The scene had become so strange it felt suffocating.
The arrival of the two men who had just stepped forward was like the final piece quietly sealing an already distorted picture, one riddled with signs of instability aboard this slowly fading train.
Ren gave a slight nod to Anabelle, a gesture in place of sincere thanks.
In response, the mechanic merely snorted coldly, her oil-stained leather-gloved hands clasped tightly together.
Her gaze never left the carriage door that Tarek had just slammed shut, as if the slightest lapse would allow something behind it to spill out again.
The man in front, Tanaka, approached in obvious agitation. His suit was disheveled, his tie loosened, beads of sweat rolling down his temples completely at odds with the damp chill of the surrounding mist.
"Please… what is going on?"
Tanaka stammered, his voice trembling. Both hands clutched his briefcase as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded.
"I heard noises… The train hasn't departed yet? I have an appointment… I can't be late any longer…"
Anabelle shot him a glance, her eyes a mix of pity and irritation. She opened her mouth, seemingly about to cut him off with a blunt remark… but the words never came.
A heavy pressure surged from behind.
O'saa stepped out of the mist.
In complete contrast to Tanaka's panic, the mage carried with him a chilling stillness.
His long robe brushed against the metal floor without making a sound. The bronze ornaments engraved with ancient symbols clinked softly, producing a dull metallic sound, nearly swallowed by the dense steam.
O'saa did not look at Tanaka. Nor did he acknowledge Anabelle.
His gaze locked onto Ren.
Ren's instincts tightened immediately. A warning bell rang violently in his mind.
In the moment their eyes met, Ren felt as though he was no longer looking at a human being.
What stood before him was like a vast void—one that held forbidden knowledge, and a cruelty laid bare.
O'saa curled his lips.
A smile devoid of warmth.
"A soul… unusually sensitive," he said, his voice low and hollow, echoing like it came from the depths of a cavern. "But that very sensitivity… will only make your suffering worse when it comes for you."
Anabelle stiffened at once. She stepped forward half a pace, her hand tightening around the wrench by pure instinct.
"Cut the nonsense, old man. If you're so good at reading things, then tell me what the hell is wrong with this engine! I've checked every valve, every piston… but it's like an invisible hand is blocking it."
O'saa did not answer.
He simply raised his head slowly.
His eyes turned toward the ceiling of the carriage, as if what he was looking at… lay beyond anyone else's sight.
Ren took half a step back, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible within the suffocating atmosphere.
He turned to Tanaka the eastern merchant, the only one who still seemed somewhat normal among those who gave Ren an unsettling feeling.
"Where are the other passengers? Don't tell me… we're the only ones left on this train?"
Tanaka flinched, nearly dropping his briefcase from his trembling hands. His eyes darted nervously toward the gray mist behind him.
"There… there are a few in the front carriage. But I don't know… When I ran through first class, it was completely empty. They vanished as if they had never existed! Their luggage is still there, the tea and coffee are still steaming, but there isn't a single person!"
"Vanished?" Ren frowned.
"Vanished?" O'saa echoed suddenly, his voice low like a chant in an ancient temple.
He did not look at Tanaka, but instead ran his long, gaunt fingers across the bronze symbols on his chest.
"Do not use such cheap words. They have not vanished. They are merely becoming part of the Ritual."
A cryptic smile spread across his face, his deep-set eyes reflecting the dim light of the boiler.
"This mist is not natural. It is a vast ceremonial hall… and this train…"
"…is the offering being presented."
"Shut up already, you rambling old man!" Anabelle snapped, slamming her wrench against the train's wall with a sharp clang, cutting him off.
Her anger had reached its peak. She didn't care about the passengers, nor about any deranged ritual.
To a mechanic like her, a perfect machine suddenly failing without any technical cause was an insult.
"I don't care what gods or demons are haunting this place! Every joint is perfect, the pressure is stable, but the steam flow is frozen like it's been locked in ice!"
"That's impossible!" she ground her teeth, her grease-streaked face flushed red with anger and a trace of helplessness she couldn't hide.
"If I don't figure out what's messing with this boiler, then all of us whether sensitive souls or yellow-robed mages are going to freeze to death inside this heap of scrap!"
Silence fell, like a stone dropped into a bottomless pit.
Ren was the first to speak. His gaze swept past Anabelle her face still burning with anger, as though one more spark would set her off again.
Then to Tanaka, catching the anxiety trembling in his fingers… and finally to O'saa, lingering there a moment longer. A strange mix of detachment and excitement almost as if he didn't belong to the same world.
"Getting angry now…" Ren said slowly, his voice low and even, "will only exhaust us faster."
He didn't raise his voice.
Yet every word landed clearly, like an anchor in the heavy air.
"First, we need to regroup with the remaining passengers. If this train truly is an 'offering'…" His eyes shifted slightly toward O'saa, "…then those in the front are essential pieces."
Ren drew in a deep breath.
The gray mist flowed in with it, seeping into his chest. A bitter metallic taste mixed with machine oil and coal smoke clung to his throat the scent of rust, of something old… and decaying.
"At the very least…" he continued, slower now, "we need to figure out where we are."
His gaze turned toward the mist.
"This fog isn't natural, just like the mage said." A brief pause. "What is it hiding?"
No one answered immediately.
Only the faint hiss of steam from the engine like something breathing in the dark.
"And…" Ren lowered his voice, almost to a murmur, "let's hope the people ahead aren't like that hotheaded guy earlier."
Though he thought it was only a mutter to himself, Tanaka standing right beside him heard it clearly.
He nodded almost immediately, fast and repeatedly, his grip on the briefcase turning pale.
"R-right… exactly…" His voice trembled, but carried a hint of urgency in agreement. "You're right… Don't worry… the people ahead…" He swallowed. "They might be a little strange… but at least they're still sane enough to talk."
"No one… is as crazy as that Tarek."
The four of them agreed to move toward the first-class carriage ahead, where the figures they had seen earlier had now disappeared.
There was nothing particularly frightening about it those people simply couldn't endure the cold of the mist and its unpleasant smell, so they had all returned inside.
Surprisingly, Marco followed them as well. Ren had already guessed that the tall man held some grudge or even hatred toward Tarek, yet judging by his calm and indifferent demeanor,
Marco did not seem afraid of Tarek doing anything reckless. Perhaps… it was curiosity that led him along.
The carriage door let out a dry creak as Ren pushed it open.
Unlike the chaos and oil-stained air of Anabelle's engine room, this passenger car was submerged in a cold stillness, tinged with the scent of dried lavender and lingering dust.
In the middle of the aisle sat a young woman in a finely crafted wooden-and-steel wheelchair.
Her long hair draped over her shoulders, her face delicate yet pale.
Her eyes carried unmistakable fatigue, yet shone with an unusual intelligence.
On her lap rested a thick notebook filled with sketches of dried herbs and notes on poisons.
As she saw Ren and the others enter, she smiled faintly—a weak smile, yet one that held remarkable calm amid the chaos.
"Hello… everyone. I'm Olivia. I was going to go out and check the situation, but it seems the path ahead isn't very friendly to me and this wheelchair," she said, her voice gentle yet clear, without a trace of insecurity or concern about her condition.
Standing beside her like a silent and unstable guardian was a young man with striking features, perhaps only slightly older than Ren.
He wore a worn military uniform, its camouflage patterns faded with time.
He did not sit, but leaned against the carriage wall, his gaunt hand gripping the stock of an old rifle.
His eyes darted constantly, pupils tightening at every faint sound from the steel shell of the train. He was like a wounded animal ready to lash out, yet filled with fear.
"D-don't… don't come too close," he whispered, his voice hoarse.
"I heard them… beneath the floor. They're scratching."
(Note: Just finished fixing my laptop hehe)