The clouds rolled in, heavy with the promise of rain, a vast, bruised canvas above the city. But the air carried more than just moisture; it was tainted by the acrid, metallic kiss of industrial smoke, a perpetual haze that bled into the sky, staining it in oppressive hues of ash and charcoal grey. Beneath that grim, urban dome, a girl walked slowly through a public park, the neatly trimmed greenery a stark contrast to the gritty metropolis beyond. Her autumn-brown hair, once a single vibrant shade, was now distinctly marked by foxtail-colored roots, streaks of gold still clinging to the mid-lengths, but at the very tips, an ash-grey began to creep in—like the seasons battling for dominance on her very scalp, a living testament to the passage of time.
She approached a solitary cast-iron bench, worn smooth by countless forgotten souls, where a man sat alone, a still, dark silhouette against the muted light. His bone-white hair, an almost unnatural shade, contrasted starkly with the jet-black leather of the glove encasing his single, remaining hand. The other sleeve, empty and meticulously folded, was pinned neatly at the shoulder, a silent, stark reminder of his profound loss. Behind the dark, impenetrable shades he wore, eyes like pools of ink watched silently, unblinking, as agents from the newly established Bureau of Magical Affairs (BMA) brutally forced a struggling, wild-eyed mage into the back of a black, windowless carriage, his frantic shouts muffled by heavy fabric and stern commands. The scene was both common and chilling in this new age.
"Long time no see, Agnellus," she said, her voice low and steady, slipping onto the cold metal of the bench beside him as if she hadn't seen a man being hauled away.
He didn't turn his head immediately. Just raised a delicate porcelain teacup, took a slow sip, and muttered, his voice a low rumble, "Another one. They're really cracking down now. No quarter given."
Lux followed his gaze, watching the carriage disappear around the bend. "Once feared, perhaps even revered in whispers, now treated like walking bombs," she mused, her tone laced with bitter understanding. "Hex mages, hedge witches, ritualists—even the old Blood-Weavers. It's all the same to the Bureau now. Just anomalies to be contained or… eliminated."
Only then did Agnellus turn to face her, the faintest, almost imperceptible smirk forming on his lips, a flicker of something ancient in his ink-dark eyes. "Still kicking, are we? Rather tenacious for a human, even a Dragonblooded one, given the cycles I've witnessed."
She smirked back, a genuine, if weary, curl of her own lips. "I could say the same about you, you perpetually un-aging mystery. What's it been, exactly—one thousand and thirty-seven years, give or take a few centuries, since we last shared tea?"
"Give or take," he echoed, the ghost of a wider smile touching his features.
Lux took a long, fortifying sip from her tea thermos, the warmth a small comfort against the creeping chill, and looked out at the bruised clouds hanging low over the city. "It's colder than I remember this time of year. The city always feels like it holds onto the chill longer now."
"How's life as a teacher in this… enlightened age?" Agnellus asked, his voice steeped in dry amusement, the sarcasm barely concealed.
She rolled her eyes, a small, weary gesture that spoke volumes. "The bills won't pay themselves, will they? Besides, it funds my… more delicate research, and I have others to take care of. You know how it is. Responsibilities."
He scattered a handful of dried breadcrumbs onto the cobblestones, and a flurry of pigeons descended, a sudden, fluttering chaos around his feet. "How are they? The others."
"They're alright," she said softly, a faint, protective warmth entering her voice. Then, with a subtle but definite shift in tone, she steered the conversation away from the personal. "How are things in the Beastkin Confederation? Heard there's been… unrest. A growling beneath the fur, so to speak."
"I wasn't there. I'm in the dark like everyone else," he replied, his voice flat, devoid of its earlier ironic lilt, a rare moment of genuine neutrality. "I just got back from Tenebrae Mortis."
"Oh? A vacation spot, is it?" she asked, a faint irony mirroring his own as she began to gather her things, adjusting the strap of her bag. "Got me a souvenir, perhaps? Something suitably… dark for my collection?"
"I did," he said, a glint entering his black eyes. "But it'll take some time to… arrive. Not exactly something that clears customs easily."
She smiled faintly, a shared understanding passing between them, a thread woven over millennia. "Of course it will." Standing, she tugged the high collar of her black winter coat against the biting wind that swept through the park, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant coal smoke. "Take care, Agnellus. Try not to cause too much trouble."
"You too, Lux," he murmured, his gaze still fixed on the distant grayness of the sky.
Her tangerine-hued eyes—burning with a vibrant central heterochromia, like smoldering coals within pools of molten gold—stared into the distance for a long moment, seeing more than just the smoky skyline. Then, she turned and walked away, hands buried deep in the pockets of her heavy coat, a lone figure of calm amidst the unsettling chaos of this new, iron-and-steam world.