Eyes on the Top
The corridors of Coach 14 hummed with activity as Raghu made his way toward the central halo board. The air was thick with anticipation, a mixture of excitement, anxiety, and the faint metallic scent of the train. Candidates clustered around the boards, watching as the top twenty list updated for the day. Each flicker of numbers brought cheers, groans, and whispered calculations.
Raghu paused a few steps back, letting the crowd push him forward. His eyes scanned the list.
Compartment Six — Top 20 Rankings
Ayush Dhal — 18,000
Vedant Kael — 17,800
Gudi Moru — 16,500
Karsh Yen — 15,900
Den Olo — 14,900
Isha Meran — 14,500
Raghu — 12,000
Uren Tally — 11,700
Ravi Korr — 10,900
Nathan Varr — 9,820
Toma Shree — 8,750
Zeyn Orl — 7,780
Mira Len — 7,700
Jorik Den — 7,680
Vri Laan — 7,550
Kiro An — 7,350
Sornap Dha — 7,120
Raal Tim — 6,950
Drake Lamar — 6,800
Heena Voh — 6,700
There it was: his name, Rank 7, and his total Doom Credits: 12,000. The Frost bound trial had paid off. A few candidates glanced his way, some with recognition, others with nothing more than passing curiosity.
"Rank 7? Not bad," a tall, wiry boy muttered beside him, tapping his Halo Watch. "But 12,000 credits? He must have done a pocket or something major."
Raghu nodded silently. He wasn't ready to explain the Frost bound Domain or Vetraas yet. Curiosity and quiet pride warred inside him. Around him, the energy of the compartment was electric. Rivalries flared in small gestures: a shoulder brush here, a sarcastic grin there, whispered bets on who would climb to the next compartment first. The top ten were coveted spots; movement could mean everything.
At the same time, someone watched from the shadows. Brenda stepped onto the platform with calculated grace, her sharp eyes scanning the compartment. The list of potential recruits—handed to her by Nathan barely an hour ago—was tucked in a thin data pad, its contents already swimming in her mind. She clenched her jaw slightly. One hour? Really, Nathan? The timing left her no additional room for preparation she had hoped to get, yet it wouldn't show. She had two candidates already in mind, and she needed two more. Time might have been short, but her resolve was not.
She let her gaze sweep over the candidates. The top twenty were easy to observe from a distance: their posture, the ease with which they navigated the crowd, the subtle interactions hinting at confidence or insecurity. It was a delicate dance. One wrong move, and a prospective recruit could be swayed by a stronger faction before she even approached.
The train is alive with ambition, she thought, stepping closer to the boards. Every candidate moves not just through ranks but through the unseen currents of influence and power. One misstep could cost them… or me.
Her eyes lingered on four particular candidates. Two she already considered certain to align with her faction, their aura of control unmistakable even through the superficial bravado. Two others required careful observation—strong candidates who might need persuasion or the right demonstration of opportunity. Patience, she reminded herself. Observe first, act second.
Meanwhile, among the candidates, the updated rankings caused a stir. Some of the top twenty cheered for themselves; others muttered discontentedly under their breath. Candidate rivalries were already forming. A boy at Rank 3 leaned over to the girl at Rank 6. "You better watch your back," he whispered. "Only ten of us move up in thirty days. Fail to get promoted, and the lower ranks push you back."
Raghu caught snippets of conversation but stayed quiet. He had no alliances, no clear understanding of factions yet. For now, he could only watch, learn, and measure the flow of ambition around him.
Brenda's attention shifted to the movements in real time. Each candidate's Halo Watch flashed with their credit totals, faction suggestions, and recent trials. The four major factions dominated the coach: each had visible clusters of candidates moving in synchrony, subtly exerting influence over smaller groups. The strongest faction, she noted, had nearly every candidate in the upper half of the top twenty leaning toward its direction, their attention split between ranks and resources.
Power concentrates around the influential, she thought, noting how some candidates hesitated before choosing their interactions. And influence spreads like frost across ice—slow, patient, inevitable.
She adjusted her strategy in her mind. Two confirmed candidates were hers, but the remaining two would require more observation. Their behavior, reactions to small changes in rank, how they treated rivals, even the way they interacted with their Halo Watches—all of it was data. Every gesture, every hesitation, was a hint.
From across the compartment, Raghu caught a flicker of her presence—calm, observing, and imperceptibly measuring the candidates. He had no idea who she was yet, but there was a weight in her gaze, a quiet authority that commanded respect without a single word.
Brenda, noticing the boy at Rank 7 with the 12,000 credits, made a mental note. Not extraordinary yet, but promising. Her eyes narrowed slightly. He had survived a Pocket alone; the mark of endurance would not be lost on her. He is someone worth watching. Perhaps even guiding carefully.
Her thoughts flicked back to Nathan's oversight. The last-minute list had forced her to adapt on the fly. It was infuriating, yes, but also invigorating. The challenge of reading the top twenty in real time, identifying which candidates were malleable, and determining which were already committed—it reminded her why she excelled at this work. Patience, observation, and subtle influence were her greatest tools.
Meanwhile, candidates murmured among themselves. Rank shifts were both subtle and violent in effect: a minor increase in Doom Credits could provoke envy; a slight drop could inspire panic. Raghu noted the energy, the ever-present tension, the unspoken war for position. The top ten of each compartment moved up or down in thirty-day cycles, while the bottom ten risked demotion—eventually to the abyss if they failed in repeated cycles. These rules weren't just structural; they dictated survival, opportunity, and power.
As Brenda moved discreetly, she analyzed the factions' informal hierarchies. Even without nationality explicitly assigned, she could read the subtleties in mannerisms and group dynamics. One faction dominated conversations with a confident, almost aggressive energy; another operated quietly, subtly influencing candidate choices; the remaining two relied on resource control and subtle persuasion. She filed all this in her mind: approach, timing, persuasion—every variable mattered.
Her two prospective recruits outside the confirmed pair drew her particular focus. Observing them, she watched how they reacted to the updated rankings and credits. One hesitated when passing a higher-ranked candidate, unsure whether to challenge or yield. The other moved with calculated confidence, eyes flicking toward potential allies. Brenda noted both: one required reassurance, the other subtle encouragement.
As Raghu leaned back against the wall of the compartment, he felt the hum of the train beneath him and the pull of unseen eyes. The frost of his recent Pocket trial seemed to linger faintly in his bones. Unknown to him, Brenda's gaze had already marked him as "a candidate to observe carefully," one with potential if handled correctly.
The compartment continued its quiet chaos. Some candidates whispered speculation about the top ten, others calculated the risk of faction alignment, and still others merely watched for opportunities to manipulate alliances. Brenda remained calm, noting every detail without drawing attention.
Somewhere deep in the observation decks of the train, Jivan watched as well. The Frostbound Domain trial had registered in the CNC records, Raghu's marks noted, endurance logged. Subtle patterns emerged in the train's data: the boy will become what he hopes, MUSA would surely be happy. For now, Jivan allowed him room to grow, to learn, he will become his guide : for MUSA.
Brenda, however, had no such patience with time constraints. Nathan's tardiness had forced her to improvise—but she thrived in improvisation. By the time the compartment's lights dimmed for the cycle, she already had mental dossiers for her two confirmed recruits and notes on the two others she would observe for potential recruitment.
Raghu, meanwhile, leaned back in his capsule, watching the crowd, feeling the weight of his newfound credits, and unknowingly positioned as one of the train's more promising young candidates. He had survived frost and isolation, earned rewards, and yet the train had only begun to reveal its depths. Factions, politics, rivalries—he was standing at the edge of a world far larger than the Frost bound Domain.
And across the compartment, unseen, a pair of calculating eyes watched. Strategy was already forming. Influence, patience, and subtle pressure would soon begin to shape the course of several candidates' destinies. The game, as always, had begun.