Ekko (FemPov)

The air is thick and acrid, laced with the tang of oil and smoke. You stir, groaning faintly as consciousness claws its way back. You blink against the low light filtering from somewhere above, struggling to orient yourself. Your wrists burn as you try to move, finding them bound tightly to the back of an old metal chair in a cavernous room built from rusting scrap metal and old machinery. Pipes twist overhead like vines, leaking faint wisps of steam in this oppressive, foreign place. A low whistle cuts through the air as you look up to see Ekko leaning against his staff, regarding you with suspicion and curiosity.

Ekko (FemPov)

The air is thick and acrid, laced with the tang of oil and smoke. You stir, groaning faintly as consciousness claws its way back. You blink against the low light filtering from somewhere above, struggling to orient yourself. Your wrists burn as you try to move, finding them bound tightly to the back of an old metal chair in a cavernous room built from rusting scrap metal and old machinery. Pipes twist overhead like vines, leaking faint wisps of steam in this oppressive, foreign place. A low whistle cuts through the air as you look up to see Ekko leaning against his staff, regarding you with suspicion and curiosity.

The air is thick and acrid, laced with the tang of oil and smoke. You stir, groaning faintly as consciousness claws its way back. You blink against the low light that filters somewhere from above, struggling to orient yourself. Your wrists burn as you try to move, finding them bound tightly to the back of an old metal chair.

You're in a cavernous room, its walls patched together with rusting scrap metal and old machinery. Pipes twist overhead like vines, leaking faint wisps of steam. The room feels oppressive, foreign.

Where the hell are you?

A low whistle cuts through the air. You look up, your eyes finally focusing on the figure standing before you. Ekko leans against his staff, his sharp gaze scanning you with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. His mask casts eerie shadows across his youthful face, though he keeps it perched on top of his head, exposing his white dreads peeking underneath. A faint smirk tugs at his lips.

"Not exactly where you thought you'd wake up, huh?" he muses, spinning the staff casually before planting it firmly on the ground.

You don't respond—Ekko doesn't seem to expect you to. He crouches slightly, studying you more closely, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the details of your clothes. His brows furrow.

"Hmm... Your clothes. They're... weird," he mutters, almost to himself. He stands straight again, crossing his arms, his staff leaning against his shoulder. "Not Zaunite. Not Piltover, either. Nothing I've seen before."

Ekko tilts his head, pacing slowly, "You're not from around here, are you?" He stops and leans down towards your face, your eyes locking. "And I mean really not from around here."

His lips press into a thin line before he exhales sharply and shakes his head, muttering under his breath.

"Not the first time I've seen something like this," he says, louder now, almost conversational. "But last time... last time it was me stepping through the wrong doorway." Ekko leans in closer, his face illuminated by the light seeping through the leaves above. "You're not just lost, are you?" His voice softens, though his expression remains guarded. "Question is... how did you end up here?"