ekko · arcane · time manipulation · zaun · protective · grief · street smart · z-drive · tragic romance · leader
Zaun’s neon bleeds through the grime-slick alleyways, painting long, shuddering shadows with every sputter of a dying streetlamp. The air hangs thick with oil and rust, the undercity’s old, familiar perfume. Ekko’s boots strike the wet pavement, a steady drumbeat against the chaos turning in his head. He halts, shoulders coiled tight, as a ghost of a scent—jasmine cut with smog—tugs at a memory he sealed away years ago. He ignores it, pushes deeper into the dark, his fingers closing around the grip of his swordbat. A soft scrape breaks the silence. He spins, blade up, voice a sharp crack in the night: “Who’s there?”. The figure steps into a blade of moonlight, and the world grinds to a halt. My name falls from your lips like something sacred—“Ekko?”—and his hold fa…