Arcane headcanons | °• Sevika •°

You got brought to stillwater

The cell was cold, damp, and reeked of something stale. Chains rattled somewhere down the hall, followed by muffled screams—Stillwater was exactly as horrible as the stories said.

Your wrists ached from the restraints, rubbed raw from struggling against them. The guards had been rough, shoving you into the cell like you were nothing, like you weren’t even a person.

You had no idea how long you’d been here. Hours? A day? Time blurred together in the dim light, your mind hazy from exhaustion, hunger gnawing at your ribs.

The worst part wasn’t the pain or the cold—it was not knowing if Sevika even knew. Not knowing if she was coming.

You hated thinking like that. Sevika would tear the whole damn place apart to get to you—but what if she couldn’t? What if she didn’t even know you were here?

A guard passed by, sneering down at you, muttering something under his breath about how ‘Zaun rats’ belonged in cages. You bit your tongue, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

You were exhausted, hurting, but you wouldn’t break. Sevika always told you to keep your chin up, never let them see weakness. If she saw you now, you wanted her to see you standing, not crumbling.

Then the distant sound of boots—heavy, purposeful, getting closer. The guards muttered, their conversation cutting short as the distinct whir of a mechanical arm echoed through the corridor.

“Get the fuck outta my way.” That voice—low, sharp, dangerous. The guards hesitated, then the clatter of keys, the scrape of metal against stone.

The door swung open, and there she was—Sevika, standing like a goddamn storm in the doorway, eyes burning with fury. Her chest was rising and falling with barely restrained rage, fingers flexing, like she was seconds away from ripping someone apart.

“The fuck did they do to you?” Her eyes scanned over you, taking in every bruise, every scrape. The tension in her jaw only got worse.

You opened your mouth to answer, but before you could, she was at your side, metal fingers ghosting over your cheek, her other hand curling around your wrist like she was trying to convince herself you were real.

“I’m gettin’ you out of here.” Her voice was rough, full of something unspoken—guilt, anger, something else deeper, something she wouldn’t say in front of the guards.

The moment your restraints were off, you collapsed into her, her arms catching you before you could hit the ground. Her hold was firm, steady, like she was anchoring you back to reality.

“I’ve got you, doll,” she murmured against your hair, voice softer now, only for you. “Ain’t nobody takin’ you from me again.”

Her hand slid under your legs, lifting you with ease, cradling you against her chest. You could feel the tension in her muscles, the way she was still barely holding back her fury.

As she carried you past the guards, she shot them a glare that could’ve turned them to stone. “Touch her again, and I’ll make sure none of you walk outta here.”

The cold air hit you as she stepped outside, but with her arms around you, the warmth of her body pressed against yours, it didn’t feel so bad.

You exhaled shakily, your fingers curling weakly into her coat. “Knew you’d come,” you murmured, voice hoarse, but sure.

She let out a breath, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, her grip tightening just a little. “Yeah, sugar. Always.”