, but in the why .

She’d chosen to build something new. And she’d asked him to build it with her.

He didn’t feel like he was chasing a memory anymore. He wasn’t trying to find her in the ruins or make sense of the distance between them. 

He was here. With her. 

And she was reaching for him—not as a ghost of what they were, but as someone who wanted him in what she was becoming.

She caught him staring and raised an eyebrow, looking down at him. “What? Got moss in your brain?”

He shook his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous habit.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “But sometimes worth it.”

She stared down at him from her branch perch. 

A wicked grin suddenly grew on her face.

Then—“Think fast, Storm Shadow!”

She lifted herself off the branch, gravity pulling her instantly, her skirt flying to catch up.

Ekko jolted forward, swiftly catching her in his arms, grunting for a second from the impact. 

Jinx’s arms landed securely around him, giggling madly in his arms. “Heh, good catch, Boy Savior.” 

He could feel her laughter against his chest, the weight of her in his arms, her hair brushing against his cheek. The flower given by “little sprout” was still weaved in her crown braid. 

And Ekko stood there, holding Jinx, heart thudding quietly, realizing that something had shifted—not in her, but in him.

Like a gear found its place in the rhythm.

His arms subconsciously held her tighter. 

He chuckled at her words, the sound low and warm. “Guess I’m finally learning to listen.”

Her grin lowered into a warm smile, her eyes glistening.

She poked him gently on his forehead. “Took you long enough.”

Gently, he lowered her to stand on the mossy ground, but he kept her close to him. His arms remained around her waist, hers around his shoulders. 

They stood there in silence for a while, just holding each other, the mosslight grid humming above them like a heartbeat. 

Not rushed. Not uncertain. Just steady.

Ekko looked up at the vines, catching a glimpse of Silky’s plume tail still watching over them, then back at her. “We’ll figure it out,” he said. “Even if it’s messy.”

Jinx grinned. “Messy’s my specialty.”

“ Our specialty,” he corrected, making her grin wider, and the weight in his chest lighter now. Not gone—but shared.

They weren’t starting over. They were starting from here .

As the twilight faded into the night and the stars were visible in the dark sky, the path back to Stilllight shimmered faintly beneath their feet, the mosslight veins now pulsing in steady rhythm. The forest had quieted into its twilight hush, and the village ahead glowed like a constellation nestled in the trees.

Jinx walked ahead, a skip in her step, boots slung over one shoulder, her bare feet brushing the mossy path. 

Ekko followed, hands tucked into his pockets, the copper scent of repair still lingering on his skin.

As they passed beneath the archway carved from spiritwood and moonstone, the grid above them bloomed in soft spirals of light. The binding stones at each node pulsed once—acknowledgment, not alarm. The system was whole again.

Children darted between the lattice paths, their laughter echoing like windchimes. One of the younger ones paused, eyes wide as the mosslight flickered in response to her steps. 

“It’s glowing again!” She called, voice bright.

A nearby ritualist smiled, pressing a harmony rune into the soil near the archway. “Mistwake and Kairo returned it to rhythm,” she said, voice reverent but warm.

Jinx raised a brow at Ekko, whispering, “ Returned it to rhythm. Sounds fancy.”

Ekko smirked. “Better than moss-brained misfits. ”

Jinx snorted, grinning. “I think I’d prefer that.”

They reached the central square, where the elders had gathered beneath the lantern canopy. 

Vireli stood at the center. She turned as they approached, her gaze sharp but kind.

“You’ve done it,” she said, voice low and steady. “The north trough sings again. The central coil glows true.”

Jinx gave a half-salute, grinning. “Told you we’d make it hum.”

Ekko nodded, more reserved. “It should hold through the festival. We reinforced the binding stones and tuned the lattice to the leyline curve.”

Vireli stepped forward, placing a hand over each of theirs. “You didn’t just fix the grid. You reminded it how to listen.”

The mosslight above them pulsed once, as if in agreement.

Around the square, the elders began lighting the first lanterns—soft, floating orbs that drifted upward, their glow syncing with the grid’s rhythm. The air filled with quiet song, not celebratory, but grounding. A ritual of thanks, of beginning, of the calling. 

Jinx watched the lights rise, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then she leaned into Ekko’s shoulder, just slightly.

“Feels different this time,” she murmured, studying the grid’s rhythm. 

Ekko glanced at her. “Because it is.”

Vireli turned back to the crowd, her voice rising gently. “Let the lights welcome the spirits and guide us into tomorrow. Let the rhythm remind us of what we build together.”

And as the first lanterns lifted into the night, Jinx and Ekko stood beneath them—not as ghosts of what was, but as part of what was becoming.

The lanterns continued to rise, casting soft halos across the square, and the villagers began to settle into the rhythm of evening. Some gathered near the communal hearth, others drifted toward the outer paths to prepare offerings for the Lantern Festival the next day. The mosslight grid pulsed gently overhead, syncing with the hum of voices and the rustle of wind through spiritwood leaves.

Ekko lingered near the edge of the square, watching a group of children chase a bug-drone that zipped between the lattice arches. His gaze drifted past them, settling on Jinx—Mistwake—where she knelt beside a ritualist, coaxing a bloom from the moss with a grin and a flick of her fingers. Her laughter echoed faintly, light and unguarded.

He remembered the first time the Firelights began to trust her. How she’d stood at the edge of their enclave, arms crossed, eyes wary, waiting for someone to decide if she belonged. Back then, the Firelights had been his —his rhythm, his refuge. And when they welcomed her, when she started to laugh with them, build with them, lead them, he’d felt proud. Proud that she was becoming part of something he’d helped shape.

But this—Stilllight—wasn’t his. It was hers.

She hadn’t waited to be invited. She’d carved space for herself, tangled her rhythm into the village’s pulse, and made it sing . 

Watching her now, teasing the moss into blooming brighter, he felt that same pride—but deeper. 

Not because she’d joined something he built, but because she’d built something of her own—and invited him in.

He’d always been proud of her—for leaving Zaun, for searching, for choosing to exist. 

But tonight, after the grid repairs, after her words, after her hand in his, he felt something shift. 

The doubt that had gnawed at him—the fear that she was building without him—had quieted.

Stilllight had let him listen. 

Not just to her laughter, but to the way this place held her. The way it let her exist as she was.

And now, knowing she still wanted him in her rhythm, in her world, he felt like he was understanding—and that pride he had for her bloomed into something stronger.

Love, steady and sure.

From the woven fence line, the man with the twin-leaf emblem approached again. His stride was easy, his presence unforced. The barkcloth-wrapped blade still rested across his back, but tonight, it felt more ceremonial than defensive.

“You listened,” he said, stopping beside Ekko. “The grid sings again.”

Ekko turned, offering a quiet nod. “We tried. She knew how to make it hum. I just helped it stay in tune.”

The man smiled, gaze steady. “You didn’t just help. You walked with it. Made it listen to the rhythm. That’s what matters.”

Rakan’s advice from earlier in the day echoed in his ears—

“And hey—don’t think too hard about the rhythm, yeah? Just walk beside it. See what kind of song it makes with you in it.”

The man pressed two fingers lightly to Ekko’s shoulder—this time with more weight, more certainty. “Storm Shadow walks with Stilllight now.”

Ekko felt his breath hitch, a warmth stirring within him.

Then the man stepped back, placing his hand over his heart. “I am Taeryn. Keeper of the southern ridge. The moss there listens to the wind differently.”

Ekko nodded, something quiet and steady blooming in his chest. “I’d like to learn more about how this place breathes.”

Taeryn stood straighter, holding his gaze steady with Ekko. “How long do you stay with us, Storm Shadow?”

Ekko’s fingers fidgeted in his palm, a small ache making itself known deep within him, as he thought over his answer. “A few days.” 

Taeryn gave a nod, setting a comforting hand on Ekko’s shoulder. “Then, you will listen to how Stilllight breathes before you depart.” He patted the handle of the blade on his back proudly. “Tomorrow, when the sun is at its highest, we walk the ridge together and hunt for the festival’s ceremony.”

Ekko looked up at Taeryn, a feeling of gratitude washing over him, an eagerness at feeling like he was being a part of something with purpose. 

Taeryn turned toward the square, where villagers were continuing to light and prepare more lanterns. A few paused, watching Ekko with quiet smiles—acknowledging him not as a visitor, but as someone who had shaped the rhythm of their day.

One of the children whispered to another, pointing toward the mosslight grid. “Mistwake and Storm Shadow made it glow again.”

Another ritualist nearby added softly, “They walk the same path now.”

Ekko felt it settle in his chest—not the weight of duty, not the ache of memory. 

The warmth of wanting. Of being wanted.

For the first time in Stilllight, he wasn’t summoned.

He was chosen.

Ekko turned back toward Jinx, who was now coaxing a bloom from the mosslight with nothing but a hum and a grin.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like he was passing through her world. 

He felt like he was arriving in it.

The night continued on, the moon rising higher into the starry sky. Villagers were starting to settle into the late night evening activities, including last minute preparations for the next day’s festival. 

The mosslights hummed low, casting a soft green glow across the village square. 

Jinx sat in one of the alcoves of the village square, her boots back on her feet, fingers brushing the stone wall absently, watching Ekko—Kairo—laugh with Taeryn and a few other men—youth and older, Cirin from earlier being one of them—as they adjusted one of the grid’s outer nodes. His voice carried, light and sure, and for a moment, it felt like the village had always known him.

“You look brighter,” came a voice beside her.

Jinx blinked, turning to find Vireli, arms folded, a quiet smile playing at her lips.

“Brighter?” Jinx echoed, half a smirk forming.

Vireli nodded. “Like someone lit a lantern behind your ribs.”

Jinx snorted softly, but didn’t deny it.

Her gaze drifted back to Ekko, who was gesturing animatedly, explaining something with that spark in his eyes—the one he got when he was building something that mattered.

“He’s good for you,” Vireli said, observing. “Is he staying?”

Jinx’s jaw tightened. “He’s got a whole world that needs him. Stuff to fix. Stuff that ain’t here.”

Vireli nodded slowly, like she’d already known the answer. “And when he leaves… will you follow?”

Jinx didn’t answer. Not right away.

She watched Ekko laugh, watched Taeryn clap him on the back like he’d been part of Stilllight for years. Pride swelled in her chest—he fit here. He fit anywhere . And that was the ache.

She wanted to tell him to stay . That things felt less jagged with him here, like the edges of her world had softened just enough to keep breathing. 

But Ekko had a city to fix. A group to lead. A purpose that burned brighter than anything she could offer.

And she—she wasn’t sure if she was ready to go back. Not yet.

Stilllight had given her quiet, space to mend, to remember who she was without the noise.

And Ekko’s laughter in the village square made it all feel possible.

She wished he could stay. But wishing was quiet. Asking was loud.

She couldn’t do that to him.

Not after everything he’d done for her.

The ache settled behind her ribs, low and steady.

“I dunno,” she said finally, softer. “Kinda feels like if I go back, I’ll break somethin’. And if I stay, maybe I’ll miss somethin’.”

Vireli turned to her fully then, eyes catching the mosslight like polished stone. “Tomorrow is the Lantern Festival. We honor the lights we carry—and the ones we choose to walk beside.”

She placed a hand over Jinx’s heart, just briefly. 

Jinx froze at the touch, staring at Vireli. 

“Perhaps it will show you how your light glows.” 

Then she was gone, robes whispering against the stone, leaving Jinx alone with the hum of the grid and the weight of her own silence.

Jinx stayed there, watching Ekko from a distance. 

Pride in his ease. Longing in his laughter. 

And something else—something she couldn’t name yet—settling behind her ribs like a flickering light.

A soft flutter broke the quiet.

Silky landed beside her, claws tapping lightly against the stone. He tilted his head, plume-tails swaying like slow pendulums.

Her eyes stayed on Ekko, on the way he laughed like he’d never carried the weight of a broken city. 

“He’s gonna leave,” she said, voice low. “Not ‘cause he wants to. Just... ‘cause he has to.”

Silky blinked, then tilted his head the other way.

She sighed. “I know, I know. ‘Purpose,’ ‘duty,’ all that noble junk. But, what happens to us when he goes back?”

Silky crept closer, tail flicking once.

“I’m happy here,” she said, almost like it surprised her. “With him, it feels even better. Like maybe we could’ve had this if things were different.” 

The ache settling into her ribs grew as she spoke those words, an ache for what could’ve been.

“But they’re not different.” There was a tinge of yearning in her voice. “He’s got Zaun. I’ve got... whatever this is.”

Silky chirped softly, then bumped his head against her arm.

Jinx gave a dry laugh. “You think we’ll be fine, huh? That we’ll make it work. Long-distance chaos and all.”

He tilted his head again, slower this time. Like he was waiting.

She finally looked at him. “I want him to stay. But I won’t ask. Not when I know he’s too good of a person… He’ll choose me. And I can’t do that to him.”

Silky settled beside her, plume-tails curling around his feet.

Jinx leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “I know he’ll go. I just wish I didn’t have to let him.”

A sound of soft but rough cheering interrupted her train of thought. The group surrounding Ekko were clapping his shoulders, most showing eager grins and easy laughter. 

Taeryn clapped Ekko on the shoulder, his voice low but warm. “Get some rest, Storm Shadow. Tomorrow’s hunt isn’t for the faint-hearted.”

Ekko chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll be ready. Thank you again for allowing me to join.” He gave a small bow, the gesture half-learned, half-instinct. “Means a lot.”

Taeryn and the rest of the group offered nods and quiet grins, waving him off. 

Ekko turned, catching Jinx’s gaze across the square. She was still seated in the alcove, her fingers now idle against the stone. Silky was still perched on the stone next to her. 

He walked over, slow and easy. She stood as he neared her, meeting his gaze. 

When their gazes met, he raised an eyebrow at her. “What?” 

“They like you,” she commented, voice low, teasing with a hint of affection.

Ekko shrugged, but his smile was quiet. “It’s your place. I’m just lucky they let me walk beside it.”

Jinx’s smile flickered—pride, maybe. Or something more fragile. The ache behind her ribs hadn’t eased, but his words settled against it like mosslight on stone.

She reached out, wrapping her arms around him without a word.

Ekko blinked, surprised—but only for a second. He held her close, arms firm around her, grounding her in the quiet.

She buried her face against his shoulder, voice muffled but steady.

“Let’s go home.”

His breath stilled.

The words hung between them—simple, soft, but heavy with meaning. 

Home.  

He felt it settle in his chest like a new rhythm. Like walking beside a song he hadn’t known he needed.

Jinx pulled back slightly, her gaze searching his. There was a flicker of something in her eyes—hope, maybe. Or fear of hoping too much.

His smile deepened as he nodded, and he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. 

She looked up at him, cheeks pink—either from his kiss or the quiet weight of being with him—and she moved her hand down to hold his.

They walked together, fingers laced, steps slow beneath the moonlight. Silky took off from the stone and flew in the moonlight, following their path.

The stars shimmered above, the grid pulsing gently behind them.

Stilllight glowed.

But the ache in Jinx’s chest glowed too—soft, flickering, and unspoken.

Chapter Text

The ferryboat cut through the mist like a blade, its lanterns swaying gently in the beginning of dawn light. The mist clung to the hull like secrets. Stilllight lay ahead, a scatter of lights across the forest mountain—new, hopeful, and far too quiet.

Rakan leaned back, arms folded, watching the water churn below. 

Xayah sat beside him on the boat, her gaze fixed on the woman seated a few pews in front of them. 

She was speaking softly to one of her companions, a tall man with a rifle wrapped in canvas, slung low across his back. The cloth dulled the message, but didn’t erase it.

“She hasn’t changed much,” Xayah murmured.

Rakan tilted his head. “Still got that ‘I’m here to help, but also maybe burn something down’ energy.”

Xayah’s feathers rustled. “She helped settle that mess in the southern coast a couple months back. Bilgewater traders were ready to storm the docks.”

“And she talked them down. With a pistol on her hip.”

“You mean a pistol on each hip. She’s good at what she does,” Xayah admitted. “But she’s not here just to admire the lanterns.”

Rakan’s gaze flicked toward the woman. “No. But that doesn’t mean she’s here to start trouble.”

Xayah shifted in her seat. “Still worth keeping an eye on.”

The woman turned around swiftly in her seat, her boots moving with her. Movement so swift the boat barely swayed underneath her. Her hair flipped over her shoulders, hands settling neatly in her lap, gaze turned toward the distant hills.

“Stilllight’s grown fast,” she said casually, as if she was reading a local newsletter. “Word travels. Lantern Festival’s becoming... notorious.”

Xayah didn’t respond. Rakan raised an eyebrow.

After a quiet moment, Xayah spoke. “You didn’t come all this way for lanterns and moonlight. What’s your real angle?”

The woman’s smile was slow, unreadable. “Heard some whispers. Might be smoke, might be fire. I’m not here to stir up panic—just making sure Stilllight doesn’t get caught sleeping.”

Xayah’s feathers shifted, a quiet rustle in the wind. 

Rakan didn’t speak, but his fingers tapped once against the edge of the boat—a signal, or maybe just a thought he wasn’t ready to voice.

The ferryboat rocked gently beneath them. Somewhere in the mist, a lantern bobbed on the waves, its light flickering like a warning.

The sun crept over the ridgeline, casting a soft spill of gold across the mountaintop. Stilllight stirred slowly beneath it, wrapped in mist and silence. The air was cool, tinged with the scent of moss and morning dew, and the wind moved gently through the trees—just enough to rustle the woven chimes hanging from the eaves.

Inside the quiet hush of the constructed mountaintop home, Ekko stirred.

He didn’t open his eyes right away.

The weight of layered quilts cocooned him, thick and uneven—some frayed at the edges, others hand-stitched with mismatched thread. Beneath him, cushions were stacked high, their fabric worn soft from use. Tiny gadgets buzzed faintly beneath the surface, pulsing like a heartbeat. 

And then he felt it—her fingers in his hair.

Slowly, his eyes cracked open, fighting the urge to fall back asleep.

The light was gentle, filtered through the woven canopy above. It painted the room in soft amber, catching on the edges of metal scraps and vines strung along the walls. The walls around him were marked with charcoal and chalk—spirals, gears, dream bursts, and faces drawn in overlapping layers. A constellation of memory and invention. Outside, a bird called once—low and melodic—and the wind carried the sound like a whisper. 

When he focused his gaze, the first thing he saw was blue. 

Jinx sat cross-legged above him, his head resting in her lap, her blue hair falling like a curtain and framing her face. She was braiding his hair, slow and absent-minded, like she’d been doing it for a while. She must’ve woken first, rearranged him like a puzzle piece she wanted to keep close. Her fingers moved with a kind of reverence, like she was trying to memorize the shape of him.

Gradually, her eyes connected with his, noticing he had woken up. 

Ekko reached up, brushing his hand against hers in his hair in greeting.

“Couldn’t sleep?” 

Jinx smiled, soft and crooked. “Could’ve gotten more. Your hair’s too distracting.”

He caught one of her hands mid-braid, making her pause. He pressed a kiss to her palm—gentle, grounding.

“What’s the real reason?” 

She hesitated, then let her free hand drift down to rest against his collarbone. Her touch was light, but her silence was heavy. “…Just thinking.”

“About?”

Her fingers curled around his. She squeezed once. Soft, tentative.

“You ever wish you could stay in one moment?” 

Ekko blinked at her words, and for a breath, he wasn’t in Stilllight. 

The words hit him like a ripple through time.

He was back in that altered universe—sitting next to the other Powder on the rooftop. He’d asked her then, “You ever wish you could stay in one moment?” The weight of her leaning on his shoulder, staring at him with gentleness and care, as she responded, “Sometimes taking a leap forward means leaving a few things behind.” And she’d smiled, sad and knowing, like she understood the cost of every second.

He hadn’t expected to hear those words again. Not here. Not from her.

Back then, he thought that moment was a gift he’d never get twice. That whatever tenderness existed between him and Powder in that alternate timeline was only shared then—an echo of what could’ve been, not what was . He’d returned to his own timeline believing that kind of closeness with Jinx was out of reach. That the damage was too deep, the gap too wide.

But then came the chance. At her hideout. 

It took him at least four attempts to get through to her.

It wasn’t easy. It was messy. And it was real.

The reconnection hadn’t been some perfect reunion—it was jagged, raw, full of missteps and guarded silences. But they’d kept showing up. The jagged broken pieces couldn't be put back together, but they had met the light instead. 

They had chosen each other. And what they’d built since then—this quiet morning, this shared breath—it was theirs . 

Now, here she was. Saying those words to him. Not as a ghost of what could’ve been, but as the girl who stayed. The girl who fought to be here.

When he said those words before, he knew what that moment meant back then. And being in this moment with her now, he knew what words he wanted to say this time.

Ekko sat up slowly, positioning himself in front of her. He took both her hands, lacing their fingers together. His grip was gentle, but sure. Like he was anchoring himself to this reality, to her.

Steady, unwavering—“I’d rather live in it with you.” 

Her fingers stayed curled in his, but her eyes softened, as if something inside her had just exhaled. Like she’d been holding her breath for days, maybe weeks, and only now dared to believe he meant it.

He wanted to be with her. Not just here, not just for a moment. But in the way that mattered. In the way that said, I see you, and I still choose you.

It filled her chest with something warm and weightless, like the first time she’d ever felt safe. Not because the world had changed, but because he was here in it.

She didn’t want to think about the parting. Not yet. Not while his voice still lingered in the air and his hand was still in hers. She wanted to stretch this moment wide, let it echo through her bones, let it root itself somewhere deep.

She smiled, and this time it was gentler. Not heavy, not resigned—just full. Full of everything she didn’t know how to say.

Ekko watched her closely, sensing the subtle shift.

“Are you happy here?” 

Her breath stilled at the question, something in her tightening.

“I think so.”

He tilted his head, catching the nuance.

“But?”

She paused. Her gaze dropped. To their joined hands, the warmth radiating from their touch. 

“…But I’m happier with you here.”

He watched her. The way her fingers lingered in his, like she didn’t want to let go. The way her voice had softened, but her shoulders hadn’t fully relaxed. The way she bit her lip after speaking, like she was holding something back—not out of fear, but out of tenderness.

She wasn’t just glad he was here.

She was aching for him to stay.

And he could feel it—in the way she touched him, in the way her gaze flickered and fell, in the quiet between her breaths. It wasn’t hesitation. It was yearning. It was the kind of silence that carried weight.

The same way he felt a year ago, holding her close, knowing she would part ways the next morning.

“You can say it,” he said gently, his fingers tightening against hers.

Her eyebrows furrowed together. “Say what?”

“Tell me you don’t want me to go. That you want me to stay.”

Her breath hitched, air stuck in her lungs.

Jinx felt herself slip back in time to one year ago. Same warmth, same ache. To when she said those exact words.

Except this time, it was him saying it to her, for her to say what she wouldn’t allow herself to say, to make it her truth. 

She swallowed, the weight in her chest heavier than she wanted to admit.

Her fingers curled into his, grounding herself.

“…I want you to stay.”

Her voice cracked, just barely. She took a breath, eyes glistening, but didn’t pull away. She wanted to be real with him. Needed to be.

He held his gaze with hers, steady and unshaken, like he had already made his choice long before this conversation, long before coming here, and long before their last goodbye. 

Ekko shifted to move behind her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and waist, his legs on either side of her, holding her close. 

She leaned into him, letting herself be held. No words, just warmth. Just understanding. She gripped his arms in return, as if to say, thank you for letting me say it, for listening.

Her breath was slow, measured, like she was forcing herself to say it all. To give him the truth without tying him down with it.

“I want you to stay…” She said again, quieter this time. “But this place isn’t yours. Zaun is.”

The words settled between them, soft but heavy. She wasn’t wrong. Zaun was his. Its pulse lived in him, in the way he moved, the way he thought, the way he fought for what mattered. 

But this moment— her voice, her touch, her truth—was asking something else. Not to take Zaun from him, not to make him choose. But she wanted something like it. A place that felt like hers. Something that didn’t demand, but invited.

He rested his chin on her shoulder, pulling her close.

“And is this place yours?”

She felt herself still once more, the question nestling inside her. 

“This place called me,” she said after a moment. “Like a beacon. It claimed me. Made me listen.”

“What’s it been saying?”

“That I needed to be away from the noise. To be here. That this place is good for me.”

Above them, Silky blinked from his throne—a woven hammock of branches. His golden ringed eyes watched them, silent witness to the weight in the room.

“This place is good,” Jinx reaffirmed, glancing fondly at Silky. “It helped me remember who I was without the noise.”

Ekko held her tighter, letting her words settle. 

His gaze drifted to Silky, perched above them, golden eyes steady. Watching. But not watching them, he realized—watching her .

Ekko looked back at Jinx, replaying her words.

Something didn’t sit right.

“You didn’t say this place was yours.”

Jinx blinked.

The words landed, unexpected. She hadn’t noticed—hadn’t even thought about it.

But now that he’d said it, she felt the truth of it settle in her chest.

Stilllight had called to her. Had claimed her. She’d listened.

But it wasn’t where she belonged. 

Slowly, she shifted in his arms, turning to face him, startled by the clarity. It was sudden, but something she had always known deep within. 

“…Because it isn't.”

His eyes met hers, waiting, knowing something had flickered on for her. 

“Why not?” His voice was still gentle, not pressuring, but open. 

Her hand grasped his arm, steadying herself.

“Because… while I was here, all I wanted was to share it with you. When you finally came, I felt happy. I thought it was because you were finally here with me. But now, I realized it wasn’t just that. It’s more than that.”

“What did you realize?’ 

Her hand reached up, caressing his cheek, her eyes glimmering in the sunlight filtering through the window. 

“You are my place. Not Stilllight. Not Ionia. Not Zaun.” Her thumb brushed against his cheekbone warmly. “You are my home.”

Ekko stared at her, the warmth of her touch lingering like a promise. 

You. The word echoed in his chest, soft and seismic.

She had found something in him—something steady, something safe. 

Not a place. Not the past. Him.

And for a moment, the world stilled.

Her happiness shimmered between them, quiet and radiant, and he let himself feel it.

Not just the joy of being chosen, but the deeper knowing: that she saw him, not as a tether or escape, but as a constant.

He hadn’t known how much he needed that until now.

But even as the moment bloomed, reality crept in.

He reached for her hand, the one holding his cheek. 

“When I go back to Zaun,” he asked, cautious but solemn, “will you come with me?”

She didn’t pull away. Her grip tightened. 

But the shimmer in her eyes dimmed, just slightly—like a star flickering behind a cloud.

“…No. I’m not ready. Not yet.”

His eyes didn’t leave hers. His hand stayed steady in hers, grounding. It was as if he already knew her answer but wanted her to voice it. To allow herself to speak, so that he could listen.

She felt it—his quiet strength—and drew a breath, searching for the shape of her truth.

“I don’t know what I need to be ready,” she said, biting her lip. Her gaze held his, unwavering. “But I wanna figure it out.”

The ache within her felt like it was allowed to breathe and release, but she stared at Ekko, the worry still present. Worried that she was breaking something between them.

After a moment, Ekko finally spoke. 

“When you left Zaun,” he said quietly, voice low and close, “you said you needed to find something. When I got your postcard, I was relieved—to hear you were alive, that you were okay.”

His arms tightened just slightly, like he was holding the memory in place. 

“But I couldn't help but get worried… that you’d gotten to a point where you didn’t need me.”

Jinx’s shoulders shifted, not in rejection—just in thought. 

“Then I came here,” Ekko said. “You showed me you remembered where you came from. That you could still build—not just this place, but yourself.”

He moved one hand to gently tuck a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. Then his hand found its way to caress her cheek, keeping their connected gaze steady. 

“And I’m grateful you wanted to share it with me,” he said. “That you still want me in your life.”

His voice softened, the words almost a whisper.

“You’ve carried me with you. I won’t ever forget that.”

Jinx tilted her head, sensing more. “But?”

His gaze searched hers, feeling like something within her wanting to be heard. “But you didn’t need me to build this.”

She frowned, confused, remembering their conversation yesterday at the mosslight grid. “You’ve said that already.”

“I know,” he said patiently, taking a break to hold the moment. “You said I’m your place. And Zaun is where I need to be.”

His thumb brushed her cheek thoughtfully, finding the words.

“I’d want more than anything for you to walk back with me. To Zaun.”

His eyes echoed an ache and longing, pouring into her, as he held her close. Yet he tried to remain steady, unwavering in his voice. 

“But going back… that has to be your choice. Where you go from here—that has to be yours.” Almost as if he was saying it not just for her, but for himself, he breathed out, “I’m with you. Always. Even if I’m not beside you.” 

Jinx was quiet. Listening to his words.

She wasn’t ready to go back to the place where it all began. Not yet.

And he couldn’t carry her across that threshold. She had to choose it.

Something shifted in her, like a gear clicking into place. Her gaze dropped, letting a moment pass between them, letting the words be heard. 

Then, she lifted her gaze back up, understanding reflected in her eyes.

“I get it,” she said. “What you’re trying to say.”

She stayed close, her voice low but clear, like she was speaking to herself as much as to him.

“You taught me how to trust. This place taught me how to listen.”

Her hand moved over his still holding the side of her face, and she leaned into his warmth.

“Now, I gotta trust in what I’m hearing.”

She took a slow deep breath. 

“Not to the noise. Not to the ghosts. Just… to me.”

Her eyes didn’t waver. The slowly rising sunlight caught traces of blue in her pink irises, sharp and soft all at once.

“Stilllight reminded me who I was before. But, I still need to find what makes me ‘me.’ The me that wants to be heard.”

She brought their hands together in her lap, staring at how her fingers curled in his palm.

“I want to know what I need. What I want. And I want to find it for myself.”

Jinx recalled when she was sitting on that rooftop with Ekko a year ago, when she told him she was getting on the next airship. 

A smile ghosts over her lips as she remembers what she said. “It feels more real now… knowing I can be more than what was. No more what ifs. And now it’s time to learn how to ride the waves instead of bracing for the worst.”

She bit her lip, pausing, but she shook her head, more sure.

“I know you need to go back to Zaun,” she said. “And I won’t hold you back.”

She reached up, fingers brushing his cheek. The touch lingered, tender and final.

“That’s where you need to be. And that’s not where I need to be.”

Another pause. The air between them held its breath.

Then, with quiet conviction:

“I’m gonna follow my voice. The me that’s done being quiet.”

The silence stretched.

She waited, heart thudding, realizing how much she had said aloud, for herself. 

For the first time in a long while, she felt the truth come out. And she wanted it to be heard. Not hiding. Not held back. Not taken back. 

She felt a familiar burn behind her eyes, tears forming and waiting for permission to fall. Her voice was firm, but her shoulders betrayed her. Tense. Guarded.

And though her fingers stayed curled around his, a faint tremor pulsed through them.

She was afraid. That he’d pull away. That she’d finally broken something fragile between them by saying her truth.

Ekko didn’t move. He listened. 

He could see it. Feel it. The way her voice held firm while her body braced for impact. The tremor in her fingers. The tension in her shoulders. The way she stayed in the silence, even though it scared her. 

She wasn’t just speaking. She was risking something. And he knew what that cost. 

She was afraid he’d pull away. Afraid her truth might be a crack that breaks something fragile between them. 

But Ekko didn’t flinch. He didn’t retreat. He stayed—because he wanted this. All of it. The fear, the fight, the rawness. 

He wanted to be the one who didn’t look away. Who didn’t ask her to be less. 

He wanted to listen. To feel it with her. To face it together.

His hand stayed in hers. His arm still held her close.

Then, he leaned forward, making sure their eyes stayed connected. 

“This doesn’t change anything, Blue. This is still us. You and me.”

He moved his hand, cradling her face in his warmth, brushing away a tear that dared to escape her eyes. 

“I’ve said it before—no matter how far you go, or where time takes us, I’ve already made my choice. And no matter where you end up, you’ll have a home. A place . With me.”

Jinx’s voice was barely a whisper, the tiniest of uncertainty in her voice. “And you’ll still cross oceans for me?”

His thumb caressed her cheek, palm steady. “As many times as you want me to.” 

Her breath hitched, her throat aching. “I’ll always want you with me.”

He smiled, his gaze warm, chest tight. “Any time you need me, I’m just a postcard away.”

Tears slipped free from her eyes, but her smile came through, more sure. 

“You only see blue?”

Ekko leaned in, eyes locked with hers, unwavering.

“I only see you.”

Her forehead rested against his, breath mingling in the quiet, hearts syncing in harmony.

Their smiles basked in their shared warmth, embracing the realness of this moment. Of feeling loved and being loved in return, of being able to speak the truth and be heard, of feeling supported without condition.

The world outside faded, and for once, time didn’t press forward. It held still. Just for them.

And then they kissed—soft, slow, like the moment they’d both wished could last forever.

The moment lingered, suspended in the hush between heartbeats. Not just the kiss, not just the words, but the quiet recognition that love didn’t need to be tethered to a place or a promise. It could live in the spaces between, in the breath shared and the silence held. 

What they had wasn’t fragile anymore. It had been tested by time, by distance, by memory—and still, it held.

Ekko felt it settle in his chest like a steady rhythm. Through all the time and distance, she had still chosen him. He was her constant. And he didn’t need her to follow. He just needed her to know he’d always come back. That no matter where she stood, she’d never stand alone.

Jinx felt the ache soften, just slightly. The fear didn’t vanish, but it loosened its grip. He hadn’t asked her to be ready. He hadn’t asked her to be healed. He’d just stayed. And in that staying, something shifted—something old and sharp giving way to something tender. She knew she was still healing—it was still messy, jagged. But she knew what it felt like to be seen, to be heard. To be chosen. To be loved without condition.

It didn't fix everything, and it doesn't put all the broken pieces back together. But that's not what made them find what mattered in each other.

They didn’t need to hold onto every second to know it mattered. They didn’t need to stay in one place to stay connected. What they had was built on choice—on showing up, on listening, on letting each other grow. 

And as the moment settled into memory, it didn’t fade. It rooted itself deep. Quiet. Steady. Real. 

Silky stood on his throne, ruffling his feathers as if to ready himself. As if he no longer needed to bear witness to this moment as it settled in time. He then gently took off, gliding out the window and into the morning light. 

The quiet inside lingered a moment longer, soft and golden, before Ekko tilted his head toward her, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“You still want to stay in this moment?” He asked, voice low, but lighter now. Like the weight had lifted just enough to let the sun through.

Jinx smirked, brushing her thumb across his cheek one last time before pulling back, quickly wiping the last of her tears away. 

“Nah,” she said, stretching her arms overhead with a dramatic sigh. “Because that means we aren’t living.” She popped to her feet, hands on her hips, before flashing her smirk down at him. “Come on, Firefly. We’ve got breakfast to make and a whole day of festivities waiting to be mildly sabotaged.”

Ekko chuckled, watching her bounce to her feet with a kind of chaotic grace. “What’s for breakfast?”

She padded over to the corner of the room where a few baskets and crates were stacked—her makeshift pantry. Dried herbs hung from twine above, and a small pile of firewood rested nearby, ready to be taken outside.

“Probably another explosion,” she said breezily, reaching for a bundle of herbs and tossing it into a nearby basket with casual aim.

He raised an eyebrow, rising to follow her. “How about we try making something edible rather than explosive?”

Jinx turned, hands on her hips, mock-offended. “Excuse you. We had grilled fish yesterday. That was edible.”

Ekko smirked down at her, all mock pride, reaching for a folded cloth from one of the crates. “Only ‘cause I yanked it off the fire before it turned into charcoal.”

“That doesn’t count!” She protested, grabbing a handful of dried mushrooms and inspecting them. “Rakan was distracting me.”

Ekko paused, skeptical. “How?”

She leaned in, conspiratorial. “He kept pointing at your ass.”

“Huh-what?” Ekko sputtered, nearly dropping the cloth. 

Jinx grinned, eyes sparkling. “He said you had good cakes.”

Ekko blinked. “What does that even mean? We didn’t have cakes yesterday.” He tried to make sense of what she said, piecing the words together. Raising both eyebrows now, he started to say, “Wait. Was he calling my ass—”

“You know what?” Jinx interrupted, tapping her chin thoughtfully, intentionally evasive. “Cakes for breakfast sound delicious.”

She turned to grab a small cooking pot (because obviously, cakes needed a pot—according to Jinx logic) , but Ekko lunged after her with a laugh, catching her around the waist and pulling her back into his arms.

“Dessert for breakfast? That’s criminal,” he began, breath warm tickling her ear. “And you’ll need to explain why my ass is being called cake.”

Jinx leaned back into him, laughing so hard her shoulders shook. “Mystery unsolved, your honor! Sounds like you’ll have to take me to the slammer for withholding information. May I request your delicious cakes as my prison food?”

Ekko rolled his eyes before grinning, then shifted his grip and hoisted her over his shoulder with ease, her laughter spilling into the morning air.

“Alright, off to the slammer you go, missy,” he said, marching toward the vined archway and smoothly using his other hand to grab the basket of herbs and mushrooms she’d been preparing. “I’ll be sure to bring charcoal-burnt fish as your meal.”

Jinx kicked her legs playfully, still holding the cooking pot, voice muffled by her laughter. “I’ll eat it only if your cake’s on the menu, too!”

Outside, the wind stirred the chimes again, soft and melodic. Inside, the morning bloomed—messy, bright, and entirely theirs.

The mountaintop air was crisp, tinged with the scent of moss and the faint spice of simmering stew and roast from the village below. Morning light spilled across the stone terrace outside Jinx’s home, catching on the dew-slick vines that curled around the railing.

Ekko stepped out into the morning light, Jinx still slung over his shoulder, her laughter trailing behind them like a ribbon. The basket of herbs and mushrooms swung from his free hand, and the cooking pot Jinx refused to let go of clanged softly against his back.

“Careful,” Jinx teased, voice muffled by her hair. “You’re gonna bruise my cakes.”

Ekko snorted. “You started it.”

From the bend in the mountain path, a familiar voice rang out, smooth and unmistakably amused.

“Well, well,” Rakan drawled. “Look at that! Seems someone actually listened to me for once. Glad to see you kept your artwork indoors this time.”

Ekko froze mid-step. Jinx twisted to peek over his shoulder.

Rakan came into view first, arms spread wide like he was announcing a parade. “Though I gotta say, this entrance? Ten out of ten. Very theatrical. I approve.”

Xayah followed close behind, her expression unreadable but eyes sharp with mirth. “You’re lucky we didn’t bring a crowd.”

“We were just about to make breakfast. You two hungry?” Ekko asked, shifting Jinx down gently and setting her on her feet. 

Rakan tilted his head, eyes twinkling. “Depends. Are interpretive cakes on the menu, or are we talking actual food?”

Jinx dusted herself off, pot still in hand. “You’re just jealous you don’t have cakes like his.”

Rakan placed a hand dramatically over his heart. “I do have cakes. They’re just more refined in taste.”

Xayah rolled her eyes. “Please don’t elaborate.”

Ekko shook his head. “I still don't get it. Why is it called cake?”

Before they could continue, more footsteps could be heard. 

Behind them, a woman with sea-wind eyes stepped into view, her coat catching the breeze, her gaze already scanning the mountaintop home. 

Ekko’s smile faded just slightly. Jinx’s grip on the pot tightened, lifting it to let it rest on her shoulder. 

Just behind her, two men followed, coming into view. One of them was a man with a canvas-wrapped rifle, eyes alert. The other—lean, sun-worn, with a glint of mischief in his eye and a red bandana around his neck—let his gaze linger on Jinx as he got closer to the group. 

He tipped his head, voice pitched just loud enough to carry. “Careful with that pot, sweetheart. You swing it like you’re trying to break hearts.”

Jinx turned, pot still balanced on her shoulder. Her grin sharpened. “Only the ones dumb enough to stand in range.”

The man chuckled, unfazed. “Noted.”

Ekko’s presence was calm, but his body moved before his mind could catch up. 

A quiet step forward. 

A shift in his weight. 

Then, without hesitation, he placed a hand at the small of Jinx’s back—steady, grounding, unmistakable. 

His gaze locked onto the red bandana man, unreadable but firm, the kind of look that didn’t need words to make its point.

Jinx glanced sideways, catching the motion. 

Her fingers brushed his wrist—brief, deliberate. A tether. 

She didn’t say anything, but her posture shifted, just slightly, like she’d settled into something known.

Ekko looked back at her, just for a second. 

Their eyes met. 

You good?

Yeah. Thanks.

The red bandana man’s smirk curled at the edge, not mocking—just observant. He raised his hands in a slow, easy gesture of retreat, stepping back with a nod that said, I see it. I get it. I’ll back off.

The moment passed, but something lingered.

Ekko’s gaze followed the man’s retreat, his hand still resting lightly against Jinx’s back.

It wasn’t jealousy—not exactly. It was the flicker of realization that someone else had seen her.

The way she moved. The way she held herself. The sharpness in her grin.

And they’d wanted something from it.

He’d known, of course, that others would find her magnetic. She was Jinx—brilliant, unpredictable, impossible to ignore.

But knowing it and watching it happen were two different things.

It settled in his chest. A reminder of what it meant to love someone who was still becoming. Someone who would walk through the world without him at her side.

He didn’t doubt her. But he’d have to learn how to live with the space between them. The kind that distance makes. The kind that trust requires.

His fingers brushed hers. And then, quietly, he let the feeling pass. 

Because what they had was stronger than a moment.

Rakan raised a brow at Ekko and Jinx, clearly amused. “Well, well. Listen to that harmony. Told you,” he chimed with a wink toward Ekko. “Walk beside the rhythm long enough, and you find your note.”

The man with the red bandana had barely stepped back when a voice, low and measured, cut through the tension.

“We’re not here to cause trouble, Brin,” the unnamed woman said, her gaze flicking toward him. “Keep your curiosity in check.”

The one named Brin gave a short nod, chastened but not cowed. He stepped further back, posture loose, hands tucked behind him like he’d just remembered he was supposed to be invisible.

Xayah sighed. “Let’s keep things civil. Misty, Kairo—this is Miss Fortune.”

Jinx and Ekko shifted their gazes back to the woman, taking in her appearance. One look already told them that she was definitely not from Ionia. 

She stood tall, coat flared at the edges, pistols at her hips catching the low light. Her red hair was pulled back, eyes sharp and unreadable beneath the brim of her hat. There was no swagger. Just a quiet authority, the kind earned from surviving more than she ever said aloud.

Jinx clocked the confidence first, the way Miss Fortune didn’t flinch or posture.

Ekko noticed the weight behind her silence, the kind that came from surviving things you didn’t talk about.

“Miss Fortune was the report we picked up near the port city,” Xayah explained. “From Bilgewater. Came to see what Stilllight’s Lantern Festival was all about.” 

Rakan added, “We’ve worked with her before. Ionia-Bilgewater skirmish, a few months back. She’s got a temper like sea glass—sharp, but you learn to handle it. Good in a fight. Better in a pinch.”

Miss Fortune stepped forward, her coat catching the breeze, eyes scanning Jinx and Ekko with quiet calculation. “You can call me Sarah if you prefer something less theatrical.”

Her gaze lingered on Jinx—just long enough to register the tension still coiled in her shoulders—then shifted to Ekko, noting the way he hadn’t moved from her side. Her eyes flicked to their clothes: Zaun in Ekko’s patchwork pants, Stilllight in Jinx’s layered skirt-wrapped shorts, a hint of grime and grit woven into both.

“Also not from Ionia, I take it.”

She said it like a sailor reading the wind—casual, but precise. The kind of observation you make when you’ve learned to spot trouble before it breaks the surface.

Ekko didn’t respond right away, but his posture shifted—just slightly. A quiet recalibration. Jinx’s fingers twitched near her belt, not reaching for anything, just grounding herself.

Miss Fortune’s gaze lingered a beat longer, then she tilted her head. “You two wear grit like it’s stitched into the seams.”

Jinx tilted her head. The way Miss Fortune had said grit was intentional, knowing, familiar.

Her eyes narrowed, but her mouth curved into something sharp. “You always this good at guessing strangers’ laundry tags?”

Miss Fortune didn’t flinch. “Only when they’re trying not to be seen.”

Ekko stepped forward, not aggressive—just present. “We’re not hiding. Just passing through.”

“Passing through,” Miss Fortune echoed, like she was testing the weight of it. Her eyes flicked back to Jinx. “Stilllight suits you. But it doesn’t quite fit.”

Jinx’s smile thinned. “Neither do most things.”

Miss Fortune gave a quiet hum. Her gaze lingered—not invasive, but practiced. 

She took in Jinx’s layered skirt-wrapped shorts, the halter top that left her shoulders bare to the mountain air, the way she balanced a pot on one shoulder like it was second nature. Her feet were bare, toes dusted with Stilllight soil, but the way she stood—tilted, ready—wasn’t the posture of someone raised in peace. The fabric she wore had been patched and repurposed, not for fashion but for function. 

Even from a distance, there was a kind of tension in her frame, like she was braced for something to go wrong. Like she’d learned to expect it.

“You’ve got the look of someone who’s survived too much to stay soft,” she observed. “That doesn’t fade just because you change your clothes.”

Jinx’s gaze sharpened. 

Ekko watched the exchange, tension coiled in his stance. He knew that tone—knew what it could stir in Jinx. 

He shifted, just enough for his shoulder to brush hers. A quiet signal. I’ve got you.

Jinx didn’t look at him, but her weight shifted in kind, a subtle lean into the contact.

But she didn’t lash out. She just tilted her head, eyes flicking to Miss Fortune’s pistols.

“And you’ve got the look of someone who doesn’t ask questions unless she already knows the answers.”

Miss Fortune’s smile was faint. “Occupational hazard.”

There was a beat of silence. Not hostile. Just heavy.

Rakan cleared his throat. “Well, this is cozy.”

Xayah shot him a look, but didn’t interrupt.

Miss Fortune finally stepped back, just half a pace. “Like I said before, I’m not here to stir anything. I came to enjoy the festivities.” Her gaze flicked back to Jinx, her smile still showing. “I’ll quiet the curious cat for now.”

Jinx’s gaze lingered on Miss Fortune longer than it should have—like she saw something familiar in the way the woman stood. In the way she didn’t flinch.

Ekko spoke up this time, his eyes cautious. “You don’t strike me as someone who travels just for the view.” 

“Well, funny thing: travelling with a view is my usual line of business.” She responds with a laugh, adjusting her pirate hat haughtily. Her lips curled into a smirk. “And something I hear on my travels is how festivals make good cover. People look up at lanterns, not at who’s slipping through the trees.”

Jinx tilted her head, pot still balanced on her shoulder. “Sounds like you’ve been to a few festivals with teeth.”

Miss Fortune’s smile didn’t fade. “The best ones always bite.”

Ekko didn’t answer, but his eyes met Jinx’s for a beat—silent, knowing. Something wasn’t adding up, and they both felt it.

Xayah didn’t waste time. “Let’s cut to the chase,” she said, voice clipped. “Miss Fortune wants to know if anything strange happened in Stilllight lately. We told you about the moss grid acting up yesterday. One of the villagers said you two fixed it. Thought we’d ask what you found.”

Jinx shifted the pot to her other shoulder, eyes flicking toward the grove below. “Yeah,” she said, breezy. “We fixed it.”

Ekko nodded. “Something was off. Misaligned.” He pointed vaguely in three different directions. “North trough. Central coil. And—”

“The herbal grove,” Jinx cut in. “Near the moss caves. Third spot was the messiest.”

Rakan leaned in, curious. “So what’d you see?”

Ekko’s brow furrowed. “It was misfiring. That’s why the grid wasn’t lighting in some places. We rerouted the flow and realigned a few channels.”

Xayah tilted her head. “And you got it working? Anything stand out?”

“The moss was off.” Jinx shrugged, but her voice had an edge. “Brittle, patchy, like it’d been overcooked. I figured nature was throwing a tantrum. Kairo reinforced the binding stones, I tuned the lattice leylines. Wasn’t perfect, but it’d hold through the festival.”

Ekko’s voice dropped, more reflective now. He thought back to what he’d seen while repairing the grid. “...The moss looked sunburned. Discolored. Smelled like salt and rust.”

Miss Fortune didn’t speak, but her gaze was locked on Jinx and Ekko—not confrontational, just calculating. She was listening for patterns, watching for fractures.

Xayah’s wings rustled. “Anything else?”

Ekko hesitated. “Could’ve been environmental drift. But Misty said the grid’s supposed to hum—resonate. This one didn’t. Even after the fix, the rhythm felt... off.”

Jinx nodded. “Exactly. It was like patching a song with duct tape. It plays, but it’s not singing.”

Rakan hummed. “Alright. Worth a look.”

When Rakan turned to Xayah, they nodded to each other. They seemed to nonverbally agree to their next plan of action, but a tap on a metal pot caught their attention.

A sharp tap echoed off the pot on Jinx’s shoulder, her version of a knock on the table. 

“We’re coming.”

Standing from next to her, Ekko nodded his head in agreement, his eyes reflecting the gears turning in his head. 

Rakan waved a hand dismissively. “Nah, you two enjoy breakfast. We’ve got it.”

Jinx and Ekko didn’t seem satisfied with that answer, giving each other a glance.

However, Miss Fortune stepped forward, her voice low and deliberate. “Let her come.”

Everyone turned. 

“This is her turf, isn’t it?” She continued, eyes still on Jinx. “ She’s the one who knows how it breathes.”

The words hung in the air, soft but undeniable. Jinx didn’t smile, but something flickered behind her eyes—recognition, maybe. Or resolve. Ekko glanced at her, reading the shift, already calculating what they might find if they went back down into the grid.

The mountaintop held its breath.

The descent from the mountaintop was quiet, save for the soft crunch of moss underfoot and the occasional rustle of wind through the canopy. Jinx led the way, boots leaving behind heavy tracks, her skirtwrap dancing in the breeze, her stride loose but alert. Ekko walked beside her, steps light, eyes flicking to the terrain. Behind them, Xayah and Rakan moved in tandem, feathers catching the filtered light. Miss Fortune followed at a measured pace, Brin and Marlow flanking her like shadows.

The path to the North Trough curved along a shallow ridge, where the mosslight grid pulsed faintly beneath the bamboo lattice. The air grew damper as they approached, tinged with the scent of wet stone and something sharper—salt, maybe. 

Jinx slowed, eyes narrowing.

“This is where it started acting up,” she said, gesturing toward a cluster of binding stones half-sunken in the moss. “Pulse node was choking itself. We rerouted the flow through the lower lattice.”

Ekko crouched beside one of the stones, fingers brushing the edge. The moss was still brittle, its glow uneven. “We used anchor coils to stabilize the surge,” he murmured. “Gave the moss room to breathe.”

Brin knelt beside him, squinting. “Looks like it’s breathing through a straw.”

Jinx stepped closer to a nearby vine, hand subconsciously tightening at her satchel strap slung over her shoulder. “I slapped a beetle patch on it. Jammed a resonance crystal into its guts. It held.”

The group began to drift, instinctively spreading out to investigate. Rakan veered toward the ridge’s edge, feathers twitching as he scanned for lattice fractures. Xayah moved in the opposite direction, eyes sharp, boots silent. Ekko lingered near the binding stones, crouched low, fingers tracing the mosslight’s pulse. Brin and Marlow exchanged a glance and split off, circling the perimeter like shadows.

Jinx stayed near the vine, her posture loose but alert. 

Miss Fortune stepped up beside her, quiet and deliberate.

“You patched it fast,” she said. “Clean work.”

Jinx shrugged. “It’s not hard when you know what the moss likes.”

Miss Fortune tilted her head, studying her. “You’re not from here.”

She didn’t mean the geography, although that was part of it. 

There was something in Jinx—restless, sharp-edged, like a spark caught in fog. A flame, yes, but mist too. Not dulled, not broken. Just… held back. 

Miss Fortune had seen plenty of chaos, but this was different. 

This was chaos choosing silence. And that, she knew, took more strength than most ever noticed.

Jinx glanced sideways. “The curious cat is saying that like it’s a bad thing.”

Miss Fortune huffed in amusement at the callback of curious cat.  

“It’s not bad,” Miss Fortune offered, eyes sharp underneath the brim of her hat. “But I’ve seen enough street tech and jury-rigged brilliance to recognize it. You wear Ionian threads, but they don’t sit like home. And you move like you’re trying not to be seen.”

Jinx’s jaw tightened slightly. “Like we said, we’re not hiding.”

“No,” Miss Fortune agreed. “You’re blending. There’s a difference.”

Jinx’s fingers toyed with the edge of the beetle patch. “Stilllight’s quiet. I like quiet.”

Miss Fortune gave a soft hum. “Quiet’s good. For healing. But not always for growing.”

Jinx’s breath stilled for a second, the words settling inside her. As if something deep within was stepping into the light, making itself known. 

Jinx turned to her, curious now. “Where are you from?”

The question felt simple, but something in her chest had already leaned forward—just a little. She’d known motion before. Ekko had taught her how to move without breaking, how to hold steady when the world spun too fast. His kind of motion was rhythmic, like breathing. Like trust.

But this was different.

Miss Fortune’s voice didn’t offer steadiness. It offered direction. She spoke like someone who’d carved her own path through grief and grit, and Jinx felt it—low and quiet, like a tug behind her ribs. Not romantic. Not reverent. Just... possibility. The kind that made her wonder if Stilllight was a pause, not a path. If healing was only half the story.

She didn’t say any of that. Just watched the way Miss Fortune’s eyes didn’t flinch, and waited for the answer.

Miss Fortune’s smile curved, slow and fond. “Bilgewater. Land of salt and monsters. Where freedom’s loud and messy, and nobody asks who you were before you bled for something.”

Jinx blinked, caught off guard by the poetry of it. “Sounds like a lot.”

“It is,” Miss Fortune said. “But it teaches you what you’re made of.” Her gaze drifted toward Ekko, still crouched in the moss. “Your shadow’s from where you’re from, too. Yet he doesn’t blend. He anchors.”

Jinx felt a tug at the corner of her lips, her eyes finding him easily. “He’s always like that, hovering,” she said softly. “Thinking three steps ahead. Making sure I don’t trip over the first one. And if I do, he wants to be one to catch me.”

“He hovers because he cares,” Miss Fortune said, voice light but pointed. “And because he knows what happens when you burn too hot.”

Jinx’s eyes slowly turned to Miss Fortune, an eyebrow raised. “You always this chatty on recon?”

“Only when the terrain’s talking,” Miss Fortune said. 

She turned her attention back to the terrain, eyes scanning the area around them. 

“Ionia’s beautiful,” she said. “But it’s built for balance. You’re not balance, Misty. ” She spoke her given Ionian name like leather, knowing it wasn’t her actual name. “You’re momentum. And right now, you look like someone who’s gotten used to the quiet…. but wants to be loud again.”

Jinx’s breath caught, just slightly. The word landed like a match on dry kindling. Small, but hot. 

She didn’t flinch, but her voice came out low. “How do you know what I need?”

Miss Fortune took a moment before answering. She turned her eyes to meet hers with that same steady gaze, like she wasn’t trying to fix anything. Just naming it.

“I’ve seen it,” she said. “I’ve walked it. The kind of healing that asks you to stay still until you figure out where you’re stepping. Sometimes, it’s exactly what you need. But then… eventually, you’re ready for the next thing.” She let the words settle before adding, softer now, “You don’t have to stay to keep healing. And you don’t have to stay to be good.”

Something shifted in Jinx’s stance—like a door opening, just a crack.

In that moment of pause, Miss Fortune turned, scanning the nearby lattice. Her eyes sharpened.

“There,” she murmured.

Jinx followed Miss Fortune’s gaze, landing on a section of bamboo lattice—scraped clean, the protective runes barely visible. But it wasn’t just the runes.

The moss around the base had been disturbed, peeled back in uneven patches, like someone had dug through it with gloved hands. A few strands of fishing twine lay tangled in the undergrowth, glinting faintly with salt residue. Nearby, a shallow groove had been carved into the soil, not by water, but by something dragged… Metal, maybe. A bootprint half-sunken in the mud caught her eye: too wide for Ionian sandals, too heavy for festival wear.

Miss Fortune stepped closer, crouching low. The air here was different. Still damp, but tinged with rust and brine. A faint trail of salt crystals clung to the edge of the lattice, like someone had rinsed gear and let the runoff bleed into the mosslight.

Her fingers brushed the scraped bamboo. The runes hadn’t faded—they’d been deliberately removed. Not vandalized, but misread. Someone had mistaken them for warding sigils and stripped them clean.

She straightened, her voice low and certain. “Someone’s been here.”

Xayah moved to her side, crouching low. “These runes were carved deep last season. They don’t fade this fast.”

Rakan approached them, sniffing the air, nose wrinkling. “Smells like brine. Not Ionian.”

Ekko stepped to where they were gathering, glancing over the runes. “We thought it was spirit burn. Like too much exposure to foreign energy.”

“Or saltwater corrosion.” Jinx tilted her head, her eyes studying it. “If someone was cleaning gear here…”

Miss Fortune’s gaze flicked to her. “That’s not a coincidence.”

Jinx met her eyes, something wary flickering behind her usual bravado. Then she stepped forward, voice louder now, enough for the others to hear.

“Alright, cough it up, pirate lady.” Her tone was teasing, but the edge was real. “You’re not here for lanterns and lullabies. So, what are you really chasing?”

Miss Fortune’s gaze lingered on Jinx, mouth curving. Like she’d been waiting for this spark. There you are, her eyes seemed to say, knew you had teeth.

She stepped closer to the lattice, her voice low. “I’ve seen this pattern before. In Bilgewater. In places where the grid wasn’t just disrupted. It was prepped.”

Jinx’s posture shifted, just slightly. “Prepped for what?”

Miss Fortune looked to the brittle moss, the scraped runes, the faint hum beneath their feet.

“For capture,” she said finally. “They’re not here for the festival. They’re here for the Lanternstag.”

The words landed like a dropped blade. 

Xayah straightened, feathers bristling. 

Rakan’s grin faded.

Ekko’s brows furrowed, catching the shift in Xayah’s and Rakan’s expressions. 

“The Lanternstag?” He asked, voice low.

Xayah planted her hands on her hips. “It’s sacred. Spirit-touched. The heart of Stilllight’s traditions.”

Rakan stepped in, softer. “The Lanternstag’s more than a symbol—it’s the soul of the Luminous Crossing. The elders tell it best, but the gist? It walks between worlds. And Stilllight walks with it.”

Jinx chewed the inside of her cheek. “I thought the Lantern Festival was just about lighting pretty lanterns and setting them off to the sky?”

Ekko nodded, remembering Virelli’s words. “The lanterns guide spirits, memories, hopes. How does the Lanternstag fit in?”

Rakan crossed his arms, gaze distant. “It only appears now, when the veil thins. Stilllight earned its name by guarding its crossing. No one touches it. No one hunts it.” He turned back to the group, lips pressed firmly together. “At least, that’s how it’s supposed to be.”

Xayah stepped forward. “Its safe passage keeps the balance. When it crosses, they light the lanterns. To honor the path. To open it.”

Ekko stood in reverent awe. The festival held more weight than he’d imagined. His instinct to protect flared, sharp and immediate. His hand curled into a fist. 

He turned to Miss Fortune. “And you know someone trying to capture it?”

At this moment, Brin and Marlow circled back, flanking her. Each gave a brief nod—silent confirmation. Whatever they’d seen matched what she’d feared.

Miss Fortune’s eyes didn’t waver. “They’ve been here at least a few weeks. They’ve been hiding in shrines, caves. Waiting.”

Jinx’s fingers twitched at her side. “And you knew?”

“I suspected,” Miss Fortune corrected. “Now I’m sure.”

Xayah stepped forward, feathers still raised. “Who’s behind it?”

Miss Fortune’s eyes sharpened at the question before her gaze swept the lattice again, then the horizon beyond the trough—where the mosslight faded into shadow.

“A rogue faction out of Bilgewater,” she said. “They call themselves Drowned Sybil’s Teeth. ”

Rakan let out a low whistle. “That’s a name you don’t forget.”

“They don’t want you to,” Miss Fortune said with a mild bite. “They’ve been carving it into shrine walls. Leaving offerings that rot instead of glow. They believe the Lanternstag’s crossing can be corrupted—turned into something else.”

Ekko’s jaw tightened. 

His eyes flicked to Jinx, just for a second.

“Something weaponized,” he said, voice low. Like the words tasted bitter.

Something ugly twisted in his chest—familiar, unwelcome. The word capture had landed like a bruise, but weaponized scraped deeper. He’d seen what that looked like. Felt it. Lived in the aftermath.

“Something claimed,” she confirmed. “They think if they catch it mid-crossing, they can bind it. Twist the ritual to serve their own ends. The desperation for immortality never stops.”

Jinx’s eyes flicked to the mosslight grid, her eyes now spotting each of the unnatural spots that they tried to reason was coincidence. “And they’ve already started.”

“They’ve softened the grid,” Brin added grimly, catching the group’s attention. “Like it’s being coaxed to forget its purpose.”

Marlow nodded from next to him, canvas-wrapped rifle still strapped to his back. “We found sigils in the southern trough. Not local.”

Miss Fortune folded her arms. “They’re not just interfering. They’re preparing. And if they’ve been here this long, they’ll be watching the festival.”

A beat of silence settled over the group. 

Before anyone could respond, voices echoed up the ridge.

“Mistwake! Storm Shadow!”

A cluster of villagers crested the path, arms full of mosslight paints and woven charms. Cirin and the one Jinx had called “little sprout” led the way, faces flushed with excitement.

Jinx and Ekko turned, startled. 

“You’re needed, Storm Shadow,” Cirin said to Ekko, eyes bright. “The festival begins soon. Taeryn awaits us at the center. He has asked for me to bring you. We must start preparing for the hunt.” 

Ekko stared at Cirin, surprised, wanting to step forward but turning back to the group, uncertain. 

Little Sprout started tugging at Jinx’s hand. “Mistwake—” She paused, grinning. “Virelli calls for you! You’ve been chosen to be the Lantern Bearer.”

Jinx blinked. “Wait, what?”

The young girl gave her no time for pause, now actively pulling her toward the village. “Come, come. We must get you ready!”

Jinx looked to Ekko, sharing a look of discontent, then back to the group. The tension hadn’t left her shoulders, but something else was settling in—confusion at being pulled into something important, disbelief at being chosen for what sounded like a significant role, and a quiet dread for whatever lay waiting at the other mosslight sites.

“We’ll check out the other sites,” Xayah said, clocking Jinx’s look and already turning. “Go. We’ll reconvene and let you know what we find.” 

Rakan waved a hand with a reassuring grin. “You both just got promoted! Don’t disappoint! I wanna see the best performance from you two!”

Sensing her shift, Ekko stepped beside Jinx, his voice low so the villagers couldn’t overhear. “Let them check it out. We’ll stay here and keep watch from the village. Make sure nothing slips past us.”

Gently, he placed a hand at her back, steady, reassuring. Offering a choice. 

Jinx felt his comforting presence. She forced her shoulders to relax, listening to Ekko’s words. 

After a moment, Jinx gave Rakan and Xayah a curt nod, shifting a brief glance in Miss Fortune’s direction. She looked back at her with the same steadiness, and a smirk. 

Jinx didn’t know what the smirk meant. But it didn’t feel like mockery. 

Then she turned, brushing her hand against Ekko’s wrist, nodding with him, before following the villagers down the path toward the heart of Stilllight.

The others turned to head to the other formerly disrupted sites, Xayah and Rakan in the lead. Miss Fortune followed in silence, eyes sharp—gears turning, puzzle pieces clicking into place.

Behind them, the grid pulsed once. Then stuttered. Like breath held too long, waiting to break.

The sun had climbed to its peak, casting warm light across the mosslight pools and bamboo arches. Shadows shrank, and the village was stirring with purpose. Paints mixed, charms hung, laughter rising like birdsong. The moment when the veil began to thin, and Stilllight turned its gaze toward the crossing.

The path into the village center wound through low lantern arches and mosslight pools, each flickering with soft green and gold. The air was thick with preparation. Woven charms drying on lines, festival paints being stirred in clay bowls, spices and roasts filling the air, laughter and footsteps echoing between the stone homes.

Little Sprout tugged Jinx forward with determined glee, her small hand warm and insistent. Cirin walked ahead with Ekko, speaking quickly about the hunt preparations, but Ekko’s eyes kept drifting to Jinx—watching her navigate the attention with a mix of wariness and reluctant grace.

They reached where most of the villagers were gathering, where a wide circle of mosslight had been etched into the earth. At its center stood Virelli, robes layered in soft silks and moss-thread, her hands folded calmly in front of her. 

She turned as they approached, her expression serene but purposeful.

“Mistwake,” she said, voice carrying like a bell. “You’ve been chosen.”

Jinx blinked again, still not quite believing it. “Yeah, the kid said that. Why?”

Virelli stepped forward, her gaze steady. “The Lantern Bearer is not chosen for tradition. She is chosen for truth. For the way she walks between silence and spark. For the way she carries memory, even when it’s heavy.”

Jinx’s mouth twitched. “Sounds poetic. You sure you didn’t mix me up with someone else?”

Virelli smiled. “You came to Stilllight with a storm behind you. But you didn’t bring the storm here. You listened. You learned. You healed. And whenever the mosslight faltered, you always chose to stay. You chose to listen. ” She reached out, placing a gentle yet firm hand on Jinx’s wrist. “You will lead Thistlebound across the Luminous Crossing.” 

Jinx blinked, confused. “Thistlebound? I thought we were just talking about a glowy stag.”

Virelli’s smile didn’t fade, but her voice softened. “That’s its name. Given by the first Stilllight keepers, long before the mosslight grid was etched. It blooms once a season, walks once a year, and carries the weight of both thorn and light. It is sacred because it endures. Because it does not beg to be touched, only guided.” She looked at Jinx, gaze steady. “And you, Mistwake, understand that kind of bloom.”

Jinx couldn’t voice any words. But her fingers curled slightly at her side, like they were holding something invisible. Her eyes flicked to her green-threaded anklet, one of the first accessories she made in Stilllight, with Virelli’s guidance, the green color thoughtfully picked. 

She looked to Ekko, uncertain. Like the weight of the role had suddenly settled on her shoulders.

He met her gaze without hesitation. No nod, no smile. Just a quiet steadiness in his eyes, like he’d already seen her carry more.

Then she looked back up to Virelli, gaze steady. Something in her posture said it all: she’d been seen.

She exhaled, shoulders loosening. “Alright,” she said, voice dry. “Guess I’m your Lantern girl now.”

Virelli’s smile deepened. “Then you must prepare.”

She gestured toward one of the decorated shaded alcoves where a few women were huddled in. They started to raise different colored fabrics and multicolored ties, beckoning to Jinx. 

She raised an eyebrow at them. Then, she looked down to her skirtwrapped shorts. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” She spoke in mock-disbelief. 

Virelli gestured gently, wearing an amused smile. “First, you must put on the ceremonial garb.”

A group of women stepped forward, all dressed in layered festival wraps. One offered her hand. Jinx hesitated, then took it.

As she was led away, Ekko watched her go with a quiet smile—amused, proud, protective. She didn’t look back, but he knew she felt it.

Virelli turned toward Ekko, a glint in her eye. “Kairo, you will be joining our hunt, yes?”

When he realized she was addressing him directly, Ekko glanced away from Jinx, a quiet flush rising at being caught in the act of caring too much.

She gently placed her hand on his wrist, just like she had with Jinx.

“Storm shadows do more than guard the light. They remember the path.”

Her words wrapped around him like a warm caress, the way her hand rested on his skin. Whether she was passing mystic riddles for the day or for what the future held, he wasn’t entirely certain. 

His eyes lowered to where her hand rested, then lifted again. Steady, resolute. 

Like he’d accepted something he’d already known. In spite of the uncertainty, he knew he would keep walking along the path he had chosen. 

Virelli seemed to accept his words even without him saying it aloud, and she smiled. 

She gave him one final squeeze at his wrist, reassuring, before slipping her hand away, turning to Cirin.

Cirin nodded at Virelli in respect. Then, he turned to Ekko, eyes bright. “Storm Shadow. Taeryn waits for you.”

They both redirected their gazes to where Cirin was pointing. Taeryn approached from the far side of the clearing, his presence calm and grounded. His hunting gear was already half donned, ceremonial wraps layered over his armor. He nodded once.

“Storm Shadow,” he said, using the name he had given him. “Are you ready?”

Ekko straightened, gaze steady. He didn’t hesitate. “I’m ready.”

Taeryn gestured toward a shaded alcove where other hunters were gathering—men and women, teens and elders, all preparing in quiet ritual.

“Then let’s prepare,” Taeryn said. “Come. The path opens soon.” 

Taeryn and Cirin led Ekko down a short path just off the village square, where a shaded alcove had been prepared. Woven mats lined the ground, and bundles of ceremonial fabrics hung from bamboo racks. The air was thick with the scent of mosslight resin and fresh dye.

Not far away, Jinx was guided into a similar space. It was curtained off with silken threads and lanterns strung low. The women moved around her with practiced ease, lifting fabrics, measuring wraps, murmuring in soft tones. She didn’t protest, but her posture stayed guarded. Like she wasn’t sure how to receive this kind of care.

They didn’t strip her of her identity. Her halter top stayed, her shorts and skirtwrap untouched. But they added to her—layered a soft, iridescent wrap across her torso, tied with thread and charms. One woman adjusted the fabric over her shoulder, another fastened a small carved pendant at her collarbone. It wasn’t transformation. It was adornment. Recognition.

Ekko stood still as Taeryn and Cirin helped him into the ceremonial gear—hunter’s wraps dyed in deep greens and dusk-blues, layered over his own clothes. His gloves were replaced with threaded bracers, and a woven sash was tied across his chest, marked with the sigil of the hunt. He remained quiet, his eyes traced the symbols stitched into the fabric. Each one a story, a legacy, a promise.

For a moment, both of them stood in silence, apart but parallel. Jinx watched the women work, her fingers brushing her anklet. Ekko adjusted the bracer on his wrist, feeling the weight of it settle.

They were outsiders. But here, in this moment, they were being woven in.

Jinx exhaled slowly, the tension easing from her shoulders like mist lifting off mosslight. She didn’t know what all the symbols meant, but she was learning what it felt like to be trusted. To be chosen.

Ekko glanced toward the mosslight ring in the center of the village, then back to the hunters preparing nearby. He’d always carried the weight of protection quietly, even when others stood beside him. But here, it was shared. Ritual made it visible. Made it sacred.

Then came the paint.

Those participating in the hunt approached Ekko, moving with reverence, dipping fingers into bowls of bioluminescent moss paint—soft greens, blues, and golds. They painted Ekko first, tracing Stilllight symbols along his arms, his collarbone, the side of his neck. Ionian motifs of spirals, threads, echoes of wind and water. He didn’t flinch. He let them mark him.

When they finished, he turned slightly, eyes searching.

Across the clearing, he spotted her.

Jinx had just finished dressing. Her wrap shimmered faintly in the lantern light, and her pale skin was now marked with delicate mosslight patterns—symbols he didn’t recognize, but felt drawn to. And around her, the children had gathered. Little Sprout stood on tiptoe, carefully tucking flowers into Jinx’s hair. A crown of soft petals and moss-thread rested atop her head, slightly crooked.

Jinx sat still, letting them decorate her. Her eyes flicked up, catching Ekko’s gaze.

She grinned. It was wide, real, and a little crooked. Like the crown.

Ekko smiled back, quiet and full of something that felt like awe.

As the last symbols were painted, the final threads tied, and the remaining flowers placed, the light began to shift. 

A soft mist crept in from the ridge, curling low around the mosslight ring and drifting between the bamboo lattice. It began to blur the edges of the day, making the lanterns glow brighter and the mosslight pulse deeper. 

The villagers didn’t seem surprised. This was how the veil always began to stir. A quiet fog. A signal. 

The crossing was near.

The last of the moss paint had been traced along Ekko’s jawline, curling in a soft spiral that glowed faintly against his skin. The hunters stepped back, admiring their work with quiet nods. 

Ekko flexed his fingers once, adjusting the ceremonial bracer on his wrist. He felt marked. Not just for the hunt, but for something older. Something sacred.

“Damn,” came a voice behind him, smooth and theatrical. “You wear mosslight well, Storm Shadow. Or do you prefer Kairo?”

Ekko turned to find Rakan striding toward him, arms open like he was greeting an old friend at a gala. His own clothing was dusted with travel and forest debris, but his grin was untouched.

Remembering Rakan’s comment from yesterday about changing names, Ekko threw a lofty smile at him. “In my defense, Storm Shadow seems to be more of a title given to me, rather than a name.”

Rakan put his hands on his hips proudly. “And you wear it well. Being given a title by the village means you’re practically one of them. That’s a good thing in our books.”

Ekko shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “So, I’ve heard.” He glanced around. “Where are the others?”

“Xayah and Miss Fortune are with Misty now. Figured I’d check in with our other star.” Rakan pointed over his shoulder. “Besides, easier to not be overheard when we split up.” 

Ekko’s gaze flicked toward the alcove where Jinx had been taken. 

Through the silken threads, he could just make out the shape of her—still seated, surrounded by women and children. Xayah stood nearby, arms crossed, while Miss Fortune leaned in, speaking low. Jinx wasn’t tense. She looked... engaged. Curious, even.

Rakan followed his gaze. “She’s holding her own.”

Ekko nodded. “She always does, even when she doesn’t believe it herself.”

They walked a few paces away from the hunters, toward the edge of the clearing where the mist had begun to settle. 

Rakan’s voice dropped, careful to not be overheard by the villagers. “We checked the other sites,” he said. “Miss Fortune confirmed it. The faction’s here. Stilllight’s been marked.”

Ekko’s gaze sharpened. “You know where?”

Rakan shook his head. “Not yet. They’re moving. Waiting. Probably tracking the Lanternstag’s path. Miss Fortune thinks they have a way of sensing it. Something old or stolen… or both.”

Ekko exhaled. “I’ve been keeping a look out. I haven’t seen or heard anything here. So, what now?”

“We regroup. Talk to the elders. Figure out how to intercept without blowing the festival to pieces.” Rakan glanced back toward the village center. “We came to update you both. And to make sure you’re ready.”

Ekko nodded, gaze steady. “We are.”

Rakan tilted his head, studying him. “You look different.”

Ekko raised an eyebrow. “Fancy fabrics and paint’ll do that.”

Rakan grinned. “Nah. You look like you’ve found your rhythm. Like you’re not fighting the tempo anymore.”

Ekko paused, allowing himself to hear those words. 

His eyes drifted back to Jinx, who was now standing. Her ceremonial wrap shimmered in the mistlight, and the moss paint along her arms caught the glow. The children were laughing, adjusting the flower crown on her head. She was still grinning.

Ekko’s expression softened.

“We talked yesterday,” he said quietly. “Again this morning, before you all came. It was good. Something we both needed to say—and hear.”

Rakan nodded, his voice gentler now. “Stilllight does that to you. Teaches you how to listen, even when you think you already know how.”

Ekko gave a small breath of agreement. “I’m getting it now.”

Rakan smiled. “Good. I’m glad your ballad’s still playing.”

Ekko glanced at him, amused. “That your poetic way of saying you’re glad we’re still good?”

Rakan laughed, light and warm. “Exactly. A song only ends when you stop singing it.”

Ekko turned his head, his gaze lingering on Jinx. 

She was now putting flowers into Little Sprout’s hair while the young girl chattered animatedly, hands waving around. There was a quiet pride in Jinx, being highlighted by the moss paint across her skin, even if she didn’t realize it. 

He exhaled, soft, as his eyes briefly flicked to Xayah standing near Jinx. “How long have you and Xayah been together?”

Rakan exhaled thoughtfully, looking in Xayah’s direction. “Years. Since before the war started turning everything inside out. We met in the middle of a mess. Kept choosing each other through it.”

Ekko hesitated, voice low. “Did you ever think you wouldn’t?”

Rakan tilted his head, smiling. He seemed to understand the deeper intent behind Ekko’s question. The weight of facing the unknown and unpredictable path ahead.

“Sure,” Rakan offered weightlessly, shrugging. But there was a subtle shift in his posture. “We’ve had fights that cracked the sky. Days where we didn’t speak. Nights where we didn’t sleep. But the thing is… love doesn’t vanish. It waits. It asks. It doesn’t demand to be easy. Just chosen.”

Ekko’s gaze lingered on Jinx, her laughter still echoing faintly through the mist. Then, quieter now, he asked, “Were you and Xayah ever apart? For a long time?”

Rakan didn’t answer immediately. His eyes softened, the usual gleam in them dimming to something more reflective. “Yeah. Once. It wasn’t planned. Wasn’t clean. Just... happened. The world pulled us in different directions. She had her fight. I had mine.”

Ekko nodded, the silence between them stretching.

“But here’s the thing,” Rakan continued. “Distance doesn’t decide the story. Time doesn’t either. It’s what you carry through it. What you choose to keep alive.”

Ekko nodded, knowing these words in his heart, yet his throat still tightened. “We agreed to keep building,” he said. “Not just surviving. Not just holding on. But actually building. Even when we won’t be beside each other for part of it.”

Rakan smiled, quiet and sure. “Then build. Just make sure you’re building on what’s already there. The cracks, the roots, the old songs. You don’t need to start over.” 

Ekko stilled at those words. 

“Why don’t we build something together?”

She’d asked those words yesterday. He’d asked them a year ago.

He realized he had been thinking about it as building something new, leaving the past behind.

But maybe this time it wasn’t new. Maybe it was just... continuing. 

A glimmer shined in his eyes, realization dawning on him. Like a new gear being added to the mechanism, a new instrument added to a song already taking a shape, a new place added to an expanding map. 

“You two aren’t just building a life together,” Rakan continued, raising his chin with a grin. “It’s a story. And just like a song, a story only ends when you choose to stop writing it.” 

Ekko looked at him, something unspoken passing between them.

Rakan brushed shoulders with Ekko’s, grin widening. “You’re doing it right, Kairo. Every love story’s different, but the good ones? They’re made of choices. Not just the big ones. The daily ones. The quiet ones. No matter what happens in each chapter, that’s the entire story—choosing each other.” 

Ekko’s breath hitched, just slightly. 

Then, with a dry smile, he tilted his head. “Why are you meddling in our love life anyway?”

Rakan smirked. “You asked about me and Xayah. I’m just returning the favor with flair.”

Ekko huffed a quiet laugh, but Rakan’s expression shifted, softening.

“When I first met Misty,” he said, voice low, “she looked lost. Not broken, just... scattered. Like a spark caught in the wind, not sure where to land.”

He glanced toward the alcove, where Jinx looked like she was trying to convince Xayah and Miss Fortune to throw flower crowns on, her laughter rising like birdsong through the mist. They did not look like they were being persuaded. 

“She’s not lost anymore,” Rakan continued. “Stilllight gave her space to float. But you—just one day at her side, and she’s already burning brighter. Like she remembered she could be bright. That she wanted to be.” He turned back to Ekko, eyes gleaming. “And that kind of spark? That’s the kind worth becoming a firework. The kind you want to see light up the whole damn sky.”

Ekko didn’t speak, but the look in his eyes said enough.

Rakan clapped his shoulder lightly this time. “I love a good romance story. And I want to see yours reach the finale it deserves.”

Ekko stood still, letting the moment settle. Rakan’s words echoed—not just the poetic ones, but the truth beneath them. 

Love wasn’t a single choice. It was a rhythm. A practice. A story you kept writing even when the ink ran thin. And somehow, after everything, he and Jinx had found their way back to the page.

Ekko knew the road ahead wouldn’t be simple. There would be distance. Time. Unknowns neither of them could predict. But none of that felt threatening—not anymore. Their love didn’t need a name, didn’t need a blueprint. It only needed the choice they made that morning on the mountaintop. To keep building. To keep choosing. They were still them—Ekko and Jinx. And that was enough.

They turned back toward the alcove, where Jinx was now stepping forward, her flower crown slightly askew, her moss paint patterns glowing like constellations. Xayah said something that made her roll her eyes, then laugh.

Ekko smiled. “She’s gonna hate how much I like that crown.”

Rakan grinned. “Then you better tell her. Before someone else does.”

With that, Ekko and Rakan finally moved toward the others. Ekko’s steps felt lighter as he approached them, and he couldn’t hide the smile appearing on his face as he got closer to her. 

Jinx caught Ekko’s gaze. She grinned wide, mischievous, and entirely herself.

Then, with a theatrical flourish, she did a little twirl.

The ceremonial wrap shimmered as she spun, catching the mistlight in soft waves. Her halter top and skirtwrap peeked through the layers, untouched but adorned. She stopped with a hand on her hip, eyebrow raised.

“Well?” She began, drawing out her voice. “Do I look like a Lantern girl or a mosslight disaster?”

Ekko crossed the distance slowly, eyes sweeping over her with quiet admiration. “You look like someone who’s about to make the whole village follow her into the woods without question.”

She snorted. “So, a disaster.”

“More like a distraction.” Ekko tilted his head, looking at her deliberately with half-lidded eyes. “The kind of distraction Stilllight should’ve warned me about.”

Jinx blinked, caught off guard. Her mouth opened, then closed. 

“He’s got lines!” She said, mock-scandalized, a flush rising to her cheeks.

Ekko stepped closer, smirking. “Only for you.”

Jinx narrowed her eyes, lips curling. “You look like a ceremonial snack. But I already called dibs on your cakes.”

Ekko choked on a laugh, eyebrows lifting. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Mmhm,” she said, smug. “I don’t hear you denying it.”

He reached out, tugging her gently into a hug, arms looping around her waist with practiced ease. She didn’t resist—just leaned in, forehead brushing his, her fingers curling lightly at his chest wraps. For a moment, they were wrapped in it—banter, warmth, the quiet gravity of being chosen.

Then came the interruption.

Miss Fortune’s voice cut through the mist, dry and amused. “If you two are done flirting like it’s a honeymoon, we’ve got a stag to chase.”

“Oh,” Rakan chimed in, “you should’ve seen the view we got yesterday. Now, that was a mountaintop honeymoon.”

Ekko’s face immediately flushed. “Please, don’t.”

Jinx groaned, pulling back just enough to glare in her direction. “You’re the worst.”

Miss Fortune smirked. “And yet, somehow, still the most focused.”

Ekko and Jinx exchanged a glance, the teasing fading into something steadier. They separated enough to face the others, but remained close to each other.

“Rakan filled me in,” Ekko said, earning him a nod from Jinx. 

“Miss Fortune gave me the rundown,” Jinx added.

They turned to the group. “So what happens next?”

Xayah stepped forward, arms crossed. “We talk to Virelli. She’ll know where the Lanternstag is headed—and how to intercept without causing panic.”

The group moved toward the mosslight ring, where Virelli stood near the ceremonial shelter, speaking with a few elders. Her robes caught the light, her posture calm, unaware of the storm gathering beyond the village’s edge.

Miss Fortune’s gaze swept the horizon, sharp and knowing.

She stepped up beside Virelli, voice low but clear.

“Your village won’t be the only one walking with the stag today.”

The sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the mosslight pools as the village gathered in silence. Lanterns swayed from bamboo arches, their soft green glow pulsing in rhythm with the breath of Stilllight itself. The air was thick with resin and reverence. 

This was the hour of the Mosslight Blessing.

At the center of the village, the mosslight ring shimmered, etched with ancestral sigils, its glow deepening as elders stepped forward. 

Virelli raised her hands, voice clear and steady.

“Let Stilllight remember us,” she said. “Let the mosslight mark our path.”

She turned slowly, addressing the gathered villagers, her voice carrying like mist over water.

“Today begins the Luminous Crossing. Not just a festival, but a threshold. Between seasons. Between grief and renewal. Between isolation and connection. We light lanterns not for spectacle, but for memory. For intention. For the spirits who walk beside us, and the ones we carry within.”

She gestured to the mosslight pools, their glow deepening with the dusk.

“Mosslight is sacred. It holds echoes of the past and illuminates the future. It does not burn—it listens. It does not blind—it reveals. And tonight, it will guide Thistlebound.”

A hush fell over the crowd.

“The day begins with the Vigil Hunt,” she continued, “though it is no hunt in the old sense. We do not chase. We do not claim. We protect. We guide. We walk beside the Lanternstag as it crosses the veil.”

Her gaze swept the crowd, landing briefly on Jinx, then Ekko.

“If the crossing is successful, we feast. We dance. We honor the light that remains. And when the final lantern is lit, we send our stories across the luminous path. So that Stilllight may remember us.”

Children carried woven charms to the edge of the ring, placing them gently on the earth. Hunters bowed their heads. The villagers whispered names. Some of the living, some of the lost. The ceremony was not loud. It was not grand. But it was sacred.

Then came the Lore Circle.

The elders gathered beneath the lantern arch, seated on woven mats, their robes trailing like roots. Lanterns swayed above them, already lit since the night before. Each lantern served as a thread in the luminous path that would guide Thistlebound. Their glow pulsed gently, as if listening.

Jinx stood nearby, her ceremonial wrap catching the light, the lantern at her side flickering with quiet fire.

Virelli stepped forward, her voice low and clear. “Thistlebound walks once a year. Not because it must, but because it chooses. It is said to be born from the First Spirit’s breath, woven from mist and memory. Its passage is a blessing. A sign that Stilllight remains in balance with the spirit realm.”

She gestured to the lanterns overhead. “These lights are not just symbols. They are invitations. We lit them last night to call the spirits, to guide our intentions, to mark the path. But Thistlebound will only walk it if we’ve earned its trust.”

Her gaze swept the gathered villagers, then returned to Jinx. “It chooses paths of peace and light. It remembers where Stilllight has faltered, and where it has healed. That is why we prepare. That is why we walk beside it.”

Jinx’s fingers curled around the lantern’s handle. Her grip was steady, but her breath caught.

She hadn’t expected the weight of the lantern to feel like this—not heavy, but full. Full of everything Stilllight had given her. The quiet mornings. The village rituals. The way her breath had started to feel like her own again. 

She wanted to honor it. Not just the village, but the healing it had offered her, the space it had carved out where she could be more than what Zaun had made her. 

She didn’t want to mess this up. 

But Ekko’s promise on the mountaintop, and Miss Fortune’s challenge at the grid—they’d planted something. 

Not pressure. Not certainty. Just a question. 

Maybe Stilllight wasn’t the end of her journey. 

Maybe it was the place that helped her remember how to walk again. 

And maybe, if she could lead Thistlebound through—if she could light the way and not falter—she’d know she could lead herself too. To trust in her own spark. Into the unknown. Into whatever came next.

Not with certainty. But with choice.

Virelli stepped closer, voice softening. “You don’t need to prove anything, Mistwake. You’ve already walked the path. Now you light it.”

Jinx looked up, startled by the gentleness in her tone. For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. Then, quietly: “I’ll try.”

Virelli smiled. “You already are.”

Taeryn stepped forward, his dusk-blue wraps catching the mosslight as the mist began to rise. His voice was steady, resonant—not commanding, but grounding.

“We will begin the Vigil Hunt,” he announced. “It is not a chase. Not a conquest. It is a guardianship. ”

He turned to the gathered hunters, villagers, and elders. “We do not pursue the Lanternstag. We protect its path. We spread across the forest—ridges, treelines, riverbanks—to walk ahead of its light. We clear the way. We hold the line.”

He paused, letting the silence settle.

“The veil stirs. And when it does, not all who walk it come with peace. There are those who seek the Lanternstag not to honor it, but to bind it. To twist its passage into power. The Drowned Sybil’s Teeth have marked Stilllight. They believe Thistlebound is a gate—and they would force it open.”

A ripple passed through the crowd. Whispers began to stir, but the unwavering calm air around Taeryn and the elders hushed them.

Taeryn continued, voice low. “We do not meet shadow with shadow. Stilllight teaches us to move with the forest, not against it. Spirit charms, illusions, and mosslight wards will guide us. Steel is a last breath.”

He gestured toward the forest edge. 

“Scouting assignments have been distributed. The ridges are covered. The northern treeline is fortified. Signal training is complete—silent gestures, Glowthread flares, and stag distress calls have been rehearsed.”

Taeryn turned to Ekko.

“Storm Shadow,” he called, voice quieter but no less firm. “You’ve been assigned to the southern perimeter. Not only because you and Mistwake restored the mosslight grid there—but because Stilllight chose you. That is where the veil will first stir. Where Thistlebound will emerge. Where the Lantern Bearer will begin her walk.”

Ekko briefly flicked his gaze to Jinx. 

“You walk with memory. With rhythm. With purpose. That is why you are here.”

Ekko stepped forward, marked with mosslight paint, bracers gleaming faintly. He didn’t speak. But the way he held himself—steady, grounded—was answer enough.

He hadn’t come to Stilllight for ceremony. He’d come to see if what he and Jinx had was still worth building. If there was space for him in the life she was shaping. 

But the answer had unfolded in quiet ways: in the way she looked at him on the mountaintop, in the way the villagers greeted him like he’d always belonged. 

Jinx had found something here. And somehow, Stilllight had found something in him too. 

They didn’t just welcome him. They trusted him. Called him Storm Shadow like it meant something. 

And now, standing with them, he felt it settle in his chest—the same vow he’d made with the Firelights. 

He would protect this place. Protect his own. Protect her. 

Taeryn nodded once, surveying the gathered hunters. 

“Hold the line. Guide the light. The crossing begins soon.”

Hunters moved in silence, dipping fingers into bowls of mosslight dye. Ekko knelt, letting the paint trace his arms, his collarbone, the curve of his jaw. Spirals. Threads. Echoes of wind and water. The symbols didn’t just mark him. They wove him in.

The mist began to rise.

The veil was thinning.

And somewhere beyond the ridge, Thistlebound stirred.

The mist thickened across the southern perimeter, curling low around the mosslight grid like breath held in anticipation. Lanterns pulsed gently overhead, their glow deepening with each passing moment. The forest quieted in reverence. Even the wind seemed to pause.

Then, from the veil, it stepped forward.

Thistlebound.

Bioluminescent light shimmered across its flank, dappling the moss and stone with soft gold and green. Its antlers arched like woven branches, threaded with pale blossoms and faintly glowing threads of spiritlight. Eyes like duskfire—deep, ancient, and unknowable—swept the path ahead. It moved slowly, deliberately, each step pressing memory into the earth.

The hunters stilled.

No one raised a weapon. No one spoke. They bowed their heads, lowered their stances, and let the moment pass through them like mist through reeds.

Jinx stood at the edge of the grid, her lantern cradled in both hands. The flare she’d engineered pulsed softly within—modified circuitry woven with mosslight threads, calibrated to catch the stag’s attention without startling it. Her ceremonial wrap fluttered in the breeze, flower crown slightly askew, mosslight patterns glowing across her skin.

Her lantern’s glow brightened, casting a soft arc of light across the path. 

Thistlebound turned its head, eyes meeting hers—not with submission, but with recognition. It did not bow. But it followed.

She hesitated.

Not from fear. From awe. From the weight of being seen.

Then, slowly, she stepped forward.

Jinx began to walk.

Behind her, the mosslight grid lit in sequence, a path unfolding with each step. 

The stag moved with her, silent and steady, its hooves barely disturbing the earth. 

The veil shimmered at its edges.

From the southern ridge, Ekko watched.

He was crouched low, half-shadowed by a thicket of painted stone and moss-threaded bamboo. His bracers glowed faintly, his breath measured. 

He did not move. But his eyes followed her.

Every step, every flicker of light, every moment she held the stag’s trust.

He felt it in his chest. Not pride. Not fear.

Something like knowing—like remembering who she was, and who she was becoming.

The hunters around him shifted, silent and alert. Signal flares were tucked into belts. Spirit charms hung from wrists. They did not speak. But they were ready.

The crossing had begun.

And the forest held its breath.

The mosslight path shimmered beneath Jinx’s steps, each lantern pulse echoing like a heartbeat through the forest. 

Thistlebound followed, silent and steady, its antlers brushing the mist as it moved. 

The veil thinned with every breath.

Then the forest snapped.

From the treeline, a chain flew—blackened metal, etched with hex-sigils, hissing as it sliced through the air. It struck the earth just shy of the stag’s flank, embedding deep with a pulse of corrupted light.

Jinx spun, lantern raised, eyes wide.

The mist erupted.

Figures surged from the shadows—cloaked in sea-worn leathers, faces masked with bone and rust. Their movements were jagged, ritualistic. 

Drowned Sybil’s Teeth.  

They didn’t shout. They chanted. Low, guttural syllables that made the mosslight flicker.

Miss Fortune had warned about them.

An old sect splintered from Bilgewater’s tidebound cults, obsessed with dredging power from the spirit realm. They believed Thistlebound was a vessel, a living conduit between worlds. Not to be honored, but harnessed. Their rites were twisted, their purpose singular: bind the stag, bleed its light, and claim its crossing for themselves.

Another chain flew—this one aimed for Thistlebound’s antlers.

Jinx didn’t hesitate.

She triggered the flare.

The lantern burst with engineered light. A sharp, spiraling pulse that caught the stag’s attention and redirected its gaze. 

Thistlebound turned, hooves shifting, and began to move again. Away from the chains, toward the deeper path.

From the southern ridge, Ekko launched forward.

He signaled the hunters—two gestures, one flare. 

Mosslight blinked in response. The perimeter mobilized.

Ekko moved like rhythm incarnate—dodging hex-chains, disabling anchors, rerouting energy with quick bursts from his gear. 

His bracers sparked, absorbing impact. 

The hunters flanked the attackers, using spirit charms and illusion veils to scatter their formation. 

Jinx led the stag deeper into the forest, her lantern pulsing in sync with the mosslight grid. 

She didn’t run. She guided. 

Her breath was steady. Her steps sure.

The veil rippled.

And the forest began to fight back.

The forest fractured around them—mist torn by hex-chains, mosslight flickering under corrupted pressure. 

But Ekko and Jinx didn’t falter. They moved like a rhythm remembered.

Ekko surged through the southern grid, his steps calculated, his gear humming with quiet charge. 

He didn’t chase the attackers—he rerouted them. 

Each movement was a countermeasure: a flare tossed to blind, a bracer pulse to disable a chain anchor, a silent signal to redirect the hunters behind him. 

Jinx adeptly adapted. 

She darted ahead of the stag, recalibrating her lantern mid-run, twisting the flare’s frequency to mimic the mosslight’s pulse. 

The Lanternstag hesitated, then followed, drawn by the engineered glow. 

Her fingers flew across the device, adjusting circuitry with muscle memory and instinct. 

A hex-chain snapped toward her.

Ekko intercepted—his bracer catching the impact, absorbing the surge before it could reach her. 

Jinx veered left, guiding Thistlebound around a fallen tree, her lantern casting a spiral of light that matched the grid’s rhythm. 

The stag followed, hooves silent, eyes steady. 

Ekko signaled again—two fingers to the ridge, one flare to the treeline. 

Hunters responded, illusions blooming across the forest floor, masking the stag’s trail with mirrored light. 

The attackers faltered, striking at echoes.

Jinx glanced back once, catching Ekko’s silhouette through the mist. 

He was crouched low, bracer raised, eyes scanning. 

Together, they turned the forest into a path. 

Not with force. But with rhythm and spark.

The mist parted with sudden motion, like a veil being drawn back.

From the northern ridge, feathers sliced through the air—sleek, violet-tipped, glowing faintly with spiritlight. They struck with precision, severing hex-chains mid-flight before they could reach the stag. 

Xayah landed in a crouch, eyes narrowed, her cloak billowing behind her like wings caught in wind.

Rakan followed in a blur of movement—his leap arcing through the mistlight, arms wide, charm pulsing from his palms. The rogue faction faltered, their formation disrupted by a wave of kinetic shimmer. 

He spun once, then landed beside Xayah, grinning like he’d just danced through a storm.

Miss Fortune arrived from the opposite flank, boots crunching softly against moss and stone. 

Brin and Marlow flanked her—Brin with a rifle slung across his back, Marlow adjusting a hex-scope with quiet precision. They moved like a unit, practiced and sharp.

Miss Fortune’s eyes swept the battlefield, calculating. 

Then she raised her pistol and fired once. 

A chain caster dropped, their hex-anchor shorting out in a burst of corrupted light.

Ekko caught her movement and adjusted his signals—redirecting hunters to flank the remaining attackers. 

Jinx glanced back, saw the reinforcements, and recalibrated her lantern’s flare to pulse brighter. 

Thistlebound responded, picking up pace, its hooves glowing faintly with mosslight residue.

The forest shifted.

Xayah moved like precision incarnate. Each feather a warning, each strike a boundary. 

Rakan danced between attackers, redirecting their focus, drawing fire away from the stag’s path. 

Miss Fortune pressed forward, eyes locked on the faction leader—a masked figure cloaked in sea-worn bone and rusted sigils.

Brin and Marlow covered her flanks, firing in rhythm, their shots coordinated with Ekko’s signals. 

The rogue formation began to fracture.

Jinx didn’t stop.

She led Thistlebound deeper into the forest, her lantern casting a spiral of light that matched the grid’s rhythm. 

The stag followed, steady and unafraid.

They weren’t just defending.

They were guiding.

Stilllight was holding.

And the veil was beginning to open.

The mosslight path narrowed as it approached the North Trough—where the final gate shimmered faintly in the mist, woven from bamboo lattice and spirit-thread. The veil pulsed there, thin and waiting. 

Thistlebound moved toward it, hooves silent, antlers glowing like duskfire.

Jinx led the way, her lantern casting a steady spiral of light. 

The stag followed, drawn by the rhythm she’d engineered.

Then the mist snapped.

A smaller group of cloaked figures burst from the underbrush—fast, close, desperate. Their masks were bone-white, etched with rusted sigils. 

One lunged toward the stag, hex-chain raised.

Jinx spun, eyes wide.

No time to recalibrate.

She dropped a smoke bomb.

The forest erupted in a cloud of mosslight vapor—thick, glowing, disorienting. 

The stag paused, then turned, guided by the flare’s pulse. 

Jinx moved fast, ducking low, guiding Thistlebound around a fallen arch and toward the gate.

The rogue group stumbled through the smoke, coughing, searching.

Then Ekko struck.

He and three hunters emerged from the ridge—silent, swift, coordinated. 

Ekko moved like a beating rhythm, bracer raised, gear humming. 

One attacker reached for a chain—Ekko disabled it mid-motion, redirecting the surge into the earth. 

Another tried to flee—caught by a hunter’s illusion snare.

The final rogue turned toward Jinx.

But Ekko was faster.

He intercepted, shoulder low, knocking the figure off balance. 

The hunter beside him bound the attacker with moss-thread, pressing a charm to their chest. 

The sigils dimmed.

The vapor cleared.

Jinx glanced behind her, eyes meeting Ekko’s through the fading smoke. 

No words. Just breath. Just knowing.

Thistlebound stepped forward.

The gate shimmered.

And the veil began to open.

The mist parted like breath exhaled.

Thistlebound stepped forward, hooves pressing into the mosslight path with quiet grace. Its antlers shimmered, catching the lantern glow and scattering it like starlight across the forest floor. 

The veil pulsed ahead—woven threads of spiritlight and memory, waiting to be crossed.

Jinx slowed to walk beside the stag, her lantern still lighting the path, breath calming with the mist. 

Ahead, the final gate shimmered—the North Trough, where the mosslight grid met the spirit lattice. Lanterns swayed gently overhead, their glow deepening with each step.

Ekko stood at the edge of the path, bracers dimming, breath steady, watching serenely.

The villagers gathered in silence.

Xayah and Rakan stood side by side, feathers and charm still humming with residual energy. 

Miss Fortune lowered her pistol, Brin and Marlow flanking her, eyes sharp but softened.

Virelli watched from the mosslight ring, robes trailing like roots, hands folded in quiet reverence.

Thistlebound reached the gate.

It paused.

The veil shimmered—then opened.

Light bloomed across the forest, soft and radiant, pulsing through the mosslight grid like a heartbeat remembered. 

Thistlebound turned its gaze one last time to Jinx, their eyes meeting.

The mist curled around its antlers, and for a breath, the veil shimmered with sound. Not words, but something felt. A whisper carried on mosslight wind, brushing past Jinx’s ear like memory. 

The path remembers you.

Jinx’s breath caught. Her fingers tightened around the lantern’s handle.

The stag stepped forward, antlers brushing the lattice, hooves pressing into the spirit-thread. 

It did not vanish. It did not ascend. It simply walked into the next realm, into memory, into myth.

As soon as the stag’s ethereal light disappeared, the veil disappeared into the mist. 

She let out a long breath. 

The lantern dimmed.

And Stilllight erupted in cheers.

Children laughed. Elders wept. Hunters lowered their weapons. The mosslight pulsed in celebration, casting the village in hues of gold and green.

Ekko stepped beside Jinx at the edge of the gate. Their shoulders brushed. 

She glanced at him, and he met her gaze. 

Behind them, the village pulsed with celebration. Lanterns swayed. Mosslight shimmered. 

The mist cleared, and Stilllight had endured.

But more than that—

It had grown.

And so had they.

They had the path.

The river ran quiet, its surface dappled with lantern reflections and drifting petals from the night's events.

The ferryboat bobbed gently at the dock, its hull lined with moss-thread bindings and spirit charms. Inside, the rogue faction sat subdued—bound, silent, and watched.

Xayah leaned against the railing, arms crossed, one brow raised. “Came for the Lantern Festival, leave with some delinquents. Is this what you were expecting?”

Miss Fortune didn’t look up from checking her pistol. “I expected fireworks. You all delivered.”

Rakan grinned, tossing a wink toward Jinx. “We aim to please.”

“Did you ever find out how they were tracking the stag?” Ekko asked, curious. 

Miss Fortune slid the barrel back into place, her gaze flicking toward the bound figures in the boat. “Old relic,” she said. “Spirit-forged. Stolen from a shrine near the coast years ago. It’s said to pulse when the veil stirs—like a compass for crossings.” She stood, dusting off her coat. “They’ve been chasing Thistlebound for a long time. Waiting for a place like Stilllight. Somewhere the veil’s thin enough to bleed through.”

Her eyes narrowed. 

“And they won’t be the last.”

Rakan’s grin faded. He exchanged a glance with Xayah, who nodded once, sharp and silent.

“We’ll talk to the elders,” Xayah said. “Stilllight held this time. It needs to hold again.”

Miss Fortune looked out across the misted river, her voice low. “The veil’s thinning more often. Word’s spreading. The wrong kind of people are listening.”

Jinx’s hand tightened around the lantern she still held. Ekko’s posture shifted—shoulders squaring, jaw set. They had protected Stilllight this time. But the thought of what might come next, of what could happen if they weren’t here... it settled in both of them like a quiet vow.

Miss Fortune holstered her weapon, catching their attention, and she stepped onto the boat with practiced ease. 

“Enough foreboding.” She faced the group once more, gesturing to the rogue faction. “Bilgewater knows how to deal with this kind of mess. I’ll make sure they remember why you don’t cross Stilllight.”

Xayah and Rakan followed her aboard, their movements fluid, familiar. Rakan paused at the edge, glancing back toward the riverbank.

Xayah turned to Jinx and Ekko, nodding to them in thanks. “We’ll escort them back to the port before we come back. Enjoy the rest of the festival, both of you. You’ve earned it.” 

Jinx stood beside Ekko, her lantern now dimmed, ceremonial wrap loose around her shoulders. She watched the boat with a half-smirk, arms folded, weight shifted to one side. Ekko stood there calmly, his mouth tugged into a smirk as he watched them. 

Miss Fortune turned, gaze landing on Jinx. “Think about what I said, Misty. The ocean has a lot to offer.”

Jinx snorted, but her eyes flicked toward the horizon. “Yeah, well... Stilllight’s got decent lighting.”

Miss Fortune grinned. “For now.”

Rakan lingered a moment longer. He caught Ekko’s gaze and gave a small nod. A tap to his chest, a tilt of the head. You’re doing good.  

He gave a wink and quickly said, “Don’t forget to try the mooncakes!” Then he turned, joining Xayah at the bow.

The ferryboat pushed off, drifting down the river.

Ekko and Jinx stood in silence, watching until the boat disappeared beyond the bend.

Once the boat vanished, their shoulders relaxed at the thought of finally a moment of quiet to themselves.

Ekko glanced at Jinx, a teasing edge in his voice. “You recalibrated a ceremonial lantern mid-ambush.”

Jinx shrugged, eyes still on the river. “You say that like it’s not standard protocol.”

He huffed a quiet laugh.

She tilted her head, smirking. “You’ve been here less than three days and you’re already commanding a whole army. Stilllight’s got a type, huh?”

Ekko’s gaze softened with quiet warmth. He reached up, brushing a few stray strands of hair behind her ear. “I was just following your lead, Blue.”

Even after all this time, that look still unraveled her. The one that held all the care, all the love, all the steady belief in her. It sent tingles up her spine and flipped her stomach like a firework misfired in her chest.

Her cheeks flushed. She groaned, grinning. “If you get any smoother, I’ll have to surrender my cakes to you.”

Ekko hummed, pulling her gently into his arms, his hands settling at her waist like they belonged there. His voice dipped into that husk she knew too well—the one that always made her pulse skip.

He leaned in, voice low beside her ear. “Is that a promise?”

Her hands found his shoulders to steady herself, heart thudding fast, heat rising up her neck. Her gaze flicked to his lips.

But before they could get a breath closer, footsteps thudded down the path.

They broke apart just in time.

Cirin and Little Sprout burst into view, breathless and beaming. Cirin beckoned to Ekko, while Little Sprout tugged at Jinx’s hand.

“Come on!” Cirin shouted. “They’re starting the feast!”

“There’s dancing!” Little Sprout added. “And there’s mooncakes!”

Jinx blinked. “Wait, mooncakes?”

Ekko raised an eyebrow. “You already called dibs.”

She flashed her grin at him. “Then I better get there before someone else does.”

They let themselves be pulled forward toward the village, back toward the light.

The village square bloomed with lanternlight and laughter. Glowthreads hung from the trees, swaying gently in the breeze, casting soft patterns across the cobbled stone. 

Cirin and Little Sprout tugged Jinx and Ekko into the thick of it—past the woven tables, past the fire pits, into the heart of Stilllight’s celebration. On the way to their seats, Taeryn patted Ekko’s shoulder in camaraderie and respect, and Virelli gently held Jinx’s hands in gratitude.

They sat among the villagers, shoulder to shoulder, surrounded by warmth and color. Bowls of steamed rice, roasted root, and honey-glazed fruit passed from hand to hand. Platters of festival dishes, wrapped in lotus leaves and garnished with edible blossoms, filled the air with spice and sweetness.

Then came the mooncakes.

Round, golden, pressed with intricate symbols of the stag and the veil. Ekko and Jinx each took one, biting in with curiosity. Their eyes widened. The filling was rich—sweet lotus and salted yolk, with a hint of mosslight citrus. They exchanged a glance, and though no words passed between them, it was clear: Rakan had been right. They could stay in Stilllight for the mooncakes alone.

The feast swelled with music—soft drums, reed flutes, and the hum of spirit chimes. 

Children danced between tables. Elders clapped in rhythm. The air shimmered with joy.

Then the dance began.

Little Sprout tugged Jinx toward the center, where villagers gathered in a wide circle beneath the lanterns. 

The coordinated steps began—slow at first, then building in rhythm. 

Jinx watched, then moved. 

Her feet found the beat easily, her body fluid, her wrap flaring like petals caught in wind. She twirled with abandon, laughter spilling from her lips as the lanterns spun overhead. The music wasn’t wild like Zaun’s—it was steady, pulsing like breath. But it still carried her. Still made her feel alive.

Ekko watched from the edge, arms folded, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. 

He remembered another dance—neon-soaked, reckless, the night before war. She had lunged then, wild and graceless, and he had followed without hesitation. Their rhythm had been chaos. Their closeness, accidental.

But this was different.

Then she saw him.

Their eyes locked.

She grinned.

She reached for him—no hesitation, no words—and pulled him into the circle with a firm tug, her fingers curling around his wrist.

“Dance with me.”

And with a smile, he fell in step with her.

The music swelled, and the rhythm carried them.

Ekko stepped into the pattern, syncing with her instantly. No stumbling. No catching up. Just motion. Just knowing. Like he’d always known how to move with her. Like he’d never stopped.

She pressed forward, and he moved back.

She swayed, and he followed.

Their rhythm wasn’t choreographed. It wasn’t forced. It just existed—fluid, instinctual, inevitable. But this time, it wasn’t chaos. 

It was choice.

They danced among the villagers, steps weaving through the spiral of light and motion. And slowly, the circle widened.

They found each other.

Jinx twirled into him, and Ekko caught her with ease. His hands at her waist. Her breath against his cheek. 

The music slowed, deepened. The mosslight pulsed. Everything faded around them. 

Their faces were close now—closer than Zaun, closer than memory. And this time, there was no question. No hesitation. No almost.

Just them.

Separate sparks.

One steady flame.

As dusk settled over Stilllight, the village square transformed. The music faded, replaced by the hush of anticipation. Lanterns lined the river’s edge, their soft glow mirrored in the water below. Villagers gathered in quiet clusters, each holding a lantern—some shaped like blossoms, others like stars, all crafted with care and memory.

Virelli stepped forward, her robes trailing like river mist, her voice rising with the hush of dusk. She stood beneath the arching canopy, lanternlight casting soft shadows across her face.

“The veil thins tonight,” she said, “as it does each year when flame meets river. We do not send lanterns for spectacle. We send them to remember. To guide. To choose.”

She lifted her hands, palms open to the canopy above.

“Some lanterns carry the names of those who walked before us. Others cradle the weight of memory. These drift along the river’s edge, guiding spirits in peace, letting what was gently pass. But there are lanterns that hold only hope. We lift them to the sky—not to release, but to illuminate. To mark the path ahead.”

The river shimmered. The mosslight pulsed.

“This is the Luminous Crossing. Where flame and thread and breath become promise. Where we bless change. Where we choose what stays.”

The villagers bowed their heads. 

The wind stilled.

Virelli approached Jinx and Ekko, carrying two handmade lanterns, their paper sides brushed with soft strokes of mosslight ink. One bore the painted shape of a flame, the other a gear. She held out a pair of woven thread ties. One tie dyed in river-blue, and the other in vine-green.

Jinx tilted her head, brow raised, staring at her in bemusement. 

Virelli smiled, voice low and steady. “If you choose, you may perform what we call the dual lantern rite. Two lanterns, tied together before they rise. It marks the hope of staying on the same path. It honors the choice of staying together.”

Jinx and Ekko exchanged a glance.

They nodded.

Jinx took the flame-painted lantern, and Ekko took the gear. 

Together, they tied the threads carefully, binding the lanterns side by side. 

Jinx’s fingers lingered on the knot, and when they lifted the lanterns to the sky together, she kept a piece of the threads curled in her palm.

The lanterns rose.

Slowly at first, then caught by the breeze. 

They drifted upward, glowing softly, their light mingling with the others—hundreds of lanterns rising through the canopy, painting the sky with memory and motion.

In the distance, Silky could be seen flying freely amongst the rising lanterns, silk ribbons gliding on his trail, and his pale feathers shimmering in the glowing lights. He seemed to hover close to their tied lanterns. 

Jinx watched the lanterns rise. 

The flame and the gear drifted upward, separate but bound, glowing against the dark like a promise made visible. 

She remembered what Virelli had said:

“Perhaps it will show you how your light glows. ”

And now, she saw it. 

Not just in the lantern’s lift, but in the way Ekko had stood beside her. In the way they’d tied the threads together. 

Her light didn’t have to burn alone. It could glow with his. Not out of need. Not out of fear. But because they chose it. 

Even if the path pulled them in different directions, even if distance stretched between them, they would find each other. 

And their path would continue to glow.

The mountaintop was quiet now, wrapped in the hush that followed celebration. Lanterns still drifted upward in the distance, their glow soft against the night sky. Below, Stilllight had begun to settle—lit archways dimming, laughter fading into the warm breeze.

On what Jinx deemed “the best spot” of her haven, Jinx and Ekko were sitting at the top of the mountain. Lingering lanterns that were still hovering upward was their backdrop, and they could spot the lanterns that rode the river path still making their journey down below. 

After the lanterns were released into the night, whether by sky or river, the festival came to an end. With some waves of thanks and good nights from the villagers, Jinx and Ekko quietly retreated back to the mountain haven. They washed off the paint gently from their skins, letting their muscles relax under all the tension-filled stress from the day’s events, and now, they sought quiet comfort at this spot. 

Jinx knelt behind Ekko, fingers deft and determined.

“Hold still,” she muttered, tugging at one of his locs.

“You’re pulling my hair on purpose,” Ekko said, voice low but amused.

“Because you won’t sit still,” she shot back, narrowing her eyes as she looped the river-blue thread through the loc-braid. “This would be easier if your head wasn’t built like a gear.”

Ekko huffed a laugh but didn’t move. 

Silky chirped from a nearby branch, watching with a tilted head as Jinx tied the final knot. 

She already had the vine-green thread woven into her crown braid, its color catching the lantern light like a whisper of the ritual still lingering in the air.

When she finished, Ekko turned slightly, and they both looked at the threads—his and hers, two colors bound to memory and choice. Their eyes met, and for a moment, they just smiled. No words. Just the quiet knowing that came from everything they’d walked through to get here.

After a few quiet seconds, she took his hand, determination in her eyes.

“I think I’m ready,” Jinx said softly.

Ekko tilted his head. “Ready for what?” 

He intertwined their fingers together, patiently waiting for her answer.

She looked out over the village, her eyes reflecting a sense of resolution, before looking back at him. 

“To move on. To the next place. I thought Stilllight was the end of the road. Like if I left, I’d mess up everything I’ve been trying to fix.” 

She took a deep breath, squeezing his hand once. He returned the gesture, allowing her the space she needed to say what she needed.

“But I’m not done healing. I’m better than before, yeah.” She nodded firmly, as if more for herself than for him. “And now I think it’s time to take the next step. To figure out what makes me ‘me’ .”

As if he heard an echo, he could hear Miss Fortune’s voice from earlier at the river:

“Think about what I said, Misty. The ocean has a lot to offer.”

Ekko leaned back on his free hand, watching her. An amused smirk made its way to his face. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna try being a pirate next.”

Jinx snorted, her nose scrunching. “Hey, I can’t let Red Queen show me up. She had two pistols. Two! I can’t let her outgun me in style.”

“She’d wipe the deck with you,” Ekko said. “You challenge her on open water, you’re asking for trouble.”

“Which is why I’m gonna learn how to ride the waves,” Jinx said, eyes gleaming. “We’ve got a whole map waiting to be explored. You can’t be the only one crossing oceans.”

At the mention of crossing oceans, his smirk lowered to a smile. 

Ekko reached out, brushing his fingers against the vine-green thread in her braid. “You know I’m only a postcard away. I’ll cross the ocean with you. Whenever you need me.”

Jinx glanced toward the tree where Silky had perched—fluffed up and preening, his feathers catching the lantern light like scattered embers.

“Speaking of postcards, looks like Silky responds to both of us,” she said, tilting her head. “Guess that means we’re sharing him.”

Ekko followed her gaze, a soft chuckle escaping. “Then we better make sure he can keep making those trips.”

Jinx leaned back on her hands, eyes narrowing with mock seriousness. “You thinking we gotta suit him up?”

Ekko grinned, shrugging. “Hey, we’re not the only ones crossing oceans. Little guy’s gotta be prepared, too.”

Jinx tapped her chin, already scheming. “We should definitely give him a tiny satchel. Maybe with a collapsible glider. And goggles. Definitely goggles.”

Ekko laughed. “You’re gonna turn him into a one-bird courier service.”

“Better than turning him into a fashion icon,” she said, smirking. “Though I could stitch him a cape.”

“You mentioning collapsible glider reminded me of something,” Ekko began, shifting slightly. “You remember our aerogliders?”

Jinx couldn’t help but think of the memory of them flying on an aeroglider together, high above Zaun, wind through their hair, him close to her. 

Her eyes lit up. “Of course I do. What about them?”

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to make them easier to carry. Something compact. Foldable. Extendable when we need it.”

Jinx sat up straighter, already halfway to her feet. “I think I’ve got an idea. I’ll need to sketch it out first. If I reroute the tension coils and reinforce the frame with—”

Ekko caught her wrist gently, laughing as he pulled her back down, positioning her to lean against his chest. “I didn’t mean right now , Blue. I should’ve waited till morning to bring it up. Your brain never stops sparking.”

She flashed him a grin before settling into his hold, leaning her head against the side of his, brushing her hands along his arms wrapping around her waist.

“I wanna stay here with you like this just a little longer,” he murmured, holding her close to him.

Jinx nodded, her voice quiet. “You’re my place. We’re always going to have this.”

Ekko’s arms tightened around her. “Yeah. We will.”

They stayed like that, wrapped in silence, the wind soft around them and the last of the lanterns drifting skyward. The village below slept, but up here, they held on to this moment. 

The wind shifted gently across the mountaintop, carrying the scent of mosslight and river mist. 

Jinx leaned into Ekko, her gaze drifting toward the horizon. Where the lanterns had now vanished into the sky, and beyond that, where Zaun waited. Not as a threat. Not as a wound. Just... as part of her story.

“I’ll reach out to Vi.” Her voice was quiet, sudden.

Ekko turned to her, eyes widening just slightly. 

“When I’m ready,” Jinx added, catching his gaze. “I want to reach out to her on my terms.”

Ekko huffed a breath in relief, almost in disbelief for a split-second. Then, he nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing. It wasn’t an if anymore. It wasn’t a maybe. It was a choice. Hers.

“I don’t want you carrying that,” she said. “The weight of not telling her. That’s mine. And I will.”

“I respect that,” Ekko said. “I always have. It’s good to actually hear you say it.”

Jinx looked at him then. At the boy who had chased her through chaos, who had held her through silence, who had never once asked her to be anything but herself.

“Thank you,” she said, softly, gratefully. “For being there. For supporting me. For accepting me.”

Ekko’s voice was gentle, steady. “I think I’ve always wanted to be the hero in your story, even when we were kids.”

Jinx huffed out a small laugh, but her smile was real. “Funny. I think you already are.”

He leaned forward, his voice right next to her ear. “And I want to see what happens past the end.”

The words caught her off guard. 

Past the end.  

He didn’t just want the now—the mountaintop, the lanterns, the quiet between them. 

He didn’t just see the past—their childhood, their once-rivalry, their shared night together a year ago.

He wanted the after. The messy, uncertain, uncharted future. And he wanted it with her.

Jinx felt something shift in her chest, a flutter she hadn’t expected, like her heart was remembering how to fall again. Not the reckless kind. Not the kind that burned too fast. But the kind that stayed. That chose. That glowed.

She blinked, trying to play it cool, but the warmth in her cheeks betrayed her.

She muffled a groan, laughing under her breath. “You need to stop being so smooth. I’ve given you my heart, my cakes, my virginity—what’s next, my soul?”

She could feel him chuckle through his chest, the feeling sending tingles against her back. And she thought that had been his only response as silence followed after. 

In one swift motion, he shifted them, laying her gently on her back, and he hovered over her. 

He looked down at her, eyes bright with love and mirth, and his voice reached that deep husk she loved so much. 

“I want all of you, Blue. Always.”

And then he bent down and kissed her.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. 

It was slow and deliberate, like a promise sealed in breath. 

His lips met hers with the kind of softness that came from knowing her rhythm, her edges, her heart. 

Her pulse skipped, then settled, and for a breathless stretch of time, the world narrowed to the quiet between them. 

The warmth of his mouth lingered against hers, steady and sure, and she felt the press of his palm at her waist, grounding her. 

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring herself to the moment, to him. 

A gentle breeze wrapped around them, cool against flushed skin, but their shared kiss was warm, unwavering, and full of everything they hadn’t needed to say. 

Just two sparks, drawn together again.

The wind curled around the mountaintop, soft and warm, like breath held between heartbeats. Below, the village slept, the lanterns dimmed, the hush of Stilllight settling into its roots. 

Silky perched quietly on his branch, feathers fluffed, content to linger a little longer. He didn’t rush to reclaim his throne. 

Then, Jinx felt him pull away. 

Before she had a chance to be confused, she felt herself suddenly being lifted into a pair of strong arms. Ekko was carrying her, one arm underneath her legs, the other holding her back. 

Moving her arms around his neck securely, Jinx grinned at him in amusement. “I thought you wanted to stay here longer?”

Ekko smirked, already starting to walk down the path. “I’m taking our artwork inside before Rakan has anything to say about my cakes again.”

Her laughter drifted on the wind, soft and playful, trailing behind them as they made their way down the mountain. They slipped into the quiet of the constructed mountaintop home, where their private artwork was expressed, shared and admired by each other. 

In the night sky, a lantern with a flame and a lantern with a gear, tied together by blue and green threads, continued to hover, lifting higher and higher into the clouds.

And up on this mountaintop, they stayed—two sparks, one harmony, choosing each other again. 

The next page turns, and the ink continues. 

Chapter Text

The days after the festival unfolded like soft pages—unhurried, sun-warmed, and quietly golden. Ekko and Jinx moved through them with a kind of ease that felt earned, like breath after a long-held silence. 

They didn’t rush. They didn’t plan. They simply lived, letting the rhythm of Stilllight guide them.

The morning after the lanterns rose, they woke tangled in blankets and half-finished thoughts. 

They ventured to the cave which was still dim, the air cool with mist, and their breakfast was another product of Jinx’s experimental cooking. Ekko winced through a bite of something vaguely sweet and definitely over-charred, but neither of them minded. 

Between mouthfuls, they sketched ideas on the map, of what routes to explore and places to visit. Using her workbench, they created a schematic redesign of the Firelights’ aerogliders to fold and expand with ease which Ekko would build when he returned to Zaun ( and given specific instructions by Jinx to send him updates on the progress and testing ). 

The conversation drifted between invention and memory, punctuated by laughter and the occasional groan when Jinx tried to justify her breakfast as “edible enough.”

Later, Xayah and Rakan joined them, sweeping into the cave with their usual flair and a handful of wildflowers. They recounted the previous day’s chaos with theatrical exaggeration, Rakan gesturing wildly as he described the rogue faction’s failed escape and how their harmony was a beautiful performance to witness. 

The conversation spiraled into jokes about foreign sayings, with Rakan dodging Ekko’s persistent questions about why butts were called “cakes” and what exactly made something a “chef’s kiss.” Xayah rolled her eyes with fond exasperation, and Jinx nearly choked on her tea from laughing too hard.

As the sun climbed higher, the four of them met with Stilllight’s elders. With Xayah and Rakan’s deep knowledge of Ionia’s spiritual defenses, and Ekko and Jinx’s creative engineering, they began to form new strategies—ways to respond to different predators (spirit-touched or mortal realm beings), revise current hunter tactics and strategies, and build protective structures that could withstand future threats. The elders listened, nodded, and began to plan. And over the next few days, the work began.

Ekko and Jinx didn’t just advise. They built. Side by side with the villagers, they hauled materials, carved lattice supports, and wove new thread lines into the mosslight grid. They both taught any villager willing on how to maintain the mosslight grid and what solutions could work for a variety of problems. 

Jinx’s hands were often stained with ink and dust, Ekko’s with sap and soot. But they didn’t mind. It was work that mattered. Work that would protect the next Luminous Crossing.

In the evenings, they returned to the cave and painted. The mural grew slowly across the stone wall. First, the outline of a stag, then an owl perched in flight, and finally a spark, small and bright, nestled between them. It wasn’t just art. It was memory. It was myth. It was theirs.

In the last few days, they explored more of Ionia with Xayah and Rakan, wandering through spirit-glades and whispering groves, trading stories and collecting fragments of lore. Jinx climbed trees she probably shouldn’t have, Ekko sketched designs in the dirt, and Rakan tried to convince everyone that he’d once danced with a veil spirit who taught him how to “moonwalk.” Xayah didn’t deny it, but she didn’t confirm it either.

And then, the time came.

The airship waited in the port city, its sails catching the wind like wings ready to rise. The dawn morning was quiet, the sky streaked with soft gold, and the port city stirred gently behind them. 

The days had been full of laughter, of work, of love. But now, they narrowed to a single moment. 

A departure. A promise.

“This is as far as I go,” Jinx said quietly, hugging his waist, her head tucked into the junction of his neck and shoulder. 

Ekko nodded, his arms wrapped around her shoulders, his hand brushing her hair, holding her close. His eyes were gazing at the vine-green thread in her crown braid. His satchel was slung over his shoulder, lighter than when he came.

“You’ll send Silky over when you decide on your next stop?”

“Yup.” She said, making a pop on the p . “I just need to stitch his cape.”

He rolled his eyes. “I thought we agreed he didn’t need to be a fashion icon?”

“Tell him that!” She leaned her head back to look up at him with a wicked grin. “The little guy was deadass staring at the fabric when we finished his new harness. I think he really wants a cape to match his royal birdness.” 

He offered her a lofty smirk. “Just make sure that cape doesn’t interfere with the glider mechanism.”

She was mid-retort, the words already forming on her tongue, when the low hum of the airship engine rolled across the port. 

The sound was steady, rising, signaling departure. Below the gangway, workers moved with practiced urgency, securing cargo and preparing to seal the doors.

Ekko turned toward her, about to speak.

But Jinx moved first.

She leapt into him without warning, legs wrapping around his waist, arms locking behind his neck. 

He caught her with a startled laugh, hands instinctively holding onto her rear (or precious cakes, as Ekko has come to learn). 

“Pow-Pow, be careful—” He started, breathless.

In the quiet days that followed the festival, Jinx had begun to sit with her past. Not to fight it, not to outrun it, but to listen. Powder, the name she once flinched from, had started to feel less like a wound and more like a thread. A part of her story, not the whole of it. 

She’d told Ekko, softly and without ceremony, that if he ever wanted to call her Powder again, he could. 

Not because she was returning to who she’d been, but because she was ready to carry all of it. 

Powder, Jinx, Blue. They were all hers now. And Blue , the name Ekko had given her when everything else had fractured, would always be theirs. 

But Powder was no longer a ghost. It was a name she could choose. A name she could reclaim.

And in this moment, hearing it spoken not with pity or pain, but with love, she felt something settle inside her. 

Like a thread had finally found its knot. 

Like she was becoming herself, not in spite of who she’d been, but because of it.

She pressed her lips to his, swift and certain, hands threading into his hair and pulling him close.

Recovering from the initial shock, Ekko responded without hesitation, kissing her back just as fiercely.

The world around them blurred—the hum of the airship, the bustle of the port, the ache of goodbye. None of it mattered. Not here. Not in this.

It was a kiss full of longing, of love that had been chosen again and again. A kiss that carried the weight of promises not spoken aloud, and the quiet thrill of a future not yet written. It held the ache of distance, but not the fear of it. It held the spark of something enduring.

When they finally parted, breathless and warm, their foreheads touched. 

Neither moved. 

They stayed in that hush, eyes closed, letting the warmth between them speak. 

And for four long seconds, it felt like the whole world had paused to hold them in place. 

“You’re my place.” 

“And I only see you.”

They held each other a moment longer before he gently set her down on her feet. 

She pulled his owl hood over his head, a longing smile gracing her face. 

And with one final embrace, Ekko boarded the airship. 

The engines roared to life, and slowly, the airship began to lift, rising into the sky and carrying him away.

Jinx watched the airship lift higher, its silhouette cutting through the clouds, growing smaller with each breath.

Ekko flew on, toward Zaun, toward the Firelights, toward the home he continued to build. The city still needed him, and he would return with new ideas, new stories, and the river-blue thread she’d tied into his loc. 

The ache of parting lingered, but it didn’t weigh him down. It steadied him. Because this time, she wasn’t running. She was choosing.

And he would keep building—for her, for them, for the place she would always have, no matter how far she wandered.

She didn’t know exactly where her next stop would be, whether it would be Bilgewater, Noxus or even Demacia. But she knew she would figure it out. She would walk the path, not to escape who she’d been, but to become more of who she is. 

The spark inside her no longer flickered. It glowed steady. And it would guide her forward.

The hope of becoming herself was no longer a distant beacon. It was already burning. And it would lead her back. Not just to him, but to every piece of herself she’d chosen to carry.

Even as the port city stirred to life, Jinx remained, watching until the airship was no more than a glint in the sky—until the moment had passed, but not faded.

And what remained were sparks, harmony, and a light—

Of a love chosen freely.

Of time honored and not undone.

Of something bright and resilient.

Carrying forward into whatever future they dared to make.

Together.