Ashes of the Elite

The white light vanishes in an instant, leaving a heavy pull in my gut. Vertigo sways the world around me, but this time I manage to grind my teeth and ride through it, only a grimace betraying the nausea clawing at my stomach. Awakened Kennet is already smirking at me when I steady myself, like she was waiting to see if I'd embarrass myself again.

"We're at the train station in Lusa," she says, that mocking lilt still in her voice. "All the first-year academy-bound students gather here. We saved you the scenic route."

I barely register her words at first because the sight before me steals the air from my lungs. I've never seen a train except in the books Cain forced me to read. Now, I'm standing toes away from one of those iron monsters. Each engine is a black behemoth longer than any street, as tall as two houses stacked atop one another. Steam erupts from their chimneys in ragged breaths, veiling the tracks in shifting white, while iron wheels bigger than carriages gleam in the winter sunlight. Massive, ribbed carriages stretch behind them, dozens in a row painted black.

For a moment, I just stare. There are dozens of them on the tracks, each wider than a farmhouse and packed with people. I can feel the vibration of their weight through the stone platform. Porters stagger as they haul crates the size of livestock cages. It's chaos, but ordered chaos, every traveler and worker moving with purpose through a maze of arches and overpasses.

I drag my eyes across the platform, taking it all in. This is no boring outpost; this is the capital. This is Lusa's station, and it is a beast. Polished pale stone sprawls beneath my boots, slick with melting snow and crisscrossed by iron rails. Arched glass ceilings yawn overhead, filigreed with frost, letting in watery winter light. The air smells of engine smoke, wet wool, and roasted nuts from some distant vendor. I recognize the looks we get: fearful glances and mothers steering their children away from us. I suppose two people materializing in front of them isn't a regular morning occurrence.

Tracks weave and cross and branch like veins in a body, forming an entire network sprawling out across the station and beyond that, across the continent. Raised platforms, twisting signal towers, and fortified checkpoints will dot the landscape. Soldiers and engineers will move among them, shouting orders, checking manifests, and maintaining the trains like priests tending sacred beasts.

I realize, in a sudden jolt of understanding, that this isn't just transportation. It's the Empire's bloodline.

This is how the King moves his armies. This is how he crushes rebellions before they can crawl out of the dirt. How he can wage war across a thousand miles of snow, mountain, and forest without breaking a sweat. His architects and Elites carved this system out of the earth, and in doing so, stitched nations together with steel and smoke and blood. These trains make the whole continent small enough for him to hold in one fist.

Kennet follows my gaze, then gestures down the length of the platform toward a sturdy, official-looking building. "See that building at the end there?" she asks with a bored tone. I follow her pointing and spot a sturdy, thick-walled structure, dark stone and metal reinforced. Crown flags flutter from its roof. "That's where you need to go. Crown-run office. Elites and Inquisitors will be waiting inside to herd you all together."

The way she says "herd" makes me want to punch her. Hard.

"They'll bring all the new Elites to the academy at the same time, nice and neat." She says, some predatory satisfaction flickering in her eyes. Then, with a lazy salute, she chuckles, "Good luck, darling." You'll need it."