14. Of Smoke And Schemes
---
POV: Singed – Abandoned Chem-Lab Beneath Zaun
The lab groaned under its own history—walls blackened by chemical burns, pipes hissing with aged decay, and operating tables littered with obsolete designs and decaying prototypes. Singed moved with the calm of someone who had long since buried both guilt and hope. He adjusted the vitals of Subject 14—a failure, like the thirteen before it. The shimmer coursing through her had stabilized her vitals but stolen her humanity.
He made a note. 'No cognitive restoration.'
His hand hovered over the lever that would flood the room with decontaminants, reducing the body to ash. But he hesitated. Not because of sentiment, but because it was always the same. No innovation. No break. No point.
Then he heard her.
"Singed."
Her voice didn't echo. It carved.
Ashryn Virelle descended the rusted stairwell, her footsteps deliberate. Her coat was open, soaked from the acid rain above, her silver-blue eyes gleaming like polished glass.
"I thought rats didn't leave their nests," Singed rasped, turning.
Ashryn gave a half-smile. "Only when there's nothing left to scavenge."
She stepped forward and laid a sealed scroll across a rusted tray, its wax insignia crackling as it met metal.
Singed lifted it, eyebrows twitching. When he unrolled it, something in his chest tightened.
> Blueprint: Techmaturgical Golem (Original Prototype)
It was beautiful. Elegant. Impossible. The kind of design he'd long since assumed was fantasy. A body—fully artificial yet capable of feeling, moving, adapting. A vessel worthy of the mind that had once called him father.
"You brought this why?" he asked, voice low.
Ashryn shrugged. "Because I'm done cleaning up shimmer corpses. Because I need builders, not butchers. Because I know you're smarter than this."
Singed's eyes narrowed. "You know what this is. You know who this was meant for. Orianna. How do you know so much about her?"
Ashryn tilted her head. "Last time I was here, I came across her file. Her name stuck with me."
"You read her report?"
"I remember every word."
"You're lying," he whispered. "You'd have to understand her... to feel what this meant."
"I don't lie, Singed. And I don't pretend to feel things I don't." She tapped the scroll. "But I know what it's like to lose someone and have no way to fix it. This blueprint... it gives you a path. A direction."
"You assume I've abandoned my cause," he muttered.
"You haven't," she said, voice firm. "But your cause abandoned you. Silco doesn't want a cure. He wants obedience. Shimmer gives him that. You know it."
He didn't argue. Of course he knew.
Ashryn stepped closer. "I want change. Real, surgical change. I want Zaun to live again. You help me, and I'll give you everything you need to bring her back. But you burn this lab. Burn every drop of shimmer in it. And walk away."
Silence.
And then, a breath.
"You ask much," he said.
"I offer more."
The silence stretched like a wire about to snap.
And then—motion! He turned. Twisted the emergency purge valve. A siren screamed through the rusted vents. Vats ruptured with violent coughs of pressure. Blue smoke hissed and shimmer tanks burst like blisters.
Ashryn didn't flinch. She stood with arms crossed, watching as years of obsession and decay went up in smoke.
"Let's go," she said as the last tank collapsed.
Singed followed without a word.
---
POV: Silco – Returning to the Lab
Smoke and ruin met him like betrayal.
Silco's boots crunched across shattered glass. The walls wept shimmer runoff, the pipes bled vapor like veins slit in rage.
"Singed!" he bellowed.
No answer. No echo. Only the whisper of betrayal.
His face twisted with fury. The last sanctuary of his power—gone. The lab had been more than a facility. It had been proof of concept. Control. Leverage.
He activated a rusted comm terminal.
"Finn. Get her."
"Who?"
"Marcus's daughter."
There was a pause.
"You're serious?"
Silco's eye twitched. "Bring her. We play this Ashryn's way, we lose. So we break the board."
---
POV: Silco & Marcus – Stillwater Hold
Rain lashed against the iron walls of Stillwater. Marcus paced in the loading yard, nerves frayed. The gates opened, and two of Silco's men emerged, dragging a soaked, shivering girl between them.
Marcus lunged forward. "Let her go!"
"She's insurance," Silco said, stepping into the light. "Unless you want her to be a casualty."
Marcus snarled. "You swore—"
"I swore nothing," Silco interrupted. "You let Ashryn walk over you. I need eyes inside. Keys. Clearance. Give me that, and you get her back."
Marcus hesitated, trembling. His daughter's sobs stabbed at him harder than any threat.
"I'll help you," he said, voice breaking. "But if she's harmed—"
"She won't be," Silco said with mock reassurance. "Unless you fail again."
---
POV: Ashryn – Ashenheart War Room
The storm outside mirrored the tension in the War Room. Ashryn stood at the central table, staring down at the map. Lynne hovered nearby, flicking through dossiers.
"Silco and Marcus met at Stillwater," Lynne said. "Our sources confirm it. No intel on what was discussed."
Cael leaned in. "That can't be good."
Ashryn's eyes didn't blink. "Then we don't wait to find out."
Lynne looked up. "Initiative?"
Ashryn's voice was low and sharp. "Strike now. Hard."
She turned to Sevika and Vander. "You two hit the Lanes. No mercy. Flush Piltover's men out of there."
"To take back Vander's turf?" Sevika murmured. "I'll gladly oblige."
Ashryn nodded. "Callum, you strike the Sumps. That's Silco's ground. I want it bleeding before he knows what hit him."
"And Stillwater?" Lynne asked.
"I'll take Vi and hit the front gates myself."
Cael blinked. "Three-pronged assault?"
Ashryn stared at the board. "They think they can collude in the dark. Let's light them up."
A chime echoed from the wall-mounted interface. "Sovereign. You may wish to see this."
A projection flickered to life. Grainy at first, then sharpening into clarity.
The feed showed a girl—tall, lean, and nimble—sneaking past a patrol post at the Lanes border. She moved with expert precision, timing her steps with the flickers of light and the sounds of distant machinery. Her navy coat was mud-streaked, and her rifle was tucked tightly to her back.
Ashryn leaned in.
"That's Caitlyn," she said quietly.
Sevika blinked. "Who?"
"She's a Councilor's daughter. Powerful family. Trained by Captain Grayson herself."
Cael frowned. "If we capture her—"
"Piltover might fold without a fight," Ashryn finished. "Yes. But it'd be out of fear. Not respect. They'd never understand our strength. Just our threat."
Vi crossed her arms. "So? What's the move?"
Ashryn's eyes narrowed. "The plan remains. We take the sectors. But I'm adding a personal detour."
"To bring her to Marcus?" Lynne asked.
"Exactly. Let's see how he reacts to his world unraveling."
Jarvis inclined his head on-screen. "Understood, Sovereign."
Ashryn rolled her eyes. "Jarvis, we've talked about this. 'Sovereign' is a title, not an address. In casual settings, call me Ashryn. In formal ones, Lady Ashryn. And that goes for everyone else, too."
Jarvis blinked once. "Acknowledged. Adjusting protocol."
Everyone smiled but nodded.
---
Zaun was a city of smoke and iron, but tonight it pulsed with the tension of an oncoming storm. The streets whispered of armies on the move. Of broken alliances. Of betrayal.
Three sectors remained:
The Lanes: Once Vander's stronghold, now occupied and fortified by Piltover enforcers.
The Sumps: Currently held by Silco's loyalists—dangerous, aggressive, and deeply entrenched.
Stillwater Hold: Piltover's last bastion in Zaun, a fortress of law turned into a den of uneasy politics.
Against them stood Ashryn. Virelle. Eight sectors united. Ministries rising. Technology building. Hope, sharpened into strategy.
And tomorrow, Zaun would burn its chains—or break trying.
---