The train shrieked as it slowed, iron wheels grinding sparks against the rails, smoke pouring from its chimney like a black funeral veil.
Jonathan elias wayne sat stiffly in the wooden seat, hat brim shadowing his eyes as the skyline of gotham revealed itself through the soot-streaked window.
It was not a skyline of spires or triumphs, but of chimneys belching coal into a choking sky. A hundred smokestacks stabbed upward, each one coughing black into the clouds, smothering even the weak light of morning.
Beyond them, in the distance, stood the courthouse. Its gothic spires rose like the crooked fingers of a hand clawing at heaven, black against the fog.
The courthouse did not welcome.
It warned.
Beside jonathan, his wife isadora shifted her gaze from the window. She was pale but composed, gloved hands folded neatly in her lap. The sharp light of intelligence always flickered in her dark eyes, even when fatigue lined her face.
She laid a hand over jonathan's and whispered, "breathe.
It's only a city. Flesh and brick. Nothing more."
Jonathan nodded but did not answer. He knew better. Cities had tempers, moods. Some smiled upon newcomers. Others spat them out. This one he could already feel it in the air had teeth.
Abe leaned forward from the bench across from them, grinning as though soot and smoke were perfume. Jonathan's younger brother wore his new tailored coat like a prince, his hair slicked back with a dandy's care.
He tipped his hat rakishly, eyes alight with hunger.
"look at it," abe said, gesturing toward the city with a flourish.
"opportunity waiting on every corner. A man could make himself a king here, jon."
Jonathan's frown deepened. "or bury himself before he's seen the sun."
Abe laughed it off, though his smile faltered just a fraction. He pulled a silver flask from his coat pocket, took a swig, and offered it across the aisle.
Jonathan shook his head, isadora giving a disapproving glance that needed no words.
The train lurched, groaning like an old beast as it ground to a halt. The conductor's voice rang out: "gotham station. End of the line."
They stepped onto the platform into chaos. Steam hissed from the engine, clouding the air in a veil of white. The smell of coal and horse dung tangled with the sweat of a thousand bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder.
Peddlers shouted their wares bread, tobacco, trinkets from the old world! their voices rising above the clatter of carriages. Street preachers bellowed about sin and debt, brandishing worn bibles as they promised damnation to the faithless.
And everywhere, eyes. Hungry, restless, watching.
Jonathan felt the hair on the back of his neck stir.
A pack of grimy boys darted between passengers, hands slipping into pockets with the practiced ease of predators. One of them a wiry child with ragged boots and gray eyes too old for his thin face made straight for abe.
The boy's fingers were inches from abe's pocket when jonathan's hand shot out, clamping around his wrist.
"easy," jonathan said, kneeling so he was eye level with the child. The boy's gray eyes met his without flinching. There was no shame there, no apology only hunger, and something sharper beneath it.
"coin for bread," the boy said flatly, as if it were a bargain, not a plea.
Jonathan studied him. The bones of his face were sharp as a knife. His clothes were patched with scraps of fabric no one else wanted. Yet there was fire in his gaze.
Instead of calling for the constable, jonathan pressed a penny into the boy's palm and released him. The child's expression flickered surprise, suspicion, something like respect but then he was gone, vanishing into the crowd like smoke through a grate.
Isadora touched jonathan's arm. "that boy will remember your face."
Jonathan adjusted his coat. "so will this city."
They moved with the throng toward the exit, abe muttering curses about his nearly stolen coin while isadora offered him a tight, amused smile.
Jonathan let their voices fade into the noise of the station. His eyes lingered instead on the courthouse looming in the distance.
As they left the platform, he took in gotham's streets for the first time: soot-blackened buildings crowding the sky, carriages rattling over cobblestones slick with grime, beggars huddled beneath gas lamps that flickered weakly against the fog.
The stink of industry clung to everything burnt metal, tar, and something sour beneath it all, as though rot lived in the city's marrow.
Above a crumbling wall, someone had daubed a circle in black paint. A perfect ring, no words, no flourish. Just the shape.
Fresh enough that the paint still glistened. Jonathan frowned at it, but before he could speak, a cart rolled by wnd blocked his view. When the cart passed, the wall was bare.
Isadora followed his gaze. "what did you see?"
"nothing," jonathan said, though unease stirred in his gut.
Abe clapped his brother on the shoulder, oblivious. "now then, where's this fine boarding house you promised us? A city like this is no place to waste the night in gloom. There's drink to be had, music to hear, women to meet"
"work to do," jonathan cut in. His voice was even, but his eyes stayed fixed on the courthouse's silhouette through the fog. "this city didn't bring us here for pleasure, abe. It brought us here for justice."
Abe rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath about
grave-diggers and martyrs. Isadora only watched jonathan with quiet worry, her hand slipping into his as if to anchor him against the current of bodies around them.
As the family stepped onto gotham's streets for the first time, the city seemed to close in. The fog swallowed the gaslight. The noise of the station faded into the distance. And though no one spoke it aloud, each of them felt it:
Gotham was no ordinary city. It was a living thing. A beast.
And it was waiting for them.