The interior of the train car buzzed softly with life as gears clicked beneath the floorboards, syncing with the powerful turbines embedded beneath the rail system. A low, mechanical hum pulsed through the cabin like a heartbeat. Outside, plumes of white steam hissed upward from vents along the platform, shrouding the base of the train in swirling mist.
Then came the chime.
Ding—clang.
From the far end of the car, the uniformed attendant who had gave tickets earlier now stood upright, gripping a metal rail for balance. The cogwheel insignia on his vest caught the light as he cleared his throat and raised his voice to address the passengers.
"Everyone, please remain seated. We're about to depart the Bronze Port," he announced, his voice ringing out clearly over the faint hiss of steam and the creaking of pressurized pipes. "Estimated travel time to Kingdom Cindra is nine hours, with three scheduled stops along the way."
He held up three fingers as he continued, "First stop: thirty minutes from now, in the outer district of Fiola. Next will be Draxen, then Everrise. After that, straight to Cindra."
A few passengers adjusted themselves in their seats, checking their bags and leaning back. The sound of shifting fabric and sighs filled the space as everyone settled in. Zay remained still, hands clasped together, his amethyst eyes staring out the window at the bronze scaffolding of the port bathed in steam and moonlight.
Suddenly, the floor beneath him vibrated more intensely. The gears beneath the train surged forward with a loud clang, and thick columns of steam burst from the side vents in rhythmic hisses. Outside, mechanical arms pulled back from the magnetic rails, and the pressure locks disengaged with a series of heavy thuds.
The train lurched slightly before it glided smoothly forward, the cabin trembling for only a moment before stabilizing into a graceful, steady pace. The mist outside gave way to the open tracks ahead, illuminated by soft, golden rail-lights that stretched out into the distance like veins of light through the darkness.
Zay inhaled slowly and leaned back into the cushioned leather, but his stomach clenched with discomfort. The hunger was still present and felt much worse than earlier.
'Just thirty minutes,' he told himself. 'I can make it until then.'
But even he didn't believe the words. His jaw tightened. Every breath felt heavier.
A flicker of movement caught his attention.
He glanced up and noticed several passengers turning in their seats, eyes subtly drifting toward him. Some looked out of curiosity. Others, suspicion. A few tried not to stare but clearly failed.
His gaze swept across them—an older man with sun-cracked skin and oil-stained gloves, a woman with a notepad, glasses glinting under the overhead lights, a boy maybe ten years old whispering something to his mother while pointing discreetly.
Zay narrowed his eyes slightly, lips tightening.
'The hell is up with everyone looking at me?'
He shifted in his seat but said nothing. The train moved onward, slicing through the fog-choked outskirts of the Bronze Port toward the sprawling continent beyond.
The train tracks were elevated—suspended across massive bronze struts and interlocked cog-rails that ran parallel to a sprawling ridgeline. The rail system was engineered to survive everything from rainfall to minor quakes, with rotating gears embedded in the stone supports to stabilize the rail when it climbed steeper sections of terrain. Steam pistons beneath the train hissed rhythmically, pushing it forward.
Every so often, glowing runes marked the sides of the rails, each one topped with a crystal core wrapped in coiled copper, pulsing faintly with golden aura. These served as power beacons—amplifying the train's energy reserve and guiding its path through thick fog and rain-soaked winds.
To the left, the land dropped sharply into a wide ravine, where shattered remnants of old rail lines stretched like broken fingers down into a dark chasm. Thick vines coiled around rusted tracks, and shattered carts lay half-buried in the mud—evidence of past derailments or abandoned trade routes.
To the right, clusters of metallic trees stood in eerie silence, their bark plated with glimmering iron-like growths that shimmered in the moonlight. These were known as Valkwood Pines, rare trees that grew near magnetized soil. Local myths claimed they absorbed energy from the world around them and whispered to one another in storm winds.
Pale silver of the moonlight spilled across the landscape—casting sharp-edged shadows that stretched and curled over the rails like vines. That same ghostly light seeped into the train's corridors—filtering through the windows and tracing long, glimmering lines across the floor, the seats, and the walls. Shadows of passengers and passing support beams flickered rapidly across the cabin like a stuttering heartbeat—brief flashes of darkness in a world awash with dim light and steam.
The train continued gliding along its elevated tracks, the rhythmic hum of the engine accompanied by the occasional hiss of steam from the ceiling vents. Just as the moonlight bathed the corridor in its silver hue, a mechanical click echoed through the cabin—a sound like shifting locks—as one of the reinforced corridor doors slowly slid open.
A man stepped through the doorframe, he was dressed in an impeccably fitted dark blue suit, every seam pressed to perfection. His black hair was slicked back neatly, without a strand out of place. Black gloves covered his hands, and his shoes—polished to a mirror sheen.
Zay's gaze shifted up to the man, his eyes narrowed.
On the right chest of the man's suit was a small insignia embroidered with fine metallic thread. A cogwheel, sharp and detailed, had been fused with a dragon's scale, the colors shifting subtly with the light.
Monroe followed his gaze and caught a glimpse of the man before averting his eyes.
"He's a member of the Strike Team," Monroe muttered under his breath, keeping his voice low. "A special unit formed by the king himself a few years back. They're meant to deal with high-level threats—people or things dangerous enough to put entire regions at risk."
Zay didn't respond, still watching the man as he walked calmly down the aisle, his steps were smooth as he smiled at everyone and waved to each of them.
"I heard they get paid three gold a month," Monroe added with a soft whistle, "and that's just their base salary. Most folks can't even dream of making that kind of coin unless they run a city port or marry into a merchant guild."
Zay finally turned his head slightly, interest clear in his expression.
Monroe continued, his tone shifting into something between envy and curiosity. "I thought about applying once—but the commanders of the Strike Team hand-pick every member. You can't just walk in and sign up. You gotta get noticed... and survive their tests. Still, it's public knowledge that they're around. Helps keep people on their best behavior."
He took a breath before finishing, "There's six—maybe seven—commanders, if the rumors are right. Each one runs five branches across the continent. That's a lot of Strike Teams, but no one really knows how many operatives there are. They keep those numbers tight."
The man in the suit didn't even glance their way as he passed—his eyes fixed forward, his expression unreadable. His smile faded as he walked through another corridor door.
The door slid shut behind him with a smooth hiss, sealing off the moment like a closing vault.
Thirty minutes passed in a blur of moonlight and rattling steel, until the train began to slow. The gears beneath the floor clicked and hissed in sequence, gradually easing the motion until the entire train coasted to a smooth stop. Steam burst from the side vents with a loud exhale as brakes locked into place.
The attendant stood from his seat, his voice echoing down the corridor.
"First stop—Fiola. We'll be stationed here for one hour before departure. If you're stepping off, make sure to be back in time. We won't wait."
Zay rose alongside Monroe, the hunger in his stomach gnawing more aggressively now. As they stepped off the train and onto the stone platform of Fiola Station, a sharp breeze rolled through the air—cool, with a hint of lavender from nearby herbal fields. The sky above was painted in gradients of deep blue and silver, the moon casting faint light across the bronze rails and old copper signs.
A loud grumble escaped from Zay's stomach.
Monroe raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Yeah, I heard that one. Come on. There's a spot just around the corner. It's not five-star dining, but it'll keep you from collapsing."
They made their way down a narrow stone path behind the station, gaslights flickering softly overhead. Just beyond a curved alley stood a small eatery built from red bricks and polished wood, its sign swinging slightly in the wind. The words "The Iron Spoon" were carved into the wood in thick blocky letters, faintly glowing with golden runes.
"They've got a short menu, but everything is good," Monroe said, motioning to the entrance. "You'll find skillet-roasted venison wrapped in sunleaf, bread bowls filled with molten cheese stew, and fire-cracked egg dumplings with spice. They also do roasted grain pies—flaky crusts with honeyed roots and smoked nuts. Oh, and their ember tea boiled with cinnamon bark and blackroot—it'll wake your whole body up."
Zay's mouth watered. "Lead the way."
They stepped inside. The scent of charred herbs, roasted meats, and baked dough flooded Zay's senses immediately. The restaurant was small and warm, filled with low wooden tables, flickering lamps, and a soft hum of conversation. A few travelers and locals were scattered about, their coats hung on hooks and cups steaming in their hands with hats on tables.
A server greeted them quickly and took their order—one molten cheese stew in a crusted bread bowl for Zay, along with a side of fire-cracked dumplings. Monroe went for the grain pie and a mug of ember tea.
Within minutes, their food arrived—rich, steaming, and radiating with savory aromas. Zay tore into the dumplings first, his hunger overwhelming any thoughts of pacing. The burst of heat and spice made his eyes water slightly, but he didn't stop. The molten cheese stew was thick, gooey, and coated his tongue with buttery warmth. Each bite restored a little more life to his limbs.
Across from him, Monroe took a casual bite of his pie and sipped his tea. "You eat like a starved bear," he said with a light chuckle, then raised two fingers. "That's two things you owe me now."
Zay let out a breath between bites, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Yeah... I know."
Monroe just laughed again, lowered his fingers, and leaned back in his chair. "Don't worry. I'm keeping track."