In a heartbeat later, Absinthe opens his eyes, feeling disoriented.

"Get a move on!"

Absinthe turns his head as a man brushes past his shoulder, carrying multiple boxes of cargo. His vision clears as he realizes he's standing on a platform, one that stretches out for maybe two hundred meters.

Men wearing long frock coats and top hats as well as women in colorful bodice dresses pass by in a rush.

Lights, bright lights.

He squints his eyes, blinded by the spectacle of lamps that alight the night.

Absinthe turns his head as a hand grasps his shoulder. It's Melchior, who stares at him with an amazed expression.

"Just what is this place?"

Getting a good look on his surroundings, Absinthe notes a large divot in front of him, laden with steel tracks that stretch out to the horizon.

"A magiStation… we're seriously in an Orthodox Border Nation."

Absinthe pulls out a small ticket in his coat pocket, one that his father gave to each of them the previous night. "10:45 PM Train to Magdellien, Triumvera," he reads aloud softly. "What time is it, Mel?"

"10:45 on the dot," Melchior answers as he flicks out his silver pocketwatch.

A screech roars from the clouds as a hulking steel serpent begins its descent.

The brothers look up and see smoke billowing out of the top of the train as a headlight locates the aetherRails.

As the train's wheels screeched in protest, Absinthe's heart quickened with a mix of excitement and trepidation. He exchanged a glance with Melchior, who wore a similarly awestruck expression.

The brothers' gaze were drawn to the majestic steel beast as it slowly came to a stop alongside the platform. A hiss of steam escaped the engine, and the doors slid open with a metallic groan.

"Well, it seems our chariot awaits," Absinthe quipped, his voice laced with a hint of nervousness.

Melchior's eyes sparkled with amusement, but his smile was short-lived. As they made their way towards the train, a sense of unease began to settle in.

The brothers' boots echoed through the platform as they approached the train, its metal body gleaming like polished silver in the luminescent glow of the station.

Absinthe glanced around, taking in the eclectic mix of passengers.

The hiss from the train and an expulsion of steam startles the brothers.

Absinthe takes a step back as the steel doors open, spilling out dozens of passengers. He feels for his suitcase, making sure he didn't lose it in the sea of bodies.

"What coach are we?" Melchior asks as he pulls out his brother from the crowd.

"Coach? Oh, right," Absinthe looks at his ticket again and replies, "Carriage 2, Seat B5. You're probably seat B6 then."

Absinthe's eyes glance at a small banner that hangs from the ends of one of the coaches in front of him.

Carriage 17

"Let's get moving," Absinthe comments as he finds Carriage 16, continuing to push through hurried passengers.

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The air is thick with fragrances, perfumes, and smoke from the train's engines in the forefront.

They pass through rows of windows, each framing the heads of people with different stories and experiences.

But all of them are united through the Orthodox Religions. It makes Absinthe feel a little out of place.

He pushes away these thoughts as he glances back occasionally, hoping he didn't get lost from Melchior.

After an eternity of sifting through arms and heads, the pair finally arrive at Carriage 2.

He steps up the short steel stairs and enters. Absinthe is greeted with a long, rectangular coach lined with a minimal number of seats, greatly increasing personal space for each passenger.

"I wonder how much this cost Father. He really didn't cut any corners here," Melchior whispers, tracing his fingers over the fine, beige leather padding of the seats.

The two find their seats, B5 and B6 respectively, before putting their suitcases in an overhead container.

"I call the window seat!" Absinthe laughs, crashing into the seat nearest to the right.

"Hey! That's my spot!"

Absinthe shrugs casually. "Look, you being in the aisle seat means that you get easier access to the bathroom. Also, what if we're attacked? It's easier for you to escape."

"What's in it for you?"

"This sweet view," Absinthe replies with a smirk.

Melchior laced his lips in thought. "Urgh. I know you think you're swindling me, but jokes on you when some assassins burst in."

Absinthe shrugs again, resting his head back on the soft support. With the amount of space between rows, he inclines back his seat a few notches.

He leans over Melchior beckoning a porter as some more passengers find their seats. "Two glasses of champagne, please."

As the porter nodded and made his way to retrieve the champagne, Melchior shot Absinthe a sideways glance, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "You're really going all out, aren't you? Trying to make a good impression in the East?"

Absinthe's smirk only grew wider as he settled back into his seat, his gaze drifting out the window as the platform slowly receded from view.

The porter returned with two fluted glasses, expertly balancing a champagne bottle in his other hand. "Compliments of the rail company, gentlemen," he said with a bow, pouring a measure of the golden liquid into each glass.

As Absinthe raised his glass in a silent toast, the champagne's effervescent bubbles danced in the fading light of day, like tiny stars flickering to life.

The porter, his task complete, nodded respectfully and retreated, leaving the brothers to their velvety silence.

Soon after, the train's whistle shrieks, echoing throughout the station. Hanging handrails jingle as the train shudders, preparing for takeoff. Steam is expelled from the wheels as they begin to roll across the aetherRails. The train picks up speed, barreling down the tracks.