Undertow | Ekko x Reader

You make your way through the fissures, the underbelly of Zaun where the light barely reaches and the air is thick with the scent of damp earth, rusted metal, and something faintly medicinal. The deeper you go, the more the city fades behind you, replaced by winding paths carved into the rock, lined with strange flora that shouldn't be able to thrive in a place like this. Faintly glowing spores drift through the air, catching in Alyssandra's braid as she clings tightly to your hand. 

You don't slow your pace. 

The whispers in the alleyways led you here—to the supposed healer, the one who had once played a part in Hextech's creation. With Jayce Talis, Heimerdinger, and Ekko all missing, no signs of their whereabouts, this was your only lead. Ekko had gone to Piltover that day, determined to find out why Hextech was killing his tree, the Firelights' home, their symbol of hope. But he had never come back. 

You swallow the thought before it can take root. You can't afford doubt. Not now. 

Then, finally, the commune reveals itself. 

Tucked away in a valley of stone and hidden passageways, it looks nothing like the makeshift settlements or industrial ruins that litter Zaun. The dwellings are smooth and rounded, built directly into the earth like they grew from it rather than being constructed. The walls are formed of a strange, earthen material—something between clay and resin, smooth to the touch yet pulsing faintly with bioluminescent veins that stretch like roots across the structures. The buildings curve naturally, their edges softened by vines and overgrown moss, blending seamlessly with the land. 

Lanterns dangle from twisted branches, their glow warm and golden, casting flickering pools of light across the winding pathways. The air hums with a quiet energy, something deeper than mere sound—it's in the ground, in the walls, in the way the very space seems to breathe. 

Despite its hidden nature, the commune is alive. Figures move in and out of the rounded doorways, their voices low, almost reverent. There's no harsh clanking of machinery, no smoke choking the sky, only the faint murmur of conversation and the distant trickle of water running somewhere unseen. 

Standing just outside the entrance is a man. 

His posture is unnervingly composed, hands folded neatly in front of him, as if he has been expecting you. His face is shadowed beneath the brim of his hat, but his eyes, sharp and discerning, track your every movement. 

You don't waste time. "The healer," you say, your voice steady, unwavering. "I need to see them." 

His lips twitch with something unreadable. "Yes," he replies smoothly. "It's all true. All are welcome. But we ask that you leave behind any weapons you carry." 

Your body stiffens instinctively. The weight of his gaze presses down on you, and you can feel Alyssandra's wide eyes flicker to your face, searching for reassurance.  

A slow breath. A forced smirk. "Fine," you say, making a show of compliance. 

One by one, you unsheath your daggers—the ones strapped to your thighs, the one hidden in your boot, the one resting against the small of your back. You remove them with deliberate slowness, letting him see each blade glint in the dim light before placing them in his outstretched hands. But the last one, the small dagger tucked into the holster you had sewn into your bra, remains where it is. You don't falter, don't shift unnaturally. If he notices, he doesn't show it. 

Only when the final blade leaves your fingers do you roll your eyes. "That enough, or do you want me to strip down entirely?" 

The man says nothing, simply steps aside and gestures toward the entrance.