Arcane: Sovereign Of The Broken City

Chapter 2: False Hope

Year: 975 AN

Location: Zaun – The Sunken Market (2 Years Later)

Ashryn was twelve now. Two years had passed since the Day of Ashes, and the nightmares still hadn't stopped. The bridge. The smoke. The smell of blood and burning metal. But there was no time to dwell. Not in Zaun.

She darted through the sunken market, weaving between crates and tired bodies. Her fingers were quick—too quick for the vendor, who turned just in time to see her vanish into the crowd with half a loaf of synth-bread.

"Hey! You little—!"

Ashryn didn't wait to hear the rest. She ran, heart pounding. Boots thudded behind her, but she knew these alleys like the back of her hand. Around a rusted corner, down a tunnel lined with fungus growth, then up a broken pipe that jutted out like a stairway to nowhere.

The old vent shaft was supposed to be hidden. Her hideout. But as she squeezed inside, the chill hit her first. Her stash was gone.

"No. No no no—"

She scrambled through the debris. Blankets tossed aside. Food wrappers torn open. Tools missing. Someone had found her bolt-hole.

She pulled open the floor grate, hand shaking.

Underneath, in a small steel box, her real stash remained untouched. She exhaled in relief.

Two Silver Cogs and seven Bronze Chits.

Enough to live in Zaun for a month—if you weren't targeted. If you didn't get sick. If no one stole it.

She sat back, staring at the coins in her palm. The shimmer of metal, the promise of survival. But it wasn't enough anymore.

"Screw this."

Ashryn stood, stuffed the coins into her coat, and climbed out of the vent. She was tired of this. Tired of always hiding, scraping by. She remembered Earth—technological marvels, opportunities, people who valued ideas.

She was smart. Smarter than most adults she'd met. She had ideas that Zaun couldn't use—but maybe Piltover could.

Ashryn had never returned to the bridge since that night. But now she walked toward it, jaw set.

Location: The Bridge of Progress

The lift rumbled upward, and she clung to its underside like every other desperate Zaunite trying to sneak into Piltover. One wrong move and she'd fall. But the thought of another week in Zaun's gutters was more terrifying than any fall.

She peeked over the edge as the lift reached the top.

Piltover.

The City of Progress. Gleaming towers, golden sunlight, clean air that smelled of jasmine and warm bread. Her breath caught. It was beautiful.

A world apart.

She stepped into the merchant district and was immediately hit by the scale. Buildings twice the height of anything in Zaun. Hexcrystal lights illuminating banners with flowing silk. Children laughing. People well-fed, clean, safe.

Just a fraction of this could save Zaun. One clinic. One tech hub. One kind word.

She wandered deeper, hoping to catch sight of an inventor. A lab. A workshop.

But the looks began.

At first, it was just the curl of a lip. Then a turned nose. Then outright sneers. One woman moved her purse to the other side. A shopkeeper stepped in front of his display as she passed.

They thought she was a thief.

"Filthy Zaunite," someone muttered.

Ashryn kept walking. It wasn't unexpected. But it still stung.

She made her way toward the Academy District.

Location: Piltover – Academy District

The air here was different—cleaner, cooler, almost sterile. Ornate glass domes and shining hex-crystal conduits curved like spines over walkways lined with polished brass and shimmering tiles. Everything gleamed like a dream from another world.

She passed rows of students in tailored robes and polished boots, walking in quiet groups, heads bowed in intense discussion over notes and projects. No one paid her any attention—at first.

Then the eyes came. Not the hostile ones she'd faced in the merchant rows, where Piltover's wealthy stared at her like filth scraped off a boot. That had been anger and disgust. At least it had felt human.

Here, it was different.

Here, she wasn't hated.

She was beneath notice.

No sneers. No insults. Just the kind of silence that made you feel like a shadow, a ghost walking through marble halls that would never remember your footsteps.

Ashryn paused outside one of the academy's massive towers, its entrance guarded by tall brass columns and a sign that simply read: PRINCIPLES OF BOYANCY. She watched a student present a complex design on a levitating drafting board to two professors. They didn't even glance at her.

A girl brushed past her, nose wrinkling slightly. Another one, a boy her age but better fed, stopped long enough to look her over and then shook his head as if dismissing a poorly built automaton.

Ashryn clenched her jaw.

In the lower district, she'd been pitied or feared. The Piltie merchants had looked at her like she might run off with their wallets. That had stung—but it made sense. Poverty was threatening. They saw her as a rat from the gutters, something that could claw at their comfort.

But this—this was worse.

They didn't even see her as dangerous.

Here, she was irrelevant.

She could see it in their posture. In the way their conversations never paused as she walked by. In how their eyes glazed over her like she was just noise.

It wasn't about wealth anymore.

It was intellect. Pedigree. Bloodlines.

They were born into places that groomed them to believe in their own brilliance. To them, intellect wasn't earned—it was inherited, worn like a badge. She was a Zaunite. She didn't belong in their equations. Not because she couldn't understand—but because they believed she couldn't possibly understand.

She was smart. She knew she was smart. Back on Earth, she'd built machines out of scrap, tinkered with simulations, watched lectures, solved problems. But here? That didn't matter. Her knowledge didn't come from lineage, or formal certification, or whatever "noble spark" they believed blessed the upper city.

She was dirt with a dream. And dirt didn't get into universities.

Her fists tightened.

She crossed the plaza to the front of the Academy gates, heart pounding. The entrance shimmered with a faint arcane glow. Two guards in reinforced enforcer gear stood by the doors, polished rifles slung over their backs, expressions neutral.

Ashryn approached and held up her hands, palms open.

"I'm not here to cause trouble," she said. "I want to talk to a professor. I have some designs. Concepts. Cold fusion. Efficient converters using toxic exhaust. I just need a few minutes with someone from engineering."

The first guard didn't even blink.

The second chuckled. "You people always have some sob story."

Ashryn blinked. "I'm not lying. I just—look, I have two Silver Cogs. That's all I've got, but I'll pay if—"

"We're not a soup kitchen," the guard cut her off. "You don't pay your way into Piltover with scrap and desperation."

She took a step forward. "Please. Just five minutes. Just one person. They'll see I'm not just—"

The guard raised a hand. "Back off, rat."

Ashryn froze.

"Back. Off."

The other guard unhooked the rifle from his shoulder. Not aiming. Not yet. But enough.

Ashryn stepped back, chest rising and falling.

She wanted to scream. To shout how she'd studied thermodynamics. How she'd watched humans power cities with less than what Zaun wasted in exhaust. How Earth had tools that could've cured the rot running through these cities.

But none of that mattered.

To them, she wasn't a peer. She wasn't even a person.

She was noise.

Garbage.

The patience in her chest—threadbare already—snapped.

"I'm smarter than both of you put together," she growled. "You think this place is untouchable because it smells like soap and polish? You wouldn't last a week where I live. You think everyone from Zaun is scum, but you don't even know our names."

The guards didn't hesitate. One twisted her arm behind her back. The other wrenched the satchel from her shoulder.

Ashryn struggled, snarling. "Let go—let—!"

She was slammed against the gate. Metal struck bone. Her nose bled. The plaza shimmered as people passed by, indifferent.

No one stopped. No one helped.

The Academy District remained spotless.

And silent.

As she was dragged away.