The familiar foul scent of rejection and dirt filled the Valley city's air.
The rain fell in quiet sheets as brass wheels clanked and hissed as the orphan transport rumbled across the cobbled streets of Valley city, its iron lungs coughing steam into the soot-filled night.
The convoy, its wheels creaking like tired voices too long unheard,a line of gear-grinding carriages linked by copper piping and forgotten prayers, groaned under the weight of the city's unwanted. Inside, the orphans sat in rows of riveted seats, their faces dimly lit by flickering gas lamps overhead,their eyes tracing the cracked windows, trying to glimpse the city they were being taken from—though most had long stopped calling it home.
Wrapped in threadbare coats and dreams they couldn't afford, they huddled together, nameless faces in a system that had filed them away like forgotten letters. No one spoke.
The only music was the soft ticking of worn pocket watches and the occasional hiss of pressurized valves—like the city itself was sighing them away.
They called it a "relocation," as if it were a kindness. Said the Uppercity had more room, proper filtration, even warm bread and books with real covers.
But the teens knew better.
They had heard the whispers in the boiler halls, in the cracks between floorboards at Greystone Orphanage—tales of becoming sex slaves ,of names replaced with numbers, of disappearing into fog that never lifted.
The Uppercity wasn't salvation. It was just another machine and they were the fuel.The nation had changed since the dark wilderness was created and walls went up, slicing its soul in two: privilege and shadow, marble and rust.
And now the orphans—leftovers of wars, plagues, and promises—were being ferried across that invisible line, not as guests, but as burdens to be stored.
In the last carriage, a boy tagged with the number "21" with a pendant slung around his neck– ,his fingers clenched around a broken compass,something he'd pried. It didn't point north anymore, but he held it like a secret, something to remind him there had once been a direction.
He didn't believe in luck or letters or promises from men in uniforms.
But he did believe in waiting.
And watching.
Because sometimes, in the hush between thunder and silence, something moved—and he had learnt that even the smallest shift could mean the start of everything..."Everything turns," he whispered to himself.
"Even fate."
And in a city of steam and shadows, that was enough to keep him awake.
He held on to the necklace around his neck from time to time,the necklace was a masterpiece of forgotten craftsmanship—an intricate pendant suspended from a chain of interlinked brass and silver gears, each one etched with micro-engravings only visible under magnification.
At its center rested a small, circular locket made of aged copper and burnished steel, housing a ticking miniature escapement mechanism, like a tiny heart still beating with memory.
Encircling the locket were delicate tubes of crystal, filled with preserved ink and sepia-toned scrollwork, containing names and dates written in impossibly small script—ancestral records stored not on paper, but in time itself.
A retractable monocle charm hung from the side, fastened with a retractable chain and adorned with a single, deep-blue gear-cut sapphire that caught and fractured light like a prism when turned toward the sun.
Some say the necklace wasn't just decorative—it was rumored to hold some hidden secrets,or even a revelation from the lord of the skies.
21 sat waiting for the men in uniform to inform them why they were going West instead of the normal North towards the city gates.
As long as he knew , The tales of only one route were made safe by the Upper masses to connect to these parts , because between them was the large Dark wilderness, the only place in their nation to be held under the dark touch's influence.
He heard stories of the wilderness and he knew fully well that not following the only route that was safe meant they'd face the wilderness completely,why would these men take them through this route?
But then again , he was going to be quiet about it.
After several years of staying in the same orphanage as some of these people that sat around him ,he never spoke to any one of them –The true definition of silence , his movement didn't even make sounds.
21 had noticed a lot of patterns in this sudden relocation.
All the children on the convoy were of the same age as he was , sixteen to eighteen years of age –He had observed each and every one of them in their years together and he was very sure .
They were all legal according to the nation's law , he had learnt this after he spent time going around the Valley city a good example would be the brothel where he found out that ladies that entered into the trade of prostitution could start at sixteen ,now why were the people said to relocate he of that legal age if there wasn't something fishy going on .
Outside the convoy encountered a small gate on the side of the city , it stopped and the children could see the men in uniform walk out talking to some shady looking men ,but a lot of them were too happy to notice since the promises of a better life awaited them.
21 heard a female voice speak to him , he turned around to look at her -she sat next to him grasping the tips of her threadbare coat .
"You've noticed the patterns too ?" She asked .
21 stared at her , her long black hair cascading straight over her face hiding pretty much half her facial features but then her beautiful face and eyes still made a way to show its radiance .
The eyes glowed like green gems and at some point 21 got lost in them .
She pointed at her tag and said " 12".
21 nodded to show that he saw it , she smiled at him and immediately asked again.
" You can't speak ?"
21 sighed and turned to look at the ground before he spoke .
"We kinda have the same digits,Emerald eyes…they just have different placements" .