"How far is this train exactly?" I asked, voice edged with impatience as we walked briskly through the obsidian-tiled station.
Mr. Koivisto chuckled. "Not far. But Orien, do you have any idea how many trains run through this station?"
I shrugged. "I dunno… forty?"
"Try tens of thousands."
"What?!" I spun to look at him. "How could that many even fit here? This place doesn't look that big."
He gave me a knowing smirk. "Looks can be deceiving, remember? This is Eclipsara—the rules of space and logic here don't follow Earth's design. The Grand Concourse may seem compact, but beneath the surface? Whole layers of dimension stacked like inked pages in a book you haven't finished reading."
I blinked, trying to picture that.
"There are tens of thousands of trains because there are tens of thousands of academies. Each one unique—some teach magic through silence and dream, others through martial forms or inked contracts. They differ in territory, culture, traditions... even time flows differently at some."
I glanced around the bustling station, the echo of chatter in unfamiliar tongues ringing off the dark stone walls.
"But the trains aren't just for schools," he continued. "There are entire countries in Eclipsara—kingdoms carved into living forests, cities built in the ribcages of giant beasts, villages where people barter dreams like currency. Some places are as advanced as Earth's most modern tech, others are as primitive as ancient Rome. People come here to study, live, explore. This realm is vast—endlessly vast. You could spend a thousand lifetimes here and still be left with questions."
That last part hit different. My irritation melted away, replaced by a strange, almost electric sense of curiosity.
Then Mr. Koivisto suddenly cursed. "Aw, nerts."
"What?"
"We're late. Come—we must go. The train won't wait for anyone. Not even future Transcendents."
He turned sharply and broke into a fast walk.
I followed, heart pounding just a little faster than before.
We broke into a run, the sounds of our hurried footsteps echoing against the obsidian floors of the Grand Concourse. After weaving through clusters of travelers and strange baggage carts, we finally stopped before a train unlike any I'd ever seen.
I looked up, squinting at the silver-plated script etched along the side of the front car—written in that same swirling language I'd seen back at the Eclipsara gateway. Strangely, just like before, the letters twisted, shimmered, and shifted in front of my eyes until they aligned into something legible.
Hermes Locomotive.
"Huh," I muttered under my breath. "Like the messenger of the gods."
No wonder it had that name. The entire train had a distinct Greco-arcane design—sleek but regal, all ivory-painted steel and bronze filigree, with soft blue runes glowing near the base. The windows were framed with laurel carvings, and the trim curled like serpent scales. It looked like something out of a forgotten myth—if that myth had steam engines and floating sigils above every door.
We approached the conductor, a tall figure with a bronze faceplate and a sweeping navy-blue coat embroidered with stars. Mr. Koivisto handed him two tickets.
Wait—tickets? When did he even get those?
I hadn't seen him near a single vending kiosk or ticket office. I opened my mouth to ask, then decided it wasn't worth it. I was already getting used to things happening without explanation.
The conductor gave a single nod and stepped aside. We climbed aboard.
The interior was even grander. Long, dimly lit corridors stretched endlessly forward, lined with compartments on both sides. The walls were polished cedar with gold-leaf constellations shimmering faintly above each doorframe. Soft ambient light glowed from floating orbs overhead, casting a warm, dreamlike hue on the patterned carpet underfoot.
It reminded me of an ancient Greek temple collided with a luxury vintage train. If the Polar Express had been designed by Athena herself, it would've looked like this.
"How long until departure?" Mr. Koivisto asked the conductor.
"On schedule," came the calm reply. "Forty-five minutes before midnight."
"Good." Mr. Koivisto nodded. Then he turned to me. "Come, Orien. Let's find ourselves a seat."
We made our way down the corridor, finally sliding into one of the side compartments. The seats were soft and cushioned in deep blue velvet, facing each other with a glass window between them. I sat by the window and glanced outside, watching new passengers arrive, wondering who they were… and what kind of world I'd truly stepped into.
I sat quietly by the window, watching the glow of runes hum faintly along the outer walls of the station as more passengers arrived. Luggage floated on its own, paper birds fluttered between hands, and soft mechanical chimes echoed overhead in languages I couldn't understand.
Then I heard it—a calm, pure voice that cut through the noise with effortless clarity.
"Excuse me… can we sit here?"
I turned.
A girl stood in the doorway of our compartment, maybe my age—fourteen. Her jet-black curls, streaked with soft violet, framed her face like a painting. Her skin was porcelain-pale, and her eyes—deep plum-purple—seemed to glow faintly under the compartment's warm light.
She wore a tailored black robe lined with silver, and a crimson tie tucked neatly beneath the collar. The colors matched the style Mr. Koivisto wore. Elegant. Regal. Like something from a world where magic was stitched into every seam.
Behind her stood two others—another girl about the same age, with auburn curls pinned back by gold clips, eyes sharp and scanning. The third was older, maybe sixteen. Taller. Her hair was streaked with silver and tied into a braid. A polished medallion gleamed on her chest, catching the light as she adjusted the straps of her travel bag.
All three moved with quiet confidence—but it was the black-haired girl who watched me the most carefully.
"Yeah, sure," I said, shifting slightly in my seat. "There's plenty of room."
The girl nodded and slipped into the seat across from me. Her companions followed, sitting beside her. The cushions shifted under their weight, but the air between us remained calm—curious, but calm.
"Thanks," she said softly, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear.
"No problem," I replied, trying to keep my voice level.
They didn't introduce themselves—not yet. But I could already tell this wouldn't be just another train ride.
The compartment was quiet for a moment, the hum of the train filling the space with gentle background rhythm.
Then the black-haired girl across from me spoke again, her voice composed but warm.
"Apologies for the sudden intrusion. My name is Fay Clair De Lune, and these are my sisters—Emilia, who's the same age as me, and our older sister Alexandra." She offered her hand across the seat. "And you are…?"
I reached out and shook it, meeting her eyes. "Orien Duskwright."
All three girls froze.
It was like I'd just announced I'd kicked their family pet off a cliff.
Fay's expression shifted instantly. Emilia's eyes widened. Even Alexandra—the older, calmer one—sat up straighter.
"Did you say... Duskwright?" Fay asked, almost breathless. "As in Amadeus and Aurora Duskwright?"
"Yes," I said slowly, confused. "Those were my parents. Why? Do you... know them?"
Fay blinked in disbelief. "I don't believe it. I'm sitting across from the son of two of the strongest and most influential Inkborn sorcerers of our time."
She leaned forward, eyes practically glowing with interest.
"Are you a first year, Orien?"
"Yeah," I nodded. "This is my first year."
Her face lit up. "That's perfect! Emilia and I are first years too—so we'll probably have some classes together. I hope we do," she added, smiling genuinely.
I turned to Alexandra. "And you?"
"I'm a third year," she replied, her tone polite but measured. "We won't share any classes, but all students eat together in the Grand Hall—breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It's a massive space. You'll see it soon enough."
She paused, then tilted her head at the man beside me.
"And you, sir? You look… familiar."
Mr. Koivisto gave a small, graceful bow.
"Nero Koivisto, at your service. A pleasure to meet the daughters of House Clair De Lune. It appears the three of you will finally be attending Umbra Arcanum Academy together."
The air practically sparked with energy.
Fay nearly leapt out of her seat. "WAIT—WHAT?! Did you say Nero Koivisto? As in the Nero Koivisto, expert in Space Rupture Magic, and the first recorded Inkborn to reach Verse 4 on the Hanged Man Arcana Pathway?"
All three sisters locked eyes on him, their expressions sharp, almost starstruck.
"If you're on this train," Emilia said slowly, "does that mean... you're teaching at Umbra Arcanum?"
Mr. Koivisto smiled, perfectly at ease. "It does indeed."
The sisters exchanged a look that said this year is going to be anything but ordinary.
"Orien, here." Mr. Koivisto reached beneath his coat and handed me a zipped black bag.
"Take this to the bathroom—down the corridor, end of our compartment, door on the right."
I blinked. "What is it?"
"Your official uniform," he said. "Same one the three girls beside you are wearing. All students at Umbra Arcanum wear it."
I took the bag, pausing. "Wait… how do you even know my size?"
Before he could answer, Emilia chimed in with a small smile. "You don't have to worry about that."
"They adapt," Fay added. "Automatically adjust to your height, body shape, even weight. They're enchanted to fit perfectly."
"They're also self-cleaning and completely indestructible," Emilia said, grinning. "So you'll always look presentable… whether you want to or not."
"That's actually… really cool," I admitted, running my fingers over the textured fabric through the bag.
A moment later, a voice crackled through the speaker above us:
NOW DEPARTING ECLIPSARA GRAND STATION. PLEASE REMAIN SEATED.
"Finally," I muttered, flopping back into my seat. "Took long enough…"
Mr. Koivisto, now seated beside me, adjusted the rim of a sharp black top hat with two fingers, thumb and index tilted downward in practiced flair.
He smirked. "Might want to hold on to something."
"Huh? What do you mean by—?"
I didn't get to finish the sentence.
The train launched forward.
The world outside the window became an immediate blur—no, not just blurred, liquefied—stars, stone, shadow, and sigils smeared into long white streaks of speed as if reality itself had been stretched.
It reminded me of that moment in WALL-E when the ship enters hyperspace, or maybe a warp tunnel made of ink and starlight.
I gripped the armrest. "Thanks, Albert," I muttered under my breath.
Mr. Koivisto chuckled.
"How fast are we going?!" I shouted over the hum of the accelerating engine.
"That's hard to say," he replied, casually flipping a page of a folded pamphlet.
"To calculate a train's speed, you'd normally need a constant reference point—some stable variable in the environment. But the Hermes Locomotive doesn't travel through stable space. Its velocity is relative to the arcane geometry of its route."
He looked over at me.
"In simpler terms—this train doesn't just move through space, Orien. It moves through narrative. Through anchored magical loci."
"…Through what now?"
Fay smiled. "He means the train moves faster or slower depending on where it's going."
"Exactly," Koivisto nodded. "A trip to the Kingdom of Hera? Slower pace—short distance. But Umbra Arcanum Academy? It's deep within a sealed arcane pocket of Eclipsara. Much farther, so the train speeds up exponentially."
"Still sounds like cheating physics."
"It is," Koivisto said with a grin. "But in Eclipsara, where distance is often metaphor and the horizon rewrites itself daily—'physics' is more of a suggestion."
I turned back toward the window.
The stars had vanished. All that remained outside were streaks of pure ink and magic, pulsing with the rhythm of something ancient and alive.
After nearly two hours of streaking through the ink-washed vastness of Eclipsara, the Hermes Locomotive began to slow. The vibrations beneath our feet quieted. Outside, the stars had returned—but they weren't the ones I knew. These burned violet, gold, and obsidian blue, arranged in constellations that seemed… alive.
"Now arriving at the Umbra Arcanum Docking Terminal," came the conductor's voice through the brass speaker horn.
The train hissed as it eased to a stop.
We stepped off onto a curved blackstone platform built over what looked like a vast underground lake—or rather, a lake beneath a night sky that mirrored the real one above. The waters shimmered with rippling reflections of stars, though no moon lit them. Dozens of other students stood nearby, gathering in hushed excitement, their footsteps echoing softly against the smooth, obsidian-like floor.
Waiting at the edge of the platform were a line of long, narrow gondola-like boats—but unlike any I'd seen before. They hovered a few inches above the glowing water, tethered to carved obsidian posts by chains made of what looked like liquid quill ink.
Each vessel bore a symbol glowing faintly on its side—ancient runes that shimmered and shifted as you stared. At the front of each boat stood a silent figure clad in deep violet robes and a mask shaped like a raven's beak, holding a staff tipped with silver glass.
"They're the Ferrymen," Mr. Koivisto whispered beside me. "Guides for first-year arrivals. You only ride with them once—your first journey to the Academy. After that, the path… changes."
"Changes how?" I asked, but he didn't answer.
We boarded one of the gondolas. As soon as we did, it silently detached from its post and glided across the black water, no visible oars, no sound—just motion, like a dream drifting forward. The lake seemed endless, yet the journey lasted only minutes.
Then the boats slowed… and the sight before us took my breath away.
Rising out of the dark horizon like a vision pulled from a myth was Umbra Arcanum Academy.
Sprawling towers of obsidian and starlight curved upward in defiance of gravity, some rising straight while others spiraled like celestial helixes. Glowing glyphs pulsed faintly along the walls, veins of arcane light running like rivers through the architecture. Bridges twisted across the void between towers, and somewhere deep inside, a bell tolled once—a deep, echoing tone that resonated in my chest like a heartbeat.
Above it all, suspended in midair like a crown, was a circular ring of floating stones—some bearing gardens, others spires, all orbiting a single radiant orb that pulsed with shifting symbols.
I leaned forward, heart racing, unable to look away.
And in that moment, I knew:
This was the beginning of everything.