The Magi-Train groaned its way across the sand like it was deeply offended by the desert and determined to leave scorch marks on the way out. Outside, the world was dust, bones, and heat—like the gods lost a bet and this was their idea of a punchline. Sandstorms swept in and out like they were testing our patience. The horizon never changed. Just flat, empty nothing. I half-suspected the world had given up past this point.
Inside? Strangely calm, if your idea of calm included grim-faced soldiers with magi-guns napping in corners and Radames drinking tea like he hadn't shown up with half a legion. He was chatting—or rather, monologuing—about the job while I nodded like a decorative vase.
Meanwhile, I was still trying to process the part where Arden and Sora had apparently done Something Big before I met them. The kind of thing that gets turned into a saga and over-embellished by bored scribes with too much ink.
Then the train jumped.
Not a soft lurch. A full-body THUNK that rattled my bones and nearly made me bite my tongue off.
"...That normal?" I muttered to nobody, clutching the seat like it might fly away.
The world shuddered.
A crack ripped through the sand up ahead, and then something massive tore out of it like the desert had indigestion. It was plated, ugly, and loud. A sandworm. Because of course it was. It launched itself up with a shriek so high-pitched it rearranged my soul.
I froze. I think I forgot what thinking was.
Radames, on the other hand, stood up like he'd just remembered he left the oven on. Stretched. Stared out the window.
"Handle it," he said. Casual. Like ordering bread.
And bam—soldiers snapped to life like they'd just been waiting for the cue. They moved fast, practiced, not a single wasted twitch. Their weapons lit up with glowing runes and that weird mechanical hum that sounded like angry bees in a box. Then they pointed them through the narrow slits lining the walls—slits that definitely weren't windows unless your idea of a view included aiming at monsters.
When they fired, it wasn't so much a battle as an aggressive fireworks display. Bursts of color, light, and the kind of magic that probably gave the desert PTSD. The worm howled back, shrill and angry enough to rattle the metal bones of the train.
Overhead, something whined—a deep, grinding charge. I looked up to see the roof-mounted cannon rumbling to life. Runes lit. Crystals locked. The barrel rotated, lined up—
BOOM.
Flash. Impact. The worm screamed. A solid chunk of its side was just—gone, blasted off in a burst of light and heat that left the air smelling like burnt jerky.
It wasn't dead. Not even close. It was just furious now.
Then Radames moved.
He didn't step off the train. He leapt—a single, absurd jump that landed him halfway across the sand, cloak flaring like he was trying to impress the gods. In one smooth motion, he drew his sword—a sleek, curved thing that looked too fancy to be real until it lit up with fire like it had been waiting for an excuse.
No dramatic pose. No battle cry. Just a bored swing, like he was late to dinner.
The fire roared out of the blade like it had a grudge. It didn't just burn—it tunneled, carving a path straight through the worm's gut. The creature shrieked and reared back, flailing wildly. Massive coils slammed into the dunes, flinging sand high into the air like exploding waves. Soldiers ducked behind cover. The whole train shuddered.
Radames moved with the kind of grace that only came from doing this too many times. He dodged a strike that could've flattened a house, danced along the worm's side, then stabbed it again—this time straight through what had to be its heart, if worms even had those.
The beast gave one last convulsive twitch and collapsed in a heap, steam rising from the ruin of its body. The dunes hissed as the heat bled out into the sand.
Radames dusted off his cloak with two flicks and wiped the blade like he'd just finished chopping vegetables.
The train rumbled back to life. Soldiers whooped, high-fived, and acted like it was game night. Radames strolled in, expression flat, then grinned like we were just slightly behind schedule. "Good work. Let's get moving."
I stayed glued to my seat, brain still rebooting from the whole 'fire-sword worm surgery' incident. You'd think that kind of thing would prepare you for anything. It didn't.
My hands still shook when we rolled into town. I think I was waiting for another monster to burst out of the road. I braced for the usual tense shuffle of people pretending not to see us—maybe a shutter or two slamming shut for good measure. But instead? People waved. Actually waved. Like we were some traveling parade instead of a military caravan. Kids chased the train like it was tossing candy. Someone tossed flowers. Literal flowers. I half-expected music to start playing.
I didn't get it. Not even a little.
Eventually, the train started again. Off we went, heading toward something that felt bigger and heavier than just a city.
And then we arrived.
The capital hit me like a spell to the face. Sigils floated lazily in the air like drunk fireflies. Statues blinked. Soldiers stood like statues. The streets breathed magic whether you wanted them to or not.
Radames' mansion was not subtle. High walls. Sun-shaped windows. Fancy everything. The kind of place that screamed, Important person lives here—bow or get out.
He waved and vanished down a hall. "Make yourselves at home. I've got emperor things."
That's when we met Seraphine.
She was all angles and judgment, tall with reddish-brown skin and cheekbones sharp enough to slice bread. Her eyes didn't just look at you—they assessed you. It felt personal.
I'd heard stories, back in the village. People from the western lands with horns and skin like dusk. Dangerous. Mysterious. All that jazz. Seraphine wasn't a story, though. She was reality, and reality came with a stare that made you want to apologize for existing.
"This way," she said, voice flat like it had been pre-approved by a bureaucracy.
No greetings. No chit-chat. Just straight into tour mode.
We saw the training yard, the courtyard (probably cursed statues), and a fountain that sparkled like liquid stars. Oh, and the dungeon. Just tossed that in like she was pointing out the broom closet. I made a very conscious decision not to ask questions.
Then we reached our rooms. Actual beds. Real pillows. Sheets that didn't smell like goats. I face-planted onto mine with all the dignity of a collapsing tent.
Sora perched on the windowsill, all graceful and wistful, watching the sky like it might spill secrets. Arden did his usual magic trick: pulling stuff from a black void like it was totally normal to reach into the fabric of reality for clean towels.
"You two ever sleep?" I grumbled into the mattress.
Arden looked up. "I don't need much. Sora sleeps lightly."
Of course they did. Probably spent nights meditating or transcending or something while I snored into oblivion.
"Stars look different here," Sora said, tilting her head. "A little duller."
"You like watching the stars?"
She nodded. "They don't talk back, but they always feel like they're listening."
"…Huh." Yep. I don't get it.
Eventually, she slipped out of the room barefoot, and I was left staring at the ceiling, trying to divine some kind of cosmic truth from the crack above my head. It looked like a lizard.
"…Hey," I said into the silence. "Why'd you bring me?"
Arden, crouched near the wall with some kind of toolkit, paused.
"Hm?"
"You didn't have to. I'm not strong. I'm not smart. My magic's barely passable. Why am I even here?"
The silence that followed was quiet enough to make my own thoughts echo.
"You will be," he said eventually.
I rolled onto my side, deeply unimpressed. "Wow. Cryptic. Inspiring. Truly, I'm moved."
No smile, not right away. But something softened around his eyes. Just for a second.
"I'll help you train," he said. "If you want."
And weirdly, that helped. Like, not "the world makes sense" helped, but enough to make the panic settle into something I could almost ignore.
Maybe I wasn't just the extra luggage.
Maybe I was supposed to be here.
Still probably going to die horribly. But hey—progress.
The next morning was weird in a way I couldn't immediately put my finger on. For one, I woke up feeling like I'd been dropped into the bed by a passing storm spirit—heavy, groggy, and with the lingering suspicion that I'd slept through something important. I blinked up at the cracked ceiling, then finally dragged myself upright.
And there they were.
Arden and Sora, fast asleep, tangled up in the same bed like they'd lost a battle with common sense. Arden was sprawled half-off the mattress, looking like someone had dropped him there from a great height, hair a mess and—oh yeah—shirtless. Sora had curled against him, her small frame tucked under his arm, the both of them tucked beneath a single blanket that was definitely doing too much heavy lifting. From the way her bare shoulder peeked out and his belt was abandoned somewhere on the floor, I didn't need a divine revelation to figure out what had happened.
For a second, I just sat there, brain buffering, trying to reboot through sheer force of will. Maybe it was just sleeping weirdness. Maybe Arden fought his blanket like it was a sandworm, lost, and got stripped halfway to decency. Plausible. Sort of.
Honestly, I must've slept so deep a marching band could've stomped through and I wouldn't have noticed. Which just made me wonder—why the hell hadn't Radames given us separate rooms in the first place? Was this some kind of weird, passive-aggressive hospitality, or did he just assume we'd all be fine playing sardines? Either way, I clearly slept like a corpse being bribed by dream spirits, because I hadn't heard a damn thing.
Sora looked disgustingly peaceful, wearing the faintest, most satisfied little smile. Arden—well, he looked like a man who had fought a war, won it, and decided he'd earned a twelve-hour coma as a reward.
I stared a little longer than I should've, a slow, dead-inside blink, before flopping back into my bed with a muffled groan that could've passed for a dying cow.
Maybe it was innocent. Maybe they just needed warmth. Maybe I was projecting weird village taboos onto people who lived closer to gods than goats. I tried to believe it. Really, I did. But the knot in my stomach wouldn't untangle that easily.
Whatever. Not my business. Definitely not. I was choosing the path of least trauma.
I pulled the blanket over my head, clutching it like a lifeline, silently willing the world to reset itself when I opened my eyes again. It didn't.
Still the brick. Still pretending not to crack.
Sora hummed her usual quiet tune as we wandered through the capital, hands clasped in front of her like she was holding in a secret or something. Honestly, if I wasn't already dragged into this weird little 'tour' situation, I might've thought it was cute. But instead, I was stuck watching her keep sneaking glances at Arden like she had no clue what a half-naked man looked like, even though I was pretty sure they'd done that thing last night. You know the one.
I didn't bother calling them out on it. I was too tired for any more drama. Not with the massive knot of unease still lodged in my gut from the sandworm fiasco. Plus, Radames was nowhere to be seen, probably off somewhere being annoyingly competent and boring while I wandered through the city pretending not to care about why we were actually here.
Sora pointed at a street vendor selling roasted meats, and Arden—being Arden—just nodded like it was the most normal thing in the world. He fished around in his endless void of a pocket, pulled out some coin, and bought us all some.
We kept walking through streets that practically hummed with magic. It wasn't subtle, either. Magic-powered lamps floated overhead, glowing like they were showing off. And don't get me started on the district we wandered into—it was like they made a sport out of enchantments. Glowing chalk sketches on the walls, fireproof scrolls in the windows, and every corner had some sort of absurdly impossible magic happening: light dances, floating objects, creatures suspended in glass. Probably too dangerous to actually exist, but hey—here they were, all glowy and alive in their glass cages.
And then there was the machinery. Like magi-trains, but somehow smarter—pieces of metal that walked, carried things, and even talked in some cases. The streets were crawling with them, huge iron-beast things that were both impressive and, honestly, kind of unsettling. I kept expecting one to turn its glowing eyes on me and say something ominous.
Meanwhile, Sora looked enchanted, gazing at everything like she was witnessing the heavens themselves. I could practically hear her thoughts: "So much magic, so little time to experience it all." She had that look in her eyes, the kind that made me wonder if she might just combust from the excitement of it all.
Somehow, despite everything—the sandworm, the travel, the overwhelming magic everywhere—Arden had stayed calm through it all. Like when that worm showed up, he hadn't even blinked. Just sat there, cool as anything, while the rest of us nearly had heart attacks. It was starting to really hit me that 'calm' was just his default setting, not something he had to work at.
And honestly? That was almost more terrifying than fighting monsters.
We wandered the city for a while after that, Sora practically floating with how much she wanted to see everything, and Arden doing his best impression of a shadow that occasionally paid for snacks. I kept up, mostly because I was too stubborn to be left behind. Somewhere along the way, the streets started to thin out, the bright magic and glittering machines giving way to quieter alleys and older stone.
That's when we saw them.
A lone figure, half-hidden near an alleyway, standing a little too still, muttering something under their breath. The kind of person who didn't want to be noticed—and the kind you really shouldn't ignore.
I felt my stomach knot. Because of course we couldn't just have a nice, normal stroll without running into something shady.
Figures.