Ending the Cycle || A Timebomb Fanfic

XXI

And so it begins....

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The sun glinted off the metal casing of the bomb as Jinx worked with meticulous precision, her fingers deftly adjusting the wiring beneath its painted surface. The pink and blue hues she had splashed across it days earlier caught the light, giving the deadly contraption an oddly whimsical appearance. Her tongue poked out slightly in concentration, and Ekko watched her from a cautious distance, his eyes darting to the towering petricite prison looming above them. Shadows stretched across the cobblestones, cast by the large structure and the guards patrolling the parapets.

They had chosen this corner of the prison carefully—hidden from the elevated guard posts and tucked just out of sight of the Mageseekers patrolling below. Earlier that morning, they had crept past the perimeter, cloaked in the early dawn shadows. The other Illuminators, assigned to infiltrate the gates and breach the cells, had slipped into position while Jinx and Ekko took on the more precarious task of setting the diversion.

Jinx knelt low to the ground, her breath even as she worked, her usually manic energy subdued by the weight of the task at hand. Ekko crouched behind her, one hand gripping the sword strapped to his side, a gift from Lux, his sharp eyes scanning for any sign of movement. The hum of tension between them was palpable, but beneath it, there was an unspoken rhythm—a partnership forged in the fire of shared battles and unyielding trust.

The morning had been a blur of preparation and nerves, the temple buzzing with frantic energy as the resistance readied for the rebellion. Blades were sharpened, bombs packed, and weapons distributed among those brave or desperate enough to fight. Among the chaos, Jinx and Ekko had found a moment of quiet solidarity. In a small corner of the temple, they had adorned themselves, as they had done before Piltover's battle—a tradition, of sorts, to brace themselves for the chaos to come.

Ekko had stumbled upon a stash of old paint tucked away in one of the spare rooms of the temple's basement. The faded labels and cracked lids hinted at its age, but it didn't matter. When he handed the jars to Jinx, her face lit up with a rare and genuine smile, the kind that softened the sharp edges she carried. She snatched the paint from his hands eagerly, the vibrant colors already sparking a flicker of excitement in her restless energy.

As she set to work with an almost childlike glee, Ekko stayed behind, taking a moment to ready himself. He dipped his fingers into the white paint, letting the cool, thick liquid smear across his skin as he traced the shape of an hourglass across his face. The lines were deliberate, each stroke a reminder of the time that had always been his to command, his greatest ally and his heaviest burden. Though the Zero-drive was long gone, sacrificed for a battle that now felt like a lifetime ago, the symbol still held meaning. Time remained his element, even without the device—a constant companion, fleeting and unforgiving.

As he painted, his thoughts wandered to Jinx. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, her blue hair falling in wild strands as she crouched over the paint, completely engrossed in her self-styled masterpiece. His lips curled into a faint smile. There was something captivating about her in moments like this, when the chaos inside her settled just enough to reveal the spark of creativity that had always burned brightly within her.

For Ekko, time was no longer just a tool—it was a gift, a fleeting resource to be cherished. And if his remaining moments were to be spent in the shadow of this impending rebellion, he knew exactly where he wanted to be: here, with her.

Jinx, ever the agent of chaos, had transformed Lux's Demacian garment into something unrecognizable. What had once been a pristine and modest outfit now hung in jagged shreds, twisted and torn until it bore her signature style: a riot of asymmetry and rebellion. Bold streaks of paint in vibrant pinks and electric blues snaked across her arms and face in jagged, unapologetic patterns, turning her into a living beacon of defiance.