The Magi-Train groaned as it crawled over the sand, a sound of pure monstrosity. Outside my window, there was nothing but dust and blistering heat. This was the heart of the desert, a land I only knew from stories as the home of a powerful, metal-wielding empire. The horizon was a flat, empty smear of yellow.
Inside, the train was quiet. Soldiers slept in corners. Radames sipped his tea like a man on a casual trip, not one heading toward a war. He talked about his plan. I nodded, feeling less like a person and more like a piece of baggage he'd picked up.
My mind was still stuck on Arden and Sora. They had a history, a big one. The kind that gets turned into songs by scribes with too much ink and not enough truth.
I leaned on the window. All this noise and heat was nothing like home. Not like Veridiana. There, the magic was a quiet hum, a soft glow in the night. Here, it felt loud and forced. You needed an army and a metal fortress just to cross a desert.
Then the train jerked hard.
It was not a gentle bump. It was a violent jolt that rattled my teeth. I nearly bit my tongue.
"Is that normal?" I muttered to the air.
The world outside shuddered.
A crack split the sand ahead. Then something huge and plated burst out with an earsplitting roar.
"Sandworms!" a guard shouted, but he didn't sound surprised. He sounded ready.
Not one, but three more cracks tore through the dunes around us. We had driven right into their territory.
I froze solid, my mind blank with panic.
Radames, in contrast, stood up and stretched like a cat in a sunbeam. He looked out the window, a faint, almost bored smile on his face.
"Let's not waste time," he said, his voice calm. "Handle them."
That was all the order his soldiers needed. They moved in a practiced, silent dance. Their magi-guns hummed to life, runes glowing blue. They fired through the slits in the walls, and the world outside exploded into a storm of light and sound. One worm took a direct hit and thrashed, its screech cutting through the chaos.
But there were too many.
Radames let out a soft, impatient sigh. He strode to the door. "I'll clear the path."
He leapt from the moving train, his cloak flaring behind him. He landed gracefully on the sand as if he'd simply stepped off a porch. In one fluid motion, he drew his elegant, curved sword. It ignited with fire that seemed to suck the heat from the air around us.
He didn't charge. He simply began to walk forward.
The nearest worm lunged. Radames didn't dodge. He swung his blade in a lazy, almost contemptuous arc.
A torrent of fire roared from the steel. It didn't just hit the worm. It tunneled through it, carving a clean, smoking hole straight through its body. The creature collapsed, already dead.
The second worm came from his side. He didn't even turn his head. He just reversed his grip and stabbed backward, the fiery blade piercing through its head like a hot knife through butter.
The third and fourth charged together. Radames moved then, a blur of crimson and gold. He danced between them, his sword a ribbon of flame. One slash, two. Both worms fell apart in segments, their monstrous forms hitting the sand with heavy, final thuds.
The whole fight lasted less than a minute.
Radames flicked black ichor from his blade, cleaned it on a cloth produced from his coat, and strolled back to the train as it slowed to a halt for him. He stepped back inside, not even out of breath.
"Efficient," he remarked, as if commenting on the weather. "This route shaves half a day off our trip. A little pest control is a small price to pay for speed."
He looked directly at Arden, that sly grin returning. "And it never hurts to remind new acquaintances of the quality of the help you're offering them."
The message was clear. He was powerful. His empire was powerful. But the problem he faced, the cultists, was something even all this power couldn't simply smash. He needed Arden's particular skills.
The train rumbled back to life. I stayed in my seat, my hands clenched tight. My brain was still catching up to the fact that the emperor of a desert empire had just butchered four giant monsters before his morning tea was cold.
My hands still shook when we rolled into town. I think I was waiting for another monster to burst out of the road. I braced for the usual tense shuffle of people pretending not to see us, maybe a shutter or two slamming shut for good measure.
But instead?
People waved.
Actually waved. People waved. Really waved. Like we were heroes come home, not some grim band of soldiers.
Kids chased the train like it was throwing silver coins or sweets. Someone tossed flowers. Literal flowers. I half-expected a bard to leap out and start singing.
I didn't get it. Not even a little.
The train did not stop for the modest clay houses or the crowded slums. It carried us forward, through the colossal gates and into the shining heart of the capital, finally hissing to a stop inside a vast, echoing station of stone and brass.
As we stepped onto the platform, the city swallowed us whole.
The noise was a thick stew of sounds, the clatter of wheels on stone, the calls of merchants, a language I did not know from a group of short, sturdy dwarves, and underneath it all, the hum of the city itself.
The air was a mix of sharp spices, the smell of hot metal from workshops, and something else, something clean I could not name.
Then I saw something strange and alien. They were metal carriages with no horse, chugging and puffing out little clouds of smoke. The sight of something moving without a beast made my head feel strange.
It was all too much. The scale, the noise, the magic, it made my village feel like a forgotten speck. I felt my world, already cracked from ogres and bandits, split completely open.
I didn't mean to. I didn't even think. But as one of the horseless vehicles rumbled past, I found myself taking a small, stumbling step. My shoulder brushed against Arden's arm, solid and unyielding.
I shifted another half-step toward Sora. I was not comfortable with them, not really. But in this new, terrifying world, they were the only anchors I had.
We didn't linger. A sharp-featured woman named Seraphina met us on the platform. She was sharp and tall, with reddish-brown skin and cheekbones sharp enough to cut. Her eyes didn't just look, they sized you up like a butcher picking the best cut.
It felt personal.
"This way," she said, her voice flat. No welcome, no small talk.
We followed her out of the station and into the bustling streets. The walk was a blur of overwhelming impressions. I kept my head down, focusing on Seraphina's back just to keep from drowning in it all.
Then, we passed through another set of gates, and the world went quiet.
We stood in the courtyard of the mansion. The city's roar was now a distant murmur. The air was still. The mansion itself was a fortress of arrogance, with high walls and windows shaped like suns. It didn't invite you in; it dared you to approach.
Radames strode ahead, already bored with us. He vanished through the grand doors with a wave. "Make yourselves at home. We'll discuss your real mission tomorrow."
The massive doors clicked shut behind him. The silence they left was heavier than the city's noise. The tour with Seraphina was a numb series of rooms and hallways.
The room they gave me was silent. The bed was bigger than my entire hut back in the village. A fireplace held a low, magical flame that gave no heat. A delicate desk sat by the window, covered in paper and pots of ink I was too afraid to touch.
I stood in the middle of it all, waiting for someone to tell me there had been a mistake. That this room was for a noble girl who knew which fork to use, not for me.
No one came.
Sora sat on the windowsill, quiet and still, watching the strange, dull stars of the capital. Arden was already pulling things from the air—a book, a small knife, a whetstone. He sat on the floor and began to sharpen the blade. The soft, rhythmic shhh-shhh sound was the only familiar thing in the room.
"You two ever sleep?" I grumbled, my voice muffled by the mattress I had fallen onto face-first.
Arden looked up. "I don't need much sleep. Sora sleeps lightly."
Of course they did. They probably spent their nights meditating or reading dusty scrolls while I dreamed of running from ogres.
"The stars look different here," Sora said, tilting her head. "A little duller."
"You like watching the stars?"
She nodded, not turning from the window. "They don't answer. But it feels like they're always listening."
I didn't get it. Back home, you looked at the stars to navigate or to wish on a shooting one. You didn't expect them to listen.
Eventually, she slipped out of the room barefoot, a ghost in the palace hallways. I was left staring at the ceiling, trying to find some meaning in a crack that looked like a crooked lizard.
"Hey," I said into the quiet. The sharpening sound stopped. "Why did you bring me?"
Arden paused, the whetstone hovering over the blade. "What?"
"You didn't have to. I'm not strong. I'm not smart. My magic is barely a flicker. Why am I here?"
The silence that followed was so complete I could hear my own heart thump. It was a stupid question. I was asking a mountain why a pebble was lying at its base.
"You will be," he said finally.
I rolled onto my side, deeply unimpressed. "Wow. That explains nothing."
No smile, not right away. But something in the set of his shoulders softened. Just for a second. The glasses hid his eyes, but I could feel his focus on me.
"I'll help you learn," he said. "If you want."
And weirdly, that was enough. It wasn't a grand speech. It wasn't even a real promise. But it was a choice. For the first time since my village burned, someone was asking me what I wanted to do, not telling me what I had to do.
The panic that had been a constant knot in my stomach since I woke up in the forest didn't vanish, but it loosened. It settled into a low hum I could almost ignore.
Maybe I wasn't just extra luggage. Maybe I was supposed to be here.
The mission was to be covert. To gather information, to infiltrate, to find allies. It was terrifying.
But it was a purpose. And for now, that was enough.
Later, a servant arrived with a tray of food. They didn't speak, only bowed and left. The food was a strange, spiced stew and soft bread. But it was the best thing I had ever tasted, and I ate it so fast I almost choked.
Night fell properly. Sora returned and curled up on a large cushion in the corner. Arden remained on the floor, his back against the wall, seemingly asleep, which was hard to tell with his sunglasses on. The room was too big, the silence too deep. The crack in the ceiling was no longer a lizard, but a jagged scar.
I lay in the center of the enormous bed, the blankets pulled up to my chin. I listened to the unfamiliar sounds of the palace—the faint, rhythmic tread of a guard's patrol in the hall, the distant hum of the city beyond the walls, Sora's soft, even breathing.
I was safe. I was full. I had a purpose.
So why did I feel more alone than I ever had in the ruins of my village?
I closed my eyes, not to sleep, but to escape the crushing weight of the quiet. Tomorrow, the mission would begin. But tonight, there was only the dark, and the vast, empty space around me, and the terrifying thought that I might finally be lost for good.
The next morning, I woke feeling like I'd been drugged. My head was thick, my body heavy, as if I'd slept through an earthquake. I pushed myself up, blinking in the pale light, and my brain stuttered to a halt.
They were in the same bed.
Not just in it, they were tangled in it. Arden was half-sprawled on his back, one arm hanging off the side, the other trapped beneath Sora. His shirt was gone, the lines of his torso stark in the morning gloom.
His hair was a wild mess. Sora was curled into his side, her face pressed against his bare skin. One of her shoulders was bare, the strap of her thin chemise slipped down her arm. The blanket was twisted low around their hips.
His belt was on the floor. Her outer dress was draped over a chair. There was no confusing this for innocent sleeping.
I just stared, my mind a useless blank. I must have slept like the dead. A part of me, the part that had survived by being a light sleeper, was horrified. The rest of me was just… stuck.
Why were we all in one room? Was this Radames's idea of a joke? Or did he just see us as a single unit, a pack of strays not worth the space?
Sora's face was serene, her lips curved in a soft, content smile. Arden looked… thoroughly conquered. Like a man who had fought a different kind of battle and lost spectacularly.
I flopped back onto my pillows with a groan and pulled the blanket over my head. Not my business. It wasn't. I was choosing ignorance. It was the only way to survive this without my brain short-circuiting.
But the image was burned onto the back of my eyelids. The bare skin. The tangled limbs. That smile on her face.
Later, as we walked through the capital, Sora hummed, her steps light. She kept sneaking glances at Arden, her cheeks flushed with a secret warmth. I didn't say a word. I was too busy trying to ignore the low, unsettled knot in my stomach and the unnatural hum of the city itself.
The city tour was a blur of forced magic and clanking machinery. Sora gazed at everything with wide, enchanted eyes, but I saw it all through a filter of my own exhaustion and discomfort.
The floating lights, the talking constructs, it all felt loud and unnatural. This wasn't the quiet, living magic of my homeland. This was magic hammered into service, forced to obey. It felt as subtle as a punch to the face.
Sora pointed at a street vendor selling roasted meats, and Arden, being Arden, just nodded like it was the most normal thing in the world. He fished around in his endless void of a pocket, pulled out some coin, and bought us all some.
And then there was the beasts. Like the magi-train, but somehow smarter pieces of metal that walked and carried things. The streets near the palace were crawling with them, huge iron-beast things that were both impressive and, honestly, kind of unsettling. I kept expecting one to turn its glowing eyes on me and say something ominous.
Meanwhile, Sora looked enchanted, gazing at everything like she was witnessing the heavens themselves. I could practically hear her thoughts: "So much magic, so little time to experience it all." She had that look in her eyes, the kind that made me wonder if she might just combust from the excitement of it all.
The streets slowly changed. The bright magic and glittering machines faded away, replaced by quieter alleys and older, rough stone buildings that looked like they'd seen a hundred years of footsteps.
A street vendor shouted over the clatter of an automaton's heavy hooves. "Light-charms, five for a crown! No more stubbed toes at night!"
A small child tugged on her mother's sleeve. "Mom, I want a wind-bubble like in the stories!"
It was loud, enchanted, alive. Everything gleamed or floated or blinked. If this was normal for the capital, I couldn't help but wonder what counted as extravagant. Back in Veridiana, a wind-bubble was a bedtime tale, not something you bought from a street stand.
Nearby, a young guard leaned against a pole, looking bored. "We don't get trouble like the border towns. Anyone causing a ruckus here? The constructs tear 'em apart before they can blink."
"And what if they're not human?" a low, bitter voice muttered nearby. I turned just in time to catch a cloaked figure melting into the shadows of a nearby alley, its striped tail flicking once, marking it as one of those beastkin many still refused to accept.
Not everyone trusted the Empire's peace, especially those who didn't quite belong.
And then I saw them. A lone figure, hooded and standing too still near a narrow alley's mouth. They were muttering words I couldn't catch, their hands hidden in the folds of their robes. The kind of person who screamed trouble.
My stomach dropped. Of course. Just when I thought the morning couldn't get worse.
A cold dread, entirely separate from my personal discomfort, began to coil in my gut. This wasn't just an awkward walk anymore.
Figures.