6:05 a.m
Henry started his walk to the tram station. It was quite some distance, probably more than a few blocks away. It would take him a few minutes, but he had time. It wasn't like his boss was screaming for him to get to work as soon as possible. Though if he arrived late, he'd have to work an extra hour or so, and he couldn't do that, not with his promise to Camilla on the line.
His feet picked up the pace a bit, briskly walking the streets of Thamesford. He looked around him as he did, taking in the sights.
He'd seen it a thousand times before. Walking the same streets to the station had become second nature to him, like a well-practiced routine. The city wasn't particularly pretty, but it wasn't without its charm.
Buildings with large steel works were stacked on top of one another, complementing its old Gothic roots and classical architecture, melded together with practicality before aesthetics in mind. All around him, exhaust pipes were puffing out dark fumes from every towering factory chimney while attached to white marble structures, turning a shade of gray due to the soot. The smoke curled into the sky like long, dark palms gripping the horizon.
The city's silver-tipped spires stretched upward like skeletal fingers, remnants of a bygone age clashing with the modern, industrial behemoths that now dominated the skyline. Old buildings roped in with new ones made mostly of steel.
In the distance, mid-rise towers and skyscrapers were strewn along the city, together with old establishments still standing, their walls of brick and stone. Large covered overpass bridges connecting one building to another were scattered around, creating tall-reaching archways for the people walking along the street.
The pale light of dawn struggled to pierce the thick layer of clouds hanging over Thamesford. The chill of the morning breeze clung to Henry's skin, biting at the fingertips as he stuffed his hands deeper into his coat.
He noted the metallic tang that lingered in the air, mixing with the oily stench of factory smoke and the faint, stale scent of old newspapers scattered along the pavement.
One that he was all too familiar with.
He passed by a small shop with a large glass window pane, showcasing the newest gizmo to hit the market. Picture boxes. They brewed up a storm when they first hit the shelves. They looked like a smaller self-contained theater mashed with the humble radio.
"—are calling for the government to do something about the recent trend of increased unprovoked violence against duskwalkers by certain disgruntled individuals. The mayor of Dante has yet to give an official statement, but it is clear that tensions are higher than ever before—"
Henry paused in his step. He reversed a few paces and turned his attention to the news on the picboxes stacked on top of each other. He looked at the man talking on the screen. Red eyes and pointed ears, wearing a mask that covered half of his face. He was being interviewed on his thoughts on the matter.
"—don't really care. We're just trying to live our lives out here. We don't want to hurt anyone. Here in Dante, we practice patience. But that patience has certain limits, mind you. Don't forget, we bloody risked our lives to fight for this country decades ago. And don't you dare begin to say we're all addicts. We detest those monsters, same as you! Duskwalkers or whatever you call us deserve the same amount of respect as every—"
Duskwalkers. Thamesford's resident strigoi.
It was definitely a growing issue, but it wasn't a crisis or anything—at least not to him. He didn't know a lot about them. He would see some from afar when he walked home at night.
He just learned to stay away.
Henry turned his attention back to the picboxes. The news had changed to a woman reporting with a bright smile, speaking enthusiastically about something related to the expected events for tonight. The platinum blonde hair was a dead giveaway to who she was.
Clementine Satterly, a rising star in the new reporting industry. She was the darling of the news. Everyone's favorite.
"—marking the 100th anniversary of Unity Day: the very day humanity defeated the Crescent and founded the UHT! As such, the Church has declared that today will be a special working holiday, and that all stationed military personnel be relieved of duty for the afternoon in observance of this special occasion. Fireworks and festivities are to be expected tonight as the—"
The hundredth anniversary of Unity Day? I'm guessing that's the reason the streets are emptier than usual. They might have a parade later in the day.
He shook his head and continued on his walk.
---
He was getting closer as he recognized certain buildings up ahead. The newer ones were built near tram stations for easier access. Elegant-looking structures with silver signage and accents. Nearly all of them had silver. In fact, silver accents were becoming more commonplace among both old and new buildings—so much so that Thamesford was being dubbed the 'City of Silver.'
But down where Henry walked, the towers were tarnished, their gleam long smothered by layers of grime, even as the shine of silver threatened to prove otherwise, and beneath them, the bones of an older Londonium still lingered.
It wasn't all doom and gloom, however.
There were parts of the city that truly shone among the others. Especially the great statues of St. Solarias, the great savior of Thamesford during the War of Darkness—a great war that lasted for two hundred years.
Huge monuments made of silver with brilliant ornate gold coatings dressed the vicinity of the architectural wonders and towering cathedrals with intricate designs. They sported white marble and sandstone walls, steel arches and stained glass, hand-carved depictions of great battles of old.
The biggest of which was the Thamesford Grand Cathedral.
It was the jewel of the city—the house of the Great Grandfather himself.
Henry had visited it a few times, and each time he would strain his neck to take it all in.
The silver, gold, marble, and sandstone glistened as Holy Sol's rays hit its form. It reflected light from all sides, shining even in the dark of night, using only the reflection of the moon.
Perhaps the most impressive part of the cathedral was the twelve-foot lifelike statue of Helena—Goddess of the Sun— just outside its entrance.
It was made entirely of silver and gold— its pristine form a stark contrast to the grime-covered streets all around, a constant reminder of the city's once-holy origins.
Henry paused in his step and decided to approach it. Usually there would be more people praying under it, but being a holiday, there were fewer folks outside.
He marveled at its architecture. It was almost like he was staring at the goddess herself.
The statue had six golden wings, depicting the goddess in flight. A silver torso with a golden carving in the shape of the sun just above her sternum. She wore a golden crown and halo extending around her back. Her upper body was exposed, while her lower body was lightly clothed in a golden stola wrapped around her waist and extending just above her toes.
She had four arms. One arm was stretched into the sky holding a sword of silver and gold, while the other rested on the side and held a golden orb with rings around it. An armillary sphere. Her other two lower arms were open-palmed and outstretched downward as if to welcome the broken into her embrace.
It was beautiful beyond comparison. Possibly the most beautiful sight in the city, and who would contest it? Perhaps he would visit it again later after the orphanage.
Henry's footsteps echoed through the streets as he continued on his walk, yet the sound was barely audible over the relentless hiss of steam vents and the busy road. Gas lamps and newer arc lights were strewn across the sidewalks, still illuminating the road. He turned to glance at some of the vehicles passing by. Large walkers—long, heavy, steel, mechanical legs moving across the asphalt, guided by their drivers.
They trekked along with other bigger and lighter walker variants. Some with two legs, others with more, plodding alongside cars and street trains. He could hear the mechanical grind of the walkers clomping along the cobbled streets.
He wished he had one of those.
Only the rich could afford cars. They were built for comfort and convenience. The rest of the populace had walkers. Not as comfortable or sleek, but as clunky as they looked, at the very least they got the job done. Besides, cars were more like novelty items. Most preferred to take the trams anyway, of which he could already see the station up ahead, with one already waiting.
Suddenly, he heard a crash, making him jump.
He swiveled his head over to the scene across the street, to the sound of the crash. Then, the yelling followed.
There were two drunks bellowing insults at a hooded figure wearing a mask. One of the men had thrown a beer bottle but missed, leading to the scattered shards of glass on the floor.
"Go back underground, you damn leech! Sol is up!" one of the men said.
"We don't want your k-kind up here, d-duskwalker! Fuck off to bloody Dante!" The other spat.
"Yeah! It's Unity Day! Better hide back in your hole, you pale-faced fuck!"
Henry instinctively stepped back. His thoughts raced back to the news on the picboxes. Hearing about it was one thing… seeing it for himself was… unsettling. A sigh escaped his mouth as he shook his head and quickened the pace, but kept his eyes on the scene. He didn't want any trouble with them. Especially not with a duskwalker involved.
Things could go sour quickly.
Henry watched as one of the drunks threw another bottle, laughing and spitting at the hooded figure. In a flash of speed, the duskwalker reached out and caught the bottle mid-air with barely any effort at all, keeping their arm raised as if to throw it back.
The drunks stepped back, stumbling over themselves. Even Henry stopped in his tracks, flinching backwards from the sudden movement.
"Whoa, w-whoa! W-we're s-sorry!" the two stammered, turning back and running away.
The duskwalker stood there watching them run before slowly lowering the bottle and setting it gently on a nearby corner.
Huh. They didn't fight back. Henry thought to himself.
Before he could gather all his thoughts, a loud bell rang, alerting him back to where he was going. He turned back to the station, seeing the tram start to leave, ringing its bell to signify its departure.
The tram!
"H-hey wait up!" he said, taking off into a sprint.
He was going to be late again if he waited for another to come by. He pushed his legs forward and ran. In his worry, however, he didn't see the person coming from the other side of the street, crashing into them.
The force sent the two falling to the pavement, with the latter landing on their back.
"O-oh dear, I'm so sorry. I was in a hurry," Henry said, quickly picking himself up and helping the one he had knocked over.
He offered up his hand, which the stranger took without a word. It was then that Henry noticed the stranger's mask and caught a glance at their eyes. His own widened, and his heart jumped to his throat. His instincts screamed at him to pull away and run, but he steeled himself to stand his ground.
He swallowed hard.
The duskwalker. He had just crashed into the duskwalker.