Silfira's POV
The letter's ink had barely dried in my mind when the next morning came rushing like a tide I wasn't ready for. My bag sat slumped by the door heavier with anticipation than its contents.
I didn't sleep much. The words from the crimson-lettered envelope replayed again and again, the dark red seal pressing against my thoughts like a thumbprint I couldn't scrub away.
"Report to the Southern Rail Junction, Platform 6, 9:00 a.m. You will be met."
It was the "You will be met" that twisted my stomach. By who? Or… by what?
The streets at dawn in Humdrum felt different that day. The air tasted sharper, like the city had scrubbed itself clean just to see me off. My boots clicked against the wet cobblestones, each step echoing against shuttered shopfronts. Somewhere, a streetlamp flickered as though it was watching me.
By the time I reached the Southern Rail Junction, the sun was just peeking past the factory roofs, laying gold over the iron arches of the station. Steam hissed from somewhere unseen, drifting through the steel ribs of the platform canopy.
Platform 6 wasn't at the front where the ordinary trains waited. It was… further. Past signs whose lettering had peeled so much you could barely tell they once guided anyone. Past the scent of roasted chestnuts and morning bread. Past a guard who didn't look at me, but somehow knew I was supposed to pass.
And there it was.
Platform 6 was not like the others. The air here felt thicker. The tracks were shrouded in a faint mist that didn't move with the wind, clinging stubbornly to the ground. A long, gleaming train sat silently as though it had been waiting for centuries rather than minutes carriages painted in black lacquer, their edges lined with silver filigree that caught the dim light in strange ways.
There were others.
Thirteen other figures scattered along the platform. Some standing still, some pacing, some leaning against their luggage as though the weight of waiting was unbearable.
I wasn't sure if I should approach anyone. I didn't know their names not yet but I knew the feeling radiating off them. It was the same as mine. That same quiet after something terrible, the kind that hollowed you out and made space for… something else.
"First time on a ghost train?"
The voice jolted me from my thoughts. A tall, copper-skinned girl was leaning against one of the silver rails, a half-smirk tugging her lips. Her hair was braided in thick ropes that fell to her waist, beads of deep blue glinting in them.
"I'm Asmera," she said, pushing off the rail with a lazy grace. "And if you're here, you must've been invited too. Or you're very, very lost."
I managed a thin smile. "Silfira."
L
Her eyes flicked over me not judging, but… measuring. "Something terrible happened, right?" she said casually, as if she were commenting on the weather.
I froze. "How—?"
Asmera shrugged, a small smile playing at her lips. "They send people like us here for a reason. You'll get used to people knowing more than they should."
Before I could respond, a boy passed us, his stride so fluid it was almost unnatural like each step had been rehearsed a thousand times. His black hair was slicked back, but a few strands fell across his sharp, almost fox-like eyes.
"Asmera," he greeted, voice low and precise. Then his gaze swept to me. "And newcomer. Zenjiro."
He didn't offer a hand. Instead, he gave a small, formal bow. "You'll forgive me if I prefer names over small talk. We'll have plenty of time for that on the train."
"As charming as ever," Asmera muttered.
Further down the platform, a boy was sitting cross-legged on top of his suitcase like it was a throne. He had a grin that could've lit up the whole station, though it carried the faintest shadow, like he'd learned to smile through something heavier.
"You're staring," he called, waving me over. "I'm Ciro. And if you're wondering no, I'm not always this handsome. Just on special occasions."
"You're impossible," Asmera called back.
"And you love it," Ciro shot, his grin widening.
Zenjiro didn't even glance his way. "Some of us prefer to keep our dignity."
"Some of us were born to be adored," Ciro countered.
The last one who caught my attention wasn't speaking at all. He stood apart, near the edge of the mist, hands in his coat pockets, gaze fixed somewhere past the tracks like he could see through the veil itself. His silver hair looked almost white in the station light, and his posture was the kind that spoke of patience not the calm kind, but the dangerous kind that could outwait storms.
Asmera noticed my glance. "That's Veilon. Don't expect him to talk much unless he wants to."
Veilon didn't turn. But I had the oddest feeling that he'd heard every word.
At precisely nine o'clock, the train stirred. Not with the groan of steel on steel, but with a deep, resonant hum like a giant exhaling. The mist swirled higher, wrapping the lower half of the carriages.
The doors slid open without a sound. Inside was… not a normal train carriage. The floor was polished obsidian, the seats lined in dark velvet embroidered with constellations I didn't recognize. Faint blue light pulsed along the ceiling, like veins carrying light instead of blood.
We boarded in silence, each of us finding our place. I sat across from Asmera and Ciro, Zenjiro a seat away, Veilon near the far end.
The moment the doors closed, the hum deepened, and the world outside blurred.
Through the windows, the station dissolved not fading into countryside, but into… something else. The air outside turned a shade too deep to be sky, shapes moving within it that were neither clouds nor birds.
Nobody spoke for a long time.
Finally, Ciro leaned forward, grinning like the silence was too much for him. "So… anybody want to guess where we're going?"
"Someplace that doesn't exist on any map," Asmera said flatly.
"Someplace that hides in plain sight," Zenjiro added, voice soft but certain.
Veilon's gaze shifted, just enough for his eyes to meet mine. And for the briefest second, I swore he mouthed something.
"Hidden Society."
The train carried us deeper into the unknown.