The smell of food hit me as soon as I saw Grandpa sitting across the table, the rich man smiling faintly at me from his side. On our plates were steaming portions of grilled protein, roasted vegetables, and warm bread, simple, nourishing, enough to fill empty stomachs, yet carefully balanced for the evacuees. I felt relief wash over me, the tension of earlier fading slightly. I remembered to wash my hands before eating, as Grandpa had taught me, and stood to go to the small faucet near the car rail. The faucet gleamed metallic under the soft train lights, pipes curling along the walls like veins, carrying water to wash away more than just dirt.
As I rubbed the water across my hands, a strange warmth spread across my forearm. My tattoo, the mark of the Blessed, glowed faintly, thin lines of golden light tracing the shape of an eye within a circle, surrounded by soft radial lines that looked like rays. I didn't understand why it pulsed, but I felt… watched. And powerful.
I stepped back from the faucet and glanced toward a door labeled "Engine". A low hum reached my ears, it's deeper than the usual vibration of the train, almost like something alive breathing beneath the floor. Curiosity tugged at me. I didn't know why, but I felt drawn to the door. The noises were strange, uneven, almost gnawing at the edges of perception. Something inside whispered, and my hand reached for the handle.
I hesitated for only a heartbeat, then opened the door.
The light inside the engine car was dim and flickering, casting long shadows along the enormous machinery. Pipes, gears, and glowing conduits filled the space, and the air smelled faintly of ozone and hot metal. But something else was there, a thin shimmer along the rail, like heatwaves on pavement, twisting and pulling in impossible directions. My eyes widened.
I didn't notice Grandpa finishing his meal, sipping water slowly, thinking about me and where I might have gone. His thoughts were interrupted by the sensation of absence, the chair across from him was empty. He called out my name softly, then stood, heart tightening.
I stepped closer to the shimmer, and as I did, the tattoo on my arm flared, sending lines of light across my skin. I could feel it resonate with the air itself, a vibration I had never felt before. Then, slowly, impossibly, the shimmer stretched open. A gate formed before me, circular, glowing with a sickly orange light, the edges pulsing as if it were hungry. I recognized the feeling immediately from the Visionary Altar: this was no ordinary portal.
The **Gluttony Gate**.
I had only seen visions of such things, and I had no idea what it would do. My chest tightened. Something inside me, the same force that had guided me before—urged me forward, and I stepped inside.
Back in the dining area, Grandpa realized I was gone. His first thought was the faucet, I had gone to wash my hands, but I wasn't there. Panic began to creep in. He approached the guard stationed nearby.
"Have you seen my grandson?" Grandpa asked, voice tense.
The guard shook his head. "I saw a kid enter the engine car a few minutes ago. No one leaves the section. If he's not there, he's… somewhere inside."
Grandpa's mind raced. "Check the other areas," he ordered. "Sleeping car, sitting rail, VIP section, bathrooms anywhere a child could hide."
Meanwhile, the rich man, quietly observing, didn't ask immediately. His eyes had flicked to my empty chair, noting the faint glow left in the space where I had sat. He knew, he already knew. He understood the Blessed Mark, the danger it could draw, the potential Consequences waiting for those who dared open gates. He said nothing to Grandpa, but called his personal guards, his voice calm yet authoritative.
"Search the engine immediately," he said. "Faucets, sleeping rails, sitting areas, VIP cabins, bathrooms, everywhere. Do not leave a corner unchecked."
The guards moved with precision, scanning every corridor and crevice. Panic flared in Grandpa's chest as the realization sank in: this was no ordinary hiding. He followed one of the guards toward the engine door, heart hammering in his chest, but when they opened the massive panel, there was… nothing. Just the hum of machinery, warm metal, and the low vibration that made the floor feel alive.
"Are you certain he entered?" Grandpa demanded, voice tight.
The guard nodded. "Yes, sir. I saw him go in."
Grandpa's stomach churned. "Then he's… inside the engine somewhere," he whispered.
Meanwhile, the rich man had called up the train's surveillance system. CCTV footage scrolled across the screen: first, me washing my hands at the faucet, then turning toward the engine door. The camera captured the moment I reached for the handle. A flicker of orange light appeared, spreading across the doorway, and then… nothing. I was gone. Completely vanished from sight.
No guard, no camera angle, no trace. Only the space where I had stood, now pulsing faintly with residual energy.
The man leaned back in his seat, expression unreadable. He didn't speak, didn't warn anyone. He simply watched the search continue, knowing that the **Blessed Mark** on my arm was a signal: I was not just a child, I carried power, and this gate had recognized it. Whatever lay beyond the shimmer, whatever danger awaited, I had already crossed a threshold most could not.
Grandpa's panic deepened. "Call everyone! Check the engine! Find him now!"
The rich man finally spoke, softly, almost to himself. "He'll be fine… if he knows what he's doing." His gaze lingered on the place where my arm had touched the faucet, where the light from my tattoo had danced, and he allowed himself a small, almost imperceptible nod. Then, silently, he directed the guards to monitor every section of the train, ready to intervene, but he did not warn me. He did not speak a word to Nixxin, because he already knew, the child's choices, guided by power in his veins, would determine the next moment.