The train's interior was a blend of classic design and Rasvian machinery. Seventy-six metal-clad cabins gleamed, their surfaces catching the soft, hidden lighting. It wasn't just sleek—it was almost otherworldly.
Leonardo couldn't stop staring. The seats looked like they'd been designed by some genius who'd never met an uncomfortable chair. Touchscreens winked from the armrests, panoramic windows stretched out like living paintings, and the lighting seemed to breathe with the passengers.
"This is insane!" he burst out, pressing his face against the window. "I want to ride this train everywhere!"
Anna rolled her eyes, already buried in her phone. "Great. Another detour."
Elara chuckled. "Some people build homes along these routes. Entire lives exist between these tracks."
The train launched forward like something between a rocket and a dream. Outside, the world became a watercolor—trees smeared into green, buildings blurred into sharp lines of light. A yellow streak trailed behind them, cutting through the night like a cosmic paintbrush.
"We're heading to a mansion," the intercom announced. Its voice was calm. Too calm, considering they were moving at impossible speeds.
"Wait," Leonardo said, turning to Elara. "How big is this city?"
"Ghent?" Elara's smile was mysterious. "Big enough to have a life of its own."
The train slowed—if "slowed" could describe something moving from impossible to merely miraculous. They emerged into a clearing surrounded by rolling hills, a lake glimmering like polished silver beneath a mountain's shadow.
Leonardo practically tumbled out first, his excitement infectious. "Are there dragons here?" he shouted.
Anna winced. "Indoor voice, please."
"Yes, why?" Elara responded, her tone patient.
"Uncle Richard might have one," Anna added, then quickly corrected, "Well, not really."
The mansion looked like it had walked straight out of a history book—ornate, proud, with a gate that seemed to whisper stories of past centuries. A fountain featuring a cherub stood guard, water dancing from its mouth.
"Uncle really does love his antiques," Elara murmured.
Anna knocked. The door creaked open.
And then—a crossbow bolt sliced the air.
Leonardo moved faster than thought, catching the arrow inches from his face. A slight graze, a flash of reflexes that spoke of something more than ordinary.
"Anna? Elara?" A voice called. A figure thundered down the spiral staircase.
Leonardo, all five-foot-one of him, grabbed the man—Richard—with a fury that seemed to grow from something deeper than size.
"What," he demanded, "was that for?"