Ekko - Lore

Riot frequently “loses” important lore during server moves, corporate restructures, or whenever a sponsor or streaming service says so.

Ekko will not be subject to such negligence and carelessness.

To this end, I have provided a copy of Ekko’s lore in open, durable formats that do not require an internet connection.

You can save a copy of this page. Your copy will work offline, forever.

Biography

Extended Biography (Original)

Extended Biography (Corporate-Approved)

Lullaby

Ekko is mentioned in two other champions’ bios.

“Do No Harm” (Mundo color story)

“The Unexpected Spark” (Zeri color story)

Biography

A prodigy from the rough streets of Zaun, Ekko manipulates time to twist any situation to his advantage. Using his own invention, the Z-Drive, he explores the branching possibilities of reality to craft the perfect moment. Though he revels in this freedom, when there’s a threat to his friends, he’ll do anything to defend them. To outsiders, Ekko seems to achieve the impossible the first time, every time.

Extended Biography (Original)

This biography was originally released with the launch of the Universe site some time after Ekko’s release. Nearly half of it was removed later on.

Born with genius-level intellect, Ekko constructed simple machines before he could crawl. Amazed by these displays of brilliance, his parents, Inna and Wyeth, vowed to provide a good future for their son. In their mind, Zaun, with all its pollution and crime, was no place for a child of his genius. They toiled through long factory hours and worked in dangerous conditions in order to forge a path for their son to have opportunities in Piltover.

But Ekko saw things differently.

He witnessed his parents aging beyond their years, trying to make ends meet with small wages while their handmade goods were sold to wealthy Piltovans for exorbitant profits, profits they’d never see thanks to the greedy Factorywood overseers and their shrewd buyers. Pilties wandered over to the Promenade for good, cheap times, or down to the Entresol to indulge in ‘everything goes’ type clubs. No, his parents’ vision of Ekko living a good life in the privilege-filled City of Progress was one he didn’t share.

Zaun, however… where his parents only saw the oppressive layers of choking pollution and a blight of criminality, Ekko looked beyond and discovered a dynamic city overflowing with energy and potential. It was a hotbed of pure innovation, a melting pot of faraway cultures, immigrants united by a single desire to pioneer the future. But even they could not hold a candle to the native Zaunites. Not the tech-augmented thugs or bottom-feeding scum whose wicked deeds dominated Piltover newspapers; but the sump-scrappers, the chem-jacks, the horticulturalists that tended to the cultivairs. These, and so many more, were the heart and soul of the city. They were resourceful, resilient, and industrious. They built a thriving culture out of catastrophe and flourished where others would have perished. That Zaun spirit enchanted Ekko and drove him to build his machines exclusively out of junk no one else valued, and spurred him on to test them on himself.

He wasn’t alone in possessing that spirit. Ekko befriended scrappy orphans, inquisitive runaways, and anyone whose thirst for excitement was as infectious as the grey-pox. Each had unique talents: from climbing to sculpting, from painting to planning. While many Zaunites eschewed formal education in favor of apprenticeships, these self-dubbed Lost Children of Zaun looked to labyrinthine streets to be their mentor, and as such wasted time in glorious, youthful fashion. They challenged each other to footraces through the Border Markets. They dared each other to climb the precarious routes from the Sump to the Entresol and up to the Promenade. They ran wild and free, answering to no one except their own whims.

To stand out from criminal gangs and other chem-punks, he and his friends opted to keep their bodies whole. Augmentation was, to them, a waste of money and frowned upon. So was stealing from anyone who had nothing or less than they had. This made uppercrust Pilties and tech-enhanced bullies such enticing targets for their mischief. They adorned their secret hideouts with pilfered goods and works of art painted directly on walls. The Lost Children of Zaun felt invincible.

As he grew up, Ekko’s inventions became more fantastic and complex, requiring exotic components that needed to be ‘liberated’ from the scrapyards. Good thing he subscribed to a conveniently flexible view of trespassing. Soon, tech-enhanced vigilnaut thugs and unnervingly aggressive security guards were constantly on the lookout for Ekko and his misfit crew, and often gave the teens a merry chase. It always amused him how Piltover laboratories and Chem-Baron factories fiercely guarded their junk. It’s not like they were using these discarded bits of tech for anything. He, on the other hand, could put their trash to good use with a little ingenuity.

One night, while Ekko scoured the rubble of a recently demolished laboratory, he made an astonishing find: a shard of a blue-green gem that glittered with magical energy. He quickly searched and discovered other fragments of the glowing jewel. The shards hummed like they were trying to sing a broken melody, the song growing louder when near other pieces. He painstakingly searched for every splinter of the broken crystal, though some were buried deep beneath tons of debris that required him to squeeze and wiggle between chunks of smelly rubbish. Every child of Zaun heard tales about hextech crystals. They powered weapons and heroes. They could create energy on their own. Hextech crystals had the potential to change the world. Now he held a broken one.

Before he could celebrate his find, the place was crawling with vigilnauts scanning the ruins, searching for something. Ekko knew it was the pieces of the crystal he held in his hand. He barely escaped detection.

After meticulous study, Ekko noticed that faint traces of energy surged when the crystals were brought closer together; the edges crackled and sent waves of rippling distortion through the air. When he pulled the pieces apart, a magnetic-like resistance fought his efforts. It was as if the splintered crystals remembered being whole. Even curiouser, Ekko felt the strangest sensation; a haunting feeling of remembering a moment, only slightly differently.

His hands couldn’t keep up with the ideas his mind had for the crystal. During one of his less-than-scientific experiments, the gem exploded into a vortex of shimmering dust, triggering eddies of temporal distortion. Ekko opened his eyes to see several splintered realities - and several ‘echo’ versions of himself - staring back in sheer panic amid the fractured continua.

He’d really done it this time.

After some tense coordination between Ekko and his paradoxes, they contained and repaired the doozy of a hole he’d torn in the fabric of reality.

Eventually, Ekko harnessed the shattered crystal’s temporal powers into a device that would allow him to manipulate small increments of time - well, at least in theory. Before he could test his latest machine, his friends badgered him into climbing Old Hungry to celebrate his name day - so Ekko slung the device over his shoulder and brought it along.

They trekked out to the old clockwork tower in the heart of Old Zaun, and climbed, occasionally stopping to paint an obscene caricature of a prominent Piltie or two. They were near the top when a handhold gave way causing one of his friends to slip and fall off the spire. Instinctively, as if he’d done it a thousand times before, Ekko activated the crystal-containment device. The world shattered around him and he was wrenched backward through swirling particles of time.

The hair on his arms tingled with electricity. A strange wooziness clouded his mind. Then he saw his friend reach for the rotting plank to repeat his soon-to-be-fatal error. Crack! The plank gave under the boy’s weight, but Ekko reached out and grabbed his plummeting friend by the shirt collar and swung him to a nearby ledge. Unfortunately, he misjudged the trajectory and tossed his friend into the clockwork tower’s grinding gears. Whoops.

Numerous rewinds and some adjustments for windshear later, Ekko saved his friend’s life. To others, it looked like Ekko had the reflexes of a god. Instantly, his status was elevated. He told them about the crystal and the time manipulation and made them swear to keep quiet. Instead, they shamelessly exaggerated their friend’s exploits and dared each other to attempt increasingly reckless stunts, knowing they would be kept safe. With each trial (and so much error) the time-warping device - which he’d dubbed the Zero Drive - grew more and more stable. Ekko found he could pilfer components, clobber imposing chem-punk bullies, and even get pickup lines right, making a good first impression every time. The only limit was how much his body could take before exhaustion set in.

Rumors and tales of Ekko’s time-bending antics reached the ears of certain powerful people within the twinned cities. Viktor, a much respected (and feared) Zaunite scientist, has a keen interest in an audience with this defiant genius, and outfitted several of his low-level enforcers with powerful enhancements to encourage the boy to join his services. Piltover-renowned innovator Jayce, meanwhile, was eager to size up the Boy Who Shattered Time and reverse-engineer his technology. However, Ekko values his independence too much, and has no desire to be a part of anyone’s agenda. A few pursuers might catch a glimpse of Ekko before being thwarted, often embarrassingly so, by the sump-snipe with a preternatural knack for pinpointing their exact weakness.

In his wildest dreams, Ekko imagines his hometown rising up to dwarf the City of Progress. Piltover’s golden veneer would be overshadowed by the sheer ingenuity and relentless spunk of a Zaun born not from generations of privilege but from utter daring. He may not have a plan yet, but Ekko has all the time in the world to make his dream a reality.

After all, if he can change the past, how hard could it be to change the future?

Extended Biography (Corporate-Approved)

For some unknown reason, between October 2017 and December 2019, Riot tore out half of Ekko’s story and badly spllced it back together. It doesn’t appear to conflict with any canon Zaun lore released since 2015, it’s not any longer than recently-released stories, and I can’t find anything here that would piss off middle-management. I really honestly have no clue why they did this. If you do know… it’d be super cool if you shared.

Born with genius-level intellect, Ekko constructed simple machines before he could crawl. His parents, Inna and Wyeth, vowed to provide a good future for their son—Zaun, with all its pollution and crime, would only stifle Ekko, whom they felt deserved the wealth and opportunities of Piltover. Throughout his youth he watched his parents age beyond their years, toiling for too many hours under dangerous conditions in suffocating factories. They earned meager wages while greedy factory owners, and sneering Piltovan buyers, profited immensely from their labor.

It would all be worth it, they reasoned, if it meant their son could one day rise to the city above.

Ekko saw things differently. Beyond Zaun’s flaws, he saw a dynamic place overflowing with energy and potential. Zaunites’ industry, resourcefulness, and resilience stirred a hotbed of pure innovation. They had built a thriving culture from catastrophe, and flourished where others would have perished. That spirit captivated Ekko, and spurred him to a youth of wild invention and innovation.

He wasn’t alone. He befriended scrappy orphans, inquisitive runaways, and eager upstarts. Zaunites tended to eschew formal education in favor of apprenticeships, but these “Lost Children of Zaun” looked to the labyrinthine streets to be their mentor. They wasted time in glorious, youthful fashion—foot races through the border markets, or daring climbs from the Sump to the Promenade. They ran wild and free, answering to no one.

One night, on a solo trek into the rubble of a recently demolished laboratory, Ekko made an astonishing find: a shard of blue-green crystal that glittered with magical energy. Every child of Zaun heard tales of hextech, said to power weapons and heroes alike. Such a thing had the potential to change the world, and now he held a broken one. He scrambled to find more pieces, but the crunching footfalls of teched-up enforcers told him he wasn’t the only one looking. Ekko barely escaped, and returned to his home.

He experimented madly with the crystal. During one less-than-scientific attempt, the gem exploded into a vortex of shimmering dust, triggering eddies of temporal distortion. Ekko opened his eyes to see several splintered realities—and several “echo” versions of himself—staring back in sheer panic amid the fractured continua.

He’d really done it this time.

After some tense coordination between Ekko and his paradoxes, they managed to contain and repair the hole he had torn in the fabric of reality. Eventually, he harnessed the shattered crystal’s temporal powers into a device that would allow him to manipulate small increments of time… at least in theory.

On his name day, his friends badgered him into climbing the ancient clocktower known as Old Hungry, so Ekko brought the untested device along with him.

The Lost Children climbed, stopping occasionally to paint an obscene caricature or two of prominent Pilties. They were near the top when a handhold gave way, sending one of Ekko’s friends tumbling to certain doom. Instinctively—as if he’d done it a thousand times before—Ekko activated his device. The world shattered around him, and he was wrenched backward through swirling particles of time.

Then Ekko was back, watching his friend reach again for the same rotting plank. The plank broke, the boy fell… but Ekko was ready this time, diving to the edge and grabbing him by the shirt. Ekko tried to swing him to safety, but his friend became caught in the tower’s clockwork gears, and—

Stop. Rewind.

Several attempts later, Ekko finally saved his friend’s life. But to his crew, Ekko’s supernatural reflexes had saved their friend before anyone even realized the danger. He told them about the crystal and made them swear to secrecy. Instead, they dared each other to new heights of foolishness, knowing Ekko had the means to pluck them out of danger.

With each trial, and so much error, the time-warping device—which Ekko dubbed the Zero Drive—grew more and more stable. The only limit was how many do-overs his body could take before exhaustion set in.

Ekko’s time-bending antics have made him a person of interest to some of Zaun and Piltover’s most inventive, most powerful, and most dangerous individuals. But his only interest is in his friends, his family, and his city. He dreams of the day when his hometown rises up to dwarf the so-called City of Progress, when Piltover’s golden veneer will be overshadowed by the towering ingenuity and relentless spunk of a Zaun born not from generations of privilege, but from sheer daring. He may not have a plan yet, but he’s got all the time in the world.

After all, if Ekko’s Z-Drive can change the past, how hard can it be to change the future?

Lullaby

It had been a weeklong sort of day.

For Ekko, this was both literal and metaphorical. Everything went wrong and it took forever to put it back just right. First, Ajuna had nearly gotten himself killed trying to climb Old Hungry. The younger boy wanted so desperately to be like Ekko that he vaulted up the side of the clockwork tower at the heart of the sump before any of their friends could stop him. It was the first tricky jump that nearly did the kid in. Good thing Ekko had triggered his Z-Drive. Eighteen times he heard the blood-curdling scream of the boy falling to his death before he figured out how and where to arrest the fall and save his life.

Then, while pillaging a scrap heap with ties to Clan Ferros for bits of tech, a particularly aggressive gang of vigilnauts surrounded him. Big ones, too, covered in augments that made the ugly even uglier. Ekko was surprised at their speed, but less surprised at how they shot to kill. Pilties and their backup didn’t care about the lives of sumpsnipes like him. Good thing the Z-Drive existed to get him out of seemingly inescapable encounters like that one. After a few dozen rewinds, he changed tack and pulled out his latest toy: the Flashbinder. It was meant to explode in a dazzling flash and pull anything not bolted down in toward its center.

But the Flashbinder didn’t work. Well, at least not as intended. It exploded. And that’s when things got interesting. Unlike most of Ekko’s inventions that exploded, the blue-hot magical detonation froze in mid blast. Columns of billowing blue energy fanned out from the epicenter. Bits of the disc’s shrapnel twisted at a snail’s pace along what, at normal explosion velocity, would be a deadly trajectory. Even the spherical blinding flash itself was frozen in space.

And then it got even more interesting. The explosion imploded, reforming itself into the palm-sized Flashbinder, and rewound back toward Ekko, landing square in his palm, as cold as the wind.

Cool, Ekko thought. He rewound the moment so he could throw it at the vigilnauts a few more times. For science, of course.

When Ekko finally got home, his body was tired, but his mind was alert. The apartment was functional – the furniture sparse and with little flourish. Ekko’s room was a little curtained-off nook filled with discarded books, bits of scavenged technology, and hiding spots for the Z-Drive and Flashbinder. Today was one of the rare days both his parents would be home early, and he had something to tell them.

“Mom, Dad.” He practiced to his reflection, which stared back at him from the Z-Drive’s shiny cylindrical surface. “I’m not going to apply to any of the Uppside clans or a snooty Piltie school. I’m staying here with you and my friends. I’ll never turn my back on Zaun.”

The words were filled with the confidence that comes with being alone in an empty apartment, with only walls and reflections to respond. And their response was silence.

He heard the jingle of the keys, muffled by the front door. Without a second to spare, Ekko tucked his Z-Drive under the table and draped a black cloth over it. He didn’t want them worrying about his escapades with an unstable hextech time-manipulation device.

The door opened and Ekko’s parents returned for the first time that night. They looked like strangers to their own son, their jobs aging them even more in the weeks since he’d seen them last together. Their routine was predictable. They’d shuffle home, supply a meager meal purchased with the day’s wages, save the rest of the money for taxes and bribes, then fall asleep in their chairs, chins resting on chests, until Ekko removed their workboots and helped them into their beds.

The bags under their eyes carried enough weight to pull their heads down. Tucked under his mother’s arm was a small paper-wrapped bundle, bound at the ends with twine.

“Hello, my little genius.” His mother expended energy she couldn’t afford in an attempt to make the words come alive. Yet her expression in that moment of lightness when she saw her son sitting at the table, waiting, was something no one could fake.

“Hey, Mom. Hey, Dad.” The three of them hadn’t sat at a table as a family in such a long time. He quietly chided himself for not saying something substantial.

His father beamed with pride; then he mock-scowled as he brushed his fingers through his son’s mohawk. Ekko struggled to remember a time when his father didn’t look so old, before the prematurely thinning hair and the deep wrinkles in his brow.

“I thought I told you to cut that hair,” his father said. “It’ll make you stand out in the Piltover academies too much. The Factorywood’s the only place you can look like that. They’ll take anyone. And you are not anyone. How are your applications coming?”

This was the moment. Ekko felt the words he’d practiced swimming up to be spoken. The hope in his father’s eyes gave him pause.

His mother filled that empty moment before Ekko could.

“We have a treat for you.” She set the brown parcel down on the table. They pulled their chairs close to watch as Ekko reached over and untied the knotted twine, straightened both strings, and laid them next to him. He unraveled the butcher paper without a single rip. In the center lay a small loaf of fragrant sweetbread, its crust glazed with honey and candied nuts. The cake was from Elline. She made the finest pastries in all of Zaun, and charged a pretty penny for them too. Ekko and his friends often pilfered her desserts from the rich folk who paid the hefty price without even a tiny hesitation.

Ekko’s head shot up to see his parents’ reaction. Their eyes were beaming. “This is too much,” he said. “We need meat and real supper, not sweets.”

“We would never forget your name day,” his father said with a chuckle. “Looks like you did, though.”

Ekko had completely lost track of what day it really was. Still, the gift was too extravagant. Especially since he was about to shatter their hopes for him. Guilt rose in his throat. “The landlord’ll have our heads if we’re late with rent again.”

“Let us worry about that. You deserve something nice,” his mother said. “Go on, you can have cake for dinner once a year.”

“What are you going to eat?”

“I’m not hungry,” she said.

“I ate at work,” his father lied. “Cheese and meats from Piltover. Real nice stuff.”

They watched Ekko take a tiny bite of the cake. It was sweet and buttery and the crumbs stuck to his fingers. It was so rich, the taste stuck to his tongue. Ekko went to divide the cake into three pieces, but his mother shook her head. Her soft voice hummed the name day song’s playful melody and he knew they wouldn’t partake. It was his parents’ gift to him.

His father would have joined in singing the name day song if he hadn’t already fallen asleep, slumped in his chair, chin dropping to his chest. Ekko glanced over to his mother, her eyes fluttered closed as the melody was swallowed by her own encroaching slumber.

One future Ekko briefly considered was the Factorywood life and barely living wages for some other city’s benefit, for someone else’s glory. He couldn’t stomach the thought. He remembered fragments of conversations, snippets heard through the filter of infant ears, of his parents’ whispered dreams of inventions, and entrance to the clans. Ideas they hoped would change the world and contribute to a future unwritten by the birth of their son. Ekko knew they saw him as their only hope. But he loved life in Zaun. If he did as they wished, who would take care of them or his friends?

He couldn’t dash their dreams. Not tonight, on his name day. Maybe tomorrow.

Ekko didn’t finish his cake beyond the first bite. Instead he primed his Z-Drive. His home shattered into swirling eddies of colored dust. The thrum of the everyday fell to absolute silence. The moment splintered and encircled him in a vortex of light.

When the fragments of the future reassembled into the past, Ekko’s parents were coming home for the second time that night. It would be followed by a third, a fourth, a fifth, a sixth, and so on.

Each time he went back, Ekko didn’t change a single thing; the light in his mother’s eyes, his father’s proud smile as he nodded off. But Ekko fought the edges of sleep to hold onto those stolen moments forever, until finally, he let his mother’s soft voice, and the warmth of their little apartment lull him to sleep.

It had been a weeklong sort of day.

“Do No Harm” (Mundo color story)

It has been while, Mundo thought, stroking the massive purple tongue that hung from his mouth like an executed criminal swinging from gallows, since Mundo made a housecall.

He rolled out of his bed (a large wooden box filled with sharpened knives and rusty nails), brushed his teeth (with a nail file), and ate breakfast (a cat). Mundo felt exuberant. He felt alive.

Today was a fine day for practicing medicine.

He spotted his first patient hawking shimmerdrops just outside Ranker’s Limb Maintenance. The man limped around in a circle, shouting at everyone within arm’s length about how shimmerdrops would make their eyes roll into the backs of their heads and how if they didn’t buy some right now, right this second, then they were damn idiots and did you just give him a condescending look? Because he’ll kill you and your family and your family’s family.

Mundo took out his notepad, a tool he often used to mark down observations about his patients, both past and present. The notepad was large, yellow, and imaginary.

Patient exhibits signs of mania, Mundo would have written if he hadn’t been tracing random squiggles in the air with a meaty finger. Possible infection of nervous system via cranial virus, he might have inscribed if he were capable of such multisyllabic thought.

“MUNDO CURE HEAD AND FACE AREA GOOD,” he said to himself.

Rank was just about to pack up his shimmerdrops and head home for the night. He needed to get new shoes. These ones rubbed his feet raw when he walked, and at the end of a long day’s work, hadn’t he earned the soft leather of grayeels?

As Rank was thinking this, a huge purple monster jumped out of the shadows and yelled, “MUNDO HAS RESULTS OF YOUR BLOOD WORK.”

Mundo left his first patient more or less as he found him (save for a few limbs) and took to the Commercia Fantastica, a market specializing primarily in gearwork toys. Though most of the shops were closed, Mundo spied a lone Zaunite teetering to and fro as he stumbled down the path. The Zaunite sang a song of a Piltovan beauty and the shy boy from the undercity who loved her, except he seemed to have forgotten most of the words apart from “big ol’ eyes” and “gave it to her.” An empty bottle dangled from his hand, and he looked as if he hadn’t had a bath in months.

Was this man afflicted by the same disease that had ravaged the shimmerdrop dealer? Was this a virus? An epidemic in the making? Mundo had to act fast.

This was clearly a man in need of medical attention.

“TAKE TWO OF THESE AND TALK TO MUNDO IN MORNING,” the purple monstrosity said as he tossed a bonesaw into the drunk’s back.

Mundo descended into Zaun’s Sump level. If there was a virus going around, chances were it originated here. There must be a patient zero somewhere. If he could just cure the first sufferer of this mystery disease, Mundo knew he could cure the rest of Zaun.

But how was Mundo to find one specific patient in the sprawl of the Sump level? What steps would he take to isolate, quarantine, and fix this most suffering of Zaunites? How would he–-

Mundo heard something. Footsteps, and a rhythmic clang of metal against metal.

He followed the noise as carefully and quietly as he could –- wouldn’t want to spook the patient into running away and infecting even more people –- and found exactly what he was looking for.

A young boy. No older than fifteen, probably, with a shock of white hair and a large metal sword-looking-thing in his hand. He had some sort of hourglass tattooed onto his face. Maybe a warning? A symbol that he was not to be approached under any circumstances?

Mundo knew he’d found him. Patient zero.

It would be a complex operation, requiring skill, planning, a careful eye and–-

“YOU MIGHT FEEL A LITTLE STING,” the creature said, leaping out. His enormous purple form hurtling through the air, massive bonesaw in hand, tongue flapping in the wind.

The boy was surprised, but not unprepared. Anybody hanging out in the Sump knew to be ready for trouble at a moment’s notice, and the kid had plenty of time to prepare.

Nothing but time, in fact.

No two ways about it: this was a troublesome patient.

He refused to answer Mundo’s questions about his medical history, and continued to evade Mundo’s attempts to make him take his medicine. He repeated himself over and over again (perhaps suffering from a case of physical amnesia?) and had no respect for Dr. Mundo’s authority.

The two scuffled over the child’s sickness for what felt like hours. Mundo made what he thought were very salient points about the merits of treatment, but the child constantly evaded Mundo’s attempts to help him.

Mundo grew tired of arguing with the boy. He mustered up one final attempt at treatment, wielding his precision scalpel with the artistry of a Demacian duelist. The words of his medical vows -– “MUNDO FIX ALL THINGS, MUNDO DO MEDICINE VERY HARD” –- ran through his head again and again. His desire to cure this child filled him with purpose and determination.

He swung with all his might.

The treatment was a success.

But then –- somehow –- the treatment reversed itself. Whatever good Mundo had accomplished in his last attempt at a cure was suddenly undone. To Mundo’s utter confusion, the child scurried away, utterly uncured.

Mundo screamed in irritation.

“WHY CAN’T MUNDO SAVE THEM ALL?” he screamed to the sky.

Not every operation was a success. Mundo would be the first to admit that. Still, Mundo tried to focus on the positive: Apart from this most recent patient, Mundo had helped an awful lot of people. He’d done a full day’s work, and now it was time to rest.

As the sun came up, Mundo retired home and tucked himself into bed. Who knew what tomorrow might bring? Another patient to help. Another epidemic to stop.

A doctor’s work was never done.

“The Unexpected Spark” (Zeri color story)

“I can’t accept this,” the shopkeeper said, pushing Zeri’s change back at her. “It’s just spare parts. You’ve done too much to help since the Mist.”

Restless, Zeri looked around. Familiar streets showed unfamiliar loss—homes and shops battered by wicked sorcery that nearly ended the world. People were missing. Families were hurting. But crowds still gathered at the Entresol markets. Zeri didn’t understand exactly what had happened, but she knew this: Zaun would rebuild, and she would help.

She frowned at the shopkeeper’s work-hardened hands and pushed her own forward. “Get some banana cues. For your girls.”

The shopkeeper sighed, then smiled.

Zeri continued through the market, recalling her grandma’s oft-repeated reminders. “Ignore old man Shay—his parts are always rusted! Line up early at Auntie Maria’s—her marinated chicken is divine!” Zeri admitted her grandma could sometimes seem annoying, but she couldn’t deny that the woman was right. Her grandma knew the market and its people inside out, like how Moe’s daughters loved caramelized bananas. And it was in moments like this where that intimacy proved helpful.

“C’mere, rat!”

Zeri spun toward the noise in time to see a boy scurrying through the crowd. Two men tailed him, one short and square, the other tall with lanky limbs. Their outfits were unmistakable. Chem-baron thugs.

As the boy darted by, Zeri snatched his arm. “There, quick,” she said, pointing with her lips at Moe’s shop. The shopkeeper nodded knowingly. The frightened boy stood still.

“Trust me—go!”

The boy sprinted over, ducking under a table that Moe quickly covered with cloth.

“Hoy! Looking for someone?” Zeri shouted at the lackeys as they approached.

The men shoved past the locals. “Yeah, a kid. Just ran through here. You see ‘im?” asked the stocky one.

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “Tell us. We won’t hurt you.”

“Doubt that. But let’s skip to the part where I hurt you instead.”

The man laughed. “With what?”

Zeri reached for where her gun was usually strapped, only to find nothing there. Crap. Must’ve left it at mom’s workshop—again.

Well, time to improvise. She rubbed her hands together and started running in place.

The thugs straightened in surprise.

“Is she… dancing?” observed the lanky one.

“Who cares?” his partner squawked. “Nab her already!”

Zeri’s hands and feet became a blur. The gear on her jacket’s back, a limiter device she called the Sparkpack, spun with building electricity. In a blink, she zipped between the men, bowling them over in a trail of wild lightning. Stray currents bounced from her body onto nearby doors and awnings, leaving little embers.

“Woo!” Zeri skid to a screeching halt. The lackeys lay collapsed on the ground. Her jaw dropped as she noticed a blackened awning collapse and fall to the street. “Oh, sorry! I—”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Moe, gesturing under the table for the kid to come out.

“You’re amazing!” the boy blurted, arms stretched wide. “You gotta help me. They still have my parents.”

“What? Where?” Zeri asked.

“Corner of Brasscopper Alley! A factory. They… they took them there. And others. I saw it!”

“Got it,” Zeri nodded. “What’s your name?”

“Timik.”

“Timik, I’ll get your parents.” Zeri’s eyes met Moe’s. “Mind doing me another favor?”

“Sure thing.” Moe patted Timik’s head. “Hey, kiddo. Want some banana cues for dinner?”

Like its neighboring streets, Brasscopper Alley housed rows of chem-baron factories. Soot filled the air, heavy enough to taste. Who else but the barons would force people to work in these conditions?

On the corner, a few guards reeking of less-than-fine spirits played cards by a run-down building with rusted double doors. Just like Timik described. Zeri touched her belt, ensuring her gun was secure.

She looked for another way in, spotting a rickety air vent large enough to crawl through halfway up a nearby wall. She jumped for the opening, coming up inches short. Stepping back, Zeri ran, her feet catching sparks. She hopped higher this time, boosted by her electricity.

“You already played that card!” she heard a guard growl as her fingers gripped the vent’s edge.

“Did not!” snapped another. “And you woulda known too if yer head wasn’t buried in that bottle.”

Zeri exhaled in relief. Right again, Grandma. Guards are lazier at night.

She pulled herself into the vent and started crawling, eventually coming to a large grate in the floor. Below was a curious room where wide metal pipes lined every wall. The exit was closed off by the double doors she saw earlier.

In the middle, a group of people assembled parts as several thugs with hextech-powered spears watched on like jail guards. Every time something reached the end of the assembly line, a thug tested it. And every time, there’d be a flash of blue light followed by nothing. The guard captain smashed these apparent failures and demanded the people start over. “And they said you were the smart ones,” he said, spitting on the floor.

Zeri could tell these people were clearly being held against their will. Parents and spouses and friends, all suffering.

“Argh!” Without thinking, Zeri banged a fist charged with frustration and electricity against the grate, which rattled from the impact. Zeri scrambled to secure it, but as the heavy grate fell from its fixture, so did she. With a loud clang, she landed in the middle of the factory floor.

The room gasped and recoiled in surprise.

“Is it him?” asked a thug, shaking off the shock.

“No,” snarled the captain. “Her face doesn’t have the painted hourglass.”

Zeri rushed to her feet. “Dunno who you’re expecting, but you can’t keep these people here like this.”

The captain scowled. “Says who?”

“Me.”

Zeri whipped out her gun, her right hand clutching its rusted crimson grip. Her mom had designed it without trigger or magazine, needing only her daughter’s innate electricity, which now swelled with anger. Static buzzed from Zeri’s hand into the gun’s conductive barrel. She took aim.

“Ultrashock laser!”

A thunderous beam struck the double doors behind the thugs, blasting the rusted metal apart.

“Run!” Zeri cried. “I’ll take care of the guards!”

The hostages scattered, guards in pursuit.

A woman grabbed Zeri’s arm. “Have you seen my son? He wasn’t taken with us!”

“Timik’s fine. He’s—”

“Timik? No, that’s not—”

More thugs swarmed close. Zeri yanked her gun to face them and fired, pushing them back and creating space for the worried woman to flee.

“We gotta go,” a man warned, pulling the woman away.

Zeri unleashed more electric bullets as coverfire. “When word of this gets out to your boss,” she yelled, “you’re gonna wish you’d killed me here.”

The frustrated guards turned their attention away from the fleeing hostages and toward Zeri.

Good. Come to me.

As they approached, she vaulted onto one of the wide interlocking pipes attached to the walls. It was made of brass and copper—natural conductors.

Zeri’s feet crackled with electricity. Fueled by her sparks, she skated along the web of pipes, unloading flurries of bullets at three of the onrushing guards. Their bodies twitched and flailed before falling over. Deftly, Zeri switched directions, dropping the next few who were climbing the side railings to surprise her from behind. Only a handful of her attackers were left. She could head home soon. Her family was probably worried sick…

A blast struck the pipe beneath Zeri, forcing her off balance. She crashed to the ground.

“Got you now,” the captain said, holding what looked like a hextech cannon, smoke billowing off its muzzle. His remaining troops rallied, spears ready.

Zeri struggled to her feet, head spinning, knees scraped and bleeding, electric currents flickering across her injured body. She lifted her gun to fire.

It fizzled.

The captain smirked.

Damn! Must’ve broken in the fall.

Her enemies closed in.

“Screw it!” Zeri chucked her gun aside and tore off her jacket. Freed of the Sparkpack, she felt her body surge with voltage. Leaping into the air, she punched her left fist up toward the ceiling.

“LIGHTNING CRASH!”

Bioelectric waves shot from her fist, then her chest, and then her entire body, ripping the space asunder. Like a lightning storm, the waves arced off conductive metals, crackling violently as they drowned the room with Zeri’s raw power. Bodies jolted before dropping in droves.

Zeri fell to her knees, her knuckles propping her up. Blinking sweat from her eyes, she felt searing pain from her wounds everywhere at once. “That better have worked.”

“You little shit.” The captain’s voice cut through the room. Zeri saw him stumble to his feet, bleeding from his nose and ears.

“Why?” Zeri roared. “Why hurt innocent people?”

The man scoffed, kicking the limp bodies around him in search of his weapon. “No one’s innocent in the baroness’s eyes.”

A hum filled the air as the captain lifted his cannon toward Zeri.

With what little force she could muster, Zeri tumbled to the side and slipped behind a large fallen pipe. The blast flung her and her cover into a wall. Zeri’s vision turned black. When her eyes opened, the captain was gone.

Staggering under moonlight, Zeri headed home through nearly empty streets. She was relieved the hostages were safe, but still gritted her teeth. The chem-barons—they always had more. More resources, more power. Their strength was the system they created with everyone under their reign, all contributing to a Zaun they controlled. Maybe the captain was right—no one’s innocent.

And everyone’s a victim.

A flash of blue light erupted behind her, stopping Zeri in her tracks.

“Hey, nice work.”

She turned to see a teenager with a painted face and a glowing bat in hand. Unsure if she’d been tailed, Zeri tried to ready herself once more, but struggled to stand up straight in the face of the stranger.

“Relax,” the young man said. “Timik told me about you.”

“And who are you?” Zeri asked.

“Name’s Ekko. Those goons from the warehouse were looking for me before you showed up. But man, you wrecked ‘em.”

Zeri sighed. If he’s against the barons, he’s alright.

“Look,” Ekko continued, “I know you’ve got questions—so do I. And I’ve gotta ask… why help folks you don’t know?”

Zeri shrugged. “I stand up for my community.”

Ekko smiled. “Then we should talk. Zaun needs people like you… and I oughta thank you for saving my parents tonight, too.”

Zeri smiled back. “Anytime.”