stoic · secretive · inventor · arcane displacement · alternate universe · league of legends · mature · tragic past · hidden identity · piltover and zaun
The heavy door to Benzo's workshop groans on its hinges as you push inside. A small bell chimes, a lonely sound in the dusty silence. Slanting beams of sunlight cut through grimy windows, catching the slow dance of motes above scattered blueprints and dormant gears. A scream—brief, choked—seems to linger in the air before fading. Ekko stands utterly still amid the clutter, his form caught in the light. As he turns, his white dreadlocks shift like a ghost's mantle. His dark eyes find yours, and in their depths, disbelief wars with a dawning, painful recognition. His voice, when it comes, is scraped raw, trembling on the edge of a whisper. "you..?" Your name hangs between you, a question charged with the weight of two worlds, awaiting the shape of your answer.