Arcane: Sovereign Of The Broken City

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Chapter 16: The Weight of Names

POV: Vander → Ashryn

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[Vander's POV]

The smell of cheap oil and better ale lingered in the air. The Last Drop hadn't changed in years—dim lights, cracked wood counters, the hum of quiet conversations beneath louder ones. It thrummed like a tired heart, slow but steady.

Vander wiped down the bar with one hand while the other kept a lazy eye on the patrons. Locals, mostly. A few smuggling runners, some broken men trying to forget. Same old.

Vi and Powder were tucked into a corner booth. Vi, all fire and spit at eleven, was teaching her little sister how to throw a jab without knocking herself over. Powder was laughing, too loudly.

He grumbled something about trouble, but the corner of his mouth twitched into a half-smile.

He hadn't heard anything strange tonight. Not yet.

Then he noticed her.

A girl, no older than fifteen, sitting alone by the side wall. Hood pushed back, arms folded, a plate of roasted tubers barely touched. She wasn't there to eat.

She was watching him.

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[Ashryn's POV]

Vander...

She studied him through the steam rising off the kitchen vents. Broad-shouldered, arms crossed like the weight of Zaun rested on them—and maybe it did, in his mind. The man was worn, like a rusted rail—still strong, but groaning with strain.

He hadn't changed much from what she remembered of Arcane. He still played the peacekeeper, the barkeep, the reluctant hero.

Ashryn let her gaze drift to the side.

Vi and Powder. Tiny, wild things. A tempest waiting to grow into a storm.

They're just kids, she thought. But soon enough, they'll be more than that. If I want to lift Zaun to the global stage, I'll need them too.

She wasn't here to reminisce. She was here for answers.

Her turf—the Clock Tower district—was small compared to Vander's name or Silco's reach. But it was clean, safe, functioning. That should be enough. Any half-decent leader would know of her by now. Maybe not fear her, but at least respect what she was building.

And if they couldn't respect that?

Then they had no place in the future she was carving out.

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She finished her plate, left the silver cog in exact change, and approached the bar.

"Vander," she said, casually.

He glanced her way. Recognition flared in his eyes—not sharp, but familiar. "You're that girl with the turf around the old Clock Tower," he said. "Ash, right?"

"Ashryn."

He nodded, more out of politeness than interest. "You're doing well for yourself. But don't go overreaching. Zaun isn't kind to the ambitious."

She smiled. "Noted."

There was silence as she leaned against the bar. The clatter of Vi laughing in the background softened the tension. Then she asked:

"Hypothetically... If someone tried to unite Zaun, not with force, but structure. Infrastructure. Industry. If someone tried to make Zaun independent of Piltover... would you step aside or stand in their way?"

Vander's expression didn't change for a moment.

Then he exhaled through his nose.

"If you could do it without destroying this city," he said slowly, "I wouldn't stop you. I'd even help."

Ashryn's eyes narrowed slightly.

"But," he continued, voice turning heavier, "if you plan to fight Piltover—no matter your reasons—you'll bring war down on all of us. Even if you win... Zaun won't survive it."

Ashryn gave a small nod.

"Thanks," she said, voice unreadable.

And then she left.

Expected, she thought. Disappointing—but expected.

He may be good to his own people... but he's not the hero I hoped he'd be. And definitely not the champion Zaun needs.

Give me Warwick over this Vander any day... At least he had claws.

Still, she needed him alive. Connected. Especially to Vi, Powder, and even Ekko through the old ties.

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[Silco's Office – Later That Night]

Ashryn didn't bother sneaking through Silco's operations like she had before. This time, she walked right into his office.

He was behind the desk, swirling a glass of dark fluid, his eye twitching at her sudden entrance—but not surprised.

"So the infamous girl of the Clock Tower comes to me," he drawled. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Ashryn crossed her arms.

"I'm uniting Zaun. Bringing it to stand shoulder to shoulder with Piltover. As equals. Trade. Business. Power. We stop crawling. We stand."

Silco's silence stretched into a soft chuckle.

"I see. An idealist." He set the glass down and leaned forward, clasping his hands.

"I've heard your name. The girl with clean streets and a lot of mouth. But you're wrong."

Ashryn tilted her head. "Enlighten me."

"Piltover doesn't want our trade. They want our labor. Our silence. Our deaths."

He rose to his feet, voice sharpening.

"You don't show them equality with your inventions. You show them equality with their dead. When their towers burn and they're choking on the same toxins they made us breathe, then they'll listen."

Ashryn didn't flinch.

"You're broken," she said. "I get it. I really do. But I'm not here to kill hope. I'm here to build it."

She turned and left as Silco continued his speech, lost in the sound of his own gospel.

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[Clock Tower District – A Few Hours Later]

The clang of the iron door shut behind her.

She was home.

Lynne was sprawled across the makeshift couch, flipping through old maps. Cael was leaned back in a chair, one boot propped on the table, chewing on jerky. Viktor had just returned from a supply run, metal fingers twitching with soot.

"You're back," Lynne said, sitting up.

"Finally," Cael muttered. "Thought we'd have to send a flare."

Ashryn gave a tired grin. "Don't tempt me."

"So?" Viktor asked.

Ashryn exhaled deeply, letting the tension fall off her bones.

"They're not joining us. Not now. But they won't stop us... yet."

The others didn't look surprised.

Cael threw a pouch onto the table. "Then let's get back to it. Spies to place. Rats to feed. Whole damn Cauldron to reshape."

Ashryn let out a soft laugh.

The kind that carried no humor, but all the weight of someone finally moving forward.

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Above them, unnoticed again, a pale blue bird perched quietly on a rusted pipe jutting through the broken rafters. Its head tilted. Watching.

Then, as the crew huddled together around the glowing converter prototype and the map of Zaun sprawled across their planning table, it fluttered into the thick, smoke-laced air.

Vanishing with the wind.

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