The Magi-Train creaked and groaned as it crawled over the sand, like it was angry at the desert and eager to leave its mark behind. Outside, there was nothing but dust, bones, and blistering heat—as if the gods themselves had cursed this land for their own amusement. Sandstorms rolled in and vanished, as if daring us to keep going. The horizon never changed. Just flat, empty nothing. I half-suspected the world had given up past this point.
Inside? Quiet, if you called grim soldiers snoozing in corners quiet, and Radames sipping tea like he wasn't hauling half an army along. He jabbered on about the plan, while I nodded dumbly, more decoration than anything else.
Meanwhile, I was still trying to process the part where Arden and Sora had apparently done something big before I met them. The kind of thing that gets turned into a saga and over-embellished by bored scribes with too much ink.
I leaned on the window, squinting out at the endless, cursed desert. All this noise and heat. It wasn't like home. Not like Veridiana. There, the hills were soft, the magic quiet. A lantern glow here, a harvest charm there. Things were simpler. Not better, maybe—but at least you didn't need an army to feel safe. Or a train that buzzed like it was angry at the ground.
Then the train jerked hard.
Not a gentle bump, but a full jolt that shook me to my core and nearly made me bite my own tongue.
"...That normal?" I muttered to nobody, clutching the seat like it might fly away.
The world shuddered.
A crack split the sand ahead, and then something huge burst out like the desert had spit it up. Covered in plates, ugly as sin, and roaring.
"A sandworm!" one of the guards shouted out. Because of course it was. It launched itself up with a shriek so high-pitched it rearranged my soul.
I froze. I think I forgot what thinking was.
Radames, on the other hand, stood up like he'd just remembered he left the firepit burning back home. He calmly stretched and stared out the window.
"Handle it," he said. Casual. Like ordering bread.
And bam—soldiers snapped to life like they'd just been waiting for the cue. They moved fast, practiced, not a single wasted twitch. Their weapons lit up with glowing runes and that weird mechanical hum that sounded like a beehive someone had kicked in and boxed up. Then they pointed them through the narrow slits lining the walls—slits that definitely weren't windows unless your idea of a view included aiming at monsters.
When they fired, it looked less like a fight and more like a deranged festival. Lights burst everywhere, wild colors flashing like the gods had thrown a tantrum. Magic cracked so loud it felt like even the desert might remember it in its bones. The worm shrieked back, high and sharp enough to make the whole train tremble.
Overhead, something whined—a deep, grinding charge. I looked up to see a roof-mounted monstrosity rumbling to life. The runes lit up. Crystals locked into place. The barrel rotated, lined up—
BOOM
Flash. Impact. The worm screamed. A solid chunk of its side was just—gone, blasted off in a burst of light and heat that left the air smelling like burnt jerky.
It wasn't dead. Not even close. It was just furious now.
Then Radames moved.
He didn't just step down—he leapt, a single impossible bound that landed him far from the train, cloak billowing like he owned the wind itself. In one smooth motion, he drew his sword—a sleek, curved thing that looked too fancy to be real until it lit up with fire like it had been waiting for an excuse.
No grand show, no shout. Just a lazy swing, like he was interrupting his supper.
The fire roared out of the blade like it had a grudge. It didn't just burn—it tunneled, carving a path straight through the worm's gut. The creature shrieked and reared back, flailing wildly. Massive coils slammed into the dunes, flinging sand high into the air like exploding waves. Soldiers ducked behind cover. The whole train shuddered.
Radames moved with the kind of ease that only comes from doing something too often to count. He dodged a strike that could've flattened a house, danced along the worm's side, then stabbed it again—this time straight through what had to be its heart, if worms even had those.
The beast gave one last convulsive twitch and collapsed in a heap, steam rising from the ruin of its body. The dunes hissed as the heat bled out into the sand.
Radames flicked dust from his cloak and cleaned his blade like it was nothing more than a kitchen knife.
The train rumbled back to life. Soldiers cheered and slapped backs, like it was a feast night after a long haul. Radames strolled in, expression flat, then grinned like we were just slightly behind schedule. "Good work. Let's get moving."
I stayed glued to my seat, my brain still stuck trying to make sense of the whole 'fire-sword worm surgery' horror show. You'd think that kind of thing would prepare you for anything. It didn't.
My hands still shook when we rolled into town. I think I was waiting for another monster to burst out of the road. I braced for the usual tense shuffle of people pretending not to see us—maybe a shutter or two slamming shut for good measure.
But instead?
People waved.
Actually waved. People waved. Really waved. Like we were heroes come home, not some grim band of soldiers.
Kids chased the train like it was throwing silver coins or sweets. Someone tossed flowers. Literal flowers. I half-expected a bard to leap out and start singing.
I didn't get it. Not even a little.
Eventually, the train started again. Off we went, heading toward something that felt bigger and heavier than just a city.
And then we arrived.
The capital struck me like a slap of magic right in the face. Sigils drifted in the air like sleepy fireflies. Soldiers stood stiff as stone. The streets breathed magic whether you wanted them to or not.
Radames' mansion made no effort to hide itself. High walls. Sun-shaped windows. Fancy everything. The kind of place that screamed, Important person lives here—kneel, or don't bother stepping inside.
He waved and vanished down a hall. "Make yourselves at home. I've got important things to take care of, so I will be busy for a while."
That's when we met Seraphina.
She was sharp and tall, with reddish-brown skin and cheekbones sharp enough to cut. Her eyes didn't just look—they sized you up like a butcher picking the best cut.
It felt personal.
I'd heard stories, back in the village. People from the western lands with horns and skin like dusk. Dangerous. Mysterious. All that jazz. Seraphina wasn't a story, though. She was reality, and reality came with a stare that made you want to apologize for existing.
"This way," she said, voice flat and sharp, like she'd said it a thousand times to stone-faced lords.
No greetings. No chit-chat. Just straight into touring.
We saw the training yard, the courtyard (probably cursed statues), and a fountain that sparkled like liquid stars. Oh, and the dungeon. Just tossed that in like she was pointing out the broom closet. I made a very conscious decision not to ask questions.
Then we got to our rooms. Beds that didn't feel like piles of straw. Pillows that weren't lumps. Sheets that didn't stink of goats. I face-planted onto mine with all the dignity of a collapsing tent.
Sora sat on the windowsill, quiet and still, watching the sky like it held secrets just for her. Arden did his usual trick—pulling things from a dark nothing like it was as easy as grabbing a rag from a sack.
"You two ever sleep?" I grumbled into the mattress.
Arden looked up. "I don't need much sleep, and Sora sleeps lightly."
Of course they did. Probably spent nights meditating or doing mysterious magic things while I drooled on my pillow.
"Stars look different here," Sora said, tilting her head. "A little duller."
"You like watching the stars?"
She nodded. "They don't answer, but it feels like they're always listening."
"…Huh."
Yep. I don't get it.
Eventually, she slipped out of the room barefoot, and I was left staring at the ceiling, trying to divine some kind of cosmic truth from the crack above my head.
It looked like a lizard.
"…Hey," I said into the silence. "Why'd you bring me?"
Arden, crouched near the wall with some kind of toolkit, paused. "Hm?"
"You didn't have to. I'm not strong. I'm not smart. My magic's barely enough. Why am I even here?"
The silence that followed was quiet enough to make my own thoughts echo.
"You will be," he said eventually.
I rolled onto my side, deeply unimpressed. "Wow... that explains literally nothing."
No smile, not right away. But something softened around his eyes. Just for a second.
"I'll help you learn," he said. "If you want."
And weirdly, that helped. Like, not "the world makes sense" helped, but enough to make the panic settle into something I could almost ignore.
Maybe I wasn't just the extra luggage.
Maybe I was supposed to be here.
Still probably going to die horribly. But hey—progress.
The next morning felt strange in a way I couldn't quite place. For one, I woke up feeling like I'd been dropped into the bed by a passing storm spirit—heavy, groggy, and with the lingering suspicion that I'd slept through something important. I blinked up at the cracked ceiling, then finally dragged myself upright.
And there they were.
Arden and Sora, fast asleep, tangled up in the same bed like they'd lost a battle with common sense. Arden lay half off the bed, hair wild and—oh yeah—shirt gone. Sora had curled against him, her small frame tucked under his arm, the both of them tucked beneath a single blanket that was definitely doing too much heavy lifting.
With her bare shoulder showing and his belt tossed on the floor, it didn't take much guessing to know what'd happened.
For a second, I just sat there, trying to restart my brain like it was a stubborn mule. Maybe it was just sleeping weirdness. Maybe Arden fought his blanket like it was a sandworm, lost, and got stripped halfway to decency. Plausible. Sort of.
Honestly, I must've slept so deep a whole horde of monsters could've stomped through and I wouldn't have noticed. Which just made me wonder—why the hell hadn't Radames given us separate rooms in the first place? Was this some kind of weird, passive-aggressive hospitality, or did he just assume we'd all be fine playing sardines? Either way, I clearly slept like a corpse being bribed by dream spirits, because I hadn't heard a damn thing.
Sora looked disgustingly peaceful, wearing the faintest, most satisfied little smile. Arden—well, he looked like a man who had fought a war, won it, and decided he'd earned a twelve-hour coma as a reward.
I stared a little longer than I should've, a slow, dead-inside blink, before flopping back into my bed with a muffled groan that could've passed for a dying cow.
Maybe it was innocent. Maybe they just needed warmth. Maybe I was projecting weird village taboos onto people who lived closer to gods than goats. I tried to believe it. Really, I did. But the knot in my stomach wouldn't untangle that easily.
Whatever. Not my business. Definitely not. I was choosing the path of least trauma.
I pulled the blanket over my head, clutching it like a lifeline, silently willing the world to reset itself when I opened my eyes again. It didn't.
Still the brick. Still pretending not to crack.
Sora hummed softly as we walked through the capital, hands folded like she was keeping a secret. If I hadn't been stuck on this strange 'tour,' I might've thought it was sweet. But instead, I was stuck watching her keep sneaking glances at Arden like she had no clue what a half-naked man looked like, even though I was pretty sure they'd done that thing last night. You know the one.
I didn't bother calling them out on it. I was too tired for any more drama. Not with the massive knot of unease still lodged in my gut from the sandworm fiasco. The Empire ran on a kind of magic that felt unnatural to me—loud, forced, always humming. Back home in Veridiana, spells hummed like lullabies, not marching drums. Maybe I just wasn't built for this kind of place.
Plus, Radames was nowhere to be seen, probably off somewhere being annoyingly competent and boring while I wandered through the city pretending not to care about why we were actually here.
Sora pointed at a street vendor selling roasted meats, and Arden—being Arden—just nodded like it was the most normal thing in the world. He fished around in his endless void of a pocket, pulled out some coin, and bought us all some.
We kept walking through streets that practically hummed with magic. It wasn't subtle, either. Magic-powered lamps floated overhead, glowing like they were showing off. And don't get me started on the district we wandered into—it was like they made a sport out of enchantments.
Glowing chalk sketches on the walls, fireproof scrolls in the windows, and every corner had some sort of absurdly impossible magic happening: light dances, floating objects, creatures suspended in glass. Probably too dangerous to actually exist, but hey—here they were, all glowy and alive in their glass cages.
And then there was the machinery. Like the magi-train, but somehow smarter—pieces of metal that walked, carried things, and even talked in some cases. The streets were crawling with them, huge iron-beast things that were both impressive and, honestly, kind of unsettling. I kept expecting one to turn its glowing eyes on me and say something ominous.
Meanwhile, Sora looked enchanted, gazing at everything like she was witnessing the heavens themselves. I could practically hear her thoughts: "So much magic, so little time to experience it all." She had that look in her eyes, the kind that made me wonder if she might just combust from the excitement of it all.
Somehow, despite everything—the sandworm, the endless travel, the magic humming in every corner—Arden had stayed calm through it all. When that worm showed up, he didn't even flinch. Just sat there, cool as the stones beneath our feet, while the rest of us nearly jumped out of our skins. It was starting to hit me: calm wasn't something Arden had to force. It was just how he was, always. Like breathing.
And honestly? That was almost more frightening than the monster itself.
We wandered the city for a while after that. Sora was practically glowing, drifting along like she wanted to see every inch of it. Arden, on the other hand, stuck close, moving like a shadow that only showed up when there was food involved. Me? I kept up—mostly 'cause I was too stubborn to be left behind, even if my legs felt like they might give out.
The streets slowly changed. The bright magic and glittering machines faded away, replaced by quieter alleys and older, rough stone buildings that looked like they'd seen a hundred years of footsteps.
A street vendor shouted over the clatter of an automaton's heavy hooves. "Light-charms, five for a crown! No more stubbed toes at night!"
A small child tugged on her mother's sleeve. "Mom, I want a wind-bubble like in the stories!"
It was loud, enchanted, alive. Everything gleamed or floated or blinked. If this was normal for the capital, I couldn't help but wonder what counted as extravagant. Back in Veridiana, a wind-bubble was a bedtime tale—not something you bought from a street stand. Nearby, a young guard leaned against a pole, looking bored. "We don't get trouble like the border towns. Anyone causing a ruckus here? The constructs tear 'em apart before they can blink."
"And what if they're not human?" a low, bitter voice muttered nearby. I turned just in time to catch a cloaked figure melting into the shadows of a nearby alley—its striped tail flicking once, marking it as one of those beastkin many still refused to accept.
Not everyone trusted the Empire's peace—especially those who didn't quite belong.
That's when we saw them.
A lone figure, half-hidden near an alley's edge, standing too still, muttering words I couldn't catch. The kind of person who didn't want to be seen—and the kind you don't want to ignore.
My stomach tightened. Of course we couldn't just have a quiet, normal walk without running into trouble.
Figures.