Arcane: Ekko and Powder

The sun was beginning its descent beyond the horizon, casting a warm, orange glow across the Undercity. The streets were quieter now, save for the occasional echo of distant footsteps or the hum of machinery deep within the ruins. Ekko and Powder sat on the cracked pavement, side by side, just outside his workshop, watching the fading light. The mechanical bird was perched on Powder's lap, its wings still fluttering faintly every now and then as the small gears inside worked in perfect harmony.

Powder's eyes were fixed on the bird, but her thoughts seemed far away, as if she were lost in the motion of the wings, following their rhythm. Ekko could tell there was something on her mind, something she hadn't quite said.

For all her fiery energy and boundless curiosity, Powder had moments like this—moments when the world seemed too big, too heavy, and the weight of it all caught up with her. Ekko had learned to read her like a book, and right now, he could sense the shadow of something unspoken in the air.

"Hey," Ekko said softly, nudging her shoulder with his own. "What's up? You look like you've got a million things on your mind."

Powder looked at him, her eyes a little distant for a second, before a small, hesitant smile crossed her face. She hugged the mechanical bird closer to her chest, as if seeking comfort in its small, fragile presence.

"I was just thinking..." Powder trailed off, her voice soft. "This place... it's not really home, is it? It's just... where we end up, you know? It's like we're just waiting for something better, like we're waiting for a chance to escape. But it never comes."

Ekko felt a pang of understanding in his chest. He had thought about the same thing countless times. The Undercity wasn't a place where dreams were nurtured—it was a place where they were ground down into dust. It was a place of survival, of constant hustle and struggle. And yet, despite all that, Ekko had found something in Powder—something that made all the ugliness of the world feel a little more bearable.

He took a deep breath and turned to her, his face serious for the first time in a while. "You know," he said, his voice low but steady, "I think we're both just doing the best we can. And even though things aren't perfect, it doesn't mean we can't make something of it. Together."

Powder met his eyes, her expression unreadable for a moment, and then something in her softened. She smiled again, though it wasn't quite as carefree as her usual grins. It was quieter, more thoughtful, but still warm.

"I know," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "But it's hard, sometimes. It's easy to feel like... like no one cares. Like it doesn't matter."

Ekko's heart twisted at her words. He knew that feeling all too well. The world of the Undercity was unforgiving. It took from people without a second thought. Hope was a luxury few could afford, and even fewer held onto. But here, in this moment, with the broken toy mended and the promise of something more hanging in the air between them, Ekko realized that there was one thing he could give her that would mean more than anything else: his promise.

He placed his hand on her shoulder, gently but firmly. "Powder," he said, his voice unwavering, "I want you to know something. I'm always going to be here for you. No matter what happens, no matter where we end up, I've got your back. You won't have to face anything alone. I promise."

Powder's eyes widened, and for a brief moment, she looked like she was about to say something—but then she just blinked, her lips parting as if to find the right words. Instead, she said nothing for a long while.

Ekko didn't mind the silence. He could feel the weight of his words sinking in, and though Powder didn't say anything, he knew she understood. She didn't need grand speeches or empty promises. She needed to know that someone cared—someone who would stay by her side, no matter the odds. And Ekko had already decided that, no matter what the future held, he would always stand by her.

Powder leaned back against the cracked wall behind them, resting her head on it with a deep, contented sigh. "Thanks, Ekko," she murmured. Her voice was softer than usual, almost like a secret she was sharing with him. "That means a lot."

Ekko smiled, feeling a warmth spread through his chest that had nothing to do with the fading sunlight. "Of course. You don't even have to ask."

They sat there together for a long time, the sounds of the Undercity fading into the background as they simply enjoyed each other's company. The bird in Powder's lap fluttered its wings again, this time with a more consistent beat, as if responding to the promise Ekko had just made.

Eventually, Powder shifted, sitting up and glancing at him, a mischievous glint creeping back into her eyes. "I think that bird's ready to fly again. Maybe we should take it out for a test run?"

Ekko grinned, relieved to see that familiar spark back in her eyes. "Yeah? You think it'll fly for real this time?"

Powder stood up, stretching her arms above her head. "It better. Otherwise, I'm gonna have to take it back to the drawing board. And maybe I'll throw in a few upgrades."

Ekko chuckled, standing up with her. "Well, as long as you don't try to add rockets or anything. I'm still dealing with the aftermath of your last 'upgrade.'"

Powder stuck her tongue out at him, her playful side fully returning. "Don't knock my genius, Ekko. Rockets are a perfectly reasonable solution."

"Right," Ekko said with a grin. "And then what? You'll fly the bird straight into the sky and leave us all in the dust?"

Powder laughed, her voice light and carefree again. "That's the plan, you know? Take off, leave everyone behind, and find a new adventure."

Ekko's heart gave a small tug at her words, the idea of leaving everything behind both thrilling and terrifying at the same time. He didn't want to leave the Undercity—not without Powder, not without making sure she had everything she needed. But he understood the appeal of the idea. The dream of flying away, free from the chaos of their world.

He looked at her and said, almost more to himself than her, "Maybe someday we will. Maybe we'll find a way to get out of here."

Powder didn't reply at first. Instead, she took the mechanical bird in her hands, winded it up again, and held it up high in the air. The bird's wings began to beat rapidly, and it lifted from her palm, fluttering into the air. Powder watched it soar with a proud smile on her face.

"Yeah," she said quietly, still watching the bird as it flew higher. "Maybe we will."

Ekko watched the bird for a moment before turning his gaze back to Powder. He wasn't sure if she meant what she said—or if it was just a fleeting thought, like so many of their dreams. But it didn't matter. Because whatever happened, wherever they went, he knew that he would always be there. With or without rockets or flying machines, Ekko would stay grounded, beside Powder, helping her chase her dreams.

"Let's make it happen, then," Ekko said with renewed conviction.

Powder gave him a sidelong glance, her eyes sparkling. "You're on. We've got a long way to go, but we're in this together. Right?"

Ekko smiled, his heart swelling with warmth. "Always."

The mechanical bird circled them both one last time before gently landing in Powder's hands. For a moment, everything was perfect. The toy was fixed. The promise had been made. And, for the first time, it felt like their friendship—this bond they shared—was stronger than anything the Undercity could throw at them.

The future was uncertain, full of challenges, and maybe a few more broken toys. But Ekko knew one thing: they would face it all together, side by side.

And that was all that mattered.