Arcane: Sovereign Of The Broken City

Chapter 11: The Tower and the Tangle

POV: Ashryn

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Territory wasn't claimed in Zaun.

It was carved out—inch by inch, with grit, fists, and more than a little blood.

Ashryn first earned hers when a half-dozen gangsters tried to mug her outside a rusted ration chute just south of the Clock Tower ruins.

By the time she was done, three ran, two couldn't, and the last crawled away leaving a blood trail behind. Word spread fast in places where nothing changed. A lone girl, no name, no banner, throwing down hardened thugs and walking away with nothing but a bruised jaw and a smirk.

That was when the Cauldron started watching her.

She hadn't planned on staying in this part of the Fissures. It was too close to Renni's old turf, too soaked in desperation and smoke. But something about the broken silhouette of the Clock Tower—its jagged spine slicing the smog-choked skyline—felt… right.

It had survived the Day of Ashes.

So would she.

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The first recruits weren't really recruits.

They were scraps.

Low-rung thugs whose bosses went missing, corner boys who didn't have anywhere else to run, a few pissed-off girls who'd been burned one too many times.

They came because she fought back. Because she made things move. Because she didn't just survive—she pushed forward.

Ashryn didn't trust them. Not fully. But she let them think she did. The ones who kept coming back, day after day, earned their place. Not through loyalty—loyalty was cheap—but through consistency. Resolve.

In time, they started calling her Ash, like the tower. Like the fire that didn't go out.

She didn't correct them.

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Ash's strategy was simple: no grand speeches, no empty promises. She made the streets safer a block at a time, drove off the worst scum, and left the rest to see what came next.

When a small-time smuggler gang tried to strong-arm one of her new kids, Ash turned up, broke their leader's hand with a pipe, and left their haul untouched.

"I'm not here to steal," she told them. "But if you cross my line again, I'll take more than cargo."

They didn't come back.

Lines formed. Boundaries etched themselves into rust and alleyways.

It wasn't much.

But it was hers.

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She didn't forget about Lynne, Cael, or Viktor either.

If her plan was to build something—something real, something that could last—she had to keep her crew sharp and motivated. So, every now and then, she'd do a quiet sweep. Check up without being seen. It wasn't distrust, not exactly.

It was habit. Discipline.

Lynne had taken up a bolt-hole near the South Grate Exchange, turning an old air pump bay into something like an office. She worked odd deals, whispered things into the right ears, and—somehow—always knew what was happening a day before anyone else.

Ash didn't interrupt.

Just watched her move.

Girl was sharp. A little guarded, but you couldn't buy instinct like that.

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Cael, on the other hand, was harder to track.

The kid moved like smoke through a pipe system—never staying long, never getting caught. He always had a pistol hidden and a deal in the works. He'd pick up odd jobs in Smeech's old circles, gathering info without drawing too much heat.

But Ashryn noticed something.

He was pushing lately. More risks, tighter moves, quieter routes.

And from what she picked up watching from the rooftops, he wasn't the only one moving bold.

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She even circled back to watch Viktor once or twice.

Always buried in blueprints and builds, holed up in an abandoned lab carved beneath the lower sectors. Quiet. Tired. But sharp.

His brilliance was obvious—but so was his hesitation.

Ashryn could tell he hadn't fully moved on from Singed. Not emotionally. Maybe not ideologically either. But he was drifting, trying to stand on his own. Still Zaunite at heart, still trying to build something that mattered.

But he was stuck. Alone. No funding. No faith from the people above or below.

She wanted to help. But the blueprints she already gave is more than enough, anymore and he will need to join me fully. So for now… she watched.

And waited.

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Then there were the two pillars of the old world—Vander and Silco.

Ashryn had hoped—once—that she could rally under one of them. Offer her mind, her grit, maybe even her dreams. But two years of watching taught her what optimism wouldn't.

They weren't heroes.

They were leaders. Men broken in different ways by the Day of Ashes.

Vander—strong, noble, kind to his people. But tired. Reluctant. Afraid to take the final step.

Silco—driven, bold, dangerous. But unhinged. Willing to drown a city if it meant painting a victory on the ruins.

Still, she hadn't ruled them out.

"Maybe… if I act first. If I build something real… maybe they'll back off. Or at least stay out of my way."

But right now, she had no clue how to convince either of them.

So, she did what she always did.

Worked. Watched. Waited.

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That night, she returned to her makeshift room beneath the gears of the tower, torchlight casting long shadows across blueprints, bullets, and torn ration wrappers.

Territory claimed. Plans underway.

But something gnawed at her gut.

She hadn't seen Cael or Lynne in two days.

And in Zaun… two days was more than enough to lose everything.

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She started with Cael.

Traced his usual haunts. A pawn shop near Glassjaw Corner. A noodle stand run by a blind guy named Torm. Nothing.

No sign of the kid.

She wasn't panicked—Cael could handle himself—but something didn't feel right. He usually left signs.

Even when he didn't mean to.

Then came a whisper on the wind—one of her watchers saw a skirmish break out near the Bonewalk. Two rival crews.

One had Cael.

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That same day, while circling back toward the refinery wall, Ash overheard another name whispered at a black market pipe stall.

Lynne.

Trapped in a bad trade, something about stolen formulas and an angry buyer.

Two targets. Same day.

Neither knew the other existed.

But both were hers.

And this city didn't get to take what was hers.

Not anymore.

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She stood atop the Tower that night, a faded tarp cloak fluttering behind her as wind scraped off the skyline. Her coat half-buttoned, hair whipping in the wind. Fingers curled over the edge of the cracked stone.

A low chuckle slipped from her lips.

"This city never sleeps. Guess I won't either."

Time to move.

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END OF CHAPTER