Valerian exited the house, stepping into the brisk evening air. The street outside was quieter than earlier in the day, with only a few people milling about, and the distant sound of carriage wheels on cobblestones echoed in the distance. He clutched the sealed letter in his hand, glancing at the address inscribed on the front. The printing press where Mr. Wainwright worked wasn't far, just a couple of blocks down the street.

As he walked, he thought about the events of the day. The tests had been challenging, and Lord Castiel's presence was intimidating, but he felt he'd done well enough to earn a chance. The letter in his hand was a small but significant task—proof that he could be trusted with responsibility. If he delivered it without incident, maybe it would help his case when Lord Castiel decided who to hire.

The streetlights cast a warm glow on the cobblestone streets, and the storefronts were beginning to close for the night. A few vendors were still packing up their carts, their conversations muted and subdued. Valerian walked with purpose, determined to deliver the letter and complete the errand as quickly as possible.

The printing press was a modest building with a faded sign hanging over the door. Valerian pushed it open and stepped inside, the smell of ink and paper filling the air. The press was noisy, with large machines clanking and hissing as they worked to produce newspapers and other printed materials. He saw workers moving about, carrying stacks of paper and adjusting the machinery.

He approached the front desk, where a clerk was sorting through a pile of documents. "Excuse me, I'm here to deliver this letter to Mr. Wainwright," Valerian said, holding out the sealed envelope.

The clerk nodded and pointed toward the back of the press. "Mr. Wainwright's office is down the hall, second door on the left. Just knock before you enter."

Valerian thanked the clerk and made his way down the hallway. The sound of the printing press grew louder as he approached Mr. Wainwright's office. He knocked, and a moment later, the door opened to reveal a middle-aged man with a thick mustache and ink-stained hands.

"Yes? What is it?" Mr. Wainwright asked, his tone brusque but not unfriendly.

"I'm here to deliver a letter from Lord Castiel," Valerian replied, handing over the envelope.

Mr. Wainwright took the letter and tore it open, his eyes scanning the contents. He nodded, then looked up at Valerian. "All right, tell Lord Castiel I've received it. And you... you're new, aren't you? I don't think I've seen you around here before."

Valerian nodded. "Yes, I'm applying for a position as a research assistant."

"Good luck with that," Mr. Wainwright said, a hint of a smile on his lips. "Lord Castiel is a tough one, but he's fair. If you work hard, you'll do fine." He turned back to his desk, clearly done with the conversation.

Valerian took his leave, exiting the printing press and stepping back into the evening air. The errand had gone smoothly, and he hoped it would count in his favor when Lord Castiel made his decision. As he walked back toward his boarding house, he felt a mix of relief and anticipation. He knew there was still much to learn about this new world, but he was determined to make the most of the opportunity.

As Valerian left the printing press, the streets of Drakenheim were transitioning into the evening's slower pace. The vendors had mostly packed up, and the factory workers were heading home after a long day. The cobblestone streets still bustled with life, but the energy was different—more relaxed and subdued as the day came to a close.

Drakenheim was an old city, its history etched into the weathered stone buildings and winding alleyways. It was known for its factories and workshops, where many people made their living, but there were also vibrant markets and thriving businesses that kept the city alive. The industrial districts were gritty and bustling, filled with the noise of machinery and the smell of smoke, while the more affluent areas boasted grand houses and neatly kept streets.

Valerian walked down one of the main thoroughfares, passing shops and taverns that were starting to light their lanterns for the evening crowd. Street performers played music on corners, hoping for a few coins from passersby. Others sold trinkets and small goods, eager to make a sale before the night grew too late. The city's energy was palpable, a constant hum of activity that never quite ceased.

As he walked, Valerian noticed people engaging in various activities to earn a living. Some worked as street vendors, selling food and handmade crafts. Others offered services like shoe-shining or horse grooming. The docks were always busy, with ships coming and going, bringing goods from distant lands. The city had a thriving underground economy, too—unlicensed gambling dens and illicit trades that thrived in the shadows.

Valerian lived in the factory district, where the buildings were tall and cramped, and the air was filled with the scent of coal smoke. His boarding house was a modest place, shared with others struggling to make ends meet. He passed familiar landmarks as he walked—an old bakery, a corner pub where workers gathered to unwind, and the narrow alleyways that led to hidden spots where he and his brother used to play as children.

Despite the hardships of Drakenheim, Valerian couldn't help but dream of a better life. He'd heard stories of distant continents with vast landscapes and exotic cities. There was talk of places where people lived in luxury, where the streets were clean, and opportunities were plentiful. It was a far cry from his reality, but the idea of escaping the grime and struggle of Drakenheim was a powerful motivator.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

As he approached his boarding house, Valerian took a moment to look at the city skyline. The factory smokestacks loomed in the distance, casting a haze over the rooftops. He knew this was his home, but he also knew he wanted something more. The job at Lord Castiel's was his chance to make a change, to find stability and perhaps, one day, a way out.

Valerian entered the boarding house, climbing the narrow staircase to his room. The day had been long and filled with challenges, but he felt a sense of accomplishment. He'd delivered the letter and passed the tests, and now all he could do was wait for Lord Castiel's decision. As he settled into his small room, he wondered what the future held and whether this opportunity would be the first step toward a new life.

Valerian climbed the creaky stairs to his small room in the boarding house. The place was worn and cramped, but it was home—for now, at least. He opened the door and stepped inside, the familiar scent of must and old wood greeting him. The room was dimly lit by a single oil lamp, its flickering flame casting shadows across the walls.

His brother, Clark, was sitting on the narrow bed, a book in hand. Clark was younger, around twelve, with dark hair and a quick smile that often lit up even the dullest of days. He looked up as Valerian entered, his eyes filled with curiosity.

"How'd it go?" Clark asked, closing the book and setting it aside. "Did you get a job?"

Valerian sighed, feeling the weight of the day settle in his shoulders. "I'm not sure yet," he replied, dropping into the wooden chair by the small table. "I passed some tests, and they said they'd consider my application. I guess I just have to wait and see."

Clark nodded, his expression hopeful. "I think you'll get it," he said, trying to sound encouraging. "You're good at figuring things out. And you don't give up easily."

Valerian smiled, appreciating his brother's optimism. "Thanks, Clark. I hope you're right. We could use the money."

Clark had spent the day at the nearby school, attending basic lessons with other kids from the boarding house. He'd also helped out at the corner shop, stocking shelves and sweeping the floor to earn a few extra coins. It wasn't much, but it helped with the daily expenses.

"So, what's the job like?" Clark asked, his eyes lighting up with curiosity. "Is it exciting? Did you meet any interesting people?"

Valerian thought about the tests, the training room, and the mysterious artifacts in Lord Castiel's house. He decided to keep the details vague, not wanting to worry his brother with anything too unusual. "It's a bit different," he said, choosing his words carefully. "They have a lot of books and maps. I think they do some kind of research, but I'm not sure what exactly. It's all a bit mysterious."

Clark seemed intrigued by the idea. "Mysterious sounds cool," he said, leaning back against the wall. "Maybe you'll get to learn new things and go on adventures."

Valerian chuckled. "Maybe," he said, though he knew that adventure often came with risks. He didn't want to burden Clark with his worries about the job or the uncertainty of their future.

As the evening grew darker, Valerian and Clark prepared a simple dinner—bread, cheese, and a few slices of cured meat Clark had bought from the market. It wasn't much, but it was enough to fill their stomachs and keep them going. They ate together, talking about school, the city, and the small moments that made their day a little brighter.

After dinner, Valerian reviewed his plan for the next day. He had a few other job leads to follow up on if the position with Lord Castiel didn't work out. It was a constant struggle, but he knew he had to keep trying for Clark's sake.

As the night grew late, Valerian sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the fatigue from the day's tests. Clark had already fallen asleep, his breathing steady and calm. Valerian took a moment to gaze out the small window, looking at the faint lights of Drakenheim. He wondered what tomorrow would bring and whether this opportunity would lead to something more.

Valerian sat by the window, the cool night breeze filtering through the thin curtains. The distant hum of the city had quieted, and the streetlights cast a faint glow over the cobblestone streets. It was one of those moments when Drakenheim felt almost peaceful, as if the constant noise and rush had taken a brief respite.

Clark was fast asleep on the narrow bed, his breathing steady and rhythmic. Valerian watched his brother for a moment, grateful for the rare quiet. Despite their hardships, Clark always seemed to find a way to remain optimistic. Valerian wished he had the same ability to see the brighter side of things, but his responsibilities made it harder to maintain that level of hope.

Valerian returned to the table, spreading out the few job leads he had collected over the past week. Most were for factory work, odd jobs, or manual labor—the kind of work that barely paid enough to cover rent and food. He wondered if the position at Lord Castiel's might be his chance to break free from the endless cycle of low-paying jobs, even if it came with its own set of mysteries and uncertainties.

He made a list of the places to visit the next day, marking the ones that seemed most promising. Even if Lord Castiel's job worked out, he knew it was wise to have backup plans. Drakenheim was unpredictable, and he couldn't afford to rely solely on a single opportunity.

The oil lamp on the table flickered, casting shifting shadows on the walls. Valerian's thoughts drifted to the events of the day—the tests, the encounter with Mr. Wainwright, and the enigmatic nature of Lord Castiel's work. There was something intriguing about it, something that felt larger than any job he'd done before. He wondered what it would be like to work in a place with so many secrets, where each day might reveal something new.

As he sat in the quiet room, Valerian thought about the future. He had dreams of leaving Drakenheim behind, of finding a better life in distant lands. He'd heard stories of places where the streets were clean, where opportunities were plentiful, and where people didn't have to struggle just to survive. It seemed like a distant dream, but it was enough to keep him going.

Valerian stood and stretched, feeling the day's fatigue settling into his muscles. He extinguished the oil lamp, plunging the room into darkness. The moonlight streamed through the window, casting a faint glow across the floor. He lay down on the spare mattress beside Clark's bed, pulling the thin blanket over himself.

As he closed his eyes, Valerian couldn't help but wonder what the next day would bring. Would Lord Castiel offer him the job? Would it lead to something more? The uncertainty was daunting, but he knew he had to keep moving forward. The promise of a better life for him and his brother was worth the risk.