Valerian Crow awoke to the faint light of dawn filtering through the threadbare curtains. His head still ached from the night before, but the intensity had lessened. He lay still for a moment, listening to the distant sounds of the city waking up: the rattle of carts on cobblestone streets, the calls of early vendors, and the distant clang of factory bells.

He sat up slowly, his body stiff from a restless night. The room around him was as drab as before—faded paint, peeling wallpaper, and a pervasive scent of must. The brick wall outside his window offered little inspiration, but it was time to face the day.

Valerian swung his legs over the side of the bed and felt the chill of the wooden floorboards beneath his feet. His thoughts were fragmented, like the pieces of a puzzle that didn't quite fit together. He remembered bits and pieces: his name, his brother Clark, his ongoing search for work. But beyond that, everything felt vague, as if he was seeing the world through a fog.

He dressed in his usual clothes, a basic white linen shirt and black wool trousers, both showing signs of heavy wear. As he tightened his belt, he glanced at the small mirror on the nightstand, hoping to see some spark of recognition in his reflection. The face staring back at him was familiar, yet strangely unfamiliar, as if it belonged to someone else.

With a sigh, he turned away from the mirror and moved toward the door. He didn't know what this day would bring, but he knew he had to step outside and start piecing together the fragments of his memory. Perhaps he'd find answers on the bustling streets of Drakenheim, or maybe he'd simply find a job to keep him and his brother afloat.

Valerian grabbed his flat cap and pulled it low over his brow, then reached for the rusting brass handle and opened the door. The creaking sound echoed down the narrow hallway, where dim lamps cast a soft glow. The day was just beginning, and he was determined to make the most of it, even if he didn't yet know how.

Valerian descended the narrow staircase, his hand trailing along the chipped banister. The boarding house was quiet, with only the distant murmurs of early risers and the clanging of a few pots from the communal kitchen below. As he reached the ground floor, he passed the landlady's door, hearing her gruff voice scolding someone about late rent. He kept his head down, not wanting to draw her attention.

The front door creaked as he pushed it open, letting in a rush of cool morning air. Outside, the streets of Drakenheim were coming to life. Vendors were setting up their carts, factory workers were hurrying to their shifts, and a few children ran through the cobblestone streets, chasing each other with sticks.

Valerian took a deep breath and stepped onto the sidewalk. The noise and movement were both comforting and overwhelming. He knew he needed to focus on finding work, but his fragmented memory made it difficult to decide where to start. Should he head to the factory district, where laborers gathered, or visit the market area, hoping to find a temporary job with a vendor? Each choice seemed daunting in its own way.

As he walked down the street, he passed a small bakery. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, and his stomach rumbled. He reached into his pocket, feeling the few coins he had, wondering if he should buy a roll for breakfast or save the money for later. He decided to keep walking, his hunger a constant reminder of his need for work.

The streets of Drakenheim were a mix of the familiar and the unknown. He passed by buildings that seemed to hold memories, but he couldn't quite grasp them. His focus remained on the task at hand: finding a way to earn enough to keep him and Clark afloat.

Valerian turned a corner, heading toward the factory district. The air grew thicker with smoke from the chimneys, and the streets became more crowded with workers. He had to weave through groups of people, avoiding the larger crowds that gathered around factory gates.

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As he approached the first factory, he noticed a line of men waiting to enter. Some were talking amongst themselves, others looked bored or anxious. Valerian hesitated, unsure if he should join the line or continue searching elsewhere. The factory's foreman stood near the gate, clipboard in hand, checking off names as workers filed in.

Valerian took a deep breath, deciding to join the line. He didn't know if he'd find work here, but he knew he had to try. As he waited, he couldn't help but wonder if this day would bring him any closer to piecing together the fragments of his life, or if it would be just another step in the long journey of finding his place in Drakenheim.

Valerian stood in line, shuffling forward as the foreman checked off names on his clipboard. He tried to blend in with the other men, keeping his head down and his eyes on the ground. The workers around him seemed hardened, with rough hands and worn clothing—some talking in low voices about the day's tasks, others just standing silently, eyes fixed on the factory doors.

As Valerian's turn came, the foreman looked him up and down with a skeptical eye. "Name?" he asked.

"Valerian Crow," he replied, trying to sound confident.

The foreman glanced at his clipboard, flipping through the pages. After a moment, he shook his head. "You're not on the list," he said, his voice gruff.

Valerian felt a pang of disappointment but tried to stay calm. "I'm looking for work," he explained. "I heard you might have openings."

The foreman snorted. "We do, but not today," he replied. "And even if we did, you'd need a recommendation or some experience. You got any of that?"

Valerian hesitated. "No," he admitted.

"Then try elsewhere," the foreman said dismissively, waving him off as he moved on to the next person in line.

Valerian stepped out of the line, feeling a mix of frustration and uncertainty. He walked away from the factory, the noise of the workers fading behind him. His stomach growled, and he realized he hadn't eaten since the previous day. The city's bustling streets seemed to close in on him as he walked, unsure of where to go next.

As he passed a newsstand, he decided to buy a newspaper, hoping to find job listings or anything that might lead to work. He handed over a few coins and grabbed the paper, scanning the pages for any signs of opportunity.

Valerian stood at the newsstand, scanning the pages of the newspaper for job listings. His eyes landed on an ad that caught his attention: "Research Assistant Wanted." The address was in one of the city's quieter districts, far from the factories and markets. The employer's name was Lord Castiel, someone Valerian had never heard of before.

He knew he needed a horse-drawn carriage to get to the address—it was far too long a walk to risk. But as he handed the driver five copper coins, regret hit him hard. He'd been so careful with his money, scraping together whatever he could from his odd jobs since his parents died. Those coins represented more than just a fare; they were his safety net, his means of providing for his little brother, Clark.

Sitting in the creaking carriage, he couldn't help but question his decision. "Maybe I should have walked," he thought, watching the streets pass by. "Five copper coins for a ride across town... that's a whole day's food." But he'd already spent the money, and there was no going back now.

The carriage rolled through the industrial parts of the city, where Valerian was used to finding work. Factories, warehouses, and cramped tenements lined the streets. The sights and sounds were familiar, but he knew these areas had little to offer in terms of stable employment. It was part of the reason he decided to take the risk and spend the coins for the carriage ride—the job at Lord Castiel's could be different, something more stable.

As the carriage moved into the quieter districts, with neatly kept townhouses and smaller crowds, Valerian began to feel a bit more confident. "Maybe this is worth it," he thought. "It's far enough away that not many would bother coming all the way here. And if Lord Castiel is offering a job in this part of town, it must be something worth pursuing." The more he thought about it, the more it made sense—this could be an opportunity that others might overlook simply because of the distance.

Valerian glanced at the driver, who seemed impatient to reach his next fare. "I just need a chance," he muttered to himself, feeling the carriage slow as they reached the address. The ornate townhouse was a stark contrast to the places he usually visited. It made him realize just how different this job could be from anything he'd done before.

As the carriage came to a halt, Valerian took a deep breath, his earlier regret giving way to a sense of determination. He had to make this work, for himself and for Clark. This was his chance to prove that he could find something better, even if it meant taking risks and spending his precious savings to get there.