The train cut through the valley like a silver snake with somewhere better to be.
It wasn't powered by steam or magic. Not anymore. This one moved on lines powered by thought—a half-forgotten psychic transport system built during the early integration of Crown architecture into post-collapse infrastructure. Most people didn't even know it existed.
That's why Alaric chose it.
Inside the private car, the lights were dim, the chairs old but soft, and the walls thick enough to silence the outside world. Mira sat nearest the back window, watching the scenery blur past with her hands folded in her lap. Seraphine lounged sideways on one of the longer benches, tossing a dagger into the air and catching it without looking. Kaelion had spread three maps across a table and was muttering under his breath. Astra leaned against the door, her arms crossed, eyes flicking to every creak and flicker of movement.
