Morning came slowly to Caldonia.
The sun's golden light slipped between the buildings, finding its way through narrow streets and tall windows before spilling across rooftops still darkened by the night's shadow. Above the city, the three moons were already fading into the brightening sky, their pale silhouettes barely visible behind the morning haze.
And in a small home nestled within the northeastern districts, something else had already begun to wake.
*GRRROOOOWWWLLL*
Enark stirred on his bed.
He lay there for a moment, completely still, listening to the sound that had betrayed him.
His stomach growled again.
"...All that fighting last night really worked up an appetite."
He yawned deeply, rubbing the sleep from his face before reluctantly dragging himself out of bed.
The warmth of his room was quickly replaced by the chill of the hallway. He made his way downstairs at a slow, almost unwilling pace, each step accompanied by the faint creaking of the old wooden staircase.
He was barely halfway down when his grandmother's voice rang out from the kitchen.
"Enark! If you don't hurry up, I'll eat your breakfast too!"
Enark's head lifted.
"You wouldn't!"
"I absolutely would!"
"All right, all right! I'm coming!"
Suddenly finding a great deal of energy, Enark quickened his pace.
By the time he reached the lower half of the staircase, however, his patience had run out entirely.
He gripped the railing.
Then jumped.
He cleared the railing and landed in the living room with a dull THUMP.
"Young man!"
Enark froze.
His grandmother stood in the kitchen's doorway, staring at him with an expression that was somewhere between confusion and disappointment.
"What did we just talk about regarding running on the stairs?"
Enark straightened himself.
"I—"
His stomach growled.
His head turned toward the kitchen.
His grandmother narrowed her eyes.
Enark smiled sheepishly.
"Sorry, Grandma. I thought you were gonna eat my food."
Before she could respond, Enark darted past her and snatched a piece of bread from the table, immediately stuffing half of it into his mouth.
His grandmother sighed.
"Don't talk with your mouth full."
"Mm—sorry."
She shook her head, though there was a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"Come now. Sit down and eat properly before you choke yourself."
Enark nodded and hurried toward the table.
The kitchen was already warm from the stove. Morning light spilled through the windows, illuminating the little wisps of steam rising from the food. The room smelled of freshly toasted bread, fried eggs, and sausage.
Enark sat down and immediately began eating.
His hunger made him less interested in manners than usual.
His grandmother returned to the stove, humming quietly to herself as she finished preparing her own breakfast.
For a while, the only sounds in the kitchen were the clinking of utensils against plates and the gentle crackling of the stove.
Then Enark's hand drifted across the table.
His fingers brushed against the edge of something thin and folded.
The newspaper.
He picked it up.
His fingertips moved slowly across the page.
The raised impressions left by the printed letters were subtle, almost imperceptible to anyone else, but to Enark they were enough. He traced the lines carefully, moving from one word to the next, allowing the shapes beneath his fingertips to form sentences in his mind.
Then he reached the headline.
He stopped.
His expression changed.
TROUBLE IN PORT VESPER: NOBLEMAN CAUGHT IN TRAFFICKING RING
Article by Lydia Thorne of The Caldonia Gazette
Enark's eyebrows rose.
"I know I told those captives to find an Enforcer... but I didn't expect the press to get hold of this so quickly."
He continued reading.
The article detailed the previous night's incident at Port Vesper: the arrest of several suspected traffickers, the capture of a nobleman who had apparently been involved in the operation, and the rescue of a group of civilians who had been held against their will.
There was no mention of the blindfolded figure.
Enark let out a quiet breath. "Good."
His grandmother turned away from the stove and noticed that he had gone silent.
"Enark?"
He didn't respond.
She glanced toward him.
"Enark?"
His grandmother walked over and placed a glass of water beside his plate.
The soft clink against the table pulled him fully back into the room.
"You're going to be late if you keep daydreaming."
"Oh—right. Sorry, Grandmawh," He immediately took another bite of food.
"Enark."
"Stop talking while you're eating."
He smiled.
"Yes, Grandma."
She returned to her seat.
Enark finished the rest of his breakfast, drinking his water afterward until the glass was completely empty.
He set it down with a satisfied sigh.
"That was delicious. Thanks, Grandma."
"You're very welcome."
She took a sip from her tea before continuing.
"But it's only natural. It's your first day, after all."
Enark tilted his head.
"What do you mean?"
"Your first day at the academy," She smiled. "You worked hard to get in."
"And not just you. You and your friends all worked very hard for it."
At the mention of his friends, Enark's expression softened.
His fingers rested against the edge of the table.
His grandmother noticed immediately.
"Are you feeling nervous?"
Enark paused.
"No."
She looked at him.
He could feel the answer falling apart before he even finished giving it.
"...A little."
"Aha."
"Don't say 'aha' like that," Enark frowned.
"Like what?"
"Like you knew I was lying."
"I did know."
"That's cheating."
His grandmother chuckled.
"So, what are you nervous about?"
Enark looked down.
"Not the academy."
"Then what?"
He hesitated.
"I don't know if they got in." His voice had become quieter.
His grandmother's smile faded slightly as she listened.
"We made a promise," Enark continued. "We said we wouldn't see each other until the first day. No checking letters, no asking around, nothing. We wanted it to be a surprise."
He tilted his head down.
"So there's a chance..."
"...I could be the only one who got in."
There was silence for a moment.
"That is true."
"But," she continued, "there's also a chance that all of you will be standing there together."
She reached across the table and gently patted him on the head.
"And because that chance exists, you should smile a little."
"After all..."
She recited quietly:
Faith is the substance of things hoped for... the evidence of things not seen.
Enark sat quietly for a moment.
Then, little by little, a smile appeared on his face.
"...Thanks, Grandma."
A little while later, Enark stood near the front door, fully dressed for his first day.
His academy uniform was neat even though he had complained about it several times while getting dressed.
A midnight-blue coat hung over an ivory button-up shirt, the dark fabric trimmed in black and fastened with muted-silver buttons. Embroidered across the front was the academy's bronze sword insignia, catching the morning light whenever he moved.
A narrow tie rested neatly beneath his collar.
Black trousers completed the uniform, with white socks visible just above his shoes.
And over his pale eyes rested a pair of circular navy-blue shades.
Enark adjusted them carefully.
"There."
He tilted his head.
"How do I look?"
His grandmother looked him over.
"Do you have your books?"
"Yeah. I've got them."
"Your permit?"
"Packed."
"Your pencils?"
"In my bag."
"Your lunch?"
"Yep."
"The map?"
Enark paused.
"...Yes."
"Do you remember the route?"
"Mostly."
His grandmother raised an eyebrow.
"Mostly?"
"I remember enough."
"Enark."
"I'm kidding."
She sighed.
"The academy is all the way in the heart of the city. You'll be crossing through Ironward before you reach Aureline. Then you need to keep heading east until—"
"Grandma."
She continued.
"—and once you reach the central avenue, you should be able to see the academy from there. It's in District Six... or maybe District Seven."
She stopped.
"Wait. Was it Six?"
"Grandma."
"Or was it Seven?"
"Grandma."
"I just don't want you getting lost."
Enark stood and turned fully toward her.
For a moment, they simply looked at each other.
Then Enark smiled.
"I'll be fine."
His grandmother's expression softened.
"I know you will."
She stepped forward and straightened the collar of his coat.
"But that doesn't mean I can't worry."
Enark smiled.
"I know. I know."
She gave his shoulder a gentle pat.
"All right, now. Off you go."
She opened the door and nudged him gently outside.
Enark stepped onto the front porch.
Then he turned back.
"Oh! Tell Grandpa I'll bring him a snack from the Grand Market later."
His grandmother folded her arms.
"What kind?"
"Those fish-stick things he likes."
"You mean the smoked fish pastries?"
"Yeah, those."
"Don't eat them all before you bring them home."
"No promises."
"Enark."
"I'm joking!"
His grandmother shook her head.
"Go on. Hurry up. Don't be late."
Enark laughed and stepped off the porch.
He began jogging toward the front gate, his bag bouncing lightly against his back.
"Have a good first day!" his grandmother called.
Enark turned around while continuing to move backward.
"I will!"
"And don't get into trouble!"
"I won't!"
"And don't talk to strangers!"
"Grandma, I'm sixteen!"
"That doesn't mean anything!"
He laughed.
Then he turned forward again and continued down the street.
His grandmother remained at the gate, watching him disappear farther into the neighborhood.
The road ahead sloped gently downward, carrying Enark toward the wider streets of Caldonia.
She watched until he had gone far enough that his figure became little more than a silhouette among the morning crowd.
Only then did she quietly close the gate.
And Enark kept walking.
The city was louder than it had been only an hour ago.
What had been a quiet morning was quickly becoming something far busier. The streets were filling with people from every corner of Caldonia, each carrying their own destination, their own work, and their own reason for being there.
Commoners hurried toward shops and workshops.
Businessmen marched toward their offices.
Merchants pushed carriages through the growing crowds, calling out to anyone willing to listen.
Nobles passed through the streets in expensive coats and carefully maintained carriages, barely sparing a glance toward the people around them.
Mixed with them were foreigners from distant nations, speaking languages Enark didn't always recognize as they searched for work, opened businesses, or simply tried to build a new life.
Among all of them was a blind boy dressed like any other Academy student, making his way through the morning crowd with a bag slung across his shoulder.
Enark knew these streets.
He didn't need to see them to know where he was.
The uneven section of pavement near the corner.
The iron drain beneath his left foot.
The bakery a few doors down, where the smell of warm bread always drifted into the street.
The faint vibration of an approaching tram beneath the soles of his shoes.
He had learned the city through his senses.
He had learned it, as though it was his own body.
Caldonia was a strange city.
It was old.
And yet it was constantly becoming something new.
Buildings stood shoulder to shoulder along the streets, their brick walls darkened by years of soot and rain. Tall windows reflected the morning sun, while iron balconies hung above the crowded sidewalks.
Ancient stone buildings stood beside factories built from steel.
Horse-drawn carriages moved between steam-powered trams.
Nobles rode past laborers.
Merchants shouted over the noise of machines.
Every part of the city seemed to exist in two different worlds at once.
And Enark...
Enark loved it. Caldonia was a strange city indeed. But it was his city.
The home that he loved.
His boots tapped steadily against the pavement as he continued down the street.
He knew this part of the district well.
There was a small corner shop ahead, one he'd passed countless times over the years. Its owner had a habit of putting a wooden bowl of apples outside every morning, even during the colder months when the fruit had to be brought in early before the frost ruined it.
Sure enough, the old man was already outside.
Enark recognized him from the soft scrape of the wooden crates being moved across the pavement.
"Morning, Enark!"
Enark turned his head immediately.
"Morning, Mr. Bell."
The old shopkeeper's footsteps came closer.
"Well, look at you."
"What?" Enark smiled.
"Don't act like you don't know what I mean." Mr. Bell stopped in front of him.
He reached out and patted Enark's shoulders before straightening the collar of his uniform with the exaggerated seriousness of a tailor inspecting a nobleman.
"Look at this," he said. "First day at the Academy."
"Who would've thought the little mischievous rascal from Alder of all districts would grow up to attend class with nobles and elites."
Enark chuckled. "It really isn't that big of a deal, Mr.Bell"
Mr. Bell scoffed.
"Do you know how many years I've watched you running around these streets looking like a vagabond?"
Mr. Bell leaned against the doorway.
"Hey, tell you what. When you get home today, I'll give you a box of those cinnamon rolls you like. On the house."
Enark's face immediately brightened. "Really?!"
Mr. Bell's expression remained perfectly serious.
Then his mouth curled into a mischievous smile.
"Nah! I'm just playing!" Mr. Bell burst into a hearty laugh.
"Not funny, old man!" Enark laughed as he started walking away.
He had barely gone a few steps when he heard something flying toward him from behind.
"Enark!"
He turned.
His hand shot out.
*THUMP.*
He caught the object effortlessly.
An apple.
"Enjoy your first day, kid!"
Enark felt the smooth skin of the apple beneath his fingers.
He smiled.
"Thanks!"
He took a bite.
The crisp CRUNCH echoed faintly around his mouth.
Enark continued down the street, still eating the apple.
The city seemed to greet him one familiar face at a time.
A baker opening her shutters.
A woman carrying a basket of laundry.
Two children arguing over a wooden toy.
A pair of factory workers drinking tea outside a small café.
A man rushing down the street while trying to fix his tie.
A dog barking at the passing tram.
None of it was remarkable.
That was what made it remarkable.
This was simply life in Caldonia.
The familiar streets of Alder slowly began to change around him.
Enark had walked this road countless times, usually without giving much thought to where one street ended and another began. He knew Alder almost instinctively. He knew which shops opened earliest, which alleys were usually empty, which sections of pavement were uneven, and which houses had dogs that barked at anyone foolish enough to walk past their gates.
But the farther he walked, the less familiar those little details became.
The houses began to spread farther apart.
The narrow streets widened.
The quiet clatter of small workshops was gradually replaced by the heavier rumbling of machinery somewhere ahead.
Enark slowed his pace.
He could hear it beneath his feet.
A low, constant vibration running through the pavement.
Not a tram.
Not a carriage.
Something larger.
He tilted his head toward the sound.
"Huh."
An automobile flew past in front of him, its wheels rattling loudly against the stone.
"Move! Move!" The driver shouted at someone up ahead.
Enark stepped aside and waited as it thundered past.
A second automobile followed.
Then another.
Back in Alder, most of the roads were quiet enough that Enark could recognize people simply by the way they walked.
Here, footsteps overlapped one another.
Dozens of them.
Perhaps hundreds.
The familiar smell of freshly baked bread still lingered in the air behind him, but now it was competing with the smell of coal smoke, hot iron, machine oil, and the faint metallic scent of steam rising from somewhere beneath the streets.
Enark took a deeper breath. "Yep," He smiled.
"Definitely leaving Alder."
Enark continued along the avenue, following the steady current of people moving deeper into the city.
The road ahead was considerably busier now. Automobiles slipped between horse-drawn carriages, their engines growling as they pushed through the morning traffic. The sidewalks had become crowded enough that Enark occasionally had to slow himself whenever someone passed too close to his shoulder.
Yet beneath all of it, another sound continued to grow louder.
The unmistakable rumble of a train.
Enark stopped.
He tilted his head.
*GRRRRRRRRRRMMMMM*
"...That's probably the station up there."
He reached into his coat and unfolded his map, running his fingers across the creased paper.
His thumb followed the route his grandmother had marked earlier that morning.
"Jean Street... Aureline Transit Line," he muttered. "Then east toward Akademia."
Enark smiled.
"Good thing I brought this."
The further he traveled, the more pronounced the sound became.
*PSSHHHHHHHHH—*
"There you are."
The station stood somewhere ahead.
He couldn't see the structure itself, but he didn't need to.
He could hear the enormous crowd gathered around it.
The constant movement of footsteps.
The rattling of luggage.
The mechanical ticking of a massive clock.
Conductors shouting instructions.
And somewhere above all of it, the distant whistle of a departing train.
*FWWWWWWOOOOOOO!*
Enark followed the noise.
As he approached, the pavement gave way to a broad stone plaza surrounding the station. The air smelled strongly of coal smoke and hot metal. Steam drifted lazily through the entrance, spilling onto the street whenever a train arrived.
People streamed through the station doors in both directions.
"Tickets, please!"
"Watch your step!"
"Aureline express departing in five minutes!"
"Make way!"
Enark slowed as he stepped inside.
The station was enormous, or at least, that's what the sound told him.
Every noise seemed to bounce from somewhere high above.
Enark stood there for a moment, letting the sounds separate themselves.
"Okay..." He listened carefully.
Platform announcements.
Footsteps heading east.
A bell.
A whistle.
Then the unmistakable churning of a steam engine coming to a stop.
*GRRRRRRRRNNNNK—*
Enark followed it. His shoes tapped against the stone floor as he moved through the crowd.
Every now and then, someone brushed against his shoulder.
"Sorry."
"Watch it."
"Excuse me."
"Coming through."
Eventually, he reached a ticket booth.
"One ticket to Aureline," he said.
"That would be twelve Baras, sir."
"Uh-wait, hold on. I got something here."
Enark reached into his pocket and produced an Academy Transit Permit, its bronze seal embossed with the crest of Xiphonos Academy.
The conductor examined it and nodded.
"Xiphonos Academy, eh? First day?"
"Yeah."
"Then you're all set. Academy students ride free, no matter the district. Just keep that permit on you whenever you're aboard."
"Got it. Thanks."
"You're welcome, lad. Mind the doors and enjoy the ride."
Enark took the permit between his fingers and stepped past him.
Then came the faint sound of a bell.
*DING*
A conductor's voice rang throughout the station.
"Attention, passengers!"
The surrounding conversations slowly quieted.
"The eastbound Aureline Line is now boarding at Platform Two."
Enark turned toward the sound and started walking toward Platform Two.
"The train will make scheduled stops through the Aureline Region."
"Passengers bound for District Four, Aristos, may disembark at the northern station."
"Passengers traveling to District Five, Cratisarn, please remain aboard until the second stop."
"Passengers traveling to District Six, Akademia, including those attending the Xiphonos Academy, will disembark at the central terminal."
Enark's steps slowed slightly.
Xiphonos Academy.
Hearing the name made his stomach flutter.
Yet he kept walking.
"And finally, passengers traveling to District Seven, Proxenia, should remain aboard until the final stop."
The conductor's voice softened as the announcement came to an end.
"Please ensure you have all personal belongings before departing the train."
Another bell rang.
*DING*
"All aboard."
Enark smiled.
"It was District Six after all, Grandma."
He tightened his grip around his permit
"Here we go."