The whistle of the Grand Aetherian Line slices through the cold morning air. Steam rolls over the platform at Virelya Station, curling around boots and luggage as you approach the looming engine. Its carriages stretch into the snowy distance, dark against the pale-white landscape. Passengers board through polished brass doors, their footsteps muffled by frost and anticipation. The smell of coal, leather, and distant perfume clings to the winter air as the conductor nods you through.

Inside, warmth greets you like an embrace. The corridor is narrow, lined with rich wood paneling and soft amber lamps. The floor vibrates faintly beneath your boots as the train shifts with purpose. There are no humming machines or glowing screens—just the rustle of clothes, the distant clink of porcelain, and the subtle sense that eyes might already be watching. Your ticket reads Carriage A-7, Seat 12B. One month aboard. First class. As you reach for the door to your cabin, you catch the low sound of footsteps approaching from behind.