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krysmcscience · 6 months ago

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It’s finally done, guys – five whole pages of Narilamb AU comic AND MORE be upon you! (If you have trouble reading any of the text, view the full-size! These pages are huge!)

Yeesh, this took forever. <:)

There’s probably a ton of inconsistencies and anatomy/perspective wonkeries, but this was mostly just comic practice, so Oh Hekkin Well, Lol <:D

(Yes, I am aware the Gateway’s door isn’t present in the Afterlife, and the actual way in is just a pentagram portal. Yes, I put the door in there anyway because Artistic License, i.e. it felt more impactful for there to be a prison door of sorts to walk through to freedom, rather than just a bland boring portal on the ground. 😠)

anyway, i hate backgrounds so much lmao

Alternate ending and a buttload of bonus art under the cut, followed by goofy AU rambles and headcanon stuff:

I’m calling it the Revival AU. It’s not all that creative a title, and someone else has probably used it already, but I am too lazy to really care, LOL

Alternate ending page, which you will Definitely need to view the full-size for, Whoopsie Daisy:

The alternate ending was actually the first ending I finished things off with, because I had a brief badbrain moment where I forgot the emotional beat I initially wanted the comic to end on, and I tend to write comedy, anyway. I later remembered and drew out the proper ending, but I preserved and finished this one, too, because it still makes me giggle.

They had to go back for the followers off-screen in the AU’s real ending. And by ‘they’ I mean just the Lamb, because they weren’t about to ask three newly freed cats to go back into what used to be their prison. The Lamb DID spend some time watching Narinder and the bois enjoying the outdoors first, though:

In other news, here’s the Lamb and me making fun of my anatomy-drawing ‘skills’:

Meanwhile, if you’re wondering why the Lamb is just a-okay with how things went down vis a vis Their Murder, this bonus comic should answer at least some of your questions:

Ah, yes, also this is how they get engaged outside of the alternate ending. Forgot to mention that bit. XD (I already refuse to believe that Narinder is capable of flirting normally, so why would his initial marriage proposal be any better???)

Oh, and before any of them get a chance to actually head back to the cult grounds, there is one potential problem:

And by ‘problem’ I mean something Narinder intends to ignore for At Minimum a thousand years. Cuz he’s a petty bitch like that. :D

what do you mean i drew the lamb too tall compared to the background? clearly they’re standing on top of baal and aym lmao, why else would you think those two aren’t in this one??? (aym and baal got way too excited about finally being outside, you see, and their silly modes are nothing to sneeze at)

And, speaking of heading back to the cult grounds, I’m sure y’all would love to know how the Lamb’s followers felt about the brand new change in management:

It all went better than expected. <:D Tiny ramble now, feel free to skip down to the next comic.

Before you ask, no, the Lamb does not have any actual powers anymore, other than the immortality Narinder definitely grants them. The Red Crown just thinks it’s funny to suggest otherwise, and Narinder does nothing to discourage this. Also, the Lamb and Narinder aren’t actually married here yet, but, uh. Pretty safe to say that particular ritual directly follows the events of this comic. XD

Given how quickly he mellows out in canon, Narinder probably chills out a lot in this AU once he’s in charge of the cult, too, if only because 1.) He’s finally free, and 2.) He’s equally smitten with and distracted by the Lamb. He’s definitely in charge at least 95% of the time, though, because the Lamb never actually wanted to be a cult leader and, now that their time as a vessel is done, they just want to be a normal(ish) sheep who’s wholly devoted to their hot new divine husband.

Some followers do still have some valid concerns about these two being together, though, which I’m sure at least a few of you might share…

Unfortunately for any such concerns, the Lamb is a bonafide masochist in this AU. :D

They’re also 100% a sub, obviously

Anyone at all: Your relationship is problematic and potentially toxic

The Lamb: fuck yeah it is, it’s so hot~ OuO

Here’s just the last panel, made transparent for whatever nefarious purposes y’all might have for it:

Additional exchange Narinder and the Lamb have at some point, probably after the Lamb does a fatal whoopsie while out on a mission trip or in response to things getting a little too sadistic in the bedroom, ahaha:

Look, there is a very important distinction between life and death, and if you don’t understand that, then you’re probably not worthy of being the God of Death, anyway. (At least, according to Narinder, and ONLY Narinder.)

Last but not least, have these shittens:

~Such creative naming conventions I have utilized, lololol~ :D Anyway, there's a few deets on them in the rambles down below.

The rest is all ramble, so before I get to that, I’ll just say – likes and especially reblogs are very much appreciated!!! :D If you happen to really really REALLY like my stuff, meanwhile, I do have a link in my bio to my ko-fi page, where I’m accepting commissions and donations if you’re especially generous… ÓuÒ

Now, BE FREE IF YOU AIN’T DOWN FOR READING MY GOOFY RAMBLES

First ramble is re: Baal’s question of ‘Did it really work?’, since I didn’t feel like expanding on it in the comic proper, and it’s arguably pretty vague? He doesn’t ask because he doubts Narinder or his capabilities, exactly, but because neither Baal nor Aym have ever actually seen their god at full power before (he’s still technically not at full power here, either). It’s not expressly stated how soon the brothers were brought to Narinder after his imprisonment, but whether it was early on or after a length of time for Shamura to (somewhat) recover from his attack, he must have already been weakened, since I have no doubts that there was a huge battle that accompanied the Bishops working together to trap him. So, between that fight with all four of his siblings, sharing his power with a variety of vessels over time, and being chained immobile for a thousand years, he must have been severely weakened by the time he lent the Red Crown out to the Lamb, which would have only weakened him further.

I like to think this is how the Lamb is able to defeat him if they refuse to be sacrificed, despite how it took all four Bishops working together to subdue and chain Narinder in the first place.

All that aside, the three cats have been trapped in the Afterlife for so long that Baal also wanted verbal reassurance that they are all, indeed, actually able to leave it now – something that I headcanon isn’t possible without a significant amount of power (i.e. the Red Crown’s cooperation with its bearer/vessel).

(On a semi-related note, I don’t headcanon Aym and Baal as twins. I like sweetheart big bro Baal and snarky little goth bro Aym too much to have them be that close in age.)

Ah, teeny thing: If you noticed I switched up the art style for Narinder on the second page, that was intentional. It's sort of a visual indicator that there has been a Big Change for him - that being, how much power he has after sacrificing the Lamb. As for why I changed up his arms in the grass rollin' pic, I don't really subscribe to the notion that his arms are spooky bones because they're horrifically injured (beyond chain-chafing scars, that is), but rather just because he's the Bishop of Death, so he can change how normal-to-spooky they look at will. At some point I might doodle out how I imagine his appearance to range between least to most eldritch... 🤔

Next ramble, regarding Narinder’s feelings towards the Lamb...he was initially too focused on being freed from his imprisonment to form any real attachment to them. They were a tool for his use, first and foremost, but he did notice their intense devotion towards him. It was impossible not to notice, because the Lamb was always very happy to see him, even if it was because they died during a crusade (yet again). He wasn’t originally planning to revive them once he was freed, either, because he saw no real point to it – after all, they were already dead when they first met him, just as any other mortal would be when meeting him in the Afterlife, so death has very little real consequence in his eyes. But, once the chains were off, and it really sank in that he stood to lose the most devoted follower he’s ever had, he decided…why put their soul to rest for good or leave them stuck in the Afterlife when he could just as easily revive them again? And why not reward them for their hard work, anyway? Not only would it cost him nothing by comparison, but the future devotion that could come of it would surely make up for his (bare minimum) effort in reviving them.

He wasn’t expecting to get a full dose of that devotion and a smiling face so soon after killing them, though~ :3c (because the Lamb is a bonafide freak, and not-so-secretly into the fucked up power dynamics going on here, lol)

I should mention here that I am firmly of the belief that any non-god/vessel who crosses through the Gateway and into the Afterlife just straight up dies. So, Aym and Baal? Also straight up dead, from the second Shamura brought them through. Their souls were just never put to rest so that Narinder could have some company – if only according to Shamura. Narinder kept the two around mostly out of bewilderment, because honestly, who are these kittens, and what is Shamura’s game here, anyway??? They never even explained anything, they just tossed these kittens into the Afterlife and LEFT!!! At any rate, Aym and Baal being dead is how I explain why their souls apparently become lost in the void if they’re killed, along with the added complications required to revive the two because of it.

So, with those deets in mind, and given a bit of time, if Narinder hadn’t chosen to revive the Lamb, and also hadn’t chosen to put their soul to rest, they still would have woken up at some point, despite being as straight up dead as Aym and Baal. Who, don’t worry, were also properly revived while Narinder was waiting for the Lamb to wake up. Because I am also firmly of the belief that, first, the dead cannot leave the Afterlife without the use of a ritual/relic (and can't stay in the living world for long regardless), and second, dead followers’ devotion isn’t anywhere near as potent as that of the living, given how much more the living stand to lose.

Final ramble, regarding the Lamb’s feelings towards Narinder, and why they’re so devoted to him…

Well, you don’t spend most of your life on the run with your steadily-dwindling herd, trying to evade the ongoing genocide of your species, without becoming a little fucked up in the head. Maybe a lot fucked up in the head. Life is suffering, so might as well have fun with it, right? Maybe start finding death and pain to be kind of hilarious, even a little bit hot, once everyone you know and love is dead and gone, leaving you all alone? And maybe after that, there’s something comforting in how, despite the cold, cruel uncertainties of life, at least you can always count on the inevitability of death, patiently waiting for you until your very last breath? Who knows. Either way, as soon as the Lamb was killed, and they learned that the literal God of Death was offering them a second chance at life and vengeance via effective immortality, they were 100% ride-or-die-devoted all at once. Turns out death is kinder than life – go figure. (Of course, it helps that Narinder is 100% their type.)

They weren’t put off by Narinder’s thinly-veiled sadism or manipulations, either – they’re not too different in those regards, albeit opting for vastly different methods. It’s a very ‘two sides of the same coin’ sort of deal. In order to stay alive once they were made the last of their kind, the Lamb had no qualms with using others to their advantage, and that did not change once they were revived and expected to run a cult. They didn’t care for the position of authority, though – being a sheep and all, they’re much more of a follower than a leader, and thus greatly appreciated Narinder’s need for control. With how they had to keep on their toes for so long, the Lamb was also pretty good at reading people by the time they died, so they could recognize that a lot of Narinder’s posturing was just that – posturing. Dude’s 95% bluster and only 5% bite. He could obviously be vicious when he wanted or needed to (the Bishops' injuries were clear proof of that), but underneath his outer layer of cruelty was a generous layer of tsundere, and underneath all THAT was a soft squishy middle sibling velcro cat in desperate need of attention and affection.

(Which, for the record, he Did Not feel comfortable getting from Aym and Baal – Narinder still has no idea why the fuck Shamura sent them to him, beyond acting as keepers at best or trying to sabotage his attempts to escape at worst. Which, he thought HE sabotaged in turn, by guiding the kittens into being his devoted disciples instead. He thought he was very clever for it. ‘I outsmarted Shamura!’ he thought, despite that there was never anything there to outsmart. ‘What do you mean, Shamura sent your kittens to me for company?’ he demands of Forneus later. It may or may not lead him to pull Shamura out of Purgatory just so he can shake them and scream about how they should have Fucking Explained that!!!)

But, getting back on track as to why the Lamb was so willing to be sacrificed, I cannot stress this enough – if you pay even a minimal amount of attention to what he’s saying, Narinder is REALLY NOT SUBTLE about his intentions. ‘Death is of little consequence.’ ‘Followers are for you to use to your advantage.’ ‘Sacrifice a follower to absorb more power.’ So, yeah, the Lamb knew exactly what would be expected of them once the other Bishops were dead. They knew Narinder would expect them to die for him one last time. But, after all, death is of little consequence (not to mention hot), so when the time came, they wanted to see him freed, even if it meant oblivion for them in the end.

He’d given them a second life, and the ability to avenge their kin, and they felt indebted to him for that – so, while they were still pretty glum about the possibility that they might not get to see him free of his chains, nothing beyond their devotion and debt to him mattered. They never wanted all the drama and expectations that came with the Red Crown’s power, anyway, so, better for Narinder to have it back so that he could deal with it. What he did with the Lamb afterward would be up to him, and seeing as he was their god, they’d accept his decision gladly.

Were they in love with him by that point? Oh, obsessively so, but only in the devotional sense – romance was nowhere on their mind nor radar. That is, until he unexpectedly revived them again, told them he still needed them, and then offered down his hand to help them up.

The Lamb fell HARD for him in that moment. :3c

And now, a tiny shitten ramble. Lu and Li are twins, because sheep tend to have those a lot, and are conceived not long after the Lamb and Narinder’s marriage ceremony. Lu is the minutes older one, but Li is much more mature. I have put no further thought into these two, other than that they are utter menaces, birthed by the Lamb, cling hard to both their parents but especially Narinder (who spoils them rotten), and they are both genderfluid, using whichever pronouns/names they feel like at any given time. They are also both intersex, same as the Lamb, who was initially infertile up until Something Something Vague Magic, which I have also put no further thought into ¯\_(シ)_/¯

oh, and before anyone tries to suggest i headcanon this AU’s lamb as trending more female due to them giving birth or whatever, no, no, a thousand times no, they might have a vag, but they've also got a dick, and even if it's not as big as they'd like, they still know how to use it

Finally, the very tentative name for the Lamb in this AU is Yazdi, which is really just another name for the Baluchi breed of sheep XD (Not that the Lamb is this specific breed, I just didn’t like any of the other sheep-related names I found, ahaha...)

THAT’S ALL FOR NOW (collapses into an exhausted pile of goopy limbs)

#fanart #comics #cult of the lamb #cotl #narilamb #cotl lamb #cotl narinder #cotl shitten #cotl mystic seller #cotl aym #cotl baal #aym and baal #this is why i have been especially quiet lately XD #even just the bonus stuff took several days to finish because i don't know the meaning of DOODLE anymore apparently #everything must be fully inked and colored with backgrounds I Fukken Guess #at least using medibang's sumi brush keeps me from focusing on making my lines perfect :\#and yeah i copy-pasta'd a lot of my own backgrounds don't at me bro #if you're on desktop and want to full view but don't know how: right click the image - open in new tab - zoom in as needed :)#feel free to ask questions about the AU if you want - but uh - this is basically the extent to which i've thought it through LOL #edit: oh right - aym and baal really out there assuming narinder already put the lamb's soul to rest so the body's just fodder now lmao #last edit i hope: fixed the transparent cult certified freak image 8|#nope - one more edit: there is one (1) loophole for how living mortals can be in the afterlife without dying #that loophole is currently narinder XD #'sorry universe but the god of death says i can be in here so back off with your rules and regulations'

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the-kr8tor · 26 days ago

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Ink and Bedrock

Pairing: Ekko x fem! Reader

Word count: 8.9k

Synopsis: You're tasked to record what happened to Piltover over three years ago. A determined scholar who's willing to get the story of war and warn people about its horrors no matter how much it takes. And Ekko's side is what you need to accomplish the behemoth task. What happens when free flowing ink meets an unmovable bedrock?

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, Noxian! Reader, Historian! Reader, Reader has nicknames, spoilers for s2, set 3 years after s2, CW blood and death mention, CW food mentions, CW injury, arcane characters apperance, part 1 of 2 (or 3), slowburn.

Buy me a ☕?

Navigation

A/N: Special thanks to @pleaktale ❤️

Part 1 >>> Part 2

Your suitcase weighs heavy in your hand as you step off the blimp for the first time. The breeze kisses your cheeks as if it's greeting you in glee. Your eyes slowly scan up the building, breath stuck in your throat at how the hex tower shines in the sun, its gold inlays melds perfectly with its white columns, making it look like you've stepped into a heavenly place. It could truly be a heavenly place in a few years. After the war ravaged Piltover and its people, it took them some time to recover from the pain it caused. Pain that your own people had a hand in causing. You could only hope that the people here accept you just as well as the wind does.

Shoes clicking against the steel floor, you can still see glimpses of the fight that occurred through the marks it left. Shattered concrete still waits in every corner to be patched up. Burn marks in different odd shapes are left etched on the pavement and metal floors like a grim reminder of the past.

As you head further outside, it gets brighter, the breeze seems to carry laughter. The sun bathes the trees in its light, still breathing through it all.

You can see hope in every person's face as you walk past, but you can sense their grief through those eyes, sadness dotted along their worry lines as they go about their day. Hope is driving them to rebuild, to concur that grief embedded in their bones. You hope that they reach their goals so they could live again, not just surviving from day to day while seeing those seared ashen walls in the shape of war.

You don't notice your knuckles shaking while gripping your suitcase. Eyes downcast, you fix your hold on the leather strap, nails leaving indents on your trembling palms. Walking through Piltover's streets has your mind making up visions of unnecessary bloodshed hidden in-between its concrete crevices. All the weapons drawn and pointed at each other, souls lost in what could've been something preventable. Yet, as you walk on the same blood soaked streets, you see all the residents rebuilding what was lost. It's only been three years since the conflict, but you can see that they've made progress in the land of progress.

The buildings are looking much better than what you saw in the reports. The hex tower is being rebuilt with a different purpose this time. The place no longer hums with remnants of the arcane.

People smile and walk to coffee shops with their loved ones, chatting and living in the moment despite what happened in the very place they sit upon. You admire them from afar, guilt trying to snake its way inside your chest, threatening to close around your heart.

You'll atone for the sins, one step at a time. Even if they drive you away, even if they curse and spit at you, you'll endure because they have endured so much more.

You promised Mel and your professor that you'll bring the truth to your fellow noxians and perhaps to the rest of Runeterra. And you intend to keep that promise.

Heart thudding in your chest, you finally make it to the Kiramman estate. The large gates open for you automatically, footsteps growing heavy with every step you take.

A guard watches you with his narrowed gaze, eyes scanning your crimson clothes and the fire in your determined eyes. With apprehension, he opens the door with a creak. As you enter and leave the cold Piltover streets, the air gets heavy as you go deeper into the mansion with a uniformed woman guiding you towards what you surmise as the office. The large double doors loom over you, shadow casting over your form.

She knocks, and you hear a commanding voice from the inside.

—

Caitlyn Kiramman, you've heard stories about her from the younger Medarda, stories of bravery and anguish laced within her decisions. You don't blame her for siding with Ambessa, she was cunning and ambitious, everything that the young and unwilling Kiramman head needed to shutter her grief close to her chest and use it as a fuel to keep herself warm in her time of grief. You suppose that's what the woman next to her is doing as she reads the letter you've given Caitlyn over her shoulder. You can see in her dark eyes that she's still atoning for her past sins.

You sit still on the plush seat, hands placed on your lap to show that you're not feeling nervous about you being here. Meanwhile in your head you're practically running laps around the room to stave off your anxiety. You find the two of them intimidating, Caitlyn sits on the same chair her ancestors have used. A seat built on years of leadership and hardwork, it's daunting to say the least, you suppose you admire her bearing that. The pink haired woman next to her has perched herself on the armchair, eyes reading the letter of recommendation written by Mel Medarda herself. A letter explaining why you're here, and what exactly your purpose of being in the same place her mother declared war and tried to conquer just over three years ago.

Your eyes roam the expansive room, its walls are in deep chestnut, all lined with her house colours, and dozens of oil paintings with her ancestors’ portraits looking down on you with their authoritative gaze. Scanning the bookshelves, your eyes pause at the pink haired woman who's already watching you with her apprehensive stare, your own eyes meeting with hers.

“Vi, right?” You ask, trying incredibly hard to stabilize your words. “Mel told me about you.”

She raises a brow, “I'm surprised she even remembers me.”

You shrug, “she seems to always know about everyone.”

“What's your relationship with her?” Caitlyn finally speaks, lithe hands folding the letter neatly.

“A friend, I guess?” You smile nervously. “Well, barely, an acquaintance more like.” They look at you, eyes swimming with even more questions. So you give them the answer. “My professor knows her. I don't know exactly how, but they seem to be close. She recommended me to Mel when she was looking for someone like me.”

“A historian? A journalist?” Vi glances briefly at Caitlyn, arm leaning over the back of her chair casually.

“Exactly, a bit of both actually.” you nod, “I—”

“You just finished your studies, what's your business being Mel Medarda’s ambassador?” Caitlyn asks suspiciously, eyes narrowed towards you. Well, she gets the job done being that blunt.

“I'm not her ambassador, technically.” You squeeze your hands together briefly before letting go, a nervous tick of yours. “I'm just here to record and write everything that happened that day.”

“Why?” She pokes and prods.

“The letter—”

“I know what the letter says, I want to know what you think.”

“I understand your apprehension. I really do.” Your eyes swim with silent empathy. “My job is to tell people, my people, exactly what happened here. The situation over there is… isn't good. I'm here so that they know what the arcane is capable of, what Ambessa did, and the cost of that war.” You lean forward, elbows perched on your knees, “I'm here so that they don't make the same mistake again, so that history doesn't repeat itself.”

Caitlyn tips her head at you, lips pursed into a thin line. While Vi stares heavily at the letter on the table with the Medarda wax seal stamped on it.

“I've seen the effects of it, war. I've never experienced it or lived through it but I've seen what it leaves in its wake, and it's all disaster, death and—” you squeeze your hands into tight fists before letting the pressure go. “Noxus has been entrenched in war for thousands of years. If my work here could prevent just a few years of war then it'll be worth it. Noxians— Runeterra needs to see what war is capable of, what it leaves on the people they've ravaged.” You exhale, “it's not much, but someone has to try. Even if it's just a small step toward peace.”

“This isn't the first time you've done something like this?” Vi asks in a solemn tone.

“Unfortunately,” you utter, voice trembling. “but this is the first time I'm doing this alone. My professor has gotten too old to travel.”

“Mel has said in her letter that you have a spark. Talented, have a way with words. And determined, never settling for a no nonsense answer.” Caitlyn taps the piece of paper in front of her.

You smile, “I'd like to think so too.”

“I don't think that was a compliment, Spark.” Vi’s lips curl into a smirk. “She just called you annoying.” Caitlyn furrows her brows, side eyeing her partner.

You mirror her smile. “Well, I'll take it as a compliment.”

Caitlyn clears her throat, index rubbing along where her eye patch sits over eye. She seems…tired, like she has been working longer than she has lived. “I'll get you settled at an apartment here, then I'll tell the council about you. If they approve, then you can start your research.”

“Thank you.” You sigh, relieved that your journey wasn't in vain. “Can I interview you two then?”

Vi blinks, “us?”

“Preferably alone, if you're comfortable with that. Just like you said, Ms. Kiramman, I don't take no nonsense answers.” You smile genuinely at them. “You two are just as important in the story. It wouldn't be complete without your personal accounts.”

Caitlyn stands up, and you immediately think you've fucked up. You're already counting down your days. “If the council votes yes, then you can interview us, and everyone you want to talk to.” She reaches for you, and you quickly stand up to meet her halfway with a shake of her stretched hand.

“I won't disappoint you or Piltover. I'll write your history as truthfully as I can.”

She nods, releasing your hand.

“Don't forget Zaun.” Vi says, standing up and giving you your letter back.

“I'm allowed there?” You take the letter, tucking it inside your coat pocket.

“Of course,” she scoffs, head gesturing towards the large window that overlooks the bridge connecting Zaun and Piltover. “It's open, kid, just cross the bridge.”

You can't help but think that she's egging you on, trying to rile you up by your fear of the undercity. It would work if you were actually afraid of it. Truth be told, you're excited to see what Zaun has in store for you.

“I'll keep that in mind.” Your smile tells them just that.

—

You feel like a piece of meat being scrutinized by the whole council. Their eyes hold unsung words as they stare at you in their important chairs. But you're not backing down, not when you’ve come so far. The spotlight above you shines brightly, making it harder to see the council members’ faces. You didn't expect to stand before them, practically dragged by an enforcer by your ear. If you did expect it, you might've prepared a speech or something. Now you're just standing there awkwardly under the harsh light.

“She's Noxian.” The one with platinum blond hair says, ringed fingers tapping on Mel's letter that they've passed around. “People might not be comfortable with her running around. For all we know she could be a spy.”

You scrunch your face, mouth clamped shut to prevent a nasty word from escaping.

“That's why she should be running around,” Caitlyn defends you. She sits on the head of the circular table, blue hair shining under the light. “The people need to not be afraid of them any longer. Are you afraid, councilor?”

The blond sucks in her teeth, annoyed.

“Caitlyn's right, it'll be good in the long run. If what the letter has stated is true, then we might be able to establish trade routes with Noxus in the future.” The councilor with a golden mask hiding half of their face says, voice gentle and soft amidst the previous arguing. “Mend the relationship between our two countries.” A handful of them nod in agreement.

“Say,” someone with short hair and strong features says, “does it work? Telling them about the shit they've done?”

“Yes,” you stand up straighter. “My professor has been recording these histories for a couple hundred years or so. Whenever her writing has reached the people it has helped. Little by little the histories have opened our eyes to the cruelty of war. I wouldn't be here if it hadn't worked.” They listen to you intently. “I'm the direct evidence of that.”

She shifts in her seat, dark eyes swirling with thoughts, and a metal arm glimmering under the light. “Are you from a noble house just like Medarda?”

“No, I'm just like everyone else in Noxus. Our research and expenses have been sponsored by a noble house though. That's the only connection I have with the nobles of Noxus.” You swallow thickly, “only just recently I've found myself acquainted with Mel Medarda.”

“You've mentioned your professor and his unusually long lifespan, and due to that, he has gathered what…” A stout council member flips through a book, you guess he has done his research about you. “Approximately 271 first hand accounts of Noxus’ cruelty?”

“It's 283,” you say with a steely gaze. “And she isn't like everyone else. She has chosen to use her long lifespan to help, to enhance her knowledge, not gather riches for her own benefit.”

“Do you intend to do the same?” Caitlyn asks, voice calm and reserved.

“Yes,” you close your hands into fists, this time you don't release the pressure. “I won't be able to live as long as her, but I can try to achieve something close to what she has done.”

“You remind me of someone.” Caitlyn's muffled words were so quiet you thought you heard wrong. Before you could simmer on what she has said, she clears her throat. “We can monitor her progress by meeting up with her every week until she has finished her work. Make sure that she's writing the whole truth.” They nod at her words. “All in favour of her staying and doing her research?”

The air grows heavy, stifling as they ponder what Caitlyn relayed to them. For a minute or so, you thought you were about to go empty handed.

The woman with the metal arm raises her hand in favour. Then more follow, until only two of the council members remain.

“That settles it then.” Caitlyn nods at you, and you feel like a fish bone stuck in your throat has been finally pulled out. “You may interview anyone who is willing. Don't make us regret this decision.”

You inhale deeply, you feel the world is sitting atop your shoulders now. “I won't.”

—

Violet and Caitlyn receive you in a much brighter mood than before. The office is filled with sunlight as it spreads across the expansive room, the curtains are furled, and the weather has cleared up since you got into Piltover. The air smells like bergamot and a hint of something sweet. A sweetness that is revealed when a plate of sugar cookies is placed on the table in front of you, accompanied by a cup of steaming tea.

You've been interviewing them for more than three hours now, hence why they've brought out the snacks and drinks that are slowly getting colder as it lays there untouched. With every question they answer, the scene of war gets clearer and clearer in your head. And as you go further and further into the conversation, their expression changes from sadness to anger. You take care of your wording from then on, make sure that you show tact in front of their war torn faces.

“What happened up there?” You ask after they both recall their side of the story. “While Violet was fighting with…” you pause as Vi exhales shakily. Clearing your throat, you don't poke and prod at her side anymore. She's still living through the pain of what happened, they all are. Caitlyn seems to think the same thing. “I'm sorry.”

“How about we continue that part for next time?” She squeezes Vi’s hand affectionately. “As for what happened up in the hextower with Viktor and Jace, we don't know the whole story. We just know that Ekko was the one who ended it.” You write the name atop your notebook for reference, the tip of your gilded pen tapping along it.

“He hasn't talked to us about it.” Vi adds after a bated breath. “Or to me after….Jinx.” Her brows pinch together in hurt. “I still have no idea how he got her to help us. All I know is that he did everything he could to end it. For that we’re grateful for him, even if he doesn't want us to be.”

“Jinx,” you repeat the stranger's name softly. Mind locking his and her name together. “Was Ekko close with your sister?”

She chuckles, eyes turned towards the smoke rising from her cup. “Once, when we were kids.”

Cait leans closer towards her, thumb brushing gently atop her calloused knuckles. “You don't have to tell it now if you don't want to, Vi.”

“I'm sorry about your sister.” You gently shut your notebook close. “I don't want to push you into recalling a memory that still aches.”

“You can tell that she's gone by that? I must look fucking sad right now then.” Vi half jokes, nudging Cait’s shoulder with her own, a subtle way of saying that she's alright.

You smile gently, “I know the look, I've seen it a hundred times before. But it doesn't feel any easier every time I see it. I really am sorry.”

Vi sighs, and Cait squeezes her once more. “You're right, let's do this some other time.” She stands up abruptly, pacing towards the open window, basking in the warmth of the Piltover sun. Your lips are already forming apologies, “and don't say sorry again.” She looks over her shoulder as Caitlyn follows right behind her. “You're just doing your job. Don't worry, I'm not gonna lunge at you for asking about it.”

You nod, standing up. “When you're ready, I'm just here. Thank you for your time.”

They both nod as Caitlyn's hands rub along Vi’s arms. Before you could leave, Caitlyn calls after you. Her heels clicking against the marble floors as she walks over to you. “Wait here.” You do as you're told. She turns around towards the coffee table to grab a handful of cookies, placing it over an open napkin and then folding it neatly. “You should talk to Sevika, she's a council member representing Zaun. She could help with their side of the story.” She reaches for your hand when you only stare at her, opening your palm for you and giving you the wrapped cookies. “Figured you haven't eaten yet.”

“Thank you, Caitlyn.” You smile sweetly at her, hand now heavy with the cookies.

“Sevika talks to Ekko almost everyday ever since they've become partners in restoring Zaun. You'll have a better chance at having a minute with him through her.”

“Where is she in Zaun?”

“Are you afraid now?” She raises a thin brow, eyes shining under the sunlight.

“Not even a little.” You smile, “I just heard that it's easy to get lost in the lanes.”

Cait nods, “She's near the harbour.”

“Thank you,” you turn to open the door but before you do, you look back at them. “and thank you for the hospitality.”

—

You walk through Zaun with purpose. The lanes look much better than what you've seen through reports. The streets are no longer dark and bleak, there are street lamps in every corner, and the shops look like they're thriving just as well as their Piltover counterparts. There are green overgrowths, flowers and grass peeking from concrete cracks and vines growing and slithering atop metal walls.

You've only been in Piltover for a week, and you've spent most of it talking to willing council members and citizens. They all convey the same thing you've seen before in people who have suffered tremendous trauma. The hurt is embedded in their eyes, grief in their bones. But you also see the same thing in their tone just like what you've seen countless times before— hope, it's laced in their way of talking, weaved through their movements as they go about their day to day operations. You can see that they're looking forward to tomorrow, even when the past still knocks on their doors. You see them answer the knocking, but never letting it enter and fester in their home.

You see the same thing in Zaun, they've suffered as much as Piltover had, even more before the war. The walls still bear the violence it once carried, the air still shifts with heaviness and voices lost in the very streets you're walking on. The place buzzes with life, Zaunites rebuilding their home, people carry on, life carries on.

As you go further and further into the heart of the undercity, you see the same face on the walls, blue hair flowing in the breeze, shining eyes staring down at you through her steely gaze. Every corner you see a semblance of the mysterious girl, blue and pink trailing behind her, people rallying alongside her. They all bear the same hope, some weave anger akin to a woman scorned through the graffiti, some etch her face with sorrow and loss. But it's all the same face, same eyes, same hair. You think you already know who she is.

You make it to the center of Zaun where a hefty statue stands. It's a sculpture of a man with an air of authority around him. Curious, you read the plaque next to his feet, reading his name— Vander. You recognize his name from what Violet has told you. Looking up at him, you see through his bronze eyes, if only he could talk, all the stories he would tell.

His statue has blue flowers placed at his feet in respect to him. There’s a banging sound right behind it, getting your attention. Peeking behind the statue, you see what looks like a bar being rebuilt upon the ashes of what it used to be. With one last look at Vander, you continue towards your destination.

Walking along the harbour brings you peace, the water lapping at the coast. You hug your coat tighter around your torso, cold breeze seeping through the fabric as the air flutters your lashes.

You make it to Sevika's place without a hitch. She surprisingly waits for you right outside her door, expression flat as she stands on the steps.

“Finally made it.” She wears a brown poncho over a white shirt, silky hair falling over her face. “Vi told me you were coming.” She answers your silent question when she sees your confused expression. “Come.” Before you could get a word in, she's already heading inside.

—

Your eyes as usual roam around your surroundings, ever curious at what kind of person you're about to talk to. Her office is smaller compared to the Kiramman estate, but it doesn't lack personality. The work table in front of you is solid oak, papers and metal parts litter over it right next to a heavy looking arm with colourful doodles all over it. The walls are concrete, a honeycomb brown painted over it. The circular windows are fully open, overlooking the harbour below. It lets in a cool sea breeze while the sun has fully set in the horizon. The quiet hum of the lights and radiator tamps down any left over anxiety you have.

Right behind Sevika's chair lies an aquarium filled with colourful fish and rocks placed on the aquarium floor. It gurgles and lets out air from time to time, it's faint blue light bathing your form. The potted plants dotted along the room dance in the breeze, its rustling sound reminds you of the tree back home swaying in the wind.

From what you've heard about her, she seems like a woman of few words, someone who prefers to use her fist instead of talking. But based on what you've heard from her so far after talking to her for two hours, she seems far from what she used to be. You look at her and you see a council member, a pillar of Zaun. A lot can happen in three years.

Your eyes glance back towards the metal arm, its shark-like feature has you curious at how it even works. Index reaching towards it, chair creaking from under you, your curiosity makes you touch the cold metal, its pink and blue paint rough against the pad of your finger.

The door creaks open as Sevika enters, light flooding inside the room and you immediately flinch back into your seat. “You're sitting in the dark, kid.” She flicks the light switch beside her, warm yellow light flooding in.

You look over the backrest of the chair to see her properly and not a reflection of her on the aquarium glass. “I didn't know where the light switch was.” She didn't seem to notice what you were just doing.

“You could've asked.” Her heavy footsteps thump on the creaky floorboards.

“Don't worry, I'm not afraid of the dark—” the clang of a metallic plate placed in front of you makes you jump in your seat. You stare at her, wide-eyed.

She chuckles lowly, sitting down on her seat with a tired grunt. Gesturing towards a plate of salted biscuits, and small sandwiches, she meets with your eyes confidently. “Sorry for the lack of spread. I didn't expect for us to take this long.” She takes the same heavy arm from the table, grabbing a bottle and oiling the hinges with care.

“It's fine, thank you.” You grab a biscuit, all the while eyeing the craftsmanship of the metallic arm. Sevika notices your stare.

“What, never seen one of these before?”

“No, I've seen prosthetics before. It's just— this one is unique looking.” You say while chewing, finding the biscuit pleasantly salty. The sandwich looks enticing from where you're sitting.

She chuckles wryly. “A fancy way of saying it looks fucked up. I rarely use it these days, I use this one instead” she lifts up the simpler looking metal arm she currently has on. “I just like to…take care of it. Make sure it doesn't rust.”

You smile, “it means a lot to you, I get it.” Your thumb brushes along your beloved pen. “It looks well made, did you build it yourself?”

“It was a gift.” She hums in reply, now wiping a cloth around the arm. “Where were we?”

“We're at the part where I told you that we should rest.” You say with a teasing smile.

“We're done resting, kid.” She scoffs.

“And just like what I've told you before you took off, you don't need to rush it. We can take our time.”

“I want to get this over with.” Sevika leans on the table, eyes narrowed at you. “Where were we, kid?” She says with extra emphasis.

“Let's see…” You lean on the table yourself, mirroring her look but with a smug smirk while pretending to flip through the pages of your notebook. “We were at the part where your ass was being handed to you.”

If you talked to her like that three years ago, your ass would be the one being handed to you. But now, Sevika laughs loudly, moving away as she sits back on her chair.

She grabs a biscuit, using it to point at you before taking a bite. “You’ve got balls. You would've thrived here a few years ago, eh?”

“Maybe, we'll never know.” You shrug. “Now, are you sure you want to continue?”

“I've got a busy schedule, of fucking course I want to continue.”

“Okay, I just needed to make sure you're alright.”

Her eyes dart towards the arm, frowning briefly before looking back at you. She puts it down with a slight clang against the table. “I'm fine,” she sighs, and you nod in understanding, clicking your pen as you ready to scribble down her words. “After I got nabbed by one of those creepy puppets, there was just darkness with bits of light. Like a… like stars.” You write her exact words.

“You felt like you were floating, but were still restrained in real life.” You recall the same feeling the other people you've talked to relayed.

“Yeah, exactly that.” Her eyes swim with thoughts. “Then, I was back— just like that.” She snaps her fingers together.

“Like you woke up from a dream?”

She shuts her eyes close for a second before opening it again. “I heard the last echo of an explosion, when I looked up at the hex tower, it was already gone.” Taking another bite, she continues. “I guess that was Ekko’s work.”

There it is again, that recurring name. “I keep hearing about him.” Your pen subconsciously circles around his name.

“The boy savior, they call him.” She slumps down on her seat, evidence of her fatigue etched under her dark eyes. “And we still don't know how he fucking did it.”

You pinch your brows together in questioning. “You don't know either?”

“Fuck no, we might work together to help Zaunites, but he still hates my guts.” She blinks at you, lips pursing together. “Maybe you can get him to talk. I'm as curious as everyone else, we never know, the kid might have some secret weapon on him.”

“Who is he really? Violet says he's an old childhood friend. The others don't know much about him either, all I know is that he saved everyone at the last minute.”

“I think it's best that you ask him yourself, kid. Ain't that your job?”

You sigh, closing your notebook. “You're right, where is he usually?”

“Firelights hideout. It used to be a secret but they opened it to everyone who needed it after the war.” She crosses her leg over the other.

“Fireflies?”

“Firelights.” She corrects. “He's the leader, has been since the very beginning.” Her eyes go towards your closed notebook. “Hey, we're not done here yet, kid!”

You stand up, tilting your head at her teasingly. “I know, you told me to find Ekko so I'm going to go find him.”

“Well, not right now!”

You're already at the door. “I'll come back, don't worry! Y’know it's best to tell your story after some rest, it helps in better recollection.” You're not lying, she did seem tired. And you're in too deep to not go and find him now before the day officially ends.

She glares at you, mouth slightly agape. “I'm going to hit you.” She's starting to stand up when you sprint away.

“Thank you for the hospitality, councilor Sevika!”

—

Zaun is fully alive at night. The streets are filled with people laughing and hanging out with their loved ones. Which means there's plenty of people to ask where the firelights hideout is. Good thing that some of them were drunk enough to not ask you questions, the downside is that they're too drunk to give you coherent directions. So you're stuck in the middle of the undercity looking lost, but with the help of some people who haven't had a drink yet, you manage to find the entrance after an hour of walking around. All the while you try to ignore the looming presence following right behind you ever since you left Sevika's. Whoever it is, they don't seem to want to hurt you, so you pretend to not sense them until they decide to reveal themselves, or fight you. Whichever comes first.

Your feet ache and your stomach grumbles, but the sight of the huge gingko tree with its lively leaves swaying in the night wind makes it all worth it. A smile slowly spreads across your cheeks, the air is fresher down here, wind fluttering your lashes, sending goosebumps to spread across your arms.

The twinkling fairy lights make you chuckle to yourself, children run amok, giggling while their parents try to call them back home. The place is beautiful in its own way. You can see the large walls enclosed around the commune with circular vents dotted around it, a remnant of its past secrecy.

“You can come out now.” You say in a confident tone. Looking over your shoulder, you see his outline, the person who has been following your entire journey to the hideout. “I was lost and you didn't even bother helping me.”

“I heard you were looking for me.”

The mysterious man comes out of the shadow, the dark parting for him like theatre curtains.

Draped in a large puffy coat, steely brown eyes glaring at you through the white face paint. His whole demeanor screams ‘leader.’ White hair shining in the moonlight, twists tied in a bun while a few strands drape over his face. The blue metallic charms wrapped around his hair clinks together whenever he moves. The hoverboard hums in his hand, the faint green light illuminating his face as it flickers in and out. Adding to the intimidating air he's trying to convey.

You have to admit it, he looks strikingly handsome, albeit intimidating and tough. But you like tough, and intimidating is just another word for overawe, but you're not easily impressed. His daunting shell is an obstacle for you to crack open and take a peek inside. You're curious what his genius mind thinks, out of all the things they've all told you, nothing else has gotten you beyond excited than the man standing before you. His side is the final piece of the puzzle, the pièce de résistance you need.

You smile at him, a genuine one, not the same polite smile you give when you're interviewing someone. “It's nice to finally put a face to the name.” Hand reaching out to him in greeting, he just looks at your stretched hand, eyes darting all over your form suspiciously. You're suddenly conscious of your posture and how you wear your clothes.

“You're noxian.”

“What, too obvious?” You gesture around your crimson clad self. Outfit tailored to suit you and your profession.

His gaze narrows, eyes turning to slits as his mouth turns into a scowl. “Are you spying on us?”

“No,” you furrow your brows, hand retracting back to your side, the sound of your leather messenger bag thumps against your hand.

A tad disappointed. “didn't Sevika tell you about me? Or Vi?”

He flicks his aprehensive eyes from your head to your shoes, knuckles tightening around the hammer he carries. “Guess you weren't important enough.”

“I guess that's why you were following me, huh?” You say sarcastically. If I wasn't that important, why follow me? Is what you wanted to say, but you're playing it cool, lest you lose what precious time you have with him. You need to get his story.

He scoffs, hand still holding his weapon, resting it atop his shoulder. “You were asking too many questions. You could've been robbed or killed.” A breeze passes by between you, rustling the leaves above and slicing the tension.

“Well, you know what they say about curiosity and the cat.” His frown deepens, teeth grindingly frustrated. You sigh, swallowing down your sass. “I think we got off on the wrong foot.” You tell him your name as nicely as you can. You've come far from brawling with fellow noxians at the bar, if only your mentor could see you now. “I'm a noxian historian, Mel Medarda tasked me to record and write what happened here three years ago so that—” he's already walking away from you. “—hey!”

“Save me your sales pitch.” Ekko puts the board on his back and hooks the hammer on his belt in one fluid motion as he walks further into the commune.

“Sales—! I'm not trying to sell you anything.” You follow behind whilst people walk past you, all staring at the interaction you're having with their leader. The place is lively despite the moon gazing down upon them. The place smells faintly of freshly cut grass and mint. “I just want to talk to you.”

“We're talking now.” He says all without looking over his shoulder.

“Wait! Can you at least listen to what I have to say? Just give me a minute.” You try to follow even when he expertly dodges around people and buildings. He's trying to lose you in the hubbub of the hideout. “Ekko, please!” As you round a corner, you see him retreating up to the tree, hoverboard humming from under him as he dashes upwards. “Oh come on, man!”

He looks down at you with a faint smirk, brow raised as he watches you kick a lone can in frustration. Stepping down from his board, he enters his tree house, making sure that you hear the slam of his door.

“So you're not going to talk to me?!” You yell up, palms cupping the sides of your mouth. The firelights look at you with a mix of annoyance and confusion. “Ekko!”

“Go away!” His voice is carried by the wind, he doesn't even poke his head out of the window to talk to you clearly.

You stomp your foot on the dusty ground. “Fine! Thank you for talking to me!” You sarcastically say, almost sticking out your tongue out at him childishly. Sighing, you compose yourself, trying to smile and kindly wave at the passers by. “Hello, sorry.” Walking back to where you came from, you mutter a curse under your breath.

You can't exactly blame him for not talking, you are a stranger to him. If he doesn't want to speak to an old childhood friend and comrade then he definitely won't talk to you. Your tired feet carry you out, but the smell of something savoury takes you away. Looking towards the source, you see a small food stand nearby, its fire blazing and its fried food calling for you.

“Maybe just a bite.” You're already walking towards it with purpose, coin pouch already out of your pocket as you find your seat.

—

The moon rises high above you as you've finally eaten your fill and left the commune with less coins in your pocket, and your feet aching. At least you've talked and interviewed a few people along the way. The trip wasn't all wasted, but you can't help but feel like you're missing out on Ekko.

As you enter an alleyway leading out into Vander's statue, you hear footsteps echoing behind you.

“Did you change your mind—!?” A bullet whizzes by your head, dodging it at the last minute as it leaves a dark streak where it almost hit you right in between your eyes. “Hey!”

Three people come out of the shadow, they're all in different builds, one lanky and holding the pistol that's still smoking. While right next to him is all muscle, fists at the ready. The last person to show themselves is much younger, a smaller boy who couldn't be older than seventeen. His lips tremble slightly, but his eyes are determined as he raises a knife towards you.

“A tourist enters a dark alleyway only to be met by a gang of ruffians.” You click your tongue, “How cliché.” Taking off your messenger bag, and dropping it at your feet, you take your golden pen from your pocket. “My professor wouldn't give you a passing grade.”

“Shut it, girly!” The one with the gun shrieks, pulling the hammer down, ready to shoot again. “Give us the bag or I'll shoot you right between your eyes.”

You suck in your teeth, egging them on. “Nope, not a chance, I've got all my writing in there.”

“I'll count to ten then I'll send my men after you!”

You tilt your head, thumb brushing along the side of your pen. “What men? All I see is a brute who probably blocks with his face and the other looks like he's about to piss himself.” Hand raising in front of you, you point at them with the end of your pen. A familiar mechanical humming seems to get closer and closer towards the alley, you ignore the sound. “And one coward who can't even shoot for shit. I've seen better aim from talking goats—!”

“Shut up!” A shot rings out, the scene unfolds in slow motion. Muzzle flash and gunpowder flying about into the air as you twist and click your pen.

“Shit, look out!” Ekko's voice pierces the night air, but the sound of your pen clicking and whirring into place as it stretches silences the thudding in your heart.

His hand reaches for you, hovering above on his board as he desperately tries to get you away. Just as his fingers close around the collar of your coat, your gilded pen turns into a sharp rapier. The bullet collides with the tip of the sword, effectively slicing it down the middle and shattering it into pieces.

Metal shards bounces off, one scratching your cheek while sparks were flying about as Ekko couldn't stop his momentum. Eyes wide in shock, hand still holding onto you, he brings you down with him. The two of you slam against the side of the building in a harsh thump. Collapsing on each other, head hitting his own.

Your shoulder hits the brick wall, while Ekko slinks down right next to you, tumbling down on his hoverboard. “Ekko?!” You've come face to face with the boy savior himself. He heaves in place, hand still holding onto your back. “You idiot! I had it!”

“Me?! You're the one flaunting your money all over Zaun!”

You gasp, clutching your imaginary pearls. “Flaunting?! I—”

“Grab her!” Great, you've forgotten about the would-be thieves.

“Stay here!” Ekko tries to stand up but his board landed on his leg awkwardly, weighing him down. “Damn it.”

“No, you stay here!” Scrambling up, you poke at his chest, right in the middle of the bright pink ‘X’

“Get the sword! It looks like it's made of gold!” The shooter instructs, his idiot twosome striding quickly towards you.

“Oh you can take my fucking money but you can't take my fucking pen!” You ready your stance, one hand gripping the sword.

“Wait!” Ekko finally gets up, now able to push the heavy board out from above him. “Don't—!”

They rush towards you, instead of thrusting your sword into their intestines, you take the blunt approach by slapping them with the sides of the sword that isn't as sharp. The whipping sound rings in your ears, followed by their pained and shocked groans.

“Ow! What the—?!” The younger goon grasps at his reddening cheek, pain blooming where you slapped him with the rapier.

“Didn't your mother teach you manners?” With one side swipe, you keep landing harsh slaps all over the bigger goon. He yelps, touching where you just hit him. They can't even get close to you as you keep smacking them whenever they get near. Their hips, legs, cheek, and butt are no longer safe from your walloping.

Your grin is unmistakable, clearly having fun at…whatever it is you're doing.

Meanwhile, Ekko looks at you with a raised brow, mouth slightly agape at the ridiculousness happening in front of him. Completely gawking at the scene. They tried to kill you and take your things, so why are you playing with them like they're children? One even has a knife for fucks sake.

“Enough!” The shooter yells from the other side of the alleyway. His hand shakes whilst both of his henchmen sink down to their knees when you hit a particular spot in between their legs. “Stop playing around!”

Ekko steps right next to you, glaring at the man while his hand grabs his hammer from his belt. “What do you think you're doing, hm?” His jaw tightens, “I thought I finally got into that thick head of yours.” You can see why he's considered as the leader. He bears it well.

You pant in place, watching as the air around you turns parlous as Ekko stands his ground. You flick your eyes at the two men crawling by your feet, still incapacitated, skin turning into a red angry hue.

“Let us have this one, man!” He gestures wildly with his gun, despite the threat of it accidentally going off, you and Ekko don't even flinch. He notices, eyes glancing briefly at you. “She's noxian anyway!”

Your brows furrow in anger, hand tightening around the handle of your sword. The younger you would've lunged immediately, but you let Ekko handle his people, you can see that's what he's trying to silently convey to you based on how he's standing slightly in front of you. Ready to shield you if need be. Or ready to hold you back if you do decide to pounce.

“You've got a decent job all lined up, and a kid waiting for you back home.” His tone doesn't waver. “The three of you have people waiting back home and yet you decide to hit a noxian who knows how to fight!”

“I'll take that as a compliment.” You mutter under your breath, fixing your hold on your rapier.

He heard your mumbling, glaring at you for half a second before returning his attention back towards the trio. “Go home.”

“But—”

“Go before I sic this noxian on you.”

You fake a lunge at them, effectively making them run with their tails tucked in between their legs. As they scramble off, you smile at their retreating backs, leaving you and Ekko in the dust. Adrenaline still flows in your veins, bouncing on the balls of your feet from the rush of it all.

“You showed them— oof!” Your bag is suddenly shoved in your chest.

“Go. Home.” He points at you, finger poking at the leather of your bag.

“Hey! I'm not a zaunite so you can't tell me what to do.” You put your bag over your shoulder, hand still enclosed around the hilt of your sword, its golden sheen shining in the dim streetlights. “Come on, we make a pretty good team together, right?”

He kicks his hoverboard, and it whirrs into life, green light bouncing around the alleyway. “What were you doing?” Looking over his shoulder, he sees the cut on your cheek.

“What?” You scrunch your nose, still bouncing on your feet. Following his gaze, you touch at the ache blooming on your face, feeling the warm blood oozing out of it. “Oh, it's fine, just a cut.” He twists around to face you fully, arms crossed over his chest. You realize that you can use the time to question him. “What do you mean by your question exactly?”

He inhales, eyes flitting between your face and the sword. “You have a fancy sword and you don't even know how to use it.”

“Trust me, I know how to use it.” Lifting it up, you let the gold inlays glimmer in the light. Its swirling patterns catch his curious brown eyes. “I just— I promised myself a long time ago that I won't draw blood unless absolutely necessary.” Thumb tracing the button, you twist your hand and click it. The sword retracts back into a pen within a second. “Do you think I'll travel alone defenseless?” He narrows his eyes further, slowly calming down. “The question is, what are you doing here, Ekko? Were you worried about little ol' me?” Your eyes shine with mischief.

“You're never letting this whole interview thing go, huh?” He jumps backwards onto his hoverboard, arms still crossed on his chest. His brown eyes swim with something you can't decipher.

“As much as I want to respect your decision, I need your side of history. You're the missing piece, Ekko.” You shrug, smiling. “And unfortunately I can't leave without that missing piece.”

His lips purse into frustration, eyes darting along the wall sitting behind you. “Damn it.” Without another word, he flies off into the night, leaving streaks of green in his wake.

“Wait!” Your eyes follow him but you remain in place. “Why does he keep doing that?” Chuckling, you look at what he was staring at, finding the same blue haired girl painted on the walls. “If only you could talk, my job would be way easier.”

—

“Tell her to leave Zaun alone.” Ekko's commanding voice rises above the Kiramman office. His fists thump against the desk, sending papers and pens to topple over.

Caitlyn sighs in her chair while Vi settles to lean against the bookshelf behind Cait. Sevika pinches the bridge of her nose, standing near the windows as her previous words were ignored by Ekko.

“We can't just bar her from Zaun, Ekko.” Caitlyn answers back. “She has a job to do, a job that the council would want her to finish.”

“What for?” He huffs, “it already happened, people died, we almost lost but we didn't, end of story.”

“Because of your help, Ekko.” Vi finally speaks after what felt like hours of back and forth. “Which, none of us knows what you did to win it for all of us. She needs the whole story so that it works. So that people know what the arcane is capable of, so that it doesn't happen again.”

“I did it for Zaun.”

“I talked to her,” Sevika says from her spot. “If I could do that, kid, then you can.”

“You can't force me.” Ekko straightens up.

“We're not—” Caitlyn starts.

“Ekko,” Vi inhales sharply, hand playing with a metallic trinket shaped like a monkey, its surface singed, paint chipping away. “This could bring peace. We all know what's stirring in Noxus, if shit hits the fan again— I…I can't do that again.”

Ekko can't get his eyes off of Vi’s hands wrapped around the seemingly odd thing.

“We can ally with the other nations if need be.” Caitlyn grasps Vi’s hand briefly before rubbing her temples, “what happened here was a warning.” Her voice wavers. “If we can warn the people of Runeterra with it, we could save millions of lives.”

“Are you sure you can talk about this with her here?” Ekko gestures towards you sitting quietly in your chair.

You blink, pausing from blowing at your steaming cup of tea. “Is it rude to blow at your tea?”

“She signed a confidentiality agreement. You can always retract statements so she doesn't write it down. She just needs to write what happened, nothing else.”

“You'll be nice to Ekko, right, Spark?” Vi gently smiles at you.

“As long as the boy savior here is nice to me.”

Ekko groans, surrendering. “Let's get this over with.”

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