"Come down, now. It's all fine. Are you new to this city?"
Mihel and Riche climbed down carefully and came to stand before him.
Up close, his clothes were even neater than they'd seemed from above, dark fabric cut clean and precise.
He spoke Avraic, but the cadence was different. Smoother. Polished, like words shaped by habit rather than necessity.
"Yeah," Riche said quickly. "We're boarding the Engine at 1 astra. Just wanted to see Skaria before leaving." He hesitated. "No trouble, right?"
The man waved it off with a small laugh. "None at all. Come."
He gestured toward the nearby bakery. "Let me show you something Skaria does properly. Best crunchies in the city."
Before either boy could refuse, he ushered them inside. He shouted an order to the tender.
Moments later, he returned with a small stack of biscuits and three cups filled with a deep black liquid.
Mihel took a cautious sip and immediately stiffened.
The man noticed and laughed.
"Never had Kaffe?"
Mihel swallowed hard. 'This bitter water is popular?'
"It's made by grinding Kaffe beans and boiling them," the man continued casually. "You'll grow accustomed to it."
'No chance,' Mihel thought. 'Village Tallow is far better.'
The man leaned back slightly, sipping his own cup. "So. Names? And where is the Engine taking you?"
"I'm Riche. This is Mihel," Riche said. "We're joining the Exousia. Skaria's our departure point."
"Hmm." The man studied them with renewed interest. "Then let me ask you something else."
He set his cup down. "You wouldn't happen to be Riche Malant and Mihel Westrow, would you?"
Both boys froze. Slowly, they nodded. The man broke into a broad grin.
"Didn't realize I was sharing a table with celebrities." He laughed openly. "I'm Denyr Firos. Your posters were all over the city. First and second place in the Avra Tournament, right?"
He shook his head. "My six-year-old son worships you two."
Mihel blinked.
The man glanced at his dial.
That was when Mihel noticed the sunlight.
Even inside, thin beams spilled across the floor and counters, the bakery's roof cleverly cut to catch the day.
"Two hours and fifteen minutes," the man said. He looked back at them. "Would you like to visit my home? My son would lose his mind."
Mihel turned to Riche. "What do you think?"
Riche shrugged. "If it's quick, why not? We get to see more of the city that way."
Denyr rose at once. "Good. Take your drinks. We'll move fast."
They stepped back into the current of the crowd, Denyr guiding them through the streets with practiced ease.
Turns blurred together until he stopped before a narrow clothing shop.
Mihel frowned. "This is your house?"
Denyr chuckled. "No, no. The shop's mine. We live above it."
He led them up a stairway beside the store. The steps opened into a hallway lit by ornate gas lamps, their glow soft and amber.
They passed three doors on the left before Denyr unlocked the fourth.
"Rito," he called. "Come here. Guess who's visiting."
A small boy with brown hair, much like his father's, rushed to the doorway. His wide green eyes flicked between the two strangers.
Then his face lit up.
He vanished back inside and returned moments later clutching two posters, nearly tripping in his excitement.
"Wah—! These Mihel! This Riche!" he blurted, words tumbling over each other. "Daddy, how—how you see?"
Denyr laughed gently. "Slow down. They came just for you." He knelt slightly. "They're busy, though, so hurry. Bring a pen. A pen."
He mimed writing. Rito scampered off, returned with a pen gripped proudly in both hands.
Denyr turned to the boys. "Would you mind signing these? It would mean the world to him." Mihel hesitated, still stunned, but both of them took the posters.
Seeing their own faces printed there felt unreal. They signed carefully.
Rito stared at the ink as if it might glow. "Thank you," Denyr said sincerely. "Come. I'll walk you to the station. It's the least I can do."
They followed him through the streets until the station rose before them.
It was a marvel.
High arching walls, broad brown ledges, and at the center, the Engine itself, massive and alive, coughing smoke into the sky.
As boarding began, Mihel and Riche turned and bowed. "Thank you," Mihel said. "For everything."
Denyr waved it away with a smile. "The pleasure was mine. I wish you both a future worth telling stories about. And make sure to visit us when you return to Skaria."
They waved goodbye as they stepped into their compartment.
A woman's voice carried through the Engine, calm and practiced.
"Good afternoon, future soldiers of the Exousia. This journey to the Avra branch will take five hours. Please remain seated and make yourselves comfortable. Set aside your worries for now." A pause, then warmly, "Good luck on the paths ahead of you."
With a low hiss, the Engine pulled free of the station. Metal groaned, smoke billowed, and Skaria began to slide away.
Nervous energy filled the carriages. Laughter burst from some compartments, arguments from others. Hope and fear travelled together.
In Mihel and Riche's compartment sat three others. One boy and two girls.
The boy rose first and approached them, offering his hand. "Vinelyn Drean."
His white hair fell straight to his shoulders, almost silver in the Engine's light. His smile was easy, unguarded, as if the future had nothing to frighten him.
"Strange question to ask so soon," Vinelyn continued, "but what are your Destinies?" He grinned. "I'm Magician Destined. Runs in the family, though none of us have ever reached a high Circle."
Mihel quietly stored the word away.
'Magician.'
Riche answered without hesitation. "Angel Destined."
He jerked a thumb at Mihel. "And this one's too scared to admit his."
Mihel gave a dry laugh. "I don't trust people I've just met. Earn it first. Then we'll see."
Vinelyn laughed. "Fair enough. You both seem interesting."
He gestured to the girls. "That's Halise," he said, indicating the one with ash-grey hair and clear blue eyes.
"And that's Midia. We're all from Burth village, east of Skaria."
Riche nodded in greeting. "I'm Riche. This is Mihel. We're from Wahum. South of Skaria, past the Tangled Forest.
" The reaction was instant. Vinelyn froze. Midia's eyes widened. "Riche? Mihel?" she whispered.
"As in… the Avra Tournament champions?"
Mihel sighed inwardly. 'Why does it follow us everywhere?'
"Yes," Riche said lightly. "Those champions."
Halise leaned forward, eyes shining. "You were far ahead of everyone last year. No one even came close."
Vinelyn cleared his throat, straightening.
"Well," he said, smiling with quiet resolve, "I've trained hard since then."
His eyes met Riche's. "Don't expect an easy win this time."
Riche's grin widened. "Good," he said. "I'd be disappointed otherwise."