Good Tuesday.
My day ends with nothing eventful. I do my work as instructed, helping Hearthlight clients.
The first thing I check after I return to the hotel is the bathroom.
"Ash, I wanna take a bath first today," I say as I step inside.
"Okay. Don't be too long," Ashlynn answers.
I kneel and look beneath the very bottom of the wooden vanity. The gold I glued to its underside is still there.
I breathe out a sigh.
Then I take a quick bath and return to the bedroom.
Ashlynn is already stretching out on the bed.
"Len," she says. "I need to ask you something… kinda urgent."
I look up. "Sure."
"I can't get into a restaurant without a proper registry," she says, tapping the edge of the mattress. "Tanya said it's strict. They check everything. Even if I have money, I can't just walk in."
I frown. "Registry?"
"I had some papers, but nothing official. Hearthlight doesn't give us that kind of thing," she says, rolling her eyes. "I can't exactly tell Tanya 'oops, no credentials' when she's expecting dinner."
I lean back. "So… what do we do?"
She shrugs. "We go get one."
I nod. "Alright. Tomorrow I'll ask Margaret how to get a registry."
She leans back, tapping her chin. "Honestly… I just want to eat in peace without proving I exist."
I chuckle. "Fair enough. I'll come with you, in case they try anything weird."
"Good," she says.
She gets up and heads for the bathroom. "No peeking."
Good Wednesday.
Before I leave work, I ask Margaret about getting a registry.
"Getting a registry is easy, Len," Margaret says, smoothing her skirt as she leans lightly against the counter. "You go to the Civic Concord Order, tell them you need a citizen registry, and show your papers. They'll check your details—name, birthplace, parentage. Nothing complicated. Ashlynn can go with you if you like. You fill out the forms, hand them over, and leave with your registry. Done."
She straightens and smiles brightly. "It doesn't take long. A few hours at most."
"Can I take tomorrow off?" I ask. "I want to be a proper citizen." I smile.
"Yes," she says. "I'll be delighted to see you as a proper citizen of our glorious Republic." She smiles back.
After work, I return to the hotel.
I flop into the chair, the day still sitting in my shoulders. Ashlynn lies on her side on the bed, propped on one elbow, watching me.
"So," she says quietly, "tomorrow we go get my registry… and yours, I guess."
I nod. "Margaret says it's straightforward. We go to the Civic Concord Order in the City Heart."
Ashlynn taps her chin. "I just don't want to look silly in front of Tanya. She expects me to know things."
"You'll be fine," I say. "I'll be there. If they ask questions, we answer them."
Ashlynn gets up and disappears into the bathroom. "Thanks, Len. And no peeking."
Good Thursday.
No work today. I wake up early.
I wear the only dark coat we have and strap a cylindrical bag over my shoulder.
After that, I go down and leave the hotel. I fill up my bag with rocks I pick up from the gutter by the street while waiting for Ashlynn.
Not long after.
She comes out wearing a crimson coat.
"I think we should buy something nice before we get the registry," I say.
"Something nice?" she asks.
"Something nice to wear."
She smiles. "Okay."
I smile back.
Carriages pass through the street. Some are big and others are small. They carry passengers, protecting them from the smog and soots. We look for an empty one and then hire it—large, four-wheeled, comfortable—and tell the jarvy to take us to the Civic Concord Order Building.
Through the window, the North is a world of dim outlines. Tenements are gray. People are gray. The air itself is a thick charcoal soup that blurs distance.
The carriage jolts as we cross the Gray Line. Behind us, the Northern Outskirts smear into soot and crumbling brick. Ahead, the air doesn't clear—it thins, sharp enough to sting the throat.
The Vaporgates loom. They hum, exhaling thick curtains of mist that reach toward the sky.
When the mist breaks, the world becomes too keen.
In the North, edges are softened by soot and neglect. Here, in the City Heart, everything is fixed with terrifying precision. Granite pillars gleam, polished to a dark sheen, reflecting the artificial glow of liquid lanterns.
There are no dim people here. No beggars. No soot-stained laborers. No fringe citizens. Everyone moves with rhythmic grace. Clothes are sharp. Postures are straight. Their smiles are as static.
It feels less like a city and more like a stage set—actors too perfect to be real.
We are the only hazy things here. Two shadows from the sewer, hidden inside a polished box, rattling toward the center of the machine to be documented.
The first thing we do is buy new clothes.
I don't look for the best-looking ones. I look for the ones that won't reject us.
We enter a shop and approach the counter.
"Ah yes. Another rat," the clerk says. "What can we do for you?"
I set my bag on the counter and open it.
The clerk's eyes gleam. "There seems to be a misunderstanding. Apologies, Monsieur"
His tone shifts. He gestures toward the upper section.
"You may pick whatever you like," he says. "For your phens, of course."
I choose a suit: a mid-thigh frock coat of heavy, matte black wool. Flat, non-reflective fabric. A stiff high collar. Cloth-covered buttons. Tight seams. Rigid structure.
Ashlynn chooses a dress with a fitted bodice and a floor-length skirt of lightweight red silk. The fabric moves easily. The bodice has a low collar and narrow sleeves that taper at the wrists. The skirt lacks internal framing, draping naturally from the waist. Small flat buttons run down the front. Thin seams keep it light and unrestrictive.
She's beautiful.
"Let's go get our registry," I say, taking her hand.
We pay and leave.
"Thank you for your patronage, Monsieur and Madam."
The Civic Concord Building rises ahead of us—massive, grey stone, a monument to absolute neutrality. Four identical wings meet at a central rotunda, forming a perfect cross. Thick, undecorated columns lead to wide stone steps and iron-bound doors.
Scale and symmetry do the work of authority. Arched windows reflect the city's dim light. Above it all, a central clock tower keeps the only time that matters.
We step inside.
The lobby is a circular stone rotunda with four radiating corridors. A chest-high wooden counter rings the center, divided into numbered stations. White plaster walls. Polished grey stone floors. Liquid lanterns and high windows cast even light. Heavy wooden benches fill the space.
The room amplifies sound—pens scratching, footsteps echoing.
The clerks wear black uniforms with blue accents. No emblems.
"After you're done, meet me at the front door," I say.
Ashlynn nods.
We approach separate counters.
"Good Thursday, Monsieur," a clerk says.
"Good Thursday," I reply. "I would like to get a registry."
"Ah. A proper citizen," she smiles. "Follow me."
She leads me into a large room filled with others doing their registries. Some old. Some young. None of them look poor.
The clerk brings me to a registrar's desk and leaves.
I sit opposite the registrar. Dark skin. Brown eyes. Curly hair. No emblem on her uniform.
"Good Thursday, Monsieur," she says with a warm polite tone.
"Good Thursday."
"I ask questions. You answer truthfully. Yes?"
"I will only answer truthfully."
"That's the spirit," she says, smiling and giving two thumbs up.
She places a paper on the desk and prepares her pen.
"First question: were you born in Tauran?"
"I don't remember."
The room freezes.
Pens stop. Breaths hold. Eyes lock on me.
The registrar waits.
"Of course I was born in Tauran."
"That's an honest answer," she smiles.
Pens move again and everything continues as if nothing happens.
"Are you proud of the Republic of Corvania?"
"Yes, I am."
"Are you a native Corvanian?" she asks me—a pale man—without hesitation.
"Yes. Just like you."
"We both are, Monsieur," she says. "Another honest answer."
"Your name is Thadeo Owright?"
"I'm Thadeo Owright."
"Model citizen indeed," she says, smiling brightly.
I keep smiling while she writes.
We finish my registry.
My registry?