Arcane: Ekko and Powder

The sun hung low in the sky as the soft golden light of late afternoon filtered through the cracks in the walls of the Undercity. The streets were beginning to quiet down, and the distant hum of machinery echoed off the grimy buildings. Ekko and Powder had just returned from their impromptu escape from the older kids. The thrill of their adventure was still fresh in their minds, but as the adrenaline started to wear off, the familiar rhythm of the Undercity began to creep back in.

They stood outside one of the small, worn-down buildings, a place Ekko had called home for as long as he could remember. The walls were made of mismatched metal panels, and a few broken windows let in just enough light to keep the place from feeling too dark. Inside, it was small but comfortable enough, filled with the clutter of Ekko's inventions, scraps, and tools—each corner stacked with things waiting to be tinkered with.

Powder, however, wasn't looking at the familiar surroundings. She was holding something in her hands, cradling it carefully like it was the most precious thing in the world. It was an old, worn-out toy—a mechanical bird that had once fluttered its wings when wound up, though the gears inside were now broken, rendering it useless. Powder's fingers stroked the faded, chipped paint on its small body as she sat on the edge of a crate, her face serious for once.

Ekko noticed the toy in her hands and raised an eyebrow. "That looks like it's been through a lot," he said, walking over to her and leaning on the crate beside her. He could see the sadness in her eyes, the way her fingers traced the broken bird's wings.

"It's... my favorite," Powder murmured quietly, almost to herself. She didn't usually get sentimental about things, especially not toys, but there was something about this one that seemed to hold a special place in her heart. Ekko had noticed how she always kept it with her—no matter where she went, Powder would have it tucked into her bag, hidden beneath her clothes. It wasn't the most beautiful or functional thing, but to her, it was important.

Ekko didn't say anything for a moment. Instead, he studied the bird in her hands, his mind already spinning through the possibilities of how he could fix it. He was good with machines, but this was different. He wasn't sure what was inside, but that didn't matter. If there was one thing Ekko knew, it was how to find a way to make things work. And seeing how much this broken toy meant to Powder, he knew it was worth fixing.

"How long have you had it?" Ekko asked, his tone soft, trying not to disrupt the moment too much.

Powder shrugged, not lifting her eyes from the toy. "I don't know... a long time. It used to fly. I used to watch it until the wings stopped moving, and then I tried fixing it, but..." She paused, biting her lip. "I couldn't. So now, it's just this thing I carry around."

Ekko tilted his head, watching her for a moment longer before his usual grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "You know, I think I can fix it," he said, his voice full of confidence.

Powder's eyes flicked up to him, surprise flashing across her face. "You... you really think so?"

"Yeah, I'm sure of it," Ekko said with a grin, pushing himself off the crate and reaching out to gently take the toy from her hands. "It's probably just the gears inside that are messed up. I'll take a look at it."

Powder hesitated for a moment, her fingers lingering on the bird before letting it go. She watched Ekko with wide eyes, her lips parted in a mix of hope and uncertainty. "If you can fix it... that would be awesome."

Ekko chuckled lightly, already moving toward the workbench in the corner of the room. "You've got the right guy for the job."

The table was littered with tools—screwdrivers, pliers, wrenches—and piles of scrap from various projects Ekko had been working on. He loved his workshop, a place where he could lose himself for hours, bringing ideas to life from the most unexpected of places. Today, however, the workbench wasn't filled with complicated gadgets or clockwork devices. Today, it would be a place for something small, something fragile, something important to Powder.

He carefully set the toy on the table, his fingers running over its worn exterior. With a deep breath, he started to unscrew the little panels that held the mechanism inside, each movement deliberate and precise. Powder stood nearby, hovering as she watched him, her eyes never leaving the toy.

Ekko could feel her gaze, but he didn't mind. He liked having her around. There was something comforting about her presence—something that made the whole process feel more like a shared experience than a solitary task.

As he carefully removed the inner workings of the bird, he noticed the gears were all tangled up, the wires frayed, and a small spring was bent out of shape. It was no surprise that it wasn't working—everything inside was in disarray. But nothing that couldn't be fixed.

"Alright, Powder," Ekko said, glancing up at her, "this is going to take a little time, but I think I can make it work. You can help, if you want. Hold the wires while I straighten out the spring, okay?"

Powder's face lit up, a spark of excitement flashing across her eyes. "I can help?" she asked, stepping closer to the workbench. "What do I do?"

"Just hold this wire right here," Ekko said, handing her a small, delicate wire, "while I get the spring back into shape. We'll take it one step at a time."

For the next few hours, they worked side by side, a perfect rhythm forming between them. Ekko guided Powder through each small task—twisting wires, aligning gears, and adjusting springs—while she soaked up every bit of knowledge he shared. Powder was surprisingly quick to pick up on things, and Ekko couldn't help but admire her determination. Every time a gear clicked into place or a wire was connected, her eyes would light up with joy.

It wasn't long before the toy began to take shape again. The once-broken bird was slowly coming back to life, piece by piece, under their careful hands.

"You're really good at this," Powder said, her voice full of admiration as she handed Ekko a tiny screwdriver. "I didn't think we'd get this far. I thought it was totally hopeless."

Ekko smiled as he tightened the last screw. "Nothing's hopeless if you know how to fix it. You just have to figure out how the pieces fit together." He paused, glancing at her with a smile. "I mean, you're a good learner. I'm impressed."

Powder beamed at him, clearly pleased with the compliment. She bounced on her feet, excitedly watching the final steps of the toy's repair.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Ekko placed the last piece back into place. The toy looked whole again, its body smooth and unscathed by time or wear. He set it down carefully in front of Powder.

"Alright," Ekko said, leaning back and wiping his hands on his pants. "Moment of truth."

Powder's eyes were wide with anticipation as she reached out to gently wind the key on the toy's back. Her fingers trembled slightly as she gave it a few turns, the soft clicking sound of the gears inside filling the room. Ekko held his breath, watching the toy closely.

For a moment, nothing happened. Powder's face fell, and she began to withdraw her hand.

But then, the mechanical bird's wings began to twitch.

A soft whirring sound filled the room as the wings started to move. Slowly at first, then faster, as the toy began to flap its wings, lifting off the surface of the workbench. Powder gasped, her eyes lighting up with sheer joy.

"It's working! It's really working!" she exclaimed, her voice full of wonder. The bird fluttered its wings, circling in the air before landing gracefully back on the table.

Ekko grinned, feeling a rush of pride. "Told you I could fix it."

Powder, her face flushed with excitement, picked up the bird carefully, cradling it in her hands like it was the most precious thing in the world. She turned to Ekko, her eyes shining with gratitude.

"Thank you, Ekko," she said softly, her voice filled with emotion. "This means so much to me."

Ekko nodded, his expression sincere. "I'm just glad I could help. It's a cool toy, after all."

Powder smiled brightly, her eyes lingering on the bird for a moment before she looked back up at Ekko, her expression filled with something more than just gratitude. It was the same look she had worn back when they first met—the spark of connection.

"You're amazing, Ekko. Really," she said, her voice low but full of warmth.

Ekko's heart skipped a beat. For a moment, he felt like he didn't need to say anything back. There was something about the way Powder looked at him, something that spoke volumes without needing words.

And for the first time, Ekko realized that maybe this friendship—this bond they were building—was more than just an ordinary connection. It was something deeper, something that neither of them could quite define yet. But in that moment, with the bird fluttering in Powder's hands and the warmth of the afternoon sun on their faces, it felt like the beginning of something more.