As Ekko journeyed toward Kalstead, the rhythmic hum of the zeppelin's engines accompanied him like a constant, reassuring heartbeat. The music that played faintly on the wind was sweet and lilting, its notes mingling with the gentle sway of the airship. During the day, he marveled at the sight of schools of fish swimming gracefully beneath the surface of the crystal-clear waters, their silvery bodies flashing in the sun. At night, as he carefully lowered the zeppelin onto the calm waves, those same fish shimmered like silver ribbons beneath the moonlight, their glow reflecting the serenity of the moment.
The stars overhead twinkled like diamonds, bright against the vast canvas of the night sky. Ekko leaned back, allowing the stillness to wash over him, a deep sense of peace settling in his chest. The world felt vast, full of possibility, and for the first time in a long while, he felt the weight of his past lift, replaced by the wonder of what lay ahead. He was grateful, in that quiet moment, to be experiencing it all.
Finally, after days of travel, the zeppelin soared above the tranquil beaches of Kalstead, a small city nestled at the edge of the world. The town looked peaceful, its residents seemingly unfazed by the arrival of a stranger. The buildings were modest, and the streets were quiet, yet there was a subtle energy in the air—a city brimming with untold stories.
Ekko made his way to a cozy inn, the sign swaying gently in the ocean breeze. The scent of saltwater mixed with the earthy aroma of food from the inn's kitchen, and as he stepped inside, the warmth of the lantern-lit room immediately embraced him. The fire crackled in the hearth, and the rich, savory aroma of cooking food filled the space, making Ekko's stomach growl in anticipation. He ordered a hearty meal and rented a room to freshen up after his long journey.
Revitalized, Ekko approached the innkeeper, a kindly old man with a bushy white beard and weathered eyes. "Excuse me," Ekko began, producing the faded photograph from his pocket. "Do you recognize this place?"
The innkeeper squinted at the photo, his brow furrowing as he studied the image. His expression remained puzzled. "I'm afraid I don't," he said with a shrug, handing the photo back to Ekko.
Not easily discouraged, Ekko pressed on. "Do you know anyone who might recognize it? Someone who might know where this was taken?"
The old man pondered for a moment, eyes narrowing in thought. "Hmm… let me think. There's a few old folks around here who've seen more of Kalstead than most. I might know someone who could help." He continued, asking Ekko more about the photograph, the people in it, and where he had come from.
After a few minutes of silence, the innkeeper's eyes suddenly lit up, as if a long-forgotten memory had resurfaced. "Wait," he said, his voice low but certain. "I think I know where this is. That's the old windmill on the outskirts of Kalstead. Been abandoned for years, but I remember it from my younger days. The view from there was always something special."
Ekko's heart skipped a beat. Kalstead? He had never heard Benzo mention that place before. What connection could there be?
"Thank you," Ekko said, his excitement bubbling up, a new lead lighting a spark of hope. "I think I'm one step closer to understanding Benzo's past."
The innkeeper nodded sagely, his beard swaying with the movement. "Be careful, Ekko. The past has a way of surprising you when you least expect it."
Ekko tucked the photograph back into his pocket, a sense of anticipation flooding his chest. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to come together, but how much of it would he truly understand? Only time would tell.
Slipping his backpack over his shoulder, Ekko felt the reassuring weight of his hoverboard inside. He set off toward the public transport station, taking in the modest streets of Kalstead. The city was a blend of old and new, its faded signs and worn brickwork giving way to newer constructions, each telling a story of growth and change. There was a calm rhythm to the place—fewer of the harsh, industrial sounds he was used to, and more of the natural world bleeding into the hum of human existence.
As Ekko walked, he caught sight of a group of kids playing along the roadside. They were laughing and shouting, eyes bright with mischief as they darted in and out of each other's paths. For a brief moment, Ekko was transported back to his own childhood—running wild through the streets of Zaun, chasing dreams with Vi, Powder, Mylo, and Claggy. The freedom, the joy, the chaos.
The kids before him now were no different. They were trying to paint a mural on the side of a building, their bright colors splashing across the wall in bold strokes. Ekko smiled at the sight, but his expression faltered when a policeman rounded the corner, shouting at the kids to stop.
The group scattered immediately, abandoning their work and bolting down a nearby alley. Ekko watched the scene play out with a wistful smile. He and his friends had pulled off more than a few similar stunts in their time. The thrill of defying the rules, the rush of freedom.
But as his eyes fell on the incomplete mural, his smile faded. The kids had been painting a blue monkey face with clapping hands—a striking resemblance to the toy Jinx had once cherished. The sight sent a jolt of surprise through Ekko, a flicker of recognition that felt both surreal and unsettling.
His heart raced as his mind connected the dots, but he quickly shook off the thought. It's just a coincidence, he told himself, though the unease lingered like a shadow.
Ekko climbed aboard a rusted bus, its metal frame creaking in protest as it lurched forward. The sign above the windshield read "Ravenhurst Express," and Ekko hoped it would live up to its name. He settled into a seat near the back, the vinyl beneath him groaning as he sat down, and let out a quiet sigh. The journey was far from over.
As the bus rattled along, the gentle hum of the engine and the occasional chatter of passengers filled the air. Ekko leaned back, his thoughts drifting as the cityscape of Kalstead blurred outside the window. Whatever lay ahead, he was ready to face it. The road to Ravenhurst would be his next step—one closer to the answers he was seeking.
As the bus rumbled along, the wheels groaning against the uneven road, Ekko pulled the faded photograph from his pocket once more. His fingers traced the edges of the photo as his mind replayed the fragments of Benzo's past—questions swirling like a storm that wouldn't let go. He studied the image intently, as though he could will the answers to surface if he looked long enough.
The bus conductor made her way down the aisle, her footsteps light against the creaking floorboards. She moved gracefully, collecting tickets and fares from the scattered passengers, a quiet authority in her presence. When she reached Ekko, her eyes flickered to the photo in his hand. Something in her expression shifted—a flicker of recognition or surprise—but it was gone before Ekko could fully catch it.
"Where did you get that?" she asked, her voice low, her tone almost as if she already knew the answer.
Ekko's heart skipped a beat. He wasn't ready for this. His thoughts stumbled, and he hesitated for a moment before answering. "This photo belonged to my friend," he said, his voice quieter than usual. A hint of sadness crept into his features as memories of Benzo flooded his mind, unbidden. "He died a few years back." Ekko's gaze drifted, his eyes growing distant as he thought of Benzo—his old mentor, a man who had been both a father figure and a friend. The ache of loss lingered.
The conductor's gaze softened. She placed a gentle hand on his arm, an unexpected comfort. "The girl in that photo," she said, her voice almost a whisper, "is my mother."
Ekko's mind went still. His eyes snapped back to hers, wide with surprise. What? "Really?" he asked, leaning forward in his seat, the weight of her words sinking in. "That's... that's her?"
The conductor nodded, a quiet certainty in her eyes. "Yes," she confirmed. "She's still alive. She lives here, in Ravenhurst. I visit her whenever I can."
Ekko's heart raced with a renewed sense of urgency. This was the first real lead he'd had since he discovered the photograph, the first clue that could piece together the missing parts of Benzo's story. "Do you think I could meet her?" he asked, the excitement barely contained in his voice.
The conductor smiled, her eyes gleaming with warmth. "I can take you to her," she said. "She's... well, a bit of a character, but I'm sure she'll be happy to meet you."
Ekko grinned, feeling a surge of gratitude. "Thanks," he said sincerely, feeling lighter. "I really appreciate it."
As the bus rumbled along, Maya—his unexpected guide—sat down beside him, her warm eyes reflecting a quiet curiosity. With only a handful of passengers left in the bus, the air was more relaxed, and the gentle hum of the engine became a soft backdrop for their conversation.
"So," Maya began, her tone casual but attentive, "what brings you to Ravenhurst?"
Ekko hesitated, the weight of the mystery heavy on his mind. But Maya's genuine curiosity was hard to ignore. He took a deep breath and began to share the story of Benzo—the photo, the mysterious past, the questions that had followed him since Benzo's death. Maya listened intently, her eyes focused on him, asking thoughtful questions when needed, offering her own observations in return. There was something about her, an openness that made Ekko feel comfortable—like he wasn't burdening her with his search for answers.
The bus passed through rolling hills, the countryside painting a picture of tranquil villages and wide, open fields. Ekko watched the world outside the window, his mind still racing through the possibilities, but there was a calmness in Maya's presence that steadied him.
Finally, the bus began to slow, pulling into the small town of Ravenhurst. The soft sounds of the countryside mixed with the occasional chirp of birds, signaling their arrival. Maya stretched her arms over her head as she stood up, smiling at Ekko.
"Well," she said with a grin, "I think this is my stop." She turned toward the driver, speaking to him briefly before returning her attention to Ekko. "I'm taking the rest of the day off. Would you like to meet my mother?"
Ekko nodded eagerly, the anticipation in his chest now a palpable energy. "I'd like that very much."
Maya smiled and spoke to the driver once more, arranging for him to take over her duties. With a fluid motion, she led Ekko off the bus and onto the quiet streets of Ravenhurst.
They stopped in front of a cozy little cottage, nestled at the edge of the quiet town. The cottage was surrounded by a lush garden, its vibrant flowers bursting in a kaleidoscope of colors. The air was fragrant with the scent of blooms and fresh earth, and the soothing sounds of birdsong drifted lazily through the warm breeze. The cottage, simple yet inviting, felt like a haven from the outside world.
Maya reached for the door and pushed it open gently, the wooden frame creaking softly in the quiet of the afternoon. "Mom, I'm home! And I've brought a friend," she called, her voice warm and familiar, filling the air with a sense of belonging.
A honey-colored voice responded from the kitchen, soft yet full of life. "Welcome, dear! I'll be right there."
Maya smiled and led Ekko inside. The living room was cozy, with mismatched furniture that somehow worked together, and a crackling fire in the hearth. A steaming teapot and two cups were already set out on the coffee table, the faint smell of herbs and warmth inviting them to relax. The scene was peaceful, filled with a quiet kind of comfort.
A moment later, a woman appeared from the kitchen. She was in her sixties, with silver hair pulled back in a loose bun, and her face was lined with the years of a life well lived—both gentle and weathered by time. Despite her age, there was a youthful sparkle in her eyes, a gleam that spoke of stories untold. Her smile could light up the entire room, as though she carried an endless well of warmth within her.
Maya introduced Ekko with a soft gesture, and they both sat down on the sofa together, the quiet buzz of the cottage wrapping around them like a blanket. Ava poured the tea, her hands steady despite the years, and they sat in companionable silence for a moment, savoring the calm and the shared company.
The weight of the moment settled in Ekko's chest. He knew why he was here. His fingers brushed the edge of the photograph in his pocket, and with a deep breath, he pulled it out. "I found this among Benzo's belongings," he said quietly, handing the photo to Ava.
As her eyes fell upon the photograph, Ava's entire demeanor shifted. Her smile faltered, and the light in her eyes dimmed for a brief moment, replaced by a look of profound sorrow. Her gaze remained fixed on the photo as a wave of emotion swept over her, her eyes welling up with unshed tears.
"Where did you find this?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
Ekko hesitated for only a moment, his voice softening. "It was in his things… after he passed. I didn't know who the people in the photo were… until now."
Ava barely seemed to hear him. She was lost in the past, her mind wandering back through memories that were both joyous and painful. Her fingers traced the edges of the photograph, but it seemed as though she were seeing something far beyond the picture.
A single tear fell onto the photo's worn surface, quickly followed by another, as if the floodgates had opened. Maya, watching her mother with a mixture of tenderness and concern, placed a comforting hand on Ava's shoulder. The silence between them felt heavy, the air thick with memories too powerful for words.
Ekko sat still, mesmerized by the quiet moment, as if time itself had slowed. The past seemed to pour out of Ava in waves, and he was left holding the fragile thread of a history he had only just begun to understand.
Just as it seemed Ava might speak, something sudden and violent shattered the stillness. A loud, thunderous noise shook the little cottage, the sound reverberating through the walls and sending a jolt through the air. It was too close. Too loud.