The night draped the capital in black silk, as though the heavens had taken a bag of secrets and overturned it across the sky. Gaslamps burned in shivering rows along the streets, their pale gold light trembling against slick cobblestone and iron railings. Above, the stars glittered coldly, distant and indifferent, like scattered diamonds pressed into velvet.
We arrived too late for the city to truly awaken—yet too early for it to sleep.
The airship dock was neither lively nor dead. It breathed in low murmurs and scattered movement: dockhands tightening ropes, porters wheeling creaking carts, silhouettes drifting in and out of steam and fog. The great iron belly of our vessel still ticked faintly as it cooled, metal contracting with weary sighs.
"Seems arriving beneath the veil of night puts all proper plans on pause," Miss Lakshmi murmured as we descended the ramp and made for the street beyond.
Her voice was calm, but the city did not feel so.
Snow drifted lightly from the heavens—not in flurries, but in lazy, delicate spirals. The flakes caught in the lamplight like crushed crystal. For a moment, it almost felt beautiful.
"The heavens didn't just drop snow tonight," a voice called from the shadows, smooth and amused. "Seems she scattered a few diamonds for us as well."
We halted as one.
From between two stacked cargo crates stepped three men, their figures stitched together from shadow and lamplight. Coat collars turned up, boots heavy, breath misting white. The glint of steel lingered too casually at their sides.
Miss Lakshmi did not move an inch.
"What can I do for you, gentlemen?" she asked, her tone unhurried—too unhurried for the situation knitting itself shut around us.
One of them laughed softly. "Oh, you're a fine one, aren't you? Even if you are from the south."
They came closer.
Victoria stiffened beside me. I felt my own pulse spike violently, my chest tightening as instinct screamed louder than reason. The dock behind us watched in total, deliberate silence—eyes turning away, boots shuffling aside. In the capital, trouble was a currency no one wished to spend for free.
As I began trying to gather what little strength I could, the scrape of metal rang out.
"Don't," one of the men said pleasantly, already drawing his weapon. "I'm not fond of comedy."
In a breath, we were surrounded.
Miss Halle stood still as glass not seeming to make a move. The dock remained deaf. The world narrowed to the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.
"How about you ladies join us for a drink?" one said, slinging his massive arm over Miss Lakshmi's shoulder as if they were old companions. "You look new to the capital. Thought we'd show you its… warmer side."
Another rested his sword across his shoulder, eyes roaming with open hunger. "Let me show you the city's beauty," he said, voice syrup-thick, "and maybe you show me yours."
The first man's gaze slid suddenly to me. His grin stretched wide, teeth flashing in the lamplight.
"Oh? Dragon blood, are we?" he mused. "What's a little lady like you doing out this late?"
My breath caught.
He stepped closer, his fingertips brushing my shoulder. "What's wrong?" he asked lightly. "Do I look like a bad person?" a nervous laugh morphing to confidence as he noticed my body fidget.
My body would not obey me. Fear locked my limbs in place, cold and shaking and humiliating. The chiming of a bell filled my ears until everything else fell away, sound thinning into nothing as my head grew light. The dock was silent. The city was watching—and doing nothing.
Then Miss Lakshmi sighed.
It was a quiet sound. Almost bored.
"Mr. Henrijs," she said, her voice colored with delicate irritation, as though she were addressing a servant who had spilled tea rather than a man about to break bones. "If you please."
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then the night split.
A crack like thunder tore through the air as violet lightning surged violently from behind us—arcing along ink-dark tattoos that flared to life across bare skin and iron-toned muscle.
Bang.
One of the men was hurled backward as if struck by an invisible cannon, his body folding around the blast before smashing into stacked crates in a storm of shattered wood.
"What the—!"
The second lunged, channeling power into his blade. He never finished the motion.
Mr. Henrijs moved like the snapping of a trap.
His hand caught the attacker's wrist mid-swing. With a sharp, surgical twist, bone gave way with a sound like brittle branches breaking. The sword clattered uselessly to the stones. The man collapsed screaming, clutching his ruined arm.
The third chose life over pride and bolted into the fog without a backward glance.
Silence rushed back in like water filling a wound.
Victoria clapped her hands once in pure, unfiltered awe. "That was so cool! Your tattoos were glowing!"
Mr. Henrijs merely flexed his fingers as the faint light bled from his skin and vanished. I examined him carefully and felt no trace of qi—so his power was not that of a cultivator. I looked up at the night sky and let out a slow breath. Not only did I fail to understand how he had done it, I could not understand why Miss Halle had not acted at all.
"Aah. The capital," Miss Lakshmi sighed pleasantly, already resuming her walk as though nothing of consequence had occurred.
We followed. Because what else does one do in a city that swallows screams?
I could feel eyes on our backs from darkened windows and alley mouths, but no one moved to help—neither before nor after. The lesson carved itself deep into my mind: justice here was private. Pain was quiet. Survival was solitary.
The hotel was tall, narrow, and wrought in brick and smoked glass, its iron balconies curling like frozen vines along the facade. Our rooms smelled faintly of coal dust and lavender polish.
Victoria rolled across one of the beds, giggling breathlessly, adrenaline still fizzing through her blood. She looked like someone who had just ridden a runaway carriage and begged for another turn. War had carved something strange into her joy.
Mr. Henrijs returned briefly after assisting with our luggage, his heavy boots echoing once in the corridor. When Miss Lakshmi offered him a room, he declined.
"I'd rather sleep in the belly of something familiar," he said.
She understood. She always seemed to.
Dinner passed in a muted blur of silverware and polite murmurs. The food was adequate—rich sauces, warm bread, slow-cooked meats—but my throat felt tight, my senses dulled. Fear lingered like a taste I could not swallow away.
The capital already resists us, I thought grimly. And we haven't even asked it for anything yet.
"Heiwa, are you alright?" Victoria asked, threading her fingers gently through mine.
"Yes," I lied softly, easing my hand away.
The night outside was quiet—but it was the quiet of teeth held behind a smile. Peace was not present. It had never been invited.
I lay beneath crisp linen sheets, staring at the ceiling as the clock somewhere downstairs chimed the slow march of midnight.
"Goodnight," I whispered to the dark, shelving every fear for the promise of dawn.
Tomorrow, I would begin what had dragged me across skies and blood and steel into the heart of this beautiful, uncaring city.
Tonight, I survived it.