Sic Parvis Magna,

Greatness from Small Beginnings.

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Le Sanctuaire Ésotérique, Institut des reconnaissances Arciniegas et Celestis.

An Academic Institution nestled in the heart of Valtrisse, a city ebbing, interwoven with the Arcane and mechanical ingenuity. Magic alongside machinery. Flourishing. Generations of brilliant mages and spell-casters have been nurtured in this highly respected establishment. Toiling to the brim with research and grand discoveries.

It was the dream of every witch, every sorcerer. And Nadine was no exception. She had yearned for this moment above all else. And now it was hers. For years, she had clung to it like a lifeline through the grime-streaked alleys of Clairrouille, where soot clogged the air and opportunity was whispered about but rarely seen. Bags packed and the horizon calling, Nadine Pleasant felt a stir of excitement and sadness as she stood on the brink of leaving her family home, her dream within grasp.

The pastel glow of dawn bathed Valtrisse in soft light, gilding its intricate domes and brass spires with hues of gold and amber. Even from where Nadine stood in Clairrouille's smog-streaked streets, the city gleamed like a promise in the distance. A golden caress, flitting through the smog.

Cyril, Nadine's father, hesitated in the doorway, reluctant to let her leave. His embrace was tight, his arms warm and steady, like he was trying to hold her close just a little longer. One gloved hand held the back of her head gently while the other clutched her tightly.

"My dear, are you positive you haven't forgotten anything?" Cyril murmured, pulling back to inspect her. Scanning her travel clothes for flaws, though he found none, his sharp eyes darted over her outfit as he smoothed the lapel of her worn jacket with a practiced motion.

"When have you ever known me to not be prepared?" Mirth trickled through her tone, much to her father's dismay. The corner of his mouth quirked upward, but the furrow of his brow remained. His tall frame leaned down, placing his hands firmly on her shoulders as he met her gaze. "Not once," he confessed, his voice tinged with grudging pride. "It feels like not that long ago that you couldn't do anything without me."

"I'll always need you," Nadine conceded quietly, the words fragile and strained, like a thread stretched too far. She saw the way his expression softened, the bittersweet pull of his lips.

The silence hung heavy between them, thick with unspoken words. The weight of her departure. The sting of goodbye.

A rhythmic clatter echoed down the cobblestone street, breaking the silence. The sound grew stronger, piercing the thick fog. A figure emerged from the damp blanket of gray, causing both father and daughter to pause, their breath catching in their throats.

The creature advanced with the proud, deliberate grace of the living, but its body gleamed with the unnatural sheen of polished brass and tempered steel. Gears clicked and whirred, pistons driving its smooth movements with mechanical precision. Every joint a masterpiece of craftsmanship. A gentle whirring filled the air as gears and cogs spun within, mimicking the steady rhythm of a heartbeat.

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A Clockwork horse.

Skinless.

Entirely mechanical.

Soft, breath-like steam curled from its nostrils in the cool morning air. The beast towered over them, its black, pearlesque eyes swiveling to take in Nadine with a lifeless, calculating gaze. The fog wrapped around it, and its ears twitched as it moved its head, displaying a strange, almost curious gesture.

Nadine's breath hitched. In a spontaneous move, she stepped forward, her gloved hand extended. Her voice quiet, "It's beautiful," a simple statement filled with awe.

She only had her father's sharp intake of breath as a warning. "Nadine, don't—" Cyril's voice was sharp with disapproval as he grabbed her elbow, pulling her back. "We don't know it's temperament."

"It's simply a machine, Papa," Nadine replied, her voice steady but soothing, "It has no temperament." Breaking free of his grasp, she moved closer to the creature. Tracing the intricate etchings, her fingers brushed the cold, damp brass of its snout. The intricate inner workings clicked and clacked in flawless synchronization, a masterpiece of engineering.

Cyril's brow furrowed deeper with worry as he observed her, his hand hovering near her shoulder in a protective gesture.

Her silence, though not spoken, was a response in itself. She faced the carriage the horse had brought to a stop. If it hadn't been drawn before her, Nadine would have sworn it was an elaborate art piece. Crafted from polished wood, gleaming metal, and intricate clockwork. The frame was bolstered by brass-plated struts, adorned with curling filigree that reflected the dim light, shimmering like gold veins. The enormous iron-spoke wheels, driven by unseen steam-powered pistons, glided eerily silent beneath the chassis.

Wordlessly, Cyril stepped forward to take her suitcases, placing them into the carriage himself. Before turning towards her, he lingered for a moment, his hands on the handles, his expression inscrutable.

He nodded quietly toward the horse, the grandeur and prestige it represented, whilst wallowing in the smog-ridden streets of Clairrouille. "You've earned your place there. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

The words landed on Nadine with a weight she hadn't foreseen. For as long as she could remember, she battled to be included, to earn a spot in a world that appeared determined to keep her out. She had hidden her hunger for more behind a mask of defiance, pretending the whispered judgments didn't sting.

As she stood on the brink of her dream life, her doubts returned with a vengeance. She choked back a reply, meeting her father's eyes with a determined look.

Her voice wavered as she promised, "I won't."

Stepping back, Cyril nodded curtly, his jaw clenching. Nadine feared that if she hugged her Father one last time, she would never be able to truly leave. She stepped into the carriage, her boots sinking into the soft interior. Cool air hung inside, thick with the smell of oiled brass and varnished wood. The door clicked shut, and as the horse hissed steam, its ears flicked in response to an unspoken order.

With a jarring lurch, the carriage sped onward, its wheels clanking over the cobblestones, and the familiar sights of Clairrouille dissolved into the mist. Nadine watched her father's figure shrink, disappearing into the gray, her hand flat against the window, fingers spread.

A pang of anxiety gripped her. The lump in her throat swelled, pushing tears to the surface, but she forced them down with a clenched jaw.

She reminded herself firmly, "This isn't the moment to cry."

Tirelessly, Nadine was driven to overcome the obstacles of her birth and reach a position of equality with those born into wealth. Clairrouille, with its leaky roofs and smoky air, was a part of her, etched into her very being. But it would not define her.

Valtrisse didn't know her yet. But that wouldn't take long.