Arcane: Sea of ​​blood

I was sitting on the roof of the orphanage, gazing at the city spread out before me like a vast mosaic of light and shadows. Piltover sparkled like a gem, but I knew that beneath that glitter lay filth and pain. The memories of my first days at the orphanage, when everything around me felt alien and hostile, now only brought a smile to my face.

One day, not long after I had climbed onto the roof again, Lina approached me with a doll in her hands. She was smiling, but there was sadness in her eyes.

— This is my doll, — she said, handing it to me. — She always helped me when I was scared. Now she'll help you.

I took the doll but didn't say a word. I didn't understand how a doll could help, but Lina seemed to believe in it. Later, I learned that the doll had been a gift from her mother before she was arrested.

Eric, on the other hand, rarely spoke about himself. He spent his days crafting flowers out of wire and glass. I sometimes watched him, amazed at how something so beautiful could be made from such simple materials. One day, I asked Eric why he did it.

— The world is too gray, — Eric replied without looking up from his work. — I'm just adding a bit of color.

I didn't try to understand what he meant, but later, as I looked at the flowers Eric sold at the market, I gradually began to see something more in them than just decorations.

One day, when Eric went to sell his flowers to a shopkeeper in the square, I decided to go with him, as the caretakers had allowed us to take a walk around the city. Lina, Eric, and I stepped outside the orphanage gates, immersing ourselves in the noise and bustle of Piltover. The streets were filled with people: merchants shouting to attract customers, children running between stalls, and enforcers patrolling the square, their armor gleaming.

Lina held my hand as if afraid of losing me in the crowd. She pointed out everything she found interesting: the bright shop windows, the fountains adorned with golden statues, and even the street performers juggling fireballs.

— Look! — she exclaimed, pointing at a performer. — He's like a magician!

I watched but didn't share her enthusiasm. I saw how skillfully the performer moved, but I also noticed how worn his clothes were and the layer of dirt on his face. He wasn't a magician—just a man trying to survive.

Eric, as always, was silent. He walked beside us, occasionally stopping to examine something interesting. Along the way, he bent down and picked up a piece of glass glinting in the sunlight.

— I can make a flower out of this, — he said, pocketing the glass.

I nodded but didn't comment, knowing that even the most ordinary trash could become something beautiful in Eric's hands.

As we passed the market, Lina stopped at a fruit stall. She stared at the apples with such hunger that it made me feel something akin to pity. I pulled out a few coins I had found in a drunk man's pocket the day before and bought her an apple.

— Thank you, — Lina whispered, smiling.

I didn't respond, just watched her eat and thought about how strange it was that such simple things could make someone happy.

By the end of our walk, we reached the bridge connecting Piltover to Zaun. Lina wanted to get closer, but I stopped her.

— Don't, — I said. — It's dangerous there.

Lina obeyed, but disappointment was evident in her eyes. I knew she dreamed of seeing Zaun, but I also knew that place wasn't for someone like her.

When we returned to the orphanage, I felt a strange sense of relief. The city was beautiful, but it was also full of lies. I preferred the quiet of the orphanage, where I could be alone with my thoughts.

From an early age, I understood that my ability to adapt wasn't just a gift—it was a tool I needed to develop. I started training almost as soon as my body grew stronger. By the age of three, I was already running around the orphanage courtyard every morning while the other children were still asleep. My small feet pounded against the stone tiles, and my breathing became steady and deep despite the cold air.

After my run, I moved on to exercises. Push-ups, squats, pull-ups on a makeshift bar I had fashioned from an old pipe I found in the corner of the yard. I did this every day without fail, even when my muscles burned and my body begged for rest. I knew my adaptability allowed me to recover faster than others, and I used that advantage to the fullest.

By the age of four, my body was as strong as that of a ten-year-old. I could do twenty pull-ups in a row, run several laps around the orphanage without stopping, and even lift a stone that other children could barely budge. But boasting about such achievements would only draw unwanted attention, so I kept them secret, just like my thoughts.

Daily life at the orphanage was monotonous, but I found small joys in it. Mornings were for training, afternoons for lessons I attended without much enthusiasm, and evenings for spending time with Lina and Eric. Lina often told me about her dreams, how one day her parents would return and take her away from here. I listened but didn't believe her, knowing the world was cruel and that hopes rarely came true.

Eric, as usual, rarely spoke about himself. He spent his days immersed in his art, crafting his flowers out of wire and glass. It seemed that for him, they had long since become something more than just beautiful objects.

But even in this seemingly calm life, I felt an inner tension. I knew my abilities weren't just a gift—they were a key to the future.

It happened on an ordinary day. I was training in the yard when I noticed my vision darkening, just like it had in the prison three years ago. Suddenly, a strange impulse surged through my mind, a pulling sensation that erupted from the depths of my consciousness until I found myself facing the same wheel I had seen before. It still wasn't moving, but the needle pointed to the ability "Blood is Worth More Than Life." I barely had time to read it before I was thrown back.

Disoriented, I noticed a sparrow sitting nearby out of the corner of my eye. Instinctively, as if something was pushing me to act, I grabbed a random stone and threw it at the bird, hitting it squarely and damaging its wing. Driven by an unknown feeling deep within me, I snapped the sparrow's neck and made a small cut. Thankfully, the stone I had used had sharp edges.

The sparrow's blood spilled onto the ground, but instead of simply soaking in, it began to form a pattern. A beautiful bouquet of blood-red flowers appeared on the ground. I felt my body grow slightly warmer, filling with a weak but noticeable strength. It was as if the sparrow's blood had transferred some of its life energy to me.

I realized this was a new ability—"Blood is Worth More Than Life." It allowed me to grow stronger, but only in exchange for spilled blood. However, I couldn't use it yet: there was no opportunity to kill at the orphanage, and the idea of hunting local cats and dogs filled me with mild disgust. The incident with the sparrow was the only time I used this ability.

I stared at the bloody bouquet for a long time, feeling a mix of disappointment and admiration. I understood that this ability could be a powerful weapon, but I also knew I couldn't pay the price for using it—not yet.

From then on, I became even more withdrawn. My training grew more intense, and my thoughts darker. The realization that I could exchange someone else's blood for my own strength haunted me. I knew the world was cruel, and that one day I would have to make a choice. But for now, I was just a person trying to figure out which direction to take.

Piltover seemed to go about its usual life, but beneath the surface, tension simmered like water in a kettle about to boil over. I felt it in every fiber of my being. I saw how the enforcers patrolled the streets more frequently, their faces tense and their hands always on their muskets. Sometimes, I overheard the orphanage caretakers whispering among themselves, discussing the increasing thefts and clashes on the border with Zaun.

One evening, as I returned from training in a nearby yard, I overheard a conversation between two enforcers standing by the orphanage gates.

— Those Zaunites, — one of them said, adjusting the musket on his shoulder, — are like rats. They're everywhere. And the more of them there are, the more problems they cause.

— Yeah, — agreed the second, lighting a cigarette. — But we'll restore order soon. The Bridge of Progress will be our wall.

I stopped, listening. Their conversation felt familiar. The Bridge of Progress—that meant the massacre that would mark the beginning of the plot. The tone in the enforcers' voices radiated confidence and disdain, making me wince. I knew the Zaunites weren't just "rats," as they were called in Piltover. They were people backed into a corner, and when people are cornered, they fight. And it was this disdain that would cost both cities countless lives. I didn't know all the details, but I understood this wasn't just a riot—it was a cry of desperation. People who had been exploited for years, stripped of everything they had, were now ready to fight for their lives.

I remembered a conversation from the series about how workers from Zaun were fleeing the mines en masse. They settled in the middle levels of Zaun, where they planned an uprising led by two leaders, Silco and Vander. As I thought about this, my mind drifted back to the prison, to the moment when my mother had a conflict with a guard and mentioned her brother, Silco. Maybe I misremembered the series, but Silco didn't have any relatives. Perhaps there was more to it, something I would have to uncover, but I preferred not to dwell on it for now.

Looking at the enforcers, I saw their cold eyes and confident movements. They thought they controlled the situation, that their muskets and armor made them invincible. But experience had shown that was an illusion. I saw how the Zaunites looked at Piltover—with hatred, but also with hope. They knew they had no choice. Either they fought, or they died in poverty and despair.

— The Council got what they wanted, — I thought, watching the enforcers. — They've backed the Zaunites into a corner, and now there's only one thing left for them to do—fight.

Now everyone understood that this conflict was inevitable. Piltover, with its wealth and technology, thought it could control Zaun like a slave. But they forgot that even a slave has a limit. And when that limit is reached, rebellion begins.

The city, gleaming in the light of the setting sun. Piltover seemed so beautiful, but the knowledge of what lay beneath that glitter shattered the image every time. Enforcers patrolled the streets, merchants hid their goods, and people whispered, afraid to say too much.

— They think they can stop this, — I thought. — But they're wrong.

I knew something big was about to happen. Something that would change everything. And I would be ready for it.

I stood by the orphanage door, listening to the silence. The night was cold, and the moon, hidden behind clouds, cast a dim light over the city. I knew something would happen tonight. The air was thick with tension, like before a storm. I couldn't stay in the orphanage, couldn't just wait. I needed to see it with my own eyes.

I carefully cracked the door open, ready to slip into the darkness, but then I heard a whisper behind me.

— Where do you think you're going? — Lina asked, stepping out of the shadows.

— Without us? — added Eric, crossing his arms.

Internally cursing, I forced a smile.

— Go to sleep, — I whispered. — This isn't your business.

— If you don't take us, we'll wake everyone up, — Lina said, looking at me stubbornly.

— And then you definitely won't be allowed to go, — Eric added, smiling.

I sighed. I knew they wouldn't back down.

— Fine, — I whispered. — But if something goes wrong, it's on you.

We slipped out of the orphanage, trying not to make noise. The streets were unusually quiet. A curfew had been imposed the day before, and the city, usually noisy and bustling, now felt deserted. Only occasionally could we hear the footsteps of an enforcer patrol in the distance.

I led the way, listening for every sound. Lina and Eric followed, trying to keep up. We moved through narrow alleys, avoiding the lit streets. I knew where we were going—to a tall building near the Bridge of Progress. From its roof, we could see the entire bridge, and I wanted to witness what would happen.

When we reached the building, I noticed an enforcer patrol standing at the entrance. I froze, pressing myself against the wall.

— We need to go around, — I whispered.

— What if we get caught? — Lina asked, her voice full of doubt.

— Then we go back to the orphanage, — I replied, — but only if we get caught.

We moved along the wall, trying not to make noise. Every step felt loud, every rustle a threat. As we neared the back entrance, one of the enforcers turned around. I froze, pressing into the shadows. My heart was pounding so loudly I thought it could be heard from the other end of the street.

— Did you hear something? — the enforcer asked his partner.

— No, — the other replied, confused.

I exhaled as the enforcers turned their backs again. I gestured for Lina and Eric to follow me. We made our way to the back entrance, where the door was slightly ajar. Pushing it open carefully, we stepped inside.

The building was empty, our footsteps echoing in the corridors. We climbed the stairs to the roof, where I finally felt safe.

From the roof, we had a view of the Bridge of Progress. It was lit by lanterns but seemed deserted. I knew it was only an illusion. Somewhere in the shadows, the Zaunites were gathering, ready for battle.

— Why are we here? — Lina asked, shivering from the cold.

— To see the truth, — I replied, not taking my eyes off the bridge.

I knew something terrible was about to happen. Something that would mark the beginning of a new chapter for both cities.

At first, everything was quiet. The bridge, illuminated by lanterns, seemed peaceful. But then, as if out of nowhere, people appeared. They came in a crowd, shouting and screaming. Zaunites. They carried anything that could serve as a weapon: crowbars, knives, stones.

The enforcers lined up, ready to meet the onslaught. The first shots rang out like thunder, followed by smoke bombs from the Zaunites, but even so, the Zaunites fell like flies. Yet there were too many of them. They pushed forward, seemingly crazed, tearing into the enforcer ranks.

I watched without looking away. I saw how the Zaunites threw themselves at the muskets, trading two or three lives for one enforcer. It was a slaughter, but they didn't give up. When one managed to break through the enforcer lines, he became a killing machine, as the soldiers couldn't shoot for fear of hitting their own, and in close combat, they were no match for someone who had been surviving since childhood.

— They've gone mad, — Lina whispered, covering her face with her hands.

— No, — I replied, not looking away. — They're just desperate.

The outcome was inevitable. The enforcers, better armed and organized, began to push the Zaunites back. One by one, they fell until the last of them retreated, leaving the bridge littered with bodies from both sides.

I sat on the roof, staring at the bloody scene. I felt no fear, no pity. Only cold, cynical indifference.

— The world is cruel, — I said, turning to my friends. — And it always will be.

Lina looked at me in horror, but Eric just nodded, as if he understood what I meant. I was no longer the naive person who believed everything could be changed. I had seen how the world devoured the weak, and I knew the only way to survive was to become stronger.

I looked at the city, which no longer seemed like a sparkling gem but rather a vast prison. And in that moment, I realized that my journey, along with the story, was only just beginning.