Morning came pale and quiet.
Not sudden. Not clean.
It settled in layers—light seeping through the edges of curtains, pressing faintly against the walls before reaching the floor. By the time I opened the door to the hallway, the day had already taken shape without us.
Coats were on.
Bags were packed.
No one said anything about it, but the pause was over.
The corridor carried a thin chill, the kind that lingered despite closed windows and thick walls. Footsteps echoed faintly ahead—someone else leaving, or arriving, or simply moving on.
We stepped outside.
The silver sun hung low in the sky, filtered through a thin spread of cloud. It gave light without warmth, flattening everything it touched. Snow along the rooftops didn't melt. Ice along the edges of the street didn't shift.
Even shadows looked faded.
Victoria walked beside me.
Her boots struck the ground in a steady rhythm, but something lagged behind it. Each step came just a fraction too late, like her body was following instructions a second after receiving them.
I glanced at her.
Then again.
Her gaze stayed forward. Unfocused, but not wandering.
Might be the cold.
The thought came easy.
Too easy.
We moved with the rest of the city. Doors opened along the street, hinges creaking softly as shopkeepers pushed them outward. Steam rose from food stalls, drifting upward before thinning into the air. Voices overlapped—vendors calling, customers responding, conversations passing between people who had already decided where they were going.
The snow had been pressed into the ground.
Not cleanly.
Layer over layer of footsteps had flattened it into pale, uneven paths that stretched between buildings. In places, the ice showed through, catching the light in dull reflections.
Our boots followed those paths without thought.
No one looked at us.
No one needed to.
The train station rose ahead, its structure cutting into the sky like something that refused to bend with the rest of the city. Stone walls held the cold. Iron beams carried the weight of the roof overhead, dark against the pale light.
The sound reached us first.
Metal shifting.
A whistle cutting through the air.
The low, constant hum of movement—layered, overlapping, never fully stopping.
We stepped onto the platform just as the crowd began to thicken.
Bodies pressed closer. Breath fogged the air in uneven bursts. The ground beneath our feet vibrated faintly as something heavy moved somewhere beyond sight.
"Right on time."
Mr. David's voice came from just ahead.
I nodded, though he wasn't looking.
Tickets were exchanged quickly. Coins passed from hand to hand, metal brushing against skin before disappearing into pockets. Paper followed—thin, folded, stamped without ceremony.
Prices had climbed.
That much was clear from the hesitation in the clerk's hand.
No one commented.
The line moved.
We moved with it.
The train released a slow breath of steam as we approached, the sound deep and drawn-out. It rolled along the platform, curling around boots and coats before fading.
The door opened.
We stepped inside.
The air shifted.
Warmer—but uneven. Heat gathered toward the center of the carriage, leaving the edges untouched. Near the windows, frost still clung faintly to the glass, thin patterns stretching outward like something trying to hold its ground.
We took our seats.
The wood creaked slightly under the shift in weight.
A moment passed.
Then the train lurched.
The motion pulled against my balance, subtle but enough to make my hand tighten briefly against the edge of the seat. The wheels caught the track, metal against metal, and then—
It began to move.
"I do not like being ill."
Miss Alvie leaned forward, her breath striking the window in a soft cloud. The glass fogged immediately beneath it, the moisture spreading outward in uneven patterns.
She lifted a finger and drew across it.
A line.
Then another.
They faded as quickly as they formed, the warmth dissipating into the cold surface.
"It could not be helped."
Mr. David didn't look up.
His hand moved into his coat, fingers searching briefly before closing around something. He withdrew it—a green apple—and passed it across the space between them.
Miss Alvie caught it without looking.
The movement was clean.
Unthinking.
"This," he said.
He turned a page, the paper shifting under his fingers with a soft, dry sound.
"Should teach you to take better care of yourselves."
His eyes lifted then.
Just for a moment.
They settled on both her and Victoria.
"And to speak properly."
The words landed.
Not heavy.
But final.
Miss Alvie bit into the apple.
The sound was sharp in the quiet space.
Victoria said nothing.
The train picked up speed.
The rhythm beneath us shifted—faster, more consistent. The vibration through the floor deepened, settling into something steady that traveled up through the seat and into my back.
Outside, the landscape stretched.
White fields ran outward, broken only by thin lines of trees and distant structures half-swallowed by snow. The sky remained unchanged, pressing down over everything without variation.
Inside, something shifted.
Not in the air.
In the space.
I adjusted slightly in my seat. The fabric of my coat brushed against the wood, the movement small but enough to remind me I was there.
Victoria hadn't moved.
Her gaze rested on the window.
But it didn't follow anything.
"Vic—"
The word reached my mouth.
And stopped.
It felt wrong.
Too familiar.
Too—
I closed my mouth.
The train continued forward.
"Wh—where's the hero?"
The question came softly.
Too softly.
Miss Alvie paused mid-bite.
Mr. David's hand stilled on the page.
The train filled the gap.
The sound of wheels against track stretched longer than it should have, the rhythm uneven for a moment before settling again.
"After the fight with the world's entity," Mr. David said.
He closed his book with a soft thud, the sound absorbed quickly by the carriage.
"Or the 'Demon Lord,' if you prefer the commoners' dramatics—they returned."
He placed a marker between the pages, pressing it flat with his thumb.
"They returned."
Victoria didn't turn.
"Returned?"
Her voice stayed level.
It didn't need to rise.
"Returned where?"
A pause.
The train curved slightly, the motion pulling at the edges of the carriage.
"Earth."
The word settled oddly.
Too distant.
Too precise.
"Dirt?"
Victoria's reflection shifted in the glass. The faint outline of her face moved with the motion of the train, her eyes still fixed on nothing beyond it.
"I thought they were said to be a Lysorian."
The last word fractured.
Not completely.
Just enough.
"No."
Mr. David leaned back slightly, fingers resting on the closed book.
"That was the official narrative."
The carriage held that.
"The presence of a 'hero' encourages cooperation."
A small movement—
Miss Alvie's foot struck his shin under the table.
A dull contact.
He glanced at her.
Then back at Victoria.
The moment stretched.
Held.
Then—
broke.
Her shoulders trembled.
At first, it was subtle.
Small enough to miss.
Then it wasn't.
A tear slid down her cheek.
Caught briefly at her jaw.
Then fell.
Another followed.
I froze.
"What—"
My hand lifted.
Reached.
Stopped.
Halfway.
Why is she crying?
The thought came too late.
"You know…"
Her voice dragged.
Each word pulled against something resisting it.
"I usually mess things up."
She laughed.
It didn't sound like one.
"I've just been lucky… to have them make me look flawless."
The train didn't slow.
The world outside continued.
Nothing changed.
"We can go to Lysoria."
Miss Alvie's voice cut through.
Clean.
Immediate.
My head snapped toward her.
My chest tightened—sharp, sudden, heat rising under my ribs.
"For what?"
The words came out too fast.
Too sharp.
They landed harder than intended.
"Who is this hero?"
My hands curled without me noticing.
"And why are they important to her?"
Why do I know nothing about this?
The thought burned.
This—Victoria—
The one sitting beside me—
was crying.
And I didn't know why.
Miss Alvie didn't look at me.
Her attention stayed on Victoria.
"Although no one has successfully summoned people from another world…"
Her voice remained steady.
"There are theories."
The train rattled slightly, crossing a joint in the track.
A brief jolt passed through the carriage.
"You'll have to go back, won't you?"
The question settled.
Heavy.
Final.
My vision narrowed.
No.
Victoria nodded.
Small.
Barely there.
But enough.
"Then you can request a transfer to Lysoria."
Miss Alvie didn't hesitate.
"Do your search."
Mr. David exhaled quietly.
"But the hero is no longer of this world."
He shifted slightly, the book resting against his knee.
"If that is your wish."
Victoria lowered her gaze.
Her hands tightened in her lap.
The tears didn't stop.
"It might just be the fever."
The thought formed.
Clear.
Simple.
But my throat closed around it.
The words didn't come out.
Miss Alvie's eyes met mine.
For a moment.
Just long enough.
I looked away.
No.
No—
This wasn't—
"We were supposed to head back to—"
The sentence broke.
The words scattered before they could form.
I didn't finish it.
Couldn't.
My hands trembled.
The cold pressed through the carriage.
Or something else did.
The train kept moving.
Forward.
Uninterrupted.
Like it hadn't heard anything at all.