When Damien turned to the servant behind him — the young man still holding his suitcase — his voice emerged low and even, a softness that did not quite match the firmness of his words.
"I'll manage on my own. Go back to my sister."
"The Young Lady asked me to stay with you, Young Master Damien."
He lowered his head as he spoke, but his grip on the suitcase did not loosen.
A small smile tugged at Damien's lips.
"My sister will have far more use for you than I will."
Leila Lionheart — heir to the Lionheart family, and Damien's elder sister — had been adamant about sharing a first-class cabin. Damien had declined without hesitation. If he knew Leila, she was still waiting for him there, already irritated.
"But Young Master, your father—"
"Please." His tone remained gentle, yet final. "You needn't concern yourself with me."
For a moment, the servant lingered. Then, under his steady gaze, his shoulders eased. He exhaled and finally extended the suitcase toward him.
"The Young Lady will not be pleased to learn you chose third class."
A quiet laugh slipped from Damien's throat.
"Then I entrust you with the impossible task of calming her."
The servant sighed, though amusement flickered briefly across his face. He placed a hand over his heart and bowed.
"Have a safe journey, Young Master."
"Thank you."
He departed without another word.
Damien stepped into the cabin and closed the door behind him. The muted click of the latch seemed louder than it should have been.
Only two passengers occupied the compartment.
His gaze drifted first to the man seated near the corner. The brim of a hat — or perhaps merely shadow — obscured his features. Damien's eyes lingered a fraction too long before he looked away. Staring would be impolite.
He took the empty seat beside him.
Then he noticed the young man across from him.
Damien stilled.
Something about him pressed against the senses — not loud, not visible, yet unmistakably present. An austere kind of beauty clung to him, cold and distant, like frost refusing to melt.
His clothing was immaculate. Too deliberate. Too expensive.
And his face…
Damien found himself looking despite himself.
Striking was an understatement.
A flicker of recognition tugged at Damien's thoughts. He studied the man a moment longer, then spoke.
"Have we met before?"
Felix looked up. The screen's pale light slid off his face. His eyes, a muted gold, held steady.
"No."
Nothing else. No softening, no courtesy. His gaze dropped back to the screen.
Damien shifted slightly in his seat. The carriage hummed around them — a low, constant vibration carried through metal and glass.
The refusal landed with a quiet finality.
Taking the hint, he exhaled through his nose and reached into his coat.
The book he drew out had aged with use. Brown leather, darkened at the edges. The spine bore fine fractures like old scars. The corners had been blunted by time and handling.
Felix's attention strayed despite himself.
[The Sacred History of the Mohen Kingdom]
The title lingered in his vision for half a breath.
Then his focus moved.
To the sword resting within Damien's reach.
Damien felt it before he fully registered it — that faint, instinctive prickle at the back of the neck. He lifted his head.
Felix wasn't looking at him.
He was looking at the weapon.
A restrained smile touched Damien's lips, edged with mild embarrassment.
"Is my sword bothering you?"
Felix's gaze shifted, slow, measuring. Not hostile. Not welcoming.
Blank.
The pause stretched.
Then Felix turned away as if the question had required no answer.
Damien's fingers tightened briefly around the book's cover. He cleared his throat and lowered his eyes, letting the pages reclaim his attention.
Silence returned, thinner now.
The train pressed forward, its distant thunder softened by layers of steel, and that's why there is no sound. Paper whispered as Damien turned a page.
And then—
Something rippled through the air.
Not a sound. Not quite a movement.
But both men felt it.
Damien's eyes snapped up. Across from him, Felix had already gone still, his posture subtly sharpened.
A pressure gathered — vague yet undeniable.
Damien glanced toward the window.
The world outside looked unchanged.
Yet the cabin didn't feel the same.
The air weighed against the lungs. Even the background noise of the train seemed muted, as though swallowed by something unseen.
No one spoke.
The stillness tightened.
Waiting.
"Something's not right," Damien said under his breath.
The carriage answered with violence.
A savage jolt ripped through the train. The floor kicked sideways. Luggage racks rattled. Then — a detonation.
Deep.
Close.
The cabin heaved as though some giant hand had seized it and shaken.
Damien lurched, shoulder slamming into the seat. His fingers clawed for purchase and found the armrest. Across from him, Felix had already anchored himself, knuckles pale against the leather.
"What's happening?!"
The train shrieked back onto the rails. Steel scraped steel, a thin, agonizing scream that drilled straight into the skull. For a moment the vibration was everywhere — seat frame, ribs, teeth — then it steadied into a hard, relentless glide.
Felix didn't respond.
His head tilted slightly.
He listens.
Footsteps thundered overhead, fast and heavy, along the roof. Not passengers. Too deliberate. Too sure. Felix's gaze dropped to his wrist. He was quick to check his watch, with a precise and habitual motion.
The steps surged forward.
A sharp crack split the air.
Glass.
Then the screaming began — distant, ragged, spilling from the forward compartments.
Felix looked at Damien.
"This is a raid."
"A… raid?" Damien straightened despite the tremor still humming beneath the floor. His grip tightened on the book in his lap.
"Most passengers on this line are wealthy." Felix's voice was calm, almost bored.
"Mountain gangs would never ignore a target like that."
The Seplika Mountains had been bleeding trouble for years. Escaped criminals. Displaced drifters. The desperate sort.
They learned quickly: trains meant supplies, valuables, leverage. The Avalon Wardens tried to root them out, but the terrain devoured patrols as efficiently as any predator.