Chapter 1: Walking Chaos
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983 AN
Aug 20
The air in the Southern Sump stank worse than usual.
Vi led the crew through the maze of rusted pipes and half-lit alleys, hands loose in her jacket pockets. Her steps were quiet, measured—but even she felt it. The air here pulsed like it had a heartbeat.
"We shouldn't be here," Claggor mumbled behind her.
"No argument from me," Milo said. "This is Ash's turf, right? The crazy chick?"
Vi didn't answer.
Everyone had heard the stories. The girl with the silver hair and the unhinged laugh. The one who ranted about rebuilding Zaun like it was a broken toy she just needed more parts for.
They stopped at a crumbling balcony above a junction point—and there she was.
Standing on a makeshift podium of stacked crates, black coat swirling, Ashryn lectured her own crew like they were first-year alchemists. Her silver hair glinted faintly in the haze, glowing blue eyes sharp and full of mischief.
"No, no, no! You put the pipe there and the whole vent line's gonna collapse! Then boom! We get another Lynne incident! And I still haven't got her out of it!"
A few workers chuckled. One even covered his mouth to hide it.
Ashryn pointed at a massive schematic scrawled on the wall.
"We finish this by dawn. That depot's not gonna liberate itself!"
Her crew didn't cheer—they just moved. Efficient, precise. They knew the drill.
Behind her trailed a tall woman in a half-buttoned coat, scribbling something onto a clipboard as her other hand flipped open what looked like a ticking pocketwatch. She didn't shout. She didn't rush. She leaned close, murmured something to Ashryn, and within moments, three workers silently switched stations.
"Who's she supposed to be?" Milo whispered.
"The one actually running things," Claggor muttered.
And not once did Ashryn glance toward the shadows where Vi and her crew hid—though something in her stance said she knew they were there.
Vi felt her gut twist. "We're leaving. Now."
They kept moving through the shadowy twists of the lower alleys, two turns and a dead drop from Ashryn's turf before anyone spoke again.
"That wasn't normal," Milo muttered. "Not just her—any of it."
"She acted like she was performing," Claggor added. "But everything was tight. Her people weren't just following orders. They were invested."
"She was yelling about plumbing," Milo said flatly. "Then hijacking a depot like she was ordering takeout."
Vi stayed silent.
Ashryn had stood there like she owned the Sump and just hadn't filed the paperwork. All energy. No fear.
"She didn't care we were there," Powder murmured. "She… expected it?"
Vi nodded. "She probably did. And figured we'd run."
"She didn't posture," Claggor said. "Didn't need to."
"Maybe that's her trick," Milo muttered. "Be weird enough and no one knows how to fight you."
"She's not weird," Vi said at last. "She's… practiced."
That was the part that bothered her. Ashryn acted like someone who knew exactly how much of a mess she could make—and exactly how to clean it up.
They cut through to the edge of the market district and slipped into Benzo's shop just before closing.
The old man didn't greet them. Just waved them toward the corner while finishing a shimmer refill.
"You look like someone kicked your dog," he said, finally turning around.
"We saw her," Vi said.
Benzo blinked. "Her?"
"We were scouting," she added. "Just passed through."
"And you watched her?" he asked, voice tightening. "You stuck around to see her work?"
"We didn't interfere," Claggor said.
"You don't have to," Benzo replied. "Being in her orbit is already a kind of involvement."
"She's not a baron," Milo muttered. "Doesn't act like one."
"No, she acts like someone who doesn't recognize a leash," Benzo said. "You know how dangerous that is?"
"She seemed fun," Powder added softly. "Weird fun."
"She's terrifying," Benzo corrected. "Because she makes people want to follow her."
"Then why isn't anyone stopping her?" Vi asked.
"Because no one knows how," he replied. "She doesn't build like a warlord. She builds like an idea. You don't even realize she's in charge until she already is."
Later that night, inside the hazy din of the Last Drop, Vi nursed a drink in a quiet booth while the others listened in on engineers and gutter traders exchanging stories.
"She traded distillate schematics to get a chem-baron to apologize."
"Blew up a whole stash, then asked if anyone had any sugar."
"They say she's rebuilding the Clock Tower. Nobody knows why. Nobody asks."
"She's got that number lunatic working for her now," someone added. "The one who talks in interest rates and insults."
"The skinny one with the coin tattoos?"
"That's him. Heard he told a chem-baron he was economically obsolete and walked off with his smelter."
Powder giggled. "That's kinda cool."
Vi frowned. "That's planned. That's not just chaos anymore."
It was becoming a pattern: laughter, noise, chaos—and then results.
She hated not understanding the game someone was playing.
The next night, they scaled an old scaffold above the dead distillery Ashryn had apparently claimed—and turned into something else.
It wasn't just rebuilt. It was reinvigorated. Gears moved. Pipes hissed. The whole place buzzed with potential.
"She's laying power lines," Claggor muttered. "Pre-tech conduits. She's reviving the grid."
"Why?" Milo whispered. "That place is toast."
"No," Vi said. "It's groundwork."
Down below, Ashryn bounced across scaffold beams, shouting over music and machinery.
"Get the pump online before Lynne turns it into scrap again! I want power and plumbing! Is that so much to ask?!"
A few nearby workers chuckled. One clanged a pipe in agreement.
"She talks like a kid," Milo muttered. "And they still follow."
"She makes them feel like they're building something," Claggor said.
Ashryn struck a pose on the edge of a rusted pipe, arms spread wide as she looked over the half-ruined skyline.
Vi watched her closely—the silver hair catching lamplight, the coat fluttering with too much flair to be coincidence. Ashryn didn't look like a queen or a baron.
She looked like an upturned fusebox waiting for a spark.
Then, as Ashryn stood there, a hush fell across the camp. A natural pause. And in that moment, she stared into the distance—at Zaun's shattered horizon.
Her grin slipped. Not all the way. Just for a heartbeat.
It was enough.
"What do you see?" Powder asked, crouched beside Vi.
Vi narrowed her eyes.
"She's chaos," she murmured. "But it's directed."
Claggor tilted his head. "Like a fire?"
"No," Vi said, the words landing with certainty.
"Like a storm pretending to be a breeze."