Wolves at the Door
Candidates drifted through the common hall in clusters, their voices low, urgent, and wary. Every step Raghu took felt heavier, as if the tension in the air clung to his skin. Rumors of faction recruitment, resource trades, and whispered alliances had spread like wildfire. Even the strongest candidates moved with caution, calculating each interaction.
Above the hall, holographic banners shimmered, each symbol representing the dominant factions of Coach 14. There was the Order of Aegis, a precise, geometric sigil that radiated discipline; the Crimson Core, a blazing emblem that seemed almost alive in motion; the Dominion of Storm, chaotic lightning arcs etched into steel; and the Sound of Silence, a crescent wrapped around a shadowed serpent, subtle but intimidating. Candidates hovered near these banners, gauging their opportunities, testing loyalties, and sizing each other up.
Raghu moved quietly, scanning faces he recognized from the Frost Pocket and other shared spaces. Some nodded or smiled, others avoided his gaze. Even Lucien, the talkative Frenchman, lingered nearby, whispering rumors to anyone who would listen.
"Word is, the Crimson Core is buying candidates with credits and pocket access," Lucien said, nudging Raghu. "They'll protect you, fund you, give you access to training no one else sees. If you're alone, you'll burn bright and vanish. Trust me, mon ami, alone you'll be forgotten."
Raghu nodded politely but didn't answer. His instincts told him that caution now was worth more than alliances built on whispers.
A presence caught his attention. A figure moved toward him, confident and measured, and Raghu instinctively straightened. She was tall, armored in the metallic blues and grays of the Dominion of Storm, but her movement was calm, precise — no chaos in her stride. Her eyes studied him for a heartbeat, then she spoke.
"You handled that Frost Pocket better than half of our Vanguard recruits," she said. "I am Reyna Holt, one of the top five in the Dominion. You've caught our attention."
Raghu blinked. "I… appreciate it. But I'm not looking to join a faction yet."
She tilted her head, smiling faintly. "That's the correct answer. Too many rush, and they're gone before the first week ends. But listen. The Dominion of Storm runs on results. We don't pray to gods, we don't debate ideals. We train, we fight, we measure performance. Every compartment has a Captain who reports to a Marshal. Your ledger grows with your actions, your skill, your endurance. Perform well, and you're elevated straight toward Coach 13. Fail, and… well, the Abyss doesn't forgive."
She leaned slightly closer. "I can offer you a temporary sponsorship — a small boost in resource allocation and training priority if you join within three days. Think of it as a safety net while you find your footing."
Raghu weighed her words. "I need time to consider. Three days is… brief."
"Time is a luxury you don't have," she said smoothly, then stepped back. "Remember, drift too long and the current carries you over the edge."
Before Raghu could reply, another presence emerged from the shadows. A slim figure, silver hair tied in a braid, moved like water. The insignia of the Sound of Silence glimmered faintly on her uniform.
"I am Sei," she said, her voice soft but commanding attention. "I watch differently. While the Storm measures your strikes and your endurance, we measure your instincts, your patience, your shadows. The train speaks. We listen. You can survive without us, yes… but true mastery comes from knowing when to strike, and when to vanish."
She handed Raghu a small, rectangular chip that glowed with a muted blue light. "Follow the current, not the iron. Patience will carry you further than brute force or ambition."
Before he could ask questions, Sei disappeared into the flow of candidates, leaving Raghu staring at the small device.
Still processing, he turned toward the dining area. Another figure approached — younger, with sharp eyes that seemed to see through him. She wore the sigil of the Order of Aegis — clean, geometric lines that glowed faintly.
"I'm Mira Dane," she said. "The Order studies patterns. Every pocket, every trial, every shadow on this train — it's all part of a larger design. You've touched two Pockets already, which makes you… interesting."
She spoke quickly, precise in her words. "We don't recruit blindly. We test, observe, and integrate candidates who show adaptability and clarity. Join us, and you gain access to research nodes, analytical tools, and strategic insight to anticipate dangers others won't even see."
Raghu felt the weight of her gaze. "I'll… think about it."
Mira smiled faintly, stepping back. "Then consider the riddle: find symmetry in the storm that's coming. When you see it, you'll know the Order."
The hall buzzed with murmurs as Raghu stepped back to his pod. He paused to glance at the holographic leaderboard: Rank 7, 12,000 Credits. The mark of Musa glimmered faintly on his wrist — a quiet reminder that someone far above him was watching.
Suddenly, the hall's lights dimmed, replaced by a deep red glow. Halo Watches across the compartment blinked, chiming in unison. A calm, mechanical voice filled the corridor.
"Attention, all candidates of Coach 14. The Ascension Trail will begin in seven days. Top three performers will gain access to the exclusive Pocket — Vault of Aegir, an uncharted domain for skill elevation and rare rewards. Candidates who perform exceptionally may be granted expedited promotion directly to Compartment 2 of Coach 14."
A ripple of excitement and tension swept the hall. Candidates whispered frantically, faction leaders began organizing their divisions, and alliances — both overt and covert — formed instantly.
Lucien approached, grinning like a cat with a mouse. "Well, mon ami, looks like the real storm begins now. The Crimson Core is already mobilizing. Most will be dragged into factions whether they like it or not. You? You have choices."
Raghu turned his gaze outward to the endless darkness beyond the windows, the train moving silently through unseen terrain. "Seven days… let's see who breaks first," he muttered under his breath.
Late that night, as Raghu rested in his pod, he noticed a new message ping on his Halo Watch. The familiar pulse of his Vetraas mark tingled faintly as he opened it. Jivan's words appeared:
"Raghu, relax. Don't rush into the factions — they'll chew you up faster than stale credits. I'll send you a link to a Pocket soon. Think of it as a walk in the forest… except the trees may sneak up on you, and the shadows gossip. The scenery is breathtaking, but don't get too distracted. Watch your step, enjoy the birds if they don't eat you first, adapt, survive — and try not to complain too much, I know you like that."
Raghu chuckled despite himself. The absurdity of being teased even in the message made the tension ease for a moment. The thought of the forest Pocket weighed on him — 6,000 Credits to enter. Yet, he also remembered the reward from the Frost Pocket: success had given him 10,000 Credits. If he could succeed here, he'd stand at 12,000 Credits, and his Vetraas mark would enhance his resistance to the environmental challenges of the forest.
Outside his pod, shadows of candidates' movements crept along the walls, whispered deals and secretive glances. The factions were circling, watching, calculating. Brenda's eyes, somewhere in the compartment, followed him as well — a recruiter quietly noting the independent player who could tip the balance.
Raghu leaned back against the pod wall, letting the hum of the train and the weight of the coming Ascension Trail settle in his mind.
Seven days. The factions, the competition, the Vault of Aegir… every choice now could tip the scales.
The lights dimmed further, the train rolling endlessly through the night, carrying ambition, fear, and the first stirrings of rivalry down its iron spine. The Ascension Trail was coming, and nothing would be the same.