The local train station was buzzing with activity at this time of the day—just around half past-eight, when the whole city was rushing to work.
People thronged the platform, which was lined with small, golden, siren-shaped devices at equal intervals. Other than being conscious enough to keep a careful distance from these devices, they were in their own worlds—immune to the jarring sounds of the blaring train-horns and the automated voice making announcements. None of them paid any attention to the young woman standing at the farthest end of the platform, a black scarf wrapped around her throat.
To the policeman who happened to glance at her, she was only muttering into the air with earphones on—taking a call like so many others waiting for the train.
He barely gave it a second thought as he turned away, resuming his patrol across the platform.
And even if he had stopped to observe her more closely, he wouldn't have heard the words she was saying. Or understood the language she spoke.
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"... I know you're hungry for flesh.
If you listen to me, you'll get a whole train-full of them. Not just a handful.
Don't gather now. Wait for three more minutes.
And come up only—I repeat, come up only in the spot I tell you."
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆
Twenty minutes later, the trains stop running.
If it was a smaller town, a less busy city, people wouldn't have minded waiting. They wouldn't have thought much of a train coming in late.
But this was the capital of the country. A place where people from all the other states flocked to—charmed by movement that never stopped and a drive that never slept, even at two in the morning. So to be left stranded when their day was just starting, it was unacceptable.
Even more unacceptable was knowing the reason behind the breakdown of their centuries-old infrastructure.
"It crashed!" a woman gasped, slapping a hand over her mouth.
Faces paled beyond recognition as they hovered over the phone she held out, watching the footage of the train that had left just seventeen minutes ago crash into a train in the next station.
Broken rubble littering the tracks. Bloodied faces seen through windows. Fires engulfing one half of a train. Legs dangling from the stretchers carried by the emergency service providers in uniforms of bright orange and white and khaki.
The footage disappeared into a smaller square—now in the backdrop of a newsroom.
"At 8:35pm this morning in Palve Local Station, H-08 en-route to Harikun Point crashed into H-12 in Juren Complex Local Station. The driver of H-08 had missed a red signal, which led him to make an unauthorized entry into Juren Station where H-12 had stopped.
Initial investigations reveal that a Vessel invaded the cab—preventing the driver and the guard from seeing the red signal."
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"How the hell did this happen!?"
By appearance, Kantoor Administrative Rank (KAR) Officer Nadihae Parso was sober. Thin framed glasses covering his light eyes, hair always brushed back neatly, and the signature combination of brown suit, light blue shirt, and black pants. Even when he got out of the car at the site of the crash in Juren Station, his polished shoes landed most quietly on the ground.
But the initial display of calm was only a facade. Something he could no longer hold together as his First Responding Officer stepped forward, showing a blurry video recovered from the train-cab moments before the crash.
A short, dark creature dropped from the ceiling.
It was shaped like a worm—a bulbous head with a slender body. In the footage, it looked furry, but anyone except babies could tell that it didn't actually have fur.
It was a Vessel—and what looked like hairs on its body was actually ra-gun, or demonic energy.
The creature—which must have been a worm underground—now walked on two swollen legs and sported two stubby arms. Clearly an outgrowth caused by the uncontainable amounts of demonic energy inside it. An energy that created so much oppressive terror in the hearts of those around that it didn't even need to be perceived; the guard was gasping in fear even before it had jumped on the driver.
Nadihae cringed, watching their less-than-subpar response to the crisis. Trying to grab the Vessel—even though it was a known fact that non-Guardians who didn't carry sa-gun—or divine energy—could not even touch Vessels, much less fight them.
Shouting, only to attract passengers who screamed louder at the sight and tried to run back into the compartment. Then accidentally accelerating. Crashing the train
A sharp pain spliced through Nadihae's forehead. "Take that away."
"Uh, S-Sir," the First Responding Officer held the tablet behind his back, a hopeful lilt in his voice. Even his shoulders straightened up, as if he knew what he was about to say would be perceived as the best news in the world even after all this tragedy. "Mitra and two other Simharan Guardians were patrolling the school area nearby, so they responded to the Guardian Command Force SOS—"
He wasn't allowed to finish that sentence.
Because Nadihae was already crying out—voice one-pitch higher and face flushed like he'd just received a bouquet of flowers from a special one.
"Mitra's here!?"
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One of the most difficult problems for the emergency service providers was clearing the fallen pieces of rubble out of the way as they helped extract passengers from the wreckage. That's why they breathed sighs of relief, sending small but heartfelt smiles towards the tall young man behind them.
Because he was the force behind the shields of golden sa-gun—or divine energy—that kept them protected. Whether from a slanting rod that threatened to bang their heads or crushed debris that had to be lifted up, he kept creating and dismantling these golden shields—deploying them wherever the emergency service providers required it.
Despite the hard, reliable strength of the shields, there was no sign on his face that suggested harsh effort or exhaustion. Only a warm, serene expression—attentive amber eyes deliberately tracking every movement in front of him. Looking to gauge where he was needed, and then, how much of himself he could give there without taking his attention away from another spot. It was unmistakeable—the instinct for protection woven into every inch of his skin, and the way it radiated outward in rays of golden energy.
Enveloped by that presence, a lot of passengers stirred—their eyes lighting up in recognition.
"M-Mitra!"
An old woman being carried in a stretcher croaked out weakly as they passed by him. She grabbed onto his navy-blue pants—the same color as his long coat—her wrinkled hand shaking as she tried pulling him closer. "If this is the l-last time I b-breathe, I want to say t-thank you. F-For... always protecting Kantoor." Her lips trembled under the layer of soot on her face. "Y-You and your f-father, I... we wouldn't live without y-you."
She dropped her hand and let her eyes shut. It was clear from the numb resignation on her face that she hadn't been expecting him to regard an old distraction like her at such a crucial time.
That's why the surprise on her face was so palpable when he did.
Her eyes widened at the kerchief that gently dropped on her chest.
Pulling his hand back out of his pocket, Mitra brought it up to create a new golden shield.
He didn't need his hands to sustain the shields, but keeping his eyes and hands focused on what he wanted to achieve definitely helped in concentrating the divine energy better. But even as he looked straight ahead at the rescue efforts, the softness in his voice made it feel like he was speaking just to her.
"Aunty, I'll come back for it so hold on till then—okay?"
The old woman broke into tearful laughter, the sound spreading across the site.
As Nadihae watched the hazy disorientation instantly clearing from the eyes of the conscious passengers, and the spirits of the emergency service providers visibly rising, he clenched his fist in triumph.
Having a Guardian on-site during a Vessel attack was mandated by law, an absolute necessity for order and survival—but having Mitra in particular, the most popular new-generation Guardian in Kantoor, was the best form of damage control.
He knew just what to do to avoid a major reputation blow to the administration.
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"Mitra, will you come visit the hospital where the victims of the crash are being treated?"
The golden lines under Mitra's eyes—markings found in some form or the other among the members of the Simharan family of Guardians—shifted when he raised his brows. "Of course, Officer."
He glanced around at the site which was now nearly free of all the injured. The last of the ambulances were leaving, and even the other two Simharan Guardians had wrapped up. "We were leaving anyway to make a report for the Command and the Wise."
"Great!" Nadihae's voice cracks from eagerness. They had only a handful of casualties, but the injuries were bad enough to induce the worst kind of public uproar and a horde of stinging questions from the media. Having Mitra there was the best option right now to pacify them.
"I want to tell Ms. Jantia just how much you helped us! She's going to be there, you know... And the passengers would really want you there."
"The youngest representative of our province?"
"That's her!"
Nadihae began guiding Mitra in the direction of his car, not wanting to give him a chance to change his mind.
Although, with a smug smile, he knew that he'd used just the right words—when asked to be there for his people, to protect them from all the tragedies of this world, Mitra would never turn his back. He was really quite a simpleton, in that sense.
"Officer, I think the Vessels are getting sentient."
A cough wracked Nadihae's body so hard, he nearly tripped over his own shoe.
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