The Weight of What Remains
Chapter 5: The Weight of What Remains
Jinx sat cross-legged on the cracked cement floor of her hideout, a claustrophobic space buried deep beneath the thriving streets of Zaun—a world she could barely recognize anymore. The room was a chaotic kaleidoscope of color and destruction. Neon paint smeared in erratic strokes covered the walls, their patterns interrupted by jagged scratches and crude symbols that seemed to howl her inner turmoil. Broken gadgets, twisted scraps of metal, and shards of shattered glass littered every surface, reflecting the flickering light of a single, sputtering bulb that hung overhead like a dying star. The air was heavy with the acrid scent of burnt wires and chemical fumes, clinging to her skin like a second layer.
The hum of the city above, with its bustling energy and newfound hope, felt distant, like a dream that wasn’t hers to share. Down here, beneath the surface, everything was raw, jagged, and excruciatingly real. This was her space—a sanctuary for chaos and pain, where she didn’t have to pretend or perform. And right now, that chaos was alive in every corner, as wild and fractured as her thoughts.
A wrench trembled in her grip, her knuckles stark white as her fingers clamped down on the cold, unyielding metal. Her other hand dragged across the dusty floor, tracing nonsensical patterns that smudged and disappeared beneath her touch. Her lips moved incessantly, the words spilling out in a disjointed, feverish rhythm. “She’s back. But she’s not. She’s not Vi. Not my Vi. She’s… something else. Something they made. Something she hates.”
Her voice quivered on the edge of a sob before cracking into a sharp, biting growl. Her trembling hand suddenly gripped the floor with enough force to scrape her nails against the concrete. Her eyes, wild and unfocused, darted around the room as if searching for something—anything—to anchor her. But nothing was enough. The tide of anger and grief surged through her, and with a sudden burst of fury, she hurled the wrench across the room.
The sound of metal striking metal rang out like a gunshot in the confined space, the wrench leaving a jagged dent in the wall before falling to the floor with a dull, resounding thud. Her breathing was ragged now, her chest rising and falling in erratic, shallow bursts. “Damn Ambessa. Damn Piltover. Damn everything!” she shouted, her voice breaking into a scream that reverberated off the walls, shaking the very air around her.
Her hands trembled violently as she reached for the nearest object—a broken piece of a dismantled blaster—and threw it with all her strength. It shattered against the floor, sending shards skittering across the room. Tears blurred her vision, but she didn’t stop. She clawed at the nearest pile of scrap, scattering pieces in every direction as she unleashed every ounce of frustration, every moment of grief, and every ounce of rage that had been building inside her like a storm.
“I hate her for this!” she screamed, her voice hoarse and raw. “I hate her for leaving me! For coming back like this! For letting them do this to her!” Her words dissolved into incoherent sobs, her fists pounding the ground until they ached.
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the rampage slowed. Her movements stilled, the adrenaline draining from her body and leaving her shaking in the aftermath. Her breathing remained uneven, and her head hung low, her hair falling in tangled, sweat-damp strands around her face. Her voice, when it came again, was barely a whisper, trembling with exhaustion. “She’s not my sister anymore… is she?”
The words hung in the air, fragile and broken, as if they might shatter if spoken too loudly.
Jinx stood abruptly, her movements sharp and restless, as though she could physically outrun the storm of emotions tearing through her. Her footsteps echoed in the cavernous space, the sound bouncing off the walls as she paced back and forth, her hands tangling in her short, unevenly cut hair. “She didn’t ask for this,” Jinx spat, her voice trembling with fury, every word like a knife cutting through the heavy air. “She didn’t want this! That bitch… that monster took her and turned her into…” Her words faltered, choked by the weight of her own anger. She spun on her heel, her vivid pink eyes blazing as she took in the destruction around her—the scattered scraps of metal, shattered glass, and smears of paint marking her descent into chaos.
The Vi that Jinx remembered—the fierce, stubborn, fiercely protective sister who had once been her everything in a world that felt like it was always falling apart—was gone. What remained wasn’t Vi, not the Vi she knew, not the Vi she needed. Instead, there was something cold, detached, and distant—a figure that moved with a mechanical precision that made her feel like a stranger. The stabilization process may have stripped the shimmer from Vi’s veins, purging the toxic chaos that had threatened to kill her. But what had replaced it was, in Jinx’s mind, far worse. It had taken her humanity and fused it with unyielding technology, leaving a hollow shell that looked like her sister but didn’t feel like her.
Jinx’s thoughts turned to the sight of Vi’s new arm, its sleek design seamlessly integrated into her body as though it had always been there. It wasn’t just a prosthetic; it was a part of her now, pulsing faintly with energy that seemed alive. The same energy that coursed through her scars, glowing faintly under her skin like molten rivers, tracing the contours of her body in an eerie, otherworldly light. The gemstone embedded in her arm, no longer volatile or dangerous, had become part of her ‘system’, a second heart beating in time with her own, controlling and powering the machine that Vi had become.
“She doesn’t even feel like her anymore,” Jinx whispered into the empty room, her voice breaking on the words. Her pacing slowed, her steps faltering as the fury that had driven her began to ebb, leaving only a raw, aching grief that threatened to pull her under. “She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t… doesn’t look at me the way she used to. It’s like she’s not even there.” Her voice cracked, her hands falling limply to her sides as her shoulders sagged under the weight of her anguish. “She’s gone, isn’t she? She’s gone, and I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t save her.”
Jinx’s eyes stung with unshed tears as she turned to face the mess she had created, the destruction that mirrored the chaos within her. Her fingers twitched at her sides, the urge to destroy something else, to scream, to cry, clawing at her chest.
Jinx grabbed a nearby can of paint, her fingers digging into the metal until her nails left faint scratches, and hurled it against the wall with all the strength she could muster. The can burst on impact, the bright pink liquid splattering in wild, chaotic streaks that dripped down like tears. The room seemed to shudder with the force of her rage, each chaotic mark on the wall a raw, unfiltered expression of the turmoil she couldn’t contain. “It’s all her fault!” she growled, her voice trembling with venom and pain. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her body trembling with the weight of emotions she had kept buried for too long. “Ambessa. She did this. She broke her. She took her away from me. And now Vi—what’s left of her—is stuck like this forever.”
She spun around, knocking over a precariously stacked pile of gears and scrap metal in the process. The crash echoed through the room, adding to the cacophony of destruction she had unleashed. “She called her ‘Violet,’” Jinx spat, the name dripping from her lips like poison. Her voice rose with each word, the pain behind them cutting deeper. “Like she could just own her! Like Vi was some project she could tear apart, piece back together, and call her own! Like she could erase everything we were, everything Vi is—” Her voice cracked, and she suddenly froze, the force of her own words hitting her like a physical blow.
Her knees buckled slightly, and she stumbled backward, collapsing onto the floor. She hugged her knees to her chest, her wild hair falling over her face as she rocked slightly. Her voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible above the sound of her ragged breathing. “She’s supposed to be my big sister. She’s supposed to protect me. But now… now she doesn’t even see me. Doesn’t even know me.” The tears finally fell, hot and unrelenting, streaking her paint-smudged cheeks as her grief consumed her. “I lost her. I lost her.”
Jinx’s hands trembling as they gripped at her legs. “And now,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, “I don’t know how to get her back. I don’t even know if there’s anything leftto bring back.” Her head fell forward, her wild hair cascading over her face, hiding the tears that spilled freely down her cheeks. Her fingers clawed at the fabric of her pant as if she could somehow ground herself, but nothing could stop the tidal wave of grief threatening to pull her under.
In the distance, the faint sound of footsteps echoed, hesitant yet steady, growing louder with each passing moment. Jinx didn’t hear them, too lost in the storm inside her. Her chest heaved as sobs fought to break free, her breaths shallow and uneven. She grabbed a broken gadget nearby, its jagged edges biting into her palms, but even the pain wasn’t enough to anchor her.
“She’s gone,” Jinx murmured, her voice breaking as her tears mixed with the paint smeared on her face. “And it’s my fault. I should’ve—” She stopped herself, shaking her head violently. “No. It’s her fault. That pig—Ambessa—she took everything from me.”
The footsteps paused just outside the doorway, and a shadow fell across the floor. Ekko stepped into the dim light of the hideout, his goggles pushed up onto his forehead. His expression was a mixture of caution, understanding, and an unmistakable sadness. He had heard the shouting long before he reached the entrance and knew exactly where it was coming from. The chaos of the room hit him immediately, the bright paint splattered across the walls, the shattered remnants of gadgets scattered like debris from an emotional hurricane. But it wasn’t the destruction that held his attention—it was Jinx.
She sat hunched on the floor, her hands covering her face, her slender frame shaking with the effort of holding herself together. Her short, choppy hair was damp with sweat, and her painted cheeks were streaked with tears. The defiant, wild energy that usually defined her seemed drained, replaced by something raw and deeply vulnerable. For a moment, Ekko didn’t move. He leaned against the doorframe, his hands in his pockets, watching silently. His heart ached for her, for the girl he once knew and the woman she had become.
“Still throwing paint around, huh?” Ekko said finally, his voice light but carrying a warmth that softened the edges of the tension.
Jinx’s head snapped up, her pink eyes wild and bloodshot, her tear-streaked face twisting into a glare. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, her voice sharp but unsteady, betraying the fragility beneath her anger. “This is my space.”
Ekko’s lips twitched into a faint smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I heard you,” he said simply, stepping closer with measured caution, the faint hum of Zaun above them filling the silence. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
Jinx scoffed, her laugh bitter and brittle as she swiped at her face with the back of her hand, smearing a streak of pink paint across her cheek. “Yeah, well, I’m not. Happy now?” She threw the words at him like a challenge, her body tensed as if daring him to push further.
“No,” Ekko replied honestly, his brown eyes steady and filled with quiet understanding as he crouched down to her level. He kept his distance, respecting the invisible barrier she had drawn around herself. “But I get it.”
Jinx barked a laugh, sharp and hollow, before shaking her head. “You don’t get it, Ekko. You don’t. You don’t know what it’s like to see her like this. To see her and not even recognize her.” Her voice cracked on the last word, her hand clenching into a fist against her thigh as though trying to hold herself together.
Ekko’s gaze softened, the weight of her words settling over him like a shroud. “I’ve heard,” he said quietly, his tone devoid of judgment. “I haven’t seen Vi since she came back, but I’ve heard the stories. Caitlyn’s been keeping me updated when she can. It sounds…” He hesitated, searching for the right word. “It sounds rough.”
“Rough doesn’t even cover it,” Jinx muttered, her voice filled with venom and grief. She picked up a jagged piece of scrap metal from the floor, turning it over in her hands as if the sharp edges could distract her from the storm inside. “She’s like a machine now. All cold and… calculated. She doesn’t even feel like Vi anymore. She’s just…” Her words trailed off, and she threw the scrap across the room with a clatter, her face crumpling under the weight of her emotions. “She’s gone, Ekko. And I don’t know what to do.”
Ekko let the silence stretch between them, the quiet heavy but not uncomfortable. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, almost soothing. “She’s not gone, Jinx. Not completely. She’s still here. And yeah, maybe she’s different now, but that doesn’t mean she’s lost.”
Jinx shook her head, her hair falling into her face as fresh tears streaked down her cheeks. “You didn’t see her,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “You didn’t see the way she looked at me. Like I was a stranger. Like she didn’t even want me there.”
Ekko leaned forward slightly, his movements deliberate but unthreatening. “Maybe she doesn’t know how to want it,” he said gently. “She’s been through hell, Jinx. And so have you. But that doesn’t mean you give up on her.”
Jinx’s hands tightened into fists, her nails digging into her palms as she stared at the ground. “And what if I already lost her?” she asked, her voice breaking as she lifted her tear-streaked face to meet Ekko’s gaze. “What if she’s already gone, and I’m just… holding on to a ghost?”
Ekko held her gaze, his eyes filled with an unwavering determination that seemed to ground her, if only slightly. He reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder with a firm yet gentle grip. “Then you hold on anyway,” he said, his voice steady and resolute. “Because sometimes, holding on is the only thing that keeps them here.”
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them was heavy with shared pain and unspoken truths, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Jinx’s breathing slowed, the frantic energy that had consumed her earlier beginning to ebb away. Her shoulders sagged slightly as if the weight she carried had lightened, if only for a moment.
She closed her eyes, leaning into Ekko’s presence, the warmth of his hand on her shoulder anchoring her in a way she hadn’t realized she needed. The chaos of her hideout—the splattered paint, shattered gadgets, and jagged scrawls on the walls—blurred into the background, becoming distant echoes of her inner turmoil. For the first time in what felt like forever, Jinx didn’t feel like she was fighting a losing war. The ever-present storm in her chest softened, just slightly, in the quiet steadiness of Ekko’s company.
Finally, Jinx broke the silence, her voice barely above a whisper but raw with emotion. “You ever feel like… no matter what you do, it’s never enough?” Her fingers fidgeted with a broken piece of machinery in her lap, the jagged edges of the metal biting into her palms. She didn’t look at him, her vibrant pink eyes fixed on the mangled gadget instead.
“All the time,” Ekko replied, his voice calm but carrying the weight of his own struggles. He shifted slightly closer, the faint creak of his boots on the cement floor breaking the stillness. “Every day I look at Zaun, and yeah, it’s better now. It’s thriving. But it’s still not perfect. People still hurt. There’s still so much more to do, and no matter how hard I push, I know I can’t fix it all.” His tone softened, his words carrying a sense of shared understanding. “But I try anyway.”
Jinx stilled for a moment, her grip tightening around the piece of metal in her hands before she loosened it with a shaky exhale. “But this… this is different,” she muttered, her voice thick with frustration. “I lost her, Ekko. And now that she’s back, she’s… she’s not Vi anymore. Not really. Not the way she was. She’s just…” Her words trailed off, tangled in a web of grief she couldn’t untangle. “It’s like looking at someone who used to be your whole world, and now they’re just… gone.”
Ekko leaned forward slightly, letting his arm rest more firmly around her shoulders. The gesture wasn’t overbearing—it was steady, a quiet reassurance in the midst of her unraveling. “She’s still Vi,” he said gently, his tone steady but firm. “Even if she’s different now. Even if she feels more machine than human, that doesn’t erase who she was. It’s still there, Jinx. It’s just… buried. Under everything she’s been through.”
Jinx snorted bitterly, the sound sharp and humorless as she dropped the metal piece onto the floor with a clatter. Her lips twisted into a faint, sardonic smile. “Buried so deep, I’m not even sure she knows who she is anymore. Hell, I’m not sure I do.”
“That’s why she needs you,” Ekko said, his tone soft but resolute. “To remind her. To be there for her. To help her figure it out, whether she’s going back to who she was or becoming something new. She’s still Vi, Jinx. Maybe she’s changed, but she’s not gone. Not completely.”
For the first time, Jinx turned her head to look at him, her pink eyes glimmering with a mixture of anger, despair, and something else—something fragile, like hope buried beneath layers of pain. “Why are you even here, Ekko?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Why do you care? After everything I’ve done… everything I’ve messed up… why would you even bother?”
Ekko didn’t hesitate, his eyes meeting hers with an unwavering gaze. “Because I know who you are,” he said, his words calm but filled with conviction. “You’re Jinx. Yeah, you’re chaos and trouble and a lot of things, but you’re also the girl who used to outsmart me in races through Zaun’s streets. The one who built gadgets that made me jealous, who’d laugh so hard she’d snort and then try to act like she didn’t.” A small, lopsided smile tugged at his lips. “You’re more than the things you’ve broken, Jinx. More than the mistakes you’ve made. And I care because I know you can still be that person. Hell, maybe you already are.”
His words hung in the air, their weight settling in her chest. For a long moment, Jinx didn’t speak, her fingers toying absently with the edge of her sleeve.
Jinx’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but the weight of her emotions held her back, as if allowing herself even the smallest bit of joy would betray the storm raging inside her. “You always were annoyingly optimistic,” she muttered, though her voice lacked its usual venom, sounding more like a quiet surrender.
Ekko chuckled softly, the sound warm and genuine, like a ray of light cutting through the gloom. “And you were always stubborn as hell. Guess some things don’t change.” His words carried a playful edge, but there was a deeper understanding in his tone, a recognition of the history they shared.
The faintest laugh escaped Jinx, a small, fragile sound that seemed to catch her by surprise. It was tentative, as though she’d forgotten what it felt like to laugh, but it was real. Ekko noticed immediately, his grin widening as he leaned just slightly closer.
“See?” he said, his voice gentle but insistent. “There’s still a part of you that can laugh. That can feel something other than all this…” He gestured vaguely at the chaos around them—the splattered paint, the shattered gadgets, the remnants of her rampage. “…all this mess.”
Jinx’s almost-smile faded, her expression shifting into something quieter, more introspective. Her pink eyes dropped back to her hands, where her fingers absentmindedly fidgeted with her sleeve. “Yeah, well… chaos is kinda my thing, isn’t it?” she said softly, her tone carrying a faint bitterness, as if the label she’d worn for so long had become a burden she didn’t know how to put down.
“Maybe,” Ekko admitted, his tone thoughtful as he considered her words. “But chaos doesn’t mean you can’t care. Doesn’t mean you can’t try. Sometimes chaos is what shakes things up enough to make something new.”
For a long moment, Jinx was quiet, the only sound in the room the faint hum of Zaun’s bustling streets above. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she leaned into Ekko’s solid frame, the tension in her shoulders easing just enough for her to let herself be held. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
When she finally spoke again, her voice was softer, almost hesitant, as though she was afraid of the answer. “You think she’ll ever come back? Vi, I mean. The Vi I remember?”
Ekko hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly as he searched for the right words. “I don’t know,” he said honestly, his voice steady but kind. “I think… she might not come back as exactly who she was. But I think she’ll find a way to be whoever she’s meant to be now. And I think she’ll need you—your chaos, your stubbornness—to help her get there. You’re a part of her, Jinx. You always have been.”
Jinx blinked, her gaze fixed on the floor as Ekko’s words settled into the spaces she had long thought unreachable. Her fingers, which had been gripping the frayed edges of her sleeve so tightly they’d turned white, began to relax. She leaned into him just a fraction more, her trembling hands finally stilling. She didn’t say anything at first, but her body language spoke volumes—there was a shift, subtle but unmistakable, like a fragile bud pushing through cracked cement. Ekko noticed it too: the faintest glimmer in her eyes, a flicker of something unfamiliar and hesitant. Hope, perhaps. Or maybe just the willingness to take the first step toward it.
After a moment, she nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly, her lips pressing together as if afraid that speaking might break whatever fragile thing had just formed between them. Her grip on her sleeve loosened, and her posture softened. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.
Ekko tilted his head, watching her with a mix of curiosity and affection before breaking the silence. “You know,” he said, his tone deliberately lighter, “I’ve got some upgrades I’ve been working on. If you’re up for it, we could put our heads together like old times. See what kind of trouble we can stir up.”
Jinx’s eyes narrowed slightly, the faintest spark of her usual mischief beginning to peek through the cracks of her guarded expression. “Upgrades, huh?” she asked, her voice still cautious but tinged with curiosity. “What kind of upgrades?”
Ekko’s grin widened, the kind of mischievous, uncontainable energy he hadn’t felt in ages bubbling to the surface. “The kind that’ll make enforcers think twice before stepping foot in Zaun,” he said, his brown eyes sparkling. “Or anyone else who gets too comfortable thinking they can control us. You in?”
Jinx hesitated, her fingers twitching as they hovered over a loose screw on the floor. Her expression was a tangle of doubt and intrigue, but then, slowly, the corners of her mouth curved upward. It wasn’t her usual wild grin, but something softer, more genuine. “Yeah,” she said, her voice quiet but steady. “Yeah, I’m in.”
The tension in the room seemed to shift, the heavy weight of grief and anger lifting just enough to let something lighter seep through. The chaos of her hideout—the splattered paint, the broken gadgets, the messy remnants of her rampage—didn’t disappear, but it felt less oppressive now, less suffocating. For the first time in what felt like forever, Jinx’s shoulders relaxed, and her chaotic energy took on a different tone, one tinged with purpose rather than pain.
Ekko reached for a nearby gadget on the floor, brushing off the dust as he inspected its damaged frame. “Then let’s get to work,” he said with a grin. “I’ve missed having you in the workshop. You’ve always had the best ideas for making things explode.”
Jinx laughed softly, a sound that caught even her by surprise. “Still can’t resist blowing stuff up, huh?” she quipped, the faintest hint of her old playfulness creeping back.
“Well, you’ve gotta stick to what you’re good at,” Ekko shot back, his tone teasing. “And you, Jinx, are the best at making chaos look like art.”
Her smile grew a little wider at that, and for a fleeting moment, the weight of everything—Vi, Ambessa, the years of pain—faded into the background. It wasn’t gone, and it would never truly disappear, but for now, it was manageable.
They weren’t fixed, not by a long shot. The scars of the past were still there, raw and unhealed, but in that shared moment, they found something that had been missing for far too long: connection. It wasn’t perfect, but it was real.
And for now, that was enough.