I. Trasporium – The Rebirth of Movement
The sun barely peeked through the gray clouds of dawn as Pablo paused at the edge of the old crater where the Kingdom's trains once crossed. His boots kicked up dry dust, and around him lay only ruins. Rusted towers, twisted rails, and dormant portals—scars of the past.
Trasporium, the state of transportation, had once been Norgalia's backbone. From here, the monorails, underground trains, long-range teleporters, and even interdimensional gates were controlled. Now, only their skeletons remained.
Pablo gazed in silence, holding an ancient scroll: the plans of Trasporium, drawn by his great-great-grandfather, Aldros I, the king who had connected Norgalia to other worlds. The young man was not yet a king, but in spirit, he already was.
"Every great journey begins by connecting the first step," he whispered, quoting a phrase long forgotten from the ancient royal book of wisdom.
At his side, a small group of volunteer workers—many descendants of former railway officials—watched him with respect. Among them was Eron, an old mechanic who had worked under the Republic before the civil war.
"Your Majesty…", he said, his voice rough from years, "you are not yet king, but already you rule with your will. Tell us where to begin."
Pablo lowered the scroll, spreading it over a rock, and pointed to three key locations.
"First, we will restore the Central Control Tower. If we recover the energy core, the portals can be reactivated. Then, we'll reconnect the isolated towns. No one will ever have to walk days to seek help again. And finally… the monorail will run once more. In three months—or less."
Eron smiled, tinged with sadness.
"That hasn't been done in over a hundred years, young master."
"I am not the Republic," Pablo replied. "And this is not just reconstruction. It is rebirth."
A young engineer named Lyra, standing beside Eron, added cautiously:
"But sir… the tunnels are blocked in places we can't even reach. Some of the old machinery might be unstable. It could collapse."
Pablo looked at her, eyes firm. "Then we rebuild. Step by step. Every wall, every rail, every portal. We don't wait for perfection—we create it."
⸻
The following days were intense. Sealed tunnels with forgotten technology were uncovered, doors that only opened with Vidrium energy, and ancient servers that still held maps of the royal routes.
One night, while working, an engineer discovered an intact energy core buried beneath the main station. Carved into its surface, glowing with runes, was the emblem of a Pillar: Gabriel.
Pablo frowned.
"What does this mean…?"
"It means someone kept this alive. Someone who shouldn't be here," Eron replied, lowering his voice.
Another worker, a young man named Taren, whispered: "Do you think… the Pillars are watching us?"
"Watching… or waiting," Pablo murmured, his hand brushing the engraved core. "Either way, they will see that Norgalia is alive again."
Though unspoken, the thought began circulating among the restorers: the Pillars might not be dead.
But there was work to do.
The Central Tower was finally reactivated at dawn on the ninety-second day. From its heights, Pablo lit the Beacon of Horizons, a beam of blue light stretching across Norgalia's sky. Energy lines illuminated one by one, as if the kingdom were awakening from a millennial slumber.
The workers cheered, voices echoing through the valley:
"Trasporium lives! Long live Norgalia!"
Pablo lowered himself to the edge of the tower, watching the first trains begin to hum along their tracks. He whispered softly, almost to himself:
"We are just beginning… but the Kingdom will rise."
Trasporium was breathing again.