Arcane: Sovereign Of The Broken City

Location: Zaun – Fissures, Secondary Pit Compound (Underground)

POV: Third Person (Focused on Ashryn)

The taste of rust clung to the air.

Ashryn stood barefoot on the cracked stone floor, wrists bound behind her, flanked by two guards. They'd fetched her before the bell rang, not wanting the others to stir. The hall reeked of old blood, metal, and burnt oil. A torch sputtered low near the corridor's end, casting long shadows.

She smiled to herself.

Perfect lighting for a prison break.

"Move," one of the guards growled, prodding her forward.

Ashryn stumbled slightly on purpose, earning a sharp jab in the ribs. She hissed, more annoyed than hurt. "Keep poking me like that, and I'll start thinking you're sweet on me."

The smaller guard barked a laugh. "Feisty little rat."

Ashryn kept her eyes low, tracking the hallway as they approached the side chamber. No windows. One door. That would be where the manager reviewed fighters.

Two inside. Twenty-five outside.

If everything went right, they'd never get to scream for help.

---

Inside the Review Room

The pit manager—Grahl, a burly ex-fighter with a bald head and a neck like a tree trunk—leaned over a table of scribbled ledgers. His second, a lanky woman named Virsa with twitchy fingers and a taser gauntlet, stood beside him.

They barely looked up as Ashryn was shoved inside.

Grahl muttered, "This her?"

Virsa nodded. "Quick. Fast. Too clean to be one of ours."

Ashryn gave a mock curtsey, wrists still bound. "You're too kind. I do exfoliate."

Virsa sneered. "Strip her. Full inspection. If she's gonna serve, we need to see what breaks."

Ashryn's smile sharpened.

That was the cue.

---

With a flick of her wrist, the hidden lockpick—carved from the heel of her sandal—popped the cuffs. She ducked, spun, and drove her shoulder into the guard behind her. He hit the ground with a thud.

The second reached for his blade, but Ashryn was already on him, driving her knee into his groin and wrenching the dagger from his belt in one smooth motion.

By the time Grahl and Virsa looked up, the two guards were twitching on the floor.

Ashryn raised the dagger and grinned.

"Hi. I'll be conducting today's evaluation."

---

Grahl bellowed and charged.

She sidestepped, slicing the back of his knee, and rolled away just as Virsa fired her taser. The bolt crackled past and slammed into the wall.

Ashryn threw the dagger.

It wasn't a kill shot—it wasn't meant to be. It sunk into Virsa's shoulder, forcing her to drop the gauntlet with a shriek. Grahl roared again, stumbling from his bleeding leg, swinging wide. She ducked and countered, driving a metal spike—taken from the wall mount—into his throat.

Grahl gurgled. Staggered. Fell.

Virsa screamed.

Ashryn pounced.

---

She didn't kill Virsa. Yet.

She needed her alive long enough to unlock the broadcast gate and open the cells.

Virsa tried to crawl away, but Ashryn dragged her by the collar, slamming her hand onto the console. "Unlock the holding pens," she hissed. "Now."

"You'll die," Virsa spat. "Even if you get out. The Barons will find you."

Ashryn leaned closer, her voice almost a whisper. "Good. Let them try."

With a trembling finger, Virsa complied.

---

Elsewhere in the Compound

The klaxons didn't ring.

But the locks clicked.

Dozens of cells opened with a chorus of screeches and metal grinds.

The pit fighters stared at the doors in silence, then at each other, then at the fire spreading in Ashryn's trail.

A girl covered in grime and scars emerged from the smoke, dragging a baton and bleeding from her arm.

"I don't know who opened the doors," she said. "But I'm not waiting to find out."

Others grabbed what they could—pipes, knives, broken chair legs.

Chaos bloomed like a sickness.

---

Back in the Office

Ashryn slammed Virsa's head against the wall and left her limp. She turned back, grabbed the announcement mic.

Static crackled.

She pressed the button.

"To everyone I've ever fought, watched, or ignored in this place: run. Fight. Or rot. The chains are off."

She dropped the mic.

The compound erupted.

---

Ten Minutes Later

Ashryn sprinted through smoke and screams, darting between burning bunks and broken bodies. The guards had rallied, but too slow. Too arrogant.

Slaves had numbers. Desperation. And nothing to lose.

A gang of them had cornered one of the watchmen, beating him with rebar until his skull cracked like glass. She winced. Untrained chaos was ugly, but necessary.

Someone called her name—"Ash!"—and she turned to see a girl she recognized, half her face swollen, waving her toward the east corridor.

The exit.

But Ashryn turned the other way.

Toward the fuel room.

---

She burst inside, overturned the canisters, lit a torn blanket with a nearby torch. The flames caught fast. The smoke was already thick.

By the time she ran back toward the exit, her lungs were burning.

She didn't stop.

Ashryn burst from the east corridor just as the first explosion tore through the compound behind her. Heat singed her back. Debris flew.

She didn't look back.

---

Later – Back in the Fissures

Ashryn crouched inside a hidden pipe under a ruined catwalk. Blood stained her shirt. Her knuckles ached. Her eyes were dry.

Then they weren't.

She laughed. Not from joy. Not from madness.

But from relief.

"That was... incredibly stupid," she muttered.

A rat scurried past.

She looked up at the glowing green haze of Zaun's underbelly.

"I'm gonna need a bigger knife."

She leaned back, exhaustion slamming into her like a crashing wave. Her breath came in shallow gasps as her heart slowed its frantic pace. Pain traced every joint in her body—bruised ribs, sliced thigh, blistered palms. She'd done it. She'd survived.

But this wasn't victory.

Not yet.

She closed her eyes. In the silence that followed, her thoughts drifted to the others still in cages across Zaun. Other pits. Other children. Other monsters wearing smiles like Renni's. Her hand curled around a shard of metal she'd pocketed on the way out—her souvenir. A reminder.

"Next time," she whispered, more to herself than anyone, "we burn it all."