[Hello, all applicants of the Luminance SIF Academy. You have successfully passed the basic tests and met the necessary requirements. Please remain calm and prepare for the final hurdle on your path into this future-setting academy.]
A robotic voice—likely from a member of Luminance Inc's HR department—announced the students' achievements so far.
Luminance Inc. is a massive conglomerate based in South Korea, primarily known for its subsidiary firm, Micdal Cure Lit—a company famous for its so-called miracle drugs. These drugs have helped many, from those suffering life-threatening illnesses to men dealing with something as trivial as male-pattern baldness.
The conglomerate had recently opened an academy, a training institute where students could study their chosen courses while securing employment in one of Luminance Inc's many branches. It was a win-win situation. That's why over a million students globally had applied—or rather, were considered for entry.
Sounds too good to be true? You'd be right.
Luminance Inc. is just one of many factions in the world vying to contain and control anomalies known as Raptures.
Supernatural phenomena, miracle medicines, superhumans—anything beyond the scope of nature is classified as a Rapture.
You might wonder how I know all this.
Allow me to introduce myself.
I'm Minh Vu. British-born Vietnamese. My grandparents migrated to the UK during the Windrush.
Despite being beautiful enough to almost be considered a Rapture myself, I'm just a normal university student. I was studying aerospace engineering at UCL. Like many engineers, I am—and always have been—a massive nerd.
It was during the second term of my first year that a friend introduced me to The Ash-Worn World. Originally a novel series, the author had later released the IP under a comprehensive fan-licensing agreement. The intellectual property still belonged to him, but any fan who added to the universe retained rights to their specific contributions.
The world of The Ash-Worn World is a setting much like ours, a modern reality with horrors beyond human comprehension hiding in every corner. Various organizations struggle to contain these anomalies—some for the good of society, others for monopolization. But in the end, none of it matters, as long as humanity remains sheltered from the truth.
Luminance Inc. is, in fact, the world's only monopoly on Raptures. Its competitors have been absorbed over time, expanding its reach into nearly every paranormal service available.
And now, I find myself sitting in The Ash-Worn World, a prospective student of Luminance Academy.
Why haven't I run away? Well, mostly because I just came to this realization as I started narrating my thoughts aloud—a bad habit picked up from too many wild, blunt rotations in secondary school.
["We wish you luck. The final portion of your examination shall now begin."]
The presenter's voice boomed again, metallic and emotionless. The large auditorium was suddenly plunged into darkness. A strange, crawling shroud expanded, swallowing everything.
In the span of moments—perhaps even less—my vision shrank to just a few inches around me.
Then, just as abruptly, the darkness vanished.
The polished wood flooring of the auditorium was gone, replaced by cold metal beneath our feet. The once-wide, semi-circular room had shifted into a narrow train carriage.
It was packed with other students—maybe 20 in total, including those behind me. Glancing over my right shoulder, I could see another cart with a similar situation.
Most of the students were dressed formally, all of them looking lost, dazed, fearful.
The closest one to me was a black-haired girl, shoulder-length hair, likely Asian. Her light hazel eyes stood out against her matte-black hair and soft, almost glossy skin—perfect if not for the freckles dotting her nose.
She turned her gaze from the confused crowd to me. Her vacant eyes locked onto mine for a few seconds too long.
Then, realizing her intense stare, she blinked rapidly and flushed.
"Oh, so—sorry! My apologies. I was just… a bit lost due to, well, the sudden change in environment," she said, bowing repeatedly in sincere embarrassment.
Raising a hand, I reassured her.
"No worries. I'm a bit taken aback myself. I'm Minh Vu. Nice to make your acquaintance."
Her cheeks pinked slightly as she realized she hadn't returned the introduction. She bowed again.
"Ah, yes! My name's Mei Tsukumo. It's a pleasure!"
Her voice, sweet but slightly sharp, rang in my ears—likely because she'd raised it out of flustered panic.
["Next station: Weeping Sorrow. Please mind the gap. Disembark if this is your destination."]
The train began to slow, the shift in G-force just barely noticeable. Outside the window, an old British-style station came into view—1980s design.
The platform was weathered, the wooden benches somehow looking both dry and wet. The tiled floor was a deep maroon, like dried blood and organs.
["Stand clear. Doors opening. Please mind the gap."]
The robotic voice of the train's PA echoed once more.
The seated students exchanged uncertain glances. Then, one finally stood. He walked to the doors and stepped off the train.
For a brief second, he waved at the rest of us still inside.
Then, mid-wave, he was gone. Not vanished—obliterated.
His blood, brain matter, muscle, bones, and guts exploded outward like a grotesque mural, splattered across the platform and the train's door.
The once-clear window now dripped red—grotesquely beautiful, like ancient royal silks.
Moments later, a rain of solid gold fell from the sky, light and soft like droplets.
But anyone with a shred of sense could connect the dots:
This rain had caused that naive student's death.
This… is the truth of the Temporal Train.