Crossing into the train, the deafening noise of the station faded, muffled by the solid structure of the first-class carriage. The corridor, lined with a garnet carpet trimmed in gold, smelled of varnished mahogany and fresh leather. Philip led him to a private compartment; sliding open the frosted glass door, Alphard found an immaculate space with two wide green velvet seats facing each other, brass fixtures casting a warm glow, and a polished window.
They settled in across from one another. A sharp whistle rang out somewhere outside, and with a dull clang of metal, the enormous steam engine began, slowly, to move.
Through the glass, the grey rooftops and narrow streets of Saint-Rémont fell away, dissolving into a trail of black smoke. The stretch of rolling hills and open fields didn't last long; as they neared their destination, modern infrastructure began swallowing the horizon whole.
Rail lines multiplied everywhere, weaving into intricate junctions, as they crossed imposing wrought-iron bridges spanning wide, powerful rivers.
In the distance, Viremont's silhouette rose into view with real grandeur: a metropolis of towering pale stone buildings crowned with glass domes, avenues laid out with perfect precision, and a majestic rail network that made clear exactly why it proudly carried the title of the country's second most important city.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Philip asked.
"Yeah. Genuinely spectacular."
Philip studied the metropolis beyond the glass, his gaze tinged with nostalgia and melancholy. As the train closed the distance to the central station, he didn't hesitate to pull out a fountain pen and a small sheet of paper, drafting a letter in a hurried rush.
Alphard caught the gesture. Though curiosity tempted him to press into the personal matter, he chose tact instead, opting for a more discreet question.
"Do you have memories here, in this city?"
"It's my hometown," Philip answered, not fully looking up from the paper. "It's been a long time since I last came back... Feels strange. Like I'm actually coming home."
Alphard nodded silently. He felt genuinely happy that his companion was reconnecting with his roots, but deep in his chest, an involuntary pang of envy took root: Philip had a home to return to in this world, while all he could do was cling to the faint hope of returning, someday, to his own.
As if the journey had passed in a single breath, the train slowed and pulled into Viremont's grand central station.
Alphard lifted his gaze to the ceiling and stood dazzled; it was an immense, completely transparent glass roof, tracing the fluid reflection of clouds and sky across its surface.
It was a marvel of engineering so pristine and luminous that, privately, Alphard found it surpassed everything he'd seen in the capital in sheer modernity.
Stepping outside, the city greeted them with a glow entirely different from the capital's. The public squares boasted lusher, more carefully tended greenery, while the façades of the residences and government palaces stood out in a flawless white beneath the sunlight.
The one thing that carried over was the fashion of the passersby: immaculate suits, dresses in vivid colors, and an elegance woven into the very fabric of the era. The avenues followed a neat, geometric layout.
The city's design radiated an impeccable sense of order, though Alphard was careful not to jump to conclusions about the whole city just yet: it was obvious enough that the main station had dropped them right in the heart of Viremont's administrative, exclusive core.
"Well, we should find somewhere to stay until we head back."
"How long will this take?" Alphard asked.
"Not long. Probably tonight, or early tomorrow morning, we'll be heading back."
After a short walk down the main avenue, they stopped in front of a monumental structure of white stone that seemed to dominate the entire block: the Grand Hotel de Viremont.
Its neoclassical façade boasted wrought-iron balconies, enormous windows framed in gilded molding, and a smoked-glass awning beneath which a pair of doormen stood at attention, dressed in immaculate uniforms with brass buttons.
Passing through the revolving oak doors, the interior left Alphard breathless. A majestic lobby opened before them, dominated by an immense Bohemian crystal chandelier that bathed the polished marble floor in golden light.
Further back, a winter garden beneath a glass dome displayed exotic palm trees, while the soft clatter of a brass cage-elevator marked the rhythm of the space. The air smelled of expensive perfume, varnished wood, and fine cigars.
Alphard stood frozen for a second, his eyes adjusting to the sheer, unrestrained luxury of it all.
This mission's definitely not something ordinary, if we're staying in a place like this.
Philip, by contrast, showed no trace of being impressed at all. He unbuttoned his coat with an effortless elegance, gave the doorman a nod of greeting, and walked toward the reception desk at an easy, unhurried pace, as though this Crystal Palace were simply his second home.
Making the reservation, the original plan hadn't been to stay for days; still, Philip had already warned him there was a real possibility they wouldn't return to Saint-Rémont until deep into the early hours of the next morning. But beyond the mission itself, a bitter frustration gnawed at Alphard from within.
The rush of the trip hadn't left him a single second to warn either Helena or Alexi that he'd be leaving the city, and a constant pressure sat heavy on his chest at the thought of coming home and his sister's inevitable reaction.
Stepping into the room, the sophistication of the place showed in every detail: varnished mahogany furniture, heavy velvet curtains, and a plush carpet that swallowed the sound of every footstep.
Alphard didn't waste time crossing to the large window dominating the main wall. From there, the panoramic view was breathtaking: Viremont unfolded like a tapestry of orderly avenues and majestic white stone buildings gleaming beneath the light. Despite the tension hanging over the mission, he found himself simply enjoying the view, savoring the accomplishment of his first trip outside Saint-Rémont.
Meanwhile, Philip pulled a wooden pipe from his pocket. With slow, practiced movements, he packed it with a blend of tobacco and dried herbs before lighting it.
Within seconds, a bluish smoke began curling toward the ceiling, quickly filling every corner of the room with a warm, penetrating scent.
"Want some?" Philip asked.
"No, I don't smoke, but thanks. By the way — what exactly is the mission?"
"Killing a businessman," Philip said, flat and matter-of-fact.
Alphard felt a mix of unease and dread at his companion's cold delivery. Killing a man of business without even understanding the reason kept echoing through his thoughts.
The mere idea of becoming an executor himself chilled him to the bone.
"Why would we do something like that?" Alphard asked, frowning. "And besides — I thought Noctis's jurisdiction didn't extend beyond the capital."
"Noctis controls a lot more than you'd guess," Philip answered, unbothered, adjusting the pipe between his fingers. "Though I'll admit, it's unusual for us to operate outside Saint-Rémont. As for the reason — you'll find out in due time. For now, unpack. We need to finish this job as soon as possible."
Though his heart hammered against his chest, Alphard forced his expression to stay flat.
He knew he couldn't afford to let morality or emotion take the wheel here, especially not when he needed every scrap of information he could get if he ever hoped to find his way back to Earth.
In silence, he began unpacking the suitcase's contents onto the table: two firearms, a vial holding a glowing potion, and a long, mysterious object whose purpose he still couldn't place.
"By the way, Alphard," Philip said, breaking the quiet as he watched him work. "That potion you're looking at is strictly for cases of extreme emergency."
As they finished their preparations, Philip kept checking his silver pocket watch, tracking the exact minutes leading up to the mission's start. Before heading out, they went down to the heart of the hotel: the grand main restaurant.
It was a majestic hall with soaring ceilings, lit by immense crystal chandeliers and filled with opulent round tables set for six, where high society mingled amid the clink of glasses and silver cutlery.
Alphard scanned the menu and felt a bitter jolt at the prices: a single dish ran around thirty francs, a figure absurdly high by his own usual standards.
To his surprise, Philip ordered a meal of similar cost without so much as blinking. Beneath the knot of worry the mission had left in him, a pragmatic question crossed Alphard's mind: exactly how much did Philip actually earn, to sustain a lifestyle like this?
"Sorry... I'll pay you back for all this once we're back in the capital," Alphard said quietly, a little uncomfortable at the sight of the bill.
"Don't worry about it, it's covered by the job. Someday it'll be your turn to do the same for some rookie," Philip answered with an easy smile, tucking his watch away.
The restaurant's large crowd left most tables wrapped in a private atmosphere that anyone would think twice about interrupting.
Spotting two young men with several empty seats at their table, a woman of sturdy build and remarkably warm bearing didn't hesitate to join them. She wore a flawless moss-green velvet gown with discreet beading along the neckline, a shade that flattered her complexion beautifully.
The moment she settled in, she offered them a good-natured look and a smile brimming with warmth, acting as an unintentional balm on Alphard's nerves.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen. My name is Jane Fenmore — I own some of the land on the north side of the city, where the working class lives. I do apologize for the intrusion, but as you can see, I'd never want to impose — if you feel I'm interrupting a business conversation, I'll happily excuse myself."
"Not at all, I think we're doing just fine — actually, much better, with the company," Alphard said, smiling.