Context: Ekko and Jinx strategize their next move in this brewing war.

—

In the days that followed their reunion, something shifted between them. It wasn't dramatic—no sudden transformations or miraculous healings—but Ekko noticed the subtle changes in Jinx. The way her shoulders gradually lifted from their perpetual slump, how her eyes began to spark with fragments of their old fire. She wasn't back to her old self, might never be, but there was life in her again. Purpose.

While Ekko coordinated with the others in Piltover—Jayce organizing the city's defenses, Vi and Caitlyn rallying whatever forces they could muster—he and Jinx spent their nights planning. At first, she was quiet, hesitant, as if testing whether her mind could still create without destroying. But slowly, surely, her brilliant chaos began to emerge again.

It started with small things: her fingers drumming restlessly against tables, her eyes darting around her workshop with growing interest. Then came the muttering—fragments of calculations and half-formed ideas spilling from her lips as she paced. And finally, one night, she grabbed a piece of paper and began to draw.

Jinx's fingers moved frantically across the paper, her other hand gesturing wildly as she spoke. "See, if we come from above—" she scratched another line across her sketch, "—they won't expect it. Ambessa and Viktor will have their army all spread out here, here, and here," she jabbed at different points on the crude map. "But up? Nobody looks up."

Ekko leaned over her shoulder, studying the chaotic mess of diagrams and calculations that covered the workspace. Her handwriting was a jumble of different sizes and angles, equations spilling into drawings that somehow made perfect sense in her mind. "And you really think you can turn this place into something that flies?"

"Please," Jinx rolled her eyes, but there was a spark of excitement in them. "I could make this whole thing fly with my eyes closed. I just need..." She grabbed another piece of paper, scribbling furiously. "These. Get me these parts, and I'll give you a miracle."

Ekko took the list, raising an eyebrow at some of the items. "A stabilizer coil? Three parachutes? Where am I supposed to—"

"You've got your Firelight buddies, don't you?" Jinx didn't look up from her sketching. "Besides, aren't you supposed to be, like, the king of scavenging or whatever?"

"And while I'm gathering your shopping list?"

Now she did look up, her expression serious despite the manic energy radiating from her. "I'll be here. Building. Planning. Making sure we have something that can carry your whole crew up there." She paused, tapping her pencil against her chin. "How many Firelights can you get?"

"Enough," Ekko said, folding the list and tucking it into his pocket. "But they'll need training. They've never fought anything like what Viktor's created."

"None of us have," Jinx muttered, her voice dropping slightly. But then she shook her head, the moment of darkness passing. "Doesn't matter. We'll figure it out. We always do."

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Each day, Jinx worked tirelessly to transform her hideout, using every scrap of material she could find to create the impossible. Ekko, meanwhile, took charge of the Firelights, organizing their ragtag group into something resembling a coherent force.

The hideout had become a hive of activity, filled with the sounds of whirring machinery and the sharp scent of oil and metal. Jinx, hands stained with soot and grease, could often be found hunched over a workbench, her face illuminated by the dim glow of lanterns as she welded parts together. It was chaotic, reckless even, but it was a method she understood. Each new idea was a spark, a small fire that could ignite into something larger. She'd scribble plans, toss them aside, and start again. The sketches, at first incomprehensible to Ekko, had slowly started to form into something tangible.

Every few days, Ekko would come by with the list of parts she needed—stabilizer coils, parachutes, makeshift propellers—and a stack of news about the Firelights. Each time he arrived, Jinx would barely glance at him before launching into a new set of instructions. "These are almost good enough, but I need more of these. And these coils can't just be scrap; they need to be calibrated for pressure resistance. You're gonna have to go to the lower levels for these, Ekko."

Ekko, ever the scavenger, would nod, accepting her demands. "I'll see what I can do."

And then, after he left, Jinx would dive back into the work, her mind buzzing with possibilities. The blueprint for their flying machine was starting to take shape in her mind—and with it, the sense that she could truly do this. Could make something fly again, like old times.

Meanwhile, Ekko had his own challenges. Organizing the Firelights was never going to be easy. They were a scrappy group, undisciplined, but they had heart. Ekko, ever the leader, found himself up at dawn and staying up long into the night, teaching the Firelights tactics, combat training, and leadership. He used his own ingenuity to prepare them, drawing on everything he'd learned from their past encounters—lessons honed in the streets of Zaun and the shimmer raids.

He remembered the first time they had torn through a shipment, the rush of fear and exhilaration as they destroyed the cursed cargo, knowing full well the toll shimmer had taken on so many of them—both as victims and as survivors. It had been a bitter victory, but one that had made the Firelights who they were: resourceful, driven, and vengeful. The runs had sharpened their edge, taught them how to fight back when they had no other choice.

But now, the stakes were higher, the scale much larger. Ekko stood before the Firelights in their makeshift war room, a dimly lit space where maps and charts lined the walls, illuminated by the flicker of lanterns.

"All right, listen up," his voice cut through the murmurs of the group, drawing every eye. "This fight is bigger than anything we've faced before. We're not just up against Silco's enforcers or Piltover's high-and-mighty anymore. This is different. If we lose, it won't just cost Zaun—it could mean the end of everything for both the Undercity and Piltover."

He paused, meeting their gazes one by one. The usual bravado had faded, replaced by a quiet intensity.

"So, here's the plan. We'll coordinate with Piltover's forces, but make no mistake—this isn't their fight to win. It's ours. The Undercity fighters will be our backup, and together, we'll give them a show they'll never forget."

Ekko moved to the map pinned to the wall, his finger tracing a bold route. "We're going to make a flashy entrance from above. When Jinx's color bombs fill the sky, that's our cue. We'll descend fast, hit hard, and leave no time for them to recover. While Sevika and her fighters advance from the mist, disorienting their line of defense, we'll strike from above with hoverboards and the hot air balloon. Ambessa won't know what hit her."

He turned to face them fully, his voice steady but fierce. "We're not just stopping their advance. We're crippling them, breaking their strongest points. And remember—whatever happens, we stick together. If one of us falls, we all do."

A solemn nod passed through the group, their identities hidden behind their Ionian masks, but their unity was clear.

"We've trained for this our whole lives," Ekko said, his eyes sweeping the room. "Now let's show them who we are."

The Firelights dispersed, determination etched into their every movement. But Ekko knew the real work had just begun. Some members adapted quickly to his training, while others struggled. It was slow progress, but Ekko's faith in them never wavered. 

It wasn't just the Firelights' training that preoccupied Ekko, though. The sense of responsibility weighed heavily on him, but the shared moments with Jinx—those meetings, where they traded progress updates—had become the highlight of his days. He'd find himself looking forward to them, no matter how exhausting everything else became.

On one of those exchange days, Ekko updated Jinx with Firelights' progress. Jinx was bent over a complicated piece of machinery, the faint glow of a fire casting flickering shadows over her face.

Ekko couldn't help but smile at her focus. "How's the flying thing coming along?"

Jinx finally stopped, wiped her brow with the back of her hand, and glanced at him, a spark of excitement in her eyes. "You want to see? I've been making progress." She stood, motioning for him to follow.

They walked over to a large tarp that had been thrown over something in the corner. With a flourish, she pulled it away. Beneath it was an assembly of gears, wires, and hastily constructed metal framing. It wasn't much to look at, yet Ekko could already see the potential.

"Still a long way to go," Jinx said, but there was pride in her voice. "But it's going to work. Trust me."

Ekko crouched down, inspecting the contraption. "I trust you." He glanced up at her, his eyes meeting hers for a moment longer than usual.

Jinx looked away quickly, but there was something softer in her expression than there had been before.

The moment didn't last, but it was enough. Enough for both of them to remember that, amidst all the plans and preparations for battle, there was still something between them. Something that wasn't just about survival or war, but something far more real.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Later, as they sifted through blueprints and supplies, Ekko's eyes fell on a canvas propped against the wall near her cluttered desk. It was a half-finished painting of a blue-haired girl standing next to a smaller brown-haired girl, both smiling — one of Isha's drawings, vibrant and alive even in its simplicity.

"You've been staring at that thing like it's got the meaning of life scribbled on it."

"Maybe it does," Ekko muttered without looking away. "Who is the girl you drew standing next to... you, I'm assuming?" He turned his head to face her, as she sauntered over, and leaned in beside him. Her gaze followed his, landing on the drawing.

"That drawing isn't mine," she said flatly, her voice drifting into a tone that was hard to read.

Ekko's curiosity piqued. "Who drew it, then?"

Jinx took a long pause, eyes flicking away from the drawing, avoiding his gaze. "Isha," she said, the name feeling heavier than it should have like it carried a weight she hadn't shared with him. "She was... a kid I took under my wing recently."

Ekko frowned, taking a step closer to the drawings. He could see the careful strokes, the attention to detail that spoke of a softer side to Jinx's usual chaos. "Isha?" he repeated, his tone softening as he turned back to her. "You've never mentioned her before."

Jinx's fingers twitched as she crossed the room, arms folding tightly over her chest as if trying to hold herself together. "Because you weren't here."

The words hit Ekko like a punch to the gut, and he turned fully to face her, guilt flooding his chest. "I'm sorry I wasn't here for you."

Jinx swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper as she continued. "It doesn't matter anyways. She died. Trying to save me."

Ekko's heart sank, the weight of her words threatening to crush him. "What happened?"

Jinx's eyes darkened, and she bit her lip, pain flashing through her. "Vander—or the monster he was turned into—yeah, he's alive, by the way. Surprise!" Her voice was cold, and sharp, but there was an underlying tremor that betrayed the depth of her pain. She let out a brittle laugh, almost as if trying to distance herself from the gravity of the revelation.

Ekko's breath hitched, his mind struggling to process the words. "Wait... what do you mean alive? I thought—"

Jinx cut him off with a wave of her hand, the manic energy creeping into her words. "Yeah, well, apparently the old man's not dead. He's alive and kicking. Or should I say tearing through the streets as some—some godforsaken wolf-beast thing." She scoffed, shaking her head, as though the reality of what she was saying didn't entirely sink in. "Fun twist, huh?"

Ekko's heart ached at the sight of her forced composure, the way she tried so hard to hide the cracks in her armour. But he wasn't fooled. He could hear the pain in her voice, even through the detached snark.

Jinx's expression darkened again, the flicker of a thousand conflicting emotions flashing across her face. "I tried to talk to him, Ekko. Tried to reach him, but—" Her voice faltered for just a moment, and for a heartbeat, the manic edge slipped, replaced by something raw.

The words hung in the air, heavy and full of grief.

"He didn't recognize you?" Ekko asked, his voice gentler now, coaxing her to let him in.

Jinx nodded, her eyes narrowing as the memory of the chaos seemed to snap back into focus. "He did initially, but then they messed him even more... and he became wholly beast. Nothing I said could stop him. He threw me like I was nothing, and then it was just..chaos." Her voice wavered, her eyes flicking away, lost in the memory. "I couldn't stop him. I couldn't do a damn thing. He was just gone. Whatever they did to him... whatever was left of him, it was dead."

She looked away, her gaze distant, lost in the past, the anger and sorrow clashing together inside her.

Her gaze turned distant, her face a mask of anger and sorrow fighting for dominance. Ekko stayed silent, letting her gather herself.

"And then I saw her—what she was planning to do," Jinx continued, her voice hardening again. "I tried to stop Isha. Told her to stay back, but I was too late." A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "Instead, she ran straight into the mess, my handgun in her hand, ready to do something stupid. And you wanna know the funniest part?" Jinx let out a high-pitched laugh that sounded more like a sob. "She did my thing! My finger-gun thing!" She demonstrated, her hand shaking. "Right before she—before she—" The words strangled in her throat.

"I'm so sorry, Jinx," he murmured. "I had no idea."

Jinx didn't meet his eyes. Instead, she turned away, staring at the drawings again, her fingers tracing the edges of one of Isha's designs. "She was more than just a kid, Ekko," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "She was the closest thing to family I've had in a long time. She was an idiot. But she was MY idiot."

Ekko's heart ached for her. Without thinking, he reached out. His arms went around her, tentative at first, but she didn't fight it. Instead, she collapsed against him, her body wracked with sobs, she laid her emotions bare, letting the tears flow freely.

She stayed in his arms crying like that for a while before finally gaining the strength to stop crying. She looked up at him then, her face a mixture of exhaustion and vulnerability, appreciating him for being there now.

"I didn't... I didn't even get the chance to protect her. I didn't even realize how much she meant to me until it was too late."

"That's not your fault," Ekko said firmly, his tone reassuring. "You're allowed to care, Jinx. You're allowed to let people in. You don't have to do everything alone."

Jinx scoffed, the bitterness returning to her voice. "Everything's my fault! Don't you get it? I'm too broken. A broken, psycho bomb that just keeps—keeps—" She gestured wildly. "Everything I touch just explodes! Everyone I care about just... dies! People like me... there's no good version of me left. Not after everything I've done. Not after what happened to her. And what keeps happening to people around me."

Ekko's gaze softened, his voice quieter, more intimate now. "You're wrong," he said simply. "There is a version of you who is good. In another world... another universe."

She sniffed back the tears and looked up at him, "What do you mean?"

Ekko took a breath, "In that world I was trapped in, you were Powder, not Jinx. You were... you were good. Stable. You had a family. Everyone was alive... and you didn't fall apart."

"Pff, now you're just feeding me lies," Jinx stepped out of his embrace and wiped her face. "I don't believe you. How could I be good?"

"Because you were, Jinx. You were at peace. You were loved. In that world, you had a chance to be the person you wanted to be, not the person who was shaped by the tragedy and trauma experienced at such a young age," He continued. "I don't blame you for who you've become. I just think a different upbringing filled with a loving, living family could've changed the course of your life, our lives for the better. And that universe I was in proved exactly that."

Jinx remained silent for a long time, eyes unfocused, the weight of his words settling on her like a heavy cloak. Finally, she looked back at him, her voice quieter now, almost lost.

"You're telling me that version of me was happy?" Her voice carried equal parts longing and disbelief as if the very concept of happiness felt foreign to her now.

"Yeah," Ekko nodded. "You were happy. You didn't have to carry the world on your shoulders. And maybe... maybe you can still find some of that happiness here, too. It's not too late, Jinx."

She looked at him for a long moment, her defenses crumbling. 

In that instant, something in Jinx changed. A quiet peace settled inside her, like a missing piece finally clicking into place. This was the closure she desperately needed, the memory of Isha's sacrifice solidifying within her. With renewed determination and sense of purpose, she would make sure that sacrifice for her to continue living would not go to waste.