The stars in the Undercity always seemed brighter out here, past the Fissures and deep into the Wasteland. Up above, they stretched endlessly across the sky, sharper and clearer than anywhere else, like scattered shards of glass reflecting some distant, untouchable light. It felt like one of the few victories the Undercity had—a fleeting, silent triumph over the smog and the shadows.
You had started coming out here late at night with Ekko, slipping away once the others had gone to bed. It had become a quiet ritual, just the two of you perched on the Firelights' worn wooden balcony, backs against the railings, talking about everything and nothing all at once.
Tonight was no different. The firelight flickered behind you, throwing long, dancing shadows across the weathered planks, but your focus remained on the boy beside you. He had just said something—something clever, something that made you laugh, a real laugh, the kind that settled deep in your chest and made you forget, just for a moment, the weight of the world pressing down on you.
You turned your head to look at him, still smiling. He was watching the sky, his expression thoughtful, the sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbones catching the glow of the moon. The silver light painted over his deep brown skin, casting him in something soft, something almost unreal. You watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers tapped absently against his knee.
Then, he turned to you, meeting your gaze.
His eyes were steady, searching. And then he asked—
"What would you do?"
You blinked, caught off guard. "What do you mean?"
Ekko looked back at the stars, exhaling slowly. "If things had been... different," he clarified. "If we could've lived normal lives down here."
A normal life. The idea felt so distant, so impossible, that it almost didn't make sense to even entertain it. But still, you considered it.
You leaned back further against the railing, letting your head rest against the wood as you stared upward, letting the quiet hum of the Undercity fill the silence.
"I don't know," you admitted after a moment. "I guess... I'd still be with my parents. Or maybe I'd have just moved out. I'd go to school—if that was even an option. Get a degree in literature, maybe be a teacher. Or a writer. I haven't really thought about it."
You let the words settle between you, the warmth of them mixing with the cool night air. For a long moment, Ekko was quiet, and a faint unease curled in your stomach. You turned to him, about to ask what he was thinking, when he finally spoke.
"That sounds nice," he murmured.
You hummed in agreement, shifting slightly. Then, tilting your head toward him, you asked, "What about you?"
He didn't even need to think about it.
"I'd be with my family. With Benzo," he said, voice soft but certain. "I'd probably be working as a scientist. A tinkerer."
He hesitated, inhaling slowly. Then, he turned to you again, his gaze catching yours in the dim light. There was something different in his expression this time—something unspoken but heavy, something that made your breath hitch.
"Hopefully, I would've met you under better circumstances," he said. "And we'd be together."
The words sent warmth curling through your chest, spreading slow and steady like a flame catching kindling. Your lips parted, a quiet breath escaping before you could even think to respond. You smiled at him, heart swelling—
And then—
Everything shattered.
Your lungs seized as you gasped violently, air ripping into you like you'd been drowning. Your body lurched forward, but the second you moved, your head spun, the world around you tilting and twisting so violently it made your stomach churn.
You squeezed your eyes shut, hands flying to your skull, trying to ground yourself, trying to breathe, but everything was wrong. A high-pitched ringing tore through your ears, deafening and relentless, like an explosion frozen in time. You sucked in another ragged breath, but your chest felt too tight, like something was pressing down on you.
Your surroundings flickered into focus in jagged, disjointed fragments—
The walls, covered in neon scrawls of graffiti. The air, thick with the scent of gunpowder and oil. The dim, flickering glow of overhead lights.
No. No, no, no—this wasn't right.
You had been there. Back on the battlefield, the ground slick with blood, bodies collapsing one by one around you. You had pulled the trigger. Too much Hextech, too much power—
You should be dead.
Your breath hitched violently.
Something cold pressed against your shoulder, grounding you just enough to blink through the haze. Your vision cleared, and you found yourself staring into a pair of sharp, mismatched eyes.
Jinx.
She was crouched beside you, her grip firm but not forceful, watching you with something dangerously close to concern. Her blue hair framed her face in messy waves, and her expression was unreadable—half amused, half something else, something darker.
Your pulse pounded in your ears. You swallowed, forcing your gaze to shift, and your eyes landed on another figure just behind her.
Isha.
She sat on the floor by the couch you were lying on, arms resting on her knees, her gaze sharp and unreadable.
The room was too quiet, too still.
Your hands curled into fists, nails digging into your palms as you tried to steady your breathing, tried to understand.
How?
Your breath is still uneven, your head still pounding, but you force yourself to push past it. The disorientation, the sheer wrongness of everything—it presses down on you like a weight, suffocating, unbearable.
You blink hard, shaking your head slightly as if that will help steady the spiraling chaos in your mind. Your throat is dry, raw, but you manage to speak, voice hoarse and laced with urgency.
"What happened?" you rasp. "How am I alive? What happened to the others?"
Jinx huffs out a breath, somewhere between amusement and exasperation, shifting her weight back onto her heels. "Woah, slow down, would ya?"
You give her a sharp look, jaw tightening. You're serious, and she knows it. The haze in your mind is still thick, but you shove it aside, focusing only on the need for answers. You need something—anything—to make sense of this.
Jinx sighs, blowing a stray strand of blue hair out of her face before resting her elbows on her knees.
"Well, for starters, you stole your gun back from a reckless, stupid Isha."
At that, Jinx casts a glare toward the other girl, who sits stiffly with her arms crossed, avoiding eye contact. The air between them crackles with unspoken tension, but you barely register it, your mind too focused on the unraveling mess of everything.
Jinx shrugs before continuing. "As for how you're alive? Yeah, I got no fucking clue." She gestures vaguely with her hands. "But if I had to bet, I'd say it's got something to do with whatever the hell Singed did to you."
Singed.
Your stomach twists at the name. A phantom sensation of cold, sterile metal against your skin flickers at the edges of your mind, and you force it back, locking it away. You don't have time to think about that now.
"And the others?" you press, pulse thrumming in your ears.
"They're fine," Jinx assures you, rocking back slightly. "Vi's in Piltover with Cupcake, patching up."
You exhale, a small knot of tension unraveling in your chest as you take in the information, turning it over in your head. Vi is alive. Caitlyn is alive. The others are okay.
But then—
Something feels off.
A name is missing.
Your stomach turns cold.
Jinx hadn't mentioned Alyssandra.
That could only mean one thing.
Your throat tightens, a dry, scratchy ache clawing at your voice as you swallow hard, struggling to keep your breathing steady. When you finally manage to speak, your voice is hollow.
"And Alyssandra?"
Jinx's fingers twitch. She nibbles on her bottom lip, an old nervous habit, before abruptly clapping her hands together, the sharp sound cutting through the air like a knife.
"So, here's the thing—" she starts, voice unnervingly casual, too rehearsed.
Your chest constricts.
"She kinda got really injured right as you pulled the trigger."
The words land like a punch to the gut.
Jinx keeps talking, but your mind is already reeling, splintering under the weight of the realization.
"She ran toward you," Jinx continues, waving a hand. "Got stabbed—real nasty shit. But! Good news—she's okay! Caitlyn took her and Vi to Piltover for treatment, so she's resting up. Vi'll bring her back when she's ready."
Your jaw clenches so hard it aches.
Your breath comes sharp and shallow, hands curling into fists against your lap. The image forms in your mind unbidden—Alyssandra, eyes wide with fear, calling out to you, calling you Mom, her body moving before her brain could catch up, desperate to reach you, to stop you.
And because of that—because of you—she got hurt.
She's okay this time.
But what about next time?
Because let's be honest—peace for Zaun? That's a fairytale.
Your eyes flick between Jinx and Isha, their faces blurred at the edges by the whirlwind of thoughts raging inside you. The walls of the hideout suddenly feel too close, the air too thick, pressing against your lungs like a vice. You need to move. You need space. You need to breathe.
Without another word, you stand, the legs of the chair scraping against the floor. Jinx's brows lift slightly, and Isha's gaze sharpens, but you don't wait for either of them to speak.
"I need to clear my head," you say, voice clipped, barely restrained.
And then, you walk out.
No hesitation. No second thought.
Just the sound of your boots against the floor, the door swinging shut behind you, and the weight of everything crashing down all at once.
The rooftop is silent except for the distant hum of the Undercity below and the soft, lapping waves of the only full body of water at the edge of Zaun. The air is thick with the stench of oil and rust, yet the open space still feels suffocating, like the walls of the city itself are closing in around you.
You stare out at the water, but you don't really see it. Everything feels wrong. Twisted. Warped. The happiness you once held—the fleeting moments of warmth, of safety, of purpose—feels impossibly out of reach. Slipping through your fingers like smoke, no matter how desperately you try to grasp it.
You failed. Again. And again.
You failed to find Ekko.
You failed to protect Alyssandra.
You got tortured, branded, experimented on.
There is no end to this cycle. No way out. Just more pain, more loss, more failure.
Your teeth sink into the inside of your cheek, hard enough to taste blood, as the pressure behind your eyes builds. Tears threaten to spill, but you refuse to let them fall.
You won't cry. Not anymore.
You're done being weak. Done letting others dictate your future, your decisions. Done being at the mercy of fate.
You're done with—
"Y/N?"
The sound of your name cleaves through your spiraling thoughts like a blade.
Your body goes rigid.
That voice.
You know that voice.
You've mourned that voice.
You've played it over and over in your head, terrified you'd one day forget what it sounded like.
Your heart slams against your ribs as you inhale sharply, the breath shaking in your lungs.
No.
This isn't real. It can't be real.
Your mind has conjured cruel illusions before. In moments of exhaustion, of weakness, you've imagined him standing there, waiting for you, just within reach. Only for reality to crush you all over again.
He says your name again, softer this time, like he's afraid you'll disappear.
You brace yourself for disappointment, for another hallucination, for the inevitable heartbreak—
But when you turn, he's there.
Ekko.
And he looks so real.
He's standing just a few feet away, his deep brown eyes locked onto yours, filled with something raw, something aching. His expression says so much, more than words ever could.
The breath leaves your lungs in a sharp exhale. His name tumbles from your lips before you can stop it.
And then—
You move.
Before he can say anything else, before your mind can catch up, before you can even think, your body reacts on instinct.
You launch yourself forward, slamming into him so hard he lets out a grunt of surprise, the air knocked from his lungs. But his arms snap around you immediately, strong and steady, pulling you close.
A sound escapes him, something between a gasp and a sigh of relief, as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. His grip tightens, like he's afraid you'll slip through his fingers, like he's making sure this isn't just a dream.
His hands move—one resting at the small of your back, the other tracing soothing patterns up and down, grounding you, steadying you.
He's real. He's warm. He smells like pine and something undeniably him.
"I'm here," he murmurs against your skin. "I'm real. I'm back."
A choked breath leaves your lips. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket, gripping it like a lifeline.
He's here. He's real.
Slowly, he pulls back just enough to look at you. His eyes search yours, taking in every inch of your face like he's trying to memorize it all over again. His hands come up, fingers ghosting over your jaw before cupping your face with such gentleness that it nearly breaks you.
And then—
His lips are on yours.
The kiss is everything.
It's months of longing, of grief, of desperation, all pouring out in one impossible moment. It's the kind of kiss that steals the breath from your lungs, that makes the world fall away until there's nothing left but him.
Ekko kisses you like he's afraid you'll disappear, like he needs to convince himself you're real, that this is real. His hands tighten against your skin, thumbs brushing along your cheekbones, his touch both careful and desperate.
Your fingers wrap behind his neck, pulling him impossibly closer, deepening the kiss as you pour everything you've ever felt into it—the pain, the yearning, the sheer relief of having him back.
The rooftop is silent except for the sound of your racing heartbeats, the soft, unspoken confessions between every brush of lips, every shared breath.
When you finally pull away, gasping, your forehead rests against his, both of you breathing hard. His hands remain cradling your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek, his eyes searching yours.
But then—
Your expression hardens.
The warmth of the moment is overshadowed by something colder. Something sharper.
Your fingers tighten against the fabric of his jacket.
"Where were you?" you ask, voice low, unwavering.
Ekko blinks.
"What happened?"
A/N:
ahhhhh it's finally happening, i know it may have seemed like this moment would never come to some of you, but here it finally is!!!
i just want to thank all my lovely readers who stuck with me this long, even though i diverged y/n and ekko's plots. i genuinely had soo much fun writing in my own little twists to arcane and its story, and it really made me feel as if y/n was truly apart of the universe and overall more 3 dimensional! so thank you all for sticking with me this far, and i hope you will continue to do so for the final act of this fanfic :)