The train's arrival shattered the mansion's morning silence. Richard's shout cut through the air like a knife, his desperation palpable. "The train is here!"
Leonardo remained sprawled on the couch, a dead weight of exhaustion. Richard's attempts to wake him grew increasingly frantic, each shake more aggressive than the last. Sweat beaded on Richard's forehead—this was more than just missing a train. Something deeper, more urgent, pressed against them.
Geoffrey moved with a calculated precision that spoke of years of service, but today something was different. His movements were sharper, more nervous. The herb room—once a sanctuary of calm—now felt like a battlefield of preparation.
As Geoffrey crushed lavender and chamomile, the herbs released not just their aroma, but a sense of something breaking. The delicate leaves crumbled between his fingers like the last vestiges of their previous life.
"This will work," Geoffrey muttered, more to himself than anyone else. His voice carried a tremor of doubt.
Elara and Anna moved with a synchronized tension. Their preparedness was a thin veneer over raw nerves. Elara's fingers traced the ruined edges of her floral dress—a metaphor for something larger being torn apart.
"We can change later," Anna whispered, but the words hung in the air like a fragile promise.
Leonardo finally stirred, his consciousness fighting through layers of a dream that clung to him like a second skin. "I dreamt something," he mumbled, the words catching in his throat. But the dream slipped away, leaving only a cold sensation of something unresolved.
The train outside was more than a machine. It was a living thing, its rasvian engine humming with an almost sentient anticipation. The red trail behind it looked like a wound cutting through the landscape.
Richard's eyes darted constantly, searching. Not just looking, but hunting for something unseen. The perspiration on his temple wasn't just from urgency—it was fear.
As they boarded, Leonardo caught a glimpse of a red-eyed boy and a shirtless man sliding into the train's shadows. No one else seemed to notice. Or perhaps they chose not to.
The landscape outside transformed—not just visually, but metaphorically. Lush forests gave way to barren plains, mirroring the internal landscapes of the travelers. Each mile carried them further from safety, closer to an unknown that pressed against them like a suffocating membrane.
"Promise me you'll guide us," Elara said to Leonardo. But it wasn't a request. It was a demand wrapped in survival.
Anna's confidence felt like a shield they were all desperately trying to believe in.
Leonardo looked out the window. The mansion—their last connection to anything familiar—was now just a distant memory, a fading dream. But dreams, he knew, could be more dangerous than reality.
The train hurtled forward. Not just moving, but escaping. From what, none of them were entirely certain.