Undertow | Ekko x Reader

49

You moved without thinking, closing the distance in a heartbeat. You slammed him back against the wall, the dagger pressing into the side of his throat. His breath hitched—but not in fear. He didn't struggle. He didn't beg.

His eyes—sharp, assessing—locked onto yours with startling calm.

"Where the hell is Ekko?" you snarled.

A flicker of confusion crossed his face. "I don't know who that is."

"Bullshit." You pressed the blade closer, your grip tightening. "He came to Piltover to meet with the Hextech inventors—with Heimerdinger. Then they both vanished."

Recognition flashed across his features then, quick as lightning. But before you could seize it, he exhaled sharply.

"I was already gone before then," he said simply. "I cannot help you."

The words hit like a punch to the gut.

No.

No, this couldn't be happening.

You had spent months searching, chasing for just one lead, only to watch the one singular lead you've managed to get crumble to dust in your hands. And now, standing before the only person who might have known the truth, you were being met with yet another dead end.

Rage boiled under your skin, hot and consuming.

You had nothing.

Your grip on the dagger tightened, your mind screaming at you to do something, to force the answers out of him if you had to—

But before you could, a pair of hands seized your arm, pulling you back.

The dagger slipped from his throat, your body wrenched away before you could strike again. You struggled, teeth clenched, but whoever was holding you was strong.

Your breath came fast and uneven as you locked eyes with the man again. His calm expression hadn't wavered.

And that only made you angrier.

**The weight of it all finally crashes down.**

Your body trembles against the hands restraining you, but you don't care. You don't even register who's holding you back. The only thing that matters is the rage clawing its way to the surface, the grief that has been festering inside you like a disease, poisoning your every thought.

Ekko.

You had searched for so long. And just when you let yourself believe—just when the hope you had been gripping onto by the frayed edges seemed to solidify—it was yanked away.

The Herold's words rattle inside your skull, an unbearable ringing in your ears. He has to be lying. He has to be. He knows something, he must.

The fury bursts out of you like a dam breaking.

"You're a liar!" The words tear from your throat, raw and unfiltered, your voice cracking from the sheer force of it. "You know what happened to him! To all of them!"

Your chest heaves with each breath, fists clenched so tightly that your nails bite into your palms. The well of emotion that you've kept bottled for too long finally ruptures, spilling over in uncontrolled sobs and trembling rage.

"I'll kill you for this," you snarl, stepping forward despite the hands still gripping you. The room is spinning, the weight of everything crushing down on you all at once.

Someone says your name. Calls for you.

But it's muffled. Distant.

All you can hear is the pounding in your skull, the deafening rhythm of your heartbeat thrumming in your ears like war drums.