Arcane: Sovereign Of The Broken City

Chapter 16: The City of Change (Part 2)

983 AN

Sep 22

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[Third Person POV]

The plaza in front of the clock tower had never been this full.

It was a chaotic harmony of scrap merchants, pit fighters, pipe kids, welders, and wanderers. Voices rose and fell like waves—gruff laughter, half-suspicious whispers, wide-eyed chatter. The scent of fried fungus, motor oil, and smoke lingered in the air. Some perched on crates, others clung to scaffolding, waiting for whatever miracle—or madness—the flyers had promised.

"I heard they're launching a chem bomb to wipe out the enforcers."

"Nah, I heard it's some kind of crystal engine—like Hextech but nastier."

"If it gets the water flowing clean, I'll worship a mushroom."

The clock tower loomed above them, still dark, silent, a beast asleep. But it had changed. Metal veins had grown along its sides, glowing faintly in patterns, like circuits etched in brass. The large gear etched into its base was now carved with strange glyphs. Something was coming.

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Near the back, a broad-shouldered woman leaned against a support beam, mechanical arm twitching faintly.

Sevika, towering and scarred, exhaled a long plume of smoke.

"Clock girl better have something more than words," she muttered.

Her crimson coat flared in the wind, the jagged edges of her prosthetic humming low.

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On the scaffolding above, a twisted figure crouched—sniffing.

Twitch, with pale fur matted by grime, eyes glowing faintly green, skittered from beam to beam with twitchy motions.

"Somethin's stirrin', somethin' big. Shiny bright poison..." he muttered to himself, tail flicking wildly.

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Singed stood still in the alley shadows. Hood drawn, vials clinking softly at his belt, he stared at the tower with detached focus.

"A controlled storm... intriguing," he whispered, scribbling notes on a worn scrap.

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On a nearby pipe railing, a white-haired teen balanced easily—Ekko, gears strapped to his chest, bat slung over his back, goggles pushed up to reveal wary brown eyes.

"You think this is real?" he asked the girl beside him.

She shrugged. "If it's fake, it's one hell of a prank."

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The silence lingered until it was shattered by a cackle.

Twitch.

The rat-man skittered up a wall, perching halfway between the plaza and the rooftops, eyes glowing faint green.

"Ooooooh, they gathered, they gathered! The tower's hungry, and the streets are full of meat!" he howled.

"It's that freak again."

"Shhh. Let him scream. He's been quiet for weeks."

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Sevika stood below him, cigarette lit, leaning against a support beam with a half-sneer.

"You know it's serious when the rat shows up sober," she muttered.

She wore her usual—thick trousers, brown vest over a sleeveless shirt, and her mechanical arm polished for once. A couple of gangsters gave her a wide berth.

"Sevika! You siding with the clock crew now?"

"I'm just watching the circus," she said.

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Benzo wandered near the front lines, arms behind his back, stroking his beard.

"Never thought I'd see the day," he murmured. "That damn tower waking up."

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The crowd was buzzing with chatter. A group entered like they owned the place.

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First came a man—lean and sharp in every step. At 5'9", the 22-year-old moved like a trader and shot like a ghost. His light brown hair peeked out from under a wide hood, and his black eyes scanned the crowd with casual detachment. A long coat billowed behind him, open to reveal layered street armor and a reinforced bandolier. The rifle slung across his back wasn't for show.

"Isn't that Cael?" someone whispered. "Took out those steam smugglers east of the Pits. Alone."

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Then came Boy. Short, wiry, and intense, the 15-year-old moved like a cornered stray—head low, eyes darting. 5'4" of scrappy motion. Ginger hair tousled wild, red eyes burning beneath it. His gloves were bloodstained leather with reinforced knuckles, and his gait had that unmistakable edge of pit-born instinct.

"That's Callum," someone murmured. "Renni's pit survivor. Beat a guy twice his size in under ten seconds."

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Next was a woman around 19. She drew more eyes than the others combined. 5'7.5", figure flawless and symmetrical—D-cup chest, tight waist, and hips that moved with grace and authority. Black hair tied back, dark brown eyes sharp behind rectangular glasses. She wore a sleeveless white blouse tucked into high-waisted black combat slacks—part-secretary, part-special ops—with a pistol holstered at one hip and a digital clipboard on the other. Every step she took was measured.

"Lynne," someone exhaled. "She flipped Margot's lieutenants with just words—and made 'em swear loyalty."

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And then came Viktor.

Tall, thin, and unmistakable. His cane tapped softly as he walked, the metallic brace on his leg whirring with each step. His unkempt brown hair framed a sharp, thoughtful face. Arcane runes faintly pulsed along the armature of his mechanical limb. He said nothing—but eyes followed him anyway.

"The inventor," someone whispered. "That's Viktor."

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And then—

People began murmuring again.

"Where's the leader?"

"Where's Ashryn?"

As if summoned by name, footsteps echoed from the far end of the plaza.

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A figure approached, part shadow, part storm.

Ashryn.

She strode up the steps like she was born on them. Her dark, formfitting cargo pants clung to powerful legs; her bright light-blue tank top shimmered in the tower's glow, showing off the curve of her midriff and sculpted abs. Dark boots hit the stone with sharp confidence. Over her shoulders hung her cloak—long, heavy, and regal. Not worn. Draped, like a throne.

Silver linings traced the hem. The Virelle insignia—a silver clock tower surrounded by broken gears and blue phoenix wings—glowed faintly on her back.

A few in the crowd gasped. Others cheered.

"Ashryn!"

"Clock Queen's here!"

She grinned wide, hands on hips.

But before the energy could settle—

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The lights died.

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[Third Person POV – Across Zaun]

The crowd tensed. Whispers turned to fidgeting. Someone started to mutter curses.

Then—

BOOOOOM.

A deep, shaking rumble surged across Zaun. The sewers vibrated. Pipes rattled. Aboveground rail lines groaned.

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Vander's mug shattered as it hit the floor.

Silco stood mid-step in his lab, head whipping toward the plaza.

"What was that?"

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[Scene Shift – Vi and the Gang]

Powder sobbed quietly as Vi and the gang trudged down the tunnel, empty-handed.

"We got jumped. Again," Claggor muttered.

"We'll try another time," Vi said, but even she didn't believe it.

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When they reached the streets—

Empty.

"What the hell?" Mylo asked.

A second later—the same BOOM.

They turned and stared.

The smog was moving.

No—being pulled. Sucked into the tower, like a vortex of smoke and filth rising toward the sky. It rushed in streams, like a reverse waterfall of fog.

Zaunites stopped in their tracks. Watched. Waited.

Ten minutes passed. No one spoke.

And then, for the first time in centuries—

The sky cleared.

They could see it. The horizon, the rim of the undercity, the glowing edge of the setting sun. No moon tonight. But something brighter.

The converter flared.

The tower's peak burst into radiant cerulean blue and shimmering silver.

Zaun glowed.

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Vi stepped forward, breath caught in her throat.

Ekko grabbed the rail with wide eyes.

Silco looked up in stunned silence.

Vander stepped out into the open, muttering, "By Janna..."

---

The crowd murmured.

The enforcers at the borders tried to move.

But Ashryn's crew moved faster—apprehending every one, taking choke points. The drawbridge had already sealed.

"That's not... possible," Vi whispered.

"It's happening," Claggor said.

"We missed it," Mylo groaned.

"No," Powder whispered. "We're right on time."

They ran.

Toward the light.

---

By the time they reached the plaza, the light had stabilized.

The tower stood tall, alive, glowing like a beacon.

And atop the stage, Ashryn stepped forward.

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[POV: Ashryn]

She could feel the heat of the converter behind her.

The hum of power under her boots.

The weight of thousands of eyes.

She grinned.

"Oi! Can ya hear me all the way back there? If not—tough luck! I ain't repeating this!"

She rested her boot on the railing.

"Alright, listen up. I ain't a councilor. I don't wear robes or carry scrolls or sit in gold-plated chairs. I'm just like you. Grew up in these streets—choked on the same smoke, ran from the same boots, bled the same color into these gutters."

"You know what Zaun is? What it's always been? A graveyard that pretends it's a home. We fight for scraps while they eat feasts. They tell us we're dangerous when we stand tall. That we're worthless if we don't kneel. They built a ceiling and called it peace. But that ceiling? I'm smashing it."

Crowd murmurs, then roars.

"Ten years ago, they burned us down. Called it order. Called it control. Called it our fault. But look around now. What do you see? Streets lit without chemsparks. Kids laughing in alleys without fear. Water that doesn't rot your skin. We did that. You did that."

"You think I built this tower alone? Pfft. Hell no. This place was built by every bruised hand that laid brick. Every soul that said 'no' and kept standing. Every one of you that chose not to give in."

"This city's got a name now.Virelle!"

The name echoed through out zaun now virelle

"A city born from poison and pain—but we turned that poison into power. And now? We're making our own rules. Not their laws. Not their pity. Ours."

"In Virelle, nobody eats last. Nobody gets forgotten. You got scars? Good. So do I. They mean we survived. And now? We live. Loudly."

"Our rules are simple! You wanna build? We got space. You wanna learn? We'll teach ya. You wanna fight? Earn your place and fight for something bigger than your own stomach."

She pulls off her coat and raises it high—the Virelle insignia catching the light.

"This is our flag. Not a banner of blood—but of change. And if they don't like it? They can choke on their ivory dust!"

Ashryn laughs, bright and bold.

"This city ain't perfect yet. But it's ours. And from here on out—Zaun doesn't beg. Zaun doesn't kneel. Zaun builds and become Virelle. Welcome to Virelle. The City of Change!"

Then everyone felt a soft soothing breeze kiss their skin.

And a soothing voice echoed in ashryn and her crews ears,"Do not fear the winds of change---they will always be at your back"

Ashryn's eyes widened and then she smiled not the one she used as a mask or the one packed with energy, no a more relaxed yet bright smile.

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When Ashryn exhaled.

She felt it—something shifting deep inside her, like gears locking into place.

A cold pulse behind her eyes. A shimmer across her vision.

Then:

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[SYSTEM INITIATION]

Congratulations.

Basic requirements met.

System initiation complete.

> >Host: Ashryn<<

>>City Registered: Virelle<<

>>City Title: City of Change<<

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The world slowed, sound dulled. A quiet chime echoed—no one else seemed to hear it.

More text flared across her mind, sharp and vivid.

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[SYSTEM NOTIFICATIONS]

Welcome bonus: +10,000 DP

Stat Panel unlocked

City Panel unlocked

Loyalty Panel unlocked

Achievement Panel unlocked

Shop unlocked

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Numbers streamed in, clean and clinical.

187 individuals with loyalty over 60: +1,870 DP

23 individuals with loyalty over 70: +2,300 DP

4 individuals with loyalty over 80: +4,000 DP

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Current DP Balance: 18,170 DP

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Ashryn's breath caught. Not from fear—this wasn't terrifying.

It was exhilarating.

A grin tugged at her lips.

"Finally," she murmured.

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[End of Act 1]