The world outside was a blur of ocher and sky, a painting rendered at high speed. Startled birds erupted from the dunes, their wings beating in a frantic rhythm that was seen, but not heard. Inside the passenger capsule, an almost sacred silence reigned. The machine, a train that fused arcane metallurgy with precision engineering, glided over its rails without a single sound, a steel serpent slithering through the desert.
Seated on a crimson velvet seat, a boy watched his own ghost in the window's glass. The reflection showed a face with pale skin and fine features, framed by hair of a reddish hue so dark it bordered on scarlet. It was cut short, in an almost military style that contrasted painfully with his large eyes and long lashes. Every time his gaze fixed on that image, a pang of anguish tightened his chest. That appearance, that farce, was a constant weight on his shoulders, a bitter reminder of what he had left behind.
He forced himself to shift his focus, to look past his reflection to the world beyond. Down below, the black metal rails pulsed with a soft, blue luminescence—the source of the silent energy that propelled them. Beyond the rails, the scorching yellow of the desert stretched as far as the eye could see, a sea of sand dotted with rocky, arid mountains that rose like the ancient bones of the earth.
And then, he saw it.
At first, it was just a series of dark needles piercing the horizon. But as the train drew closer, the shapes became colossal, terrifying in their sheer grandeur. Towers of dark steel, interwoven with gears the size of houses and pipes that spewed colorful vapors, climbed into the heavens, taller than any mountain peak he had ever witnessed. It was a scar of metal and ambition carved into the heart of the desert. The great merchant city of Chisanatora.
A sharp breath escaped his lips, his voice thin and low, almost a whisper to himself. "We've arrived."
The realization lit a fire within him, dispelling the shadow of his anguish. Apathy turned to urgency.
"We're here! Wake up, Gunder!" he exclaimed, turning abruptly to the man sitting beside him.
Gunder, a man with short, black hair, was fast asleep, a hardcover book covering his face. The boy poked his shoulder, impatience overflowing in an almost childish gesture. "Wake up!"
With exasperating slowness, Gunder raised his arms, stretching like a lazy cat. He took the book in both hands, lowering it to his lap in a drowsy motion. His eyes blinked open, hazy for an instant before they focused with surprising clarity. Despite a face still marked by sleep, his gaze was as sharp as a bird of prey's.
"We've arrived, have we…?" his voice trailed off, interrupted by a yawn he barely bothered to stifle.
The boy leaned forward, his hands clenched into fists on his knees. The reflection in the window now showed a determined glint in his scarlet eyes. A sharp, confident smile spread across his lips, wiping away any trace of doubt.
"Finally," he declared, his voice vibrating with purpose. "The first real clue to finding the Crown of Celeste."
_______________________________________________
The air inside Chisanatora's terminal station was clean, filtered, and carried the subtle scent of polished metal and ozone. Well-dressed passengers moved with purpose across gleaming obsidian platforms while Gunder, with his usual efficiency, was already approaching a station guard for information.
Leaving him to his work, the boy walked toward the edge of the platform, drawn to a large safety railing. On the other side, the tracks that had brought them here simply ended, suspended in the air at a dizzying height. He gripped the cold metal bars and looked down.
His stomach plummeted. The world opened up beneath his feet.
He had known, in theory, that the train had stopped at the city's apex, but the reality was far more overwhelming. Below, an ocean of dark metal stretched as far as the eye could see, a metropolis of rust and soot contained only by the arid horizon of the yellowed mountains. Gigantic ducts, corroded by the desert's salty air, vomited clouds of acrid, yellowish vapor. Exposed pipes spewed a sickly-colored sewage into chasms between the buildings. The lower city seemed to rot, a decaying metallic organism. The few trees he could see were black skeletons, and the wooden structures crammed between the steel ones were old and twisted.
Then, the boy raised his gaze.
The contrast left him breathless. Above the station line, the city continued to ascend in graceful spires of pure opulence. The black metal was smooth and polished, reflecting the sunlight. The gears that moved elevators and platforms shone with a silver luster. Hanging gardens, bursting with vibrant green, sprouted from the steel structures, defying the desert's aridity. An expression of pure fascination washed over his face. A city of two worlds, a jewel built upon a junkyard. He had never even imagined such a thing.
"Tom, let's go." Gunder's pragmatic voice sounded from behind, breaking the spell. "Found an inn nearby that won't bankrupt us."
The boy turned, a radiant smile on his face, the eagerness to explore this technological marvel taking over his entire being. "Right!" His mind was already racing, imagining where they would stay. A hotel made of polished steel? A room with a giant gear on the wall?
The fantasy shattered the moment his eyes landed on their destination.
"…Gunder… what the hell is this?" The disappointment in his voice was palpable, as sharp as broken glass.
They were in a damp, dark alley, squeezed between two rusted buildings. The wooden sign for the "Inn" was so rotten that the syllable 'In' hung by a single, crooked nail. Overhead ducts dripped an oily liquid that formed iridescent puddles on the ground. The few people slinking through the shadows wore patched clothes and avoided eye contact at all costs, moving like frightened rats.
"The inn I told you about," Gunder replied with a grin that showed not a shred of shame, walking confidently toward the crooked door.
Tom let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "I should have expected this when we had to go down that dark staircase…" The memory from minutes ago was vivid: a spiral metal staircase, poorly lit by flickering mana lamps, that had led them from the immaculate platforms down into the fetid bowels of the lower city.
Gunder stopped at the door and looked over his shoulder with an air of false innocence. "Oh, come on, Tom. If you hadn't spent almost all our money on that 'one-of-a-kind' constellation map back in Faraam Port, we could afford a better room…"
Tom just shot him a death glare.
"I hate you."
After the reservation was made with a few bronze coins that Gunder practically tossed onto the counter, the two went up to their room. On the outside, the walls were clad in the same stained metal as the city, but inside, the space was almost entirely old, damp wood. The pervasive smell of mildew and cheap ale from the floor below was sharp. There were two beds that looked more like piles of straw covered by a thin sheet.
"At least they have mattresses…" Tom muttered to himself, the relief in his voice the only thing stopping him from complaining further.
Gunder didn't reply. He simply tossed Tom's pack onto one of the beds, raising a small cloud of dust, and threw himself onto the other with a groan that was part exhaustion, part pure bliss. The frame creaked in protest. "Alright, time for a nap."
"Not a chance!" Tom retorted, marching to the bed and grabbing the collar of Gunder's overcoat. "We have to go to the Sentinels' headquarters! To talk to the contractor!" His face turned red with the useless effort of moving the man, who seemed to have the weight of a boulder.
"And why go now? We can get a few good hours of sleep first," Gunder replied, his voice already muffled as he kicked off his boots and pulled a dubious-looking pillow over his head.
His stubbornness was the last straw. "Fine! Stay here by yourself, you lazy oaf!" Tom exclaimed, the irritation making his face burn like a chili pepper. "I'll go alone!"
"Yeah, yeah…" Gunder mumbled from under the pillow, waving a dismissive hand at him. He then pulled the thin blanket over himself, transforming into a human cocoon.
Harrumphing, Tom stomped down the inn's stairs, each step on the old wood echoing his frustration. He grumbled to himself, cursing his companion's laziness and obstinance, while the few patrons in the common room watched him with a mix of confusion and fear, shrinking away as if his anger were contagious. His steps were heavy, the rhythmic, angry stomping of a spoiled child who didn't get his way.
"I'll go myself, then!" he proclaimed to no one in particular as he pushed the door open and left.