Arcane: Sea of ​​blood

The Quiet Abyss prison was a place where those whom others wanted to forget were sent. Its walls, built of black stone, seemed to absorb the screams and moans of the prisoners, as if feeding on their despair. Inside, an atmosphere of hopelessness reigned, while outside, the island was surrounded by a cold, merciless sea that seemed to live a life of its own. The waves crashed against the rocks with such force that their roar could be heard even in the deepest cells. Sometimes, when the wind howled through the narrow corridors of the prison, it seemed as if the island itself was groaning in pain.

But even this hell was only part of a greater nightmare—the Quiet Abyss prison, located on a rocky island that seemed to have risen from the turbulent waters surrounding it on all sides. The island was an impregnable fortress, cut off from the world. The tall black cliffs, plunging into the foaming waves, made it a natural prison. Even if someone managed to escape their cell, they would face the impossibility of leaving the island. The only connection to the outside world was a cable car stretched across the chasm between the island and the mainland. It was under the strictest guard, and anyone who tried to approach it without permission disappeared forever.

I was one and a half years old when everything changed. I had already grown accustomed to prison life, to this stone box where even the air felt heavy with despair. But getting used to it didn't mean accepting it. Every day, I felt my body growing, my mind sharpening, but I was still helpless. Helpless, like a puppy just learning to walk. And it drove me mad.

Laura, my mother, had always been my protector. She kept the other prisoners at bay, taking their food so we would have enough. But even her strength couldn't prevent the inevitable.

One morning, when I woke up to the sounds of screams and blows, I knew something had gone wrong. Laura stood in the center of the cell, surrounded by seven prisoners. Her eyes burned like embers, and in her hands, she held a shiv made from a piece of scrap metal. I didn't see how the fight started, but I saw how it ended. Three of the seven lay on the floor, writhing in pain, while the others backed away, not daring to come closer.

But Laura's victory didn't mean victory in the war. At the noise, guards burst into the cell, and within minutes, they were dragging her away, clutching at me like a dying person clings to life. I felt Laura's heart beating faster as she held me to her chest. She didn't say a word, but her eyes said it all: we were in trouble.

As it turned out, even knowing of my existence, they took no action. Perhaps it was my slightly insane mother, who looked quite threatening, or simply indifference to human lives. God knows how many people from Zaun die here every year.

The solitary confinement cell was worse than I could have imagined. Darkness, dampness, cold. There was almost no food, and what little they brought was barely enough to survive. Laura shared everything she had with me, but I could see her weakening. Her cheeks hollowed, her eyes grew dull. She was no longer the strong woman who had held the entire prison in fear. Now, she was just a mother fighting for her child's life.

I was almost two years old when I began to realize that there wasn't enough food. My body demanded more than Laura could provide. I felt my strength fading, my thoughts slowing. I knew that if we stayed here, we would die.

Laura understood this too. One night, as I lay there trying not to think about hunger, she leaned over me and whispered, "We'll get out of here. I'll find a way." Her voice was quiet but full of determination. I wanted to believe her, but I also knew that escaping solitary confinement was nearly impossible.

The solitary cell was worse than I could have imagined. Darkness, dampness, cold. There was almost no food, and what little they brought was barely enough to survive. Laura shared everything she had with me, but I could see her weakening. Her cheeks hollowed, her eyes grew dull. She was no longer the strong woman who had held the entire prison in fear. Now, she was just a mother fighting for her child's life.

I was almost two years old when I began to realize that there wasn't enough food. My body demanded more than Laura could provide. I felt my strength fading, my thoughts slowing. I knew that if we stayed here, we would die.

Laura understood this too. One night, as I lay there trying not to think about hunger, she leaned over me and whispered, "We'll get out of here. I'll find a way." Her voice was quiet but full of determination. I wanted to believe her, but I also knew that escaping solitary confinement was nearly impossible.

As it turned out, our miserable state was partly due to one of the guards, whose brother Laura had killed before she was imprisoned. One day, as my mother tried to appeal to pity and beg for an extra piece of bread, I saw one of the guards behind the bars—a tall man with cold eyes, staring intently at Laura. At first, I didn't understand why, but one day I heard him say to her, "You killed my brother. Did you think I'd forget? Now, along with your spawn, you'll rot in this prison. Do you think we don't see what's brewing in Zaun? But don't worry, the Bridge of Progress—the Bridge of Progress will be the grave for everything you tried to achieve. We've been ordered to take no prisoners, but who knows, maybe Vander or your brother Silco will be among them? I think they'll make great company for you."

Laura didn't respond, but I saw her fists clench. After a minute of silence, she exhaled and, leaning against the bars, whispered quietly, "He's no longer my brother," without taking her eyes off the guard. "But you're right, it would be great company." From then on, this guard, whose name I never learned, began to take revenge. He left us without food for two, sometimes three days. Laura tried to hide it from me, but I could see her weakening. Her already emaciated body couldn't endure such deprivation for long.

One night, when the guard once again left us without food, Laura leaned over me and whispered, "We'll get out of here. Soon. I promise." Her voice was quiet but full of determination. I knew she wasn't just talking. She was planning an escape.

I wanted to tell her to be careful, that I was afraid of losing her. But all I could do was look at her with my big eyes and hope she understood. Laura smiled at me, and in her eyes, I saw something I hadn't noticed before: hope.

We spent almost six months in solitary confinement. During that time, I grew stronger but also weaker. My body was growing, but hunger and cold were taking their toll. Laura had changed too. She was no longer the strong woman who had held the entire prison in fear. Now, she was just a mother fighting for her child's life.

But even in this darkness, I felt something changing. Laura was preparing for an escape, and I knew it was our only chance. I didn't know what awaited us, but I knew one thing: we couldn't stay here. We had to get out, even if it cost us everything.

Laura began gathering anything that might be useful: scraps of cloth, pieces of metal, even crumbs of bread she hid under the mattress. Even though she knew I didn't fully understand, she told me we needed to be ready for any turn of events. I listened to her, trying to grasp every word, every detail. She talked about how wonderful it would be to take me to questionable places like the glowing mines or the temple of Zaun's deity, where she had spent much time with her friends. Though, by her description, none of these places compared to Piltover, there was a longing in her voice. Sometimes, she spoke of how much I meant to her, but lately, her stories had begun to shift into a plan—a plan to escape this hellhole.

One night, when the guard once again left us without food, Laura leaned over me and whispered, "Tomorrow night. We'll leave." Her voice was quiet but full of determination. In response, I could only mumble something incoherent, to which she smiled softly.

The next day, time seemed to drag slower than usual. Every minute felt like an eternity. I tried not to think about what could go wrong, but thoughts of failure haunted me. What if we were caught?

But when night fell, all my fears faded into the background. Laura picked me up, and we moved toward the door. She opened it with a makeshift key she had fashioned from a piece of scrap metal. We stepped into the corridor, and I felt my heart beat faster.

We moved through the darkness, trying not to make a sound. Laura knew every corner of the prison, every shadow where we could hide. We passed sleeping guards, past cells where prisoners slept restlessly.

But just as we were nearing the exit, a voice stopped us: "Where do you think you're going?"

I turned and saw the very guard who had been tormenting Laura. His eyes were filled with contempt, and in his hand, he held a baton, while a musket hung at his belt. Laura set me down and stepped forward, ready to defend me to the last.

The fight erupted instantly, like fire igniting dry grass. The guard, his face twisted with disdain for her desperate escape attempt, threw the musket to the ground, apparently deciding he was stronger in close combat. He lunged at Laura, his movements honed by years of academy training, but what could a man who had never seen real combat do against someone who had survived since childhood? He was slightly larger, stronger. Laura, despite her exhaustion, moved with the grace and precision of a predator. She dodged his blows, using every opportunity to counterattack. Her strikes were precise, but the guard was sturdy, clad in standard enforcer armor, and each time she tried to bring him down, he only staggered but didn't fall.

Laura, seizing a moment, struck him in the throat, making him gasp. He clutched his neck, but she didn't relent. They fought like two beasts, each knowing that losing meant death. Laura was faster, but the guard was stronger, and his blows, when they landed, made her shudder.

At one point, he managed to grab her arm and yanked hard, causing her to lose her balance. Laura fell to her knees but didn't falter. She kicked him in the knee, and he collapsed beside her with a crash. Victory seemed close, but then, growling in pain, he reached for the musket lying a meter away. Laura lunged forward, trying to stop him, but she was too late.

A deafening shot rang out. Laura froze, her eyes wide with shock. I saw her hand slowly move to her stomach, where a crimson stain spread across the dark fabric of her clothes. She swayed but didn't fall. The guard, breathing heavily, tried to get up, but Laura, summoning her last strength, grabbed his head with both hands and slammed it into the floor. I'd swear I heard a distinct crack. He collapsed, unconscious.

Blood dripped from her hand, pooling on the stone floor. She turned to me, her face pale but her eyes burning with resolve. "Let's go," she whispered hoarsely, with effort. "Now or never."

We moved down the corridor, Laura staggering but still walking, holding me close. Her breathing was labored, and the hand pressing her wound trembled. We reached the elevator, and Laura, struggling to press the button, leaned against the wall to keep from falling. The doors opened, but instead of emptiness, we were faced with four guards armed with muskets. Their eyes widened in surprise, but in an instant, they rushed at us.

Laura tried to resist, but her strength was failing. One of the guards tore me from her arms, while two others grabbed her, pinning her against the wall. She fought like a wounded lioness, but her movements grew weaker. "Take the child to the warden," one of them ordered, "and keep her here. Search her cell."

I was carried away, while Laura was left kneeling, her hands bound behind her back. She watched as I was taken away, and in her eyes, there was not pain but fury. Yet even that fury couldn't hide her despair.

The guards left with her began discussing what to do next. One of them went to check the corridors to ensure no one else had escaped. A few minutes later, he returned, his face pale. "He's dead," he said, referring to the guard Laura had fought. "She killed him."

The other guards exchanged glances, and in their eyes, there was confusion—whether from the death of their comrade or the impending trouble. Laura, even wounded, even weakened, was a threat to them. One of them raised his musket, his hand steady. "We can't let her live," he whispered. "She's too dangerous."

Laura raised her head, her eyes meeting the guard's. She didn't say a word, but the hatred in her gaze made him flinch. Then, a shot rang out.

She fell to the floor, blood spreading around her head. The guards stood frozen, as if unable to believe what had just happened. Then one of them commanded, "Get rid of the body. We can't cover this up. We need to report to the warden."

I was taken away to an unknown destination, but I no longer cried. I knew Laura was dead, but I also knew she had done everything she could. She had fought to the end, and even in death, she remained strong. I swore to myself that one day, I would avenge her. One day, I would find those who had done this to her, and they would pay for everything.