it’s been... what? three years since you walked away from the firelights. sometimes it feels like a lifetime. sometimes it still stings like it was yesterday. you're not even sure if it was the right choice—maybe it never was—but back then, it felt like the only way to breathe.

you’d been gone. not just from zaun, but from everything. ran off to piltover at first, chasing something you couldn’t name—freedom, maybe. a fresh start. you picked up odd jobs. worked the docks, stole tech, slept on rooftops with nothing but neon skies and bad dreams for company. got mixed up in things you don’t talk about now—people who smiled too wide, deals that always came with strings, nights that ended in blood or worse.

you told yourself you weren’t running—you were just trying to find a version of yourself that didn’t feel like a ghost.

but zaun calls you back. it always does. the city doesn’t forgive, but it never forgets.

you were cutting through an old alley near the shimmer stacks, just trying to keep your head down, when you saw him. ekko. standing by that busted-up mural the firelights painted years ago. the paint’s faded, but he hasn’t changed much. older, yeah. harder around the edges. but those eyes—same fire, same weight.

he saw you before you could duck out. “thought you were dead,” he said. not angry. not soft either. just… flat. like the words were rusted from sitting too long in his chest.

you didn’t know what to say. what do you say to someone you left behind?

the silence between you was thick. heavier than the smog. and for a second, you saw the kid he used to be—the one who dreamed of fixing this place, of building something better. and maybe, somewhere in the wreck of your choices, you still want that too.