Hello, like many of you, Arcane had been playing on my mind. Couldn't quite get it out of my head. So, I've wrote up story. A continuation of sorts as I couldn't leave these characters alone. Please if you read it, let me know what you think! Forgive me if the characters feel OOC, but I've tried my best.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of Arcane
Act 1 Chapter 1: New World Order
If she had to sum up her current mood in one word right now it would be underwhelmed. Maybe her expectations had been unrealistic, but she had expected so much more. The breeze tugged at her hair, and the sprawling view below seemed to stretch forever, but the experience dragged, far slower and duller than she'd hoped. The vast, unbroken waters beneath seemed to pull time into a crawl, as if the entire world were caught in a sluggish dream.
As a child, she had longed for this—soaring through the skies on a grand airship, chasing sunsets and adventure. In her mind, it had been magical, thrilling, alive. But now, sitting here, the reality was far removed from those vivid daydreams. With a frustrated huff, she blew a stray blue bang from her eyes and let herself sink against the curved wall of the upper deck. The cool metal pressed against her back as she slid into a sitting position, the weight of disappointment settling like a stone in her chest.
Perhaps she was being too harsh. After all, she'd just come off a whirlwind of excitement and chaos—more than most people could handle in a lifetime. Still, she didn't let her thoughts drift too far back. The past few days — her days in Zaun were a closed chapter now. She was moving forward. For better or worse.
Everyone deserved that—a chance at happiness, a life unburdened by her presence, her troubles. It was better this way. Cleaner. Simpler. Distance had a way of untangling knots, even if it left her feeling like the loose end.
She couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for those she'd left behind. Her departure had been necessary, but she knew it would tear her sister apart. Still, she believed in her strength. Her sister was resilient, always had been. And with Caitlyn by her side, she wouldn't have to face the storm alone. They would get through it together.
But Ekko…that was a little trickier. She had broken a promise, after all. They had vowed to see each other on the other side of the fight, but she had failed him. And after everything he'd done for her, after the time they'd spent together the week before, it felt like a betrayal she couldn't undo.
The Firelight hideout, with its worn walls and flickering lanterns, felt almost like a dream. He had made her want to stay, to build something lasting, and those moments felt like they could stretch on forever. The mural, his wild stories of them in another life—it was all so impossible yet so real in his eyes. But it was the trust in his gaze that hurt the most.
Ekko had seen another version of her, a version she couldn't live up to. The belief he had in her, that unshakable hope, almost made her believe, too. But she couldn't. She couldn't ignore the inevitable. Sooner or later, she would disappoint him, let him down. And how many times could he bear that? How many times before those hopeful eyes would dim, from trust to doubt, from belief to despair?
Leaving, with the memory of the good times intact, was the only way to preserve what they had. It was the kindest thing she could do—for him and for herself.
She'd be lying if she said she wasn't lonely. In fact, this was probably the loneliest she'd ever felt in her life, especially after imagining a happy ending. The late-night talks with him, the plans for the future—what they'd do after everything settled. A happy ending with her sister, a happy family, and a life with… him.
She wrapped her arms around her knees, drawing them close to her chest, and leaned her head to the side. Her long bangs fluttered in the wind, brushing softly against her face before being swept away.
She wasn't even sure where she was headed anymore. She had just boarded the quickest craft out, no questions asked. Some place—Iona or Ionia, or something like that. She didn't care. She was just so tired. Tired of everything. Perhaps more than she'd realized.
Maybe this slower pace was exactly what she needed, even if it felt a little stifling. A change of pace. A pace she hadn't experienced in a long time. The wind tugged at her hair, brushing it gently against her face. She closed her eyes, letting the hum of the engines and the steady breeze carry her to sleep.
For the first time in a long while, the sky felt like it might offer something new. Or, at least, an escape.
—
Sevika pinched the bridge of her nose, suppressing a groan. The room trembled with the sound of shouting, voices clashing in a chaotic uproar. To call the state of Zaun's power structure chaos would be an understatement. It had been difficult enough to manage the aftermath of Silco's death, but this? This was worse. The city was fractured, people pulling in every direction, and the tensions were boiling over.
The first council meeting with Piltover had been a disaster—a political minefield she was barely able to navigate. She had no intention of repeating that fiasco. And to do that the Zaunites couldn't be divided. Especially now, in this turmoil and chaos, came their one shot. Piltover had given their biggest concessions ever in her lifetime. This was the first real chance to bring her dream of a unified, independent Zaun to life. She couldn't afford to blow it.
Frustrated, Sevika slammed her fist onto the table, the sharp impact cutting through the noise and silencing the room in an instant.
"We must present a united front," Sevika said, her voice low and seething with authority. "If we don't, topside will pick us apart before we've even taken our first step."
Her eyes swept across the room as murmurs began to rise again, a low hum of discontent and posturing. The people gathered here were a hodgepodge mess, a volatile mix of factions. Zaun's power vacuum had left everyone scrambling to stake their claim. From wannabe Chem-Barons eager to seize control, to Firelights with their own vision of reform—each voice clamored for dominance, asserting their opinions with little regard for unity.
It was a battlefield of egos, and Sevika knew that if they couldn't find common ground soon, Zaun's fragile future would shatter before it even had a chance to take shape.
"Of course, everyone claims we need a united front," a low, booming voice cut through the cacophony. The speaker was a massive man, his bulk barely contained within the confines of a six-piece suit, buttons straining against his belly. He took a slow, deliberate drag from his cigar, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke that hung in the air like a storm cloud.
"But if the Firelights had their way," he growled, his voice heavy with disdain, "we'd be bowing to the topsiders, settling for a token seat on their precious council, while they tighten their grip on Zaun."
A ripple of agreement swept through the room, murmurs blending into a rumbling undercurrent of tension.
"The people are tired of war," Scar's voice was quiet and calm but it cut through the noise. His words silenced the murmurs, drawing the room's attention. "We just fought a war—one that demanded untold sacrifices. Lives were lost, families broken, and Zaun bled." He leaned forward, his gaze sharp as a blade. "And now you're asking them to do it all over again while you sit comfortably behind the walls of your gated homes?"
The larger man shifted, his massive frame creaking against the chair. His hand clenched into a tight fist, veins bulging as his jaw tightened. His voice, low and gravelly, pushed through gritted teeth. "Don't lecture me about sacrifice, boy. You Firelights are nothing more than cowards, hiding behind your so-called ideals of peace. Ideals don't get food on the table."
"Enough!" Sevika shouted. "We don't have time for petty squabbles, Baron Midstroke."
The man grunted but held his tongue.
Sevika's eyes stayed locked on him, sharp and unyielding. "You have plenty to say, Baron. So tell me—what would you have us do?"
Midstroke's lips curled into a sly grin as he leaned forward, his booming voice filling the room. "Topside is weaker than it's ever been—that token seat they're offering? Proof enough of their desperation." He took a final drag from his cigar, the ember glowing fiercely before snuffing it out in the ashtray with deliberate force. "We need to reverse the relationship. No—take over them."
Sevika arched a brow, skepticism evident in her voice. "And how exactly do you plan to pull that off?"
"Excellent question," Midstroke replied, his grin widening as he rose slightly from his chair. He surveyed the room, his gaze lingering on each faction leader. "A question for all of you fine folks of the undercity." He paused for effect. "Why have we always been the ones under Piltover's boot?"
The room buzzed with murmurs, but no one stepped forward to answer.
"Is it because we lack manpower?" he pressed, his voice rising with each word. "Do we lack capital? Grit? Ambition?" His tone reached a crescendo. "Do we!?"
The room erupted, a collective roar rippling through the crowd, shaking the very walls.
Midstroke raised a hand, and the noise died down instantly. "No," he said, his voice steady, authoritative. "We do not lack in any of those. In fact, we surpass them in many ways. So why, then, have we always been at their mercy?"
He let the question hang in the air, his gaze cold and calculating. "Because we've lacked one crucial thing: organization." His words cut through the silence like a knife. "Say what you will about the topsiders, but they've used their structure to outmaneuver us at every turn."
The room fell into an uneasy quiet, the weight of his words settling over the crowd.
"But that was then," Midstroke continued, his tone shifting, confident and commanding. "Piltover is in shambles. Their leaders are gone, their systems broken. They've lost their edge. They are leaderless." He spread his arms wide, as if inviting the room to embrace the opportunity before them.
"So I ask you," he said, his voice a dangerous whisper that seemed to echo in the tense stillness, "what better time than now to take what's ours? To claim what we've always deserved and dictate the terms of the new world order?"
Sevika watched him closely, her instincts sharpening. She couldn't deny his charisma; he had a way of drawing people in, weaving a narrative so compelling that even skeptics found themselves nodding along. But something about his delivery felt rehearsed, as though he'd been waiting for this moment, for her to provide the perfect stage. And she had.
But her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a chair scraping against the floor. Scar stood, his expression stoic as he glanced around the room, then turned to Sevika. With a subtle shake of his head, he signaled his disapproval. Without a word, he and the Firelights made their way toward the exit, their departure silent but resonant.
Sevika's eyes followed them, her jaw tightening. The room was too focused on its own fervor to notice, but she felt the weight of Scar's absence. The Firelights represented a critical piece of Zaun's future, and losing their support could unravel everything. Yet, she couldn't afford to show doubt—not here, not now.
Turning her attention back to Midstroke, she met his smug grin with a hardened stare. "You've made your point, Baron," she said, her voice measured. "But words won't be enough to see it through. We need a strategy that won't just spark a fire but sustain it."
Midstroke chuckled, spreading his hands wide. "Oh, don't worry you, Sevika. I've got more than words." His smile widened, but Sevika couldn't shake the feeling that this performance had only just begun—and that the real danger lay in what came next.
—
"Well, I suppose it could've turned out worse."
"I'm surprised you're seeing the positive side of things," Caitlyn snorted, folding her arms.
"Hey," Vi raised her hands in mock defense, her tone light but her eyes sharp. "I'm just saying, after that stunt you pulled last time to get Sevika into the Council meeting, we're lucky things didn't go south faster."
Caitlyn frowned, her posture stiffening. "I disagree. The Kiramanns don't take reprimands from lesser hous—" She caught herself, seeing Vi's eyes narrow. Letting out a breath, she softened her tone. "Sorry. Historically, it's just…unprecedented in Piltover. They're emboldened by the chaos."
"Yeah, well, this chaos is just as much an opportunity as it is a problem," Vi scoffed. "Politics isn't exactly my thing, but right now? This is the closest topsiders have ever been to seeing us as equals. We've got to make it count." She paused, her eyes dropping to the floor. "Feels like it's the only way to make her sacrifice mean something."
Caitlyn's heart ached as Vi's words lingered in the air. She reached out instinctively, her hand moving in slow, soothing circles across Vi's back. Vi had been relentless, throwing herself into the work—building alliances, navigating Piltover's labyrinthine politics, doing everything in her power to honor what they'd lost. Caitlyn understood that drive all too well. She had done it herself, once, burying her grief beneath a mountain of responsibilities.
It wasn't healthy. It never was. Yet, she couldn't bring herself to stop Vi—not when she saw the same pain mirrored in her partner's eyes.
A twinge of guilt gnawed at Caitlyn. She had kept her suspicions to herself, the quiet, insistent whispers that Jinx might still be alive. She hadn't shared them with Vi, and she wasn't sure she ever would. Not yet. Not without certainty.
Because if she was wrong—and she had to believe she was—it would only drive Vi to ruin. Vi would hunt every rumor, chase down every faint echo of her sister, no matter how improbable. But she'd only be chasing ghosts. Caitlyn knew what that kind of hope could do. It was a double-edged sword, sharp enough to cut through despair but cruel enough to leave you bleeding in its wake.
Hope could be the cruelest weapon of all.
"We will," Caitlyn whispered, her voice steady yet soft. "I promise, Violet, we will."
Vi glanced up, her gaze meeting Caitlyn's. A small, tired smile touched her lips. It wasn't much, but in that moment, it was enough.
—
When Jinx awoke, the soft hum of the airship had ceased, the ship had docked. And it didn't take long for her to be ushered off the craft and to be standing in the bustling streets of Ionia. Her eyes darted around the area taking in the view.
The sun hung low over, casting golden rays over the colorful market stalls that dotted the busy thoroughfare. The air was thick with the scent of incense, fresh fruit, and the earthy tang of spices. The cobbled streets were alive with the chatter of merchants hawking their wares and the sounds of distant chanting.
But that enchantment was short-lived.
A figure suddenly blocked her view, cutting through the flow of the crowd. An older woman, her robes flowing like a river of fabric, stood in front of Jinx, her beady eyes gleaming. She flashed a warm, welcoming smile as she held out a collection of delicate, glowing stones in her hands.
"Ah, traveler!" The woman's voice was sweet, almost syrupy. "You must be seeking peace, balance, and harmony. These crystals will guide you to the serenity you crave." Her hands fluttered over the stones as if performing some mystical dance.
Jinx's expression hardened, her patience already wearing thin. She leaned in, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she spoke in a loud, exaggerated voice. "Oh, look! A rock… surrounded by more rocks!" She clapped her hands together in mock delight. "What's it gonna do, huh? Heal my brain? 'Cause that's a bit of a tall order. Not sure even magic's up to that challenge."
The older lady's eyes widened a bit but wasn't deterred. "These are no ordinary stones, child," she said, her hands moving slowly over the crystals with reverence. "They have the power to heal, to open your heart, to guide you toward your true path."
Jinx raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a playful smirk. "A 'true path'? Sounds like you're trying to sell me a one-way ticket to boringville."
The old woman continued her sales pitch, her voice growing even sweeter, but Jinx wasn't listening anymore. Something caught her eye in the corner of her vision—something unusual. A flash of violet hair, bright and distinct, cutting through the crowd like a thread of color against the earthy tones of the marketplace.
Her instincts flared, and before she could even fully process what was happening, she had pushed the older lady to the side and was following her.
—
The room was steeped in a heavy, deliberate silence, broken only by the faint, rhythmic scratching of a pen. A lone figure sat at a large oak desk, her writing was precise and practiced. The dim light from the window behind the desk cast a long, flickering shadows, giving the polished wood a cold, almost foreboding polish.
The door creaked open after a soft knock, and a woman clad in black stepped inside. "Pardon my intrusion."
"Mave," came the curt acknowledgment from behind the desk, the voice was smooth but devoid of warmth.
When no further response followed, Mave moved closer, her footsteps soundless on the thick carpet. She stopped a few paces from the desk, her hands clasped neatly in front of her. "Baron Midstroke performed admirably, ma'am," she reported, her tone even.
The figure at the desk didn't pause, her pen gliding effortlessly across the page. "I told you," she said, her eyes remaining fixed on her work. "Your worries were unfounded."
The words were spoken with the kind of quiet authority that brooked no argument. She completed the final stroke of her sentence, clicked the pen closed with a soft but definitive snap, and placed it carefully on the desk. Finally, she leaned back in her chair, her eyes meeting Mave's. "The man is a buffoon," she continued, her tone matter-of-fact. "But even fools have their uses."
The woman in black inclined her head slightly. "Should we continue to push?"
The figure at the table tilted her head, a small, calculated smile tugging at her lips. She let the question hang in the air for a moment, savoring the weight of the decision. "Yes," she said at last, her voice carrying a quiet resolve. "Paint the town blue."
"Of course, Ms. Glasc," the woman responded with a nod, turning on her heel and disappearing as silently as she had arrived.
Ms. Glasc sat for a moment in the quiet, her gaze lingering on the door. Then, with a sigh, she returned to her papers, the faint smile still playing at the corners of her lips.
—
To say that Jinx was lost would be an understatement. Maybe she should've paid more attention to where she was headed. Should've known better than to follow strangers. She wasn't sure what took her over.
She took a breath and looked around the area. It was like stepping into another world—trees stretching endlessly in every direction, rivers glistening like liquid silver, and an air so fresh it felt almost unnatural. At first, she'd been enchanted, captivated by the sheer beauty of it all. But that awe had quickly turned into frustration. The endless greenery, once mesmerizing, now felt like a labyrinth designed to keep her wandering forever.
The light filtering through the dense canopy above was growing dimmer, shadows stretching longer as dusk crept in. She needed to find shelter, and fast. But every direction looked the same, a repeating pattern of ancient trees and winding paths that led nowhere.
And then there was the feeling. It crept over her like a chill breeze, setting her nerves alight. She was being watched—she was sure of it. Her skin prickled, a primal warning she couldn't shake. Danger was close, though she couldn't pinpoint it. Every time she spun around, she found nothing but the stillness of the forest. No rustling leaves, no snapping branches, just a silence so thick it was almost suffocating.
"Alright, show yourself!" she called out, her voice echoing faintly. But no reply came, only the oppressive quiet of the Ionia wilds.
Her hand instinctively rested on her blaster, the familiar weight offering some comfort. Only to be met with silence again.
"Well, this is boring," she muttered, trying to mask her unease with bravado. But the truth was, even her usually boundless confidence was starting to waver—until a sharp crack of a twig breaking under a footstep shattered her composure entirely.
Jinx whipped around in an instant, dropping into a defensive posture, her hand twitching toward her weapon. She scanned the area, eyes darting between the towering trees, but the forest was still. For a long moment, all she could hear was the rustle of leaves in the growing wind. She tensed, every nerve alert, waiting for movement, but there was nothing.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw it—a shadow. A figure, hidden partially by the dense foliage, standing just at the edge of her vision. The silhouette was tall, cloaked in darkness, and its face obscured by the thick shadows cast from the towering trees above.
"Alright, enough with the games," Jinx called out, trying to sound braver than she felt, her voice rising with the slightest edge of panic. "Come out, or I'll make you."
The figure didn't move at first, and the silence felt like it could stretch on forever. But then, slowly, it stepped forward, just enough for the moonlight to catch a glimpse of their features.
"No… it can't be," she whispered under her breath, a sudden, choking feeling rising in her chest. Her heart pounded, each beat louder than the last, as the shadowed figure took a step forward.
And then she heard it—that voice. The one that haunted her dreams.
"Why'd you do it, Jinx. Why'd you leave"
Vi.
Hope you enjoyed it! There will be more chapters pretty soon! Leave your thoughts!