The train was an affront to the scarcity of the Slag.
White leather seats bled into plush crimson carpets, the scent of fresh citrus and old wealth hanging in the air like a lie.
Ornate golden lamps glowed with filtered amber light, while crystal trays bore refreshments Siege couldn't even name.
To him, the cabin looked more like a sanctum for emperors than a train carriage.
He'd seen his fair share of blood-soaked alleyways and half-collapsed housing units, but this place... this was absurd. Suspiciously so.
He wasn't stupid. Even if it was his first time on a train, Siege knew this wasn't standard. No, this was curated—an iron-lined for special children.
There were five others inside. Teenagers, lounging like minor deities, staring at holoscreens, sipping whatever passed for divine nectar these days.
Siege stood unnoticed by the door, a stranger.
On the far end sat a girl with emerald hair and glimmering eyes, pointed ears twitching slightly as she tapped away on a holographic phone.
An elf.
The real kind. Not one of those spliced-up cosmetic junkies from the upper sprawl. Her hoodie featured a cartoon bunny—a small act of rebellion in a collapsing world.
Next to her, another girl slouched in baggy black clothes, gold piercings catching the light.
Her scowl looked permanent, etched into her face like a birthmark. She radiated that specific aura of someone who'd slap you and then insult your haircut. Siege respected it.
Three others gathered near a holoscreen showing a Colosseum fight—two men murdering each other for a crowd of rich voyeurs.
One kid with buzzed brown hair and lightning-yellow eyes argued about the fight's strategy, while the boy next to him grinned mischievously, his violet eyes dancing with cruel amusement.
And then, there was the last one. Silent. Watching.
Draped in a sky-blue hoodie, silver-white hair glimmering faintly under the lights. His pale blue eyes were unsettlingly placid—calm, not out of peace, but because nothing stirred them.
None acknowledged Siege. Not a glance. Not a grunt.
*These bastards,* he thought, dragging himself to the couch in the far corner, already filing them all under "rich pricks."
He sat alone. That familiar weight of outsider status returned, curling in his stomach like a parasite.
He'd never had many friends.
Most of the other kids back home were either in gangs, dead, or still trapped in the slag, trying to find scraps that hadn't been picked clean.
Now, here he was, surrounded by enormous egos wrapped in silken flesh.
What the hell was he doing here?
He didn't feel ready.
He hadn't even finished middle school. What was he going to do when Anatheon's curriculum rolled around?
*Was it Pythonrean theorem? Pytha... something?*
He wracked his brain for long-lost math terms while staring off into space like a lost dog.
Then came a shadow.
A pale hand reached out, breaking the stagnant aura.
"My name is Albion Northwood," said the silver-haired boy, voice smooth as polished marble. "Nice to meet you."
Siege blinked. He wasn't used to kindness. Especially not the curated kind.
Albion's expression held a faint smile, but it was more of an arrangement of muscles than genuine warmth.
"Apologies for earlier. The others and I... tend to exclude outsiders. But since you're here, it means you belong."
There was something wrong with his tone. Siege couldn't quite place it—but the words itched under his skin.
"It's cool," Siege lied. "Took it as hazing. Name's Siegfried, but Siege works."
"I know who you are," Albion replied, casually taking a seat beside him.
"The commoner with a Titanic Aspect. News travels fast in high places. You've already been whispered into noble halls and temple vaults."
Siege felt his gut tighten.
Aspects were usually kept confidential until graduation. The idea that his had already leaked... unsettled him.
Albion waved a hand lazily. "Everyone in this carriage has a Titanic Aspect."
Siege's jaw hung open like a broken drawbridge. "You're joking."
"I wish I was," Albion chuckled, the kind of laugh that sounded like it came with inheritance paperwork.
"Something's... wrong with the world. My father said this year, more prodigies emerged than in the last five combined. Something about the Age of Heroes clawing its way back."
Siege groaned, rubbing his face. "And here I was thinking I was special."
"Oh, we're all special. Just... not unique."
Siege's brow furrowed. "Still, that many Titanic Aspects? That doesn't just happen. Why now?"
Albion hesitated.
His voice dropped, brittle and quiet. "This stays between us."
Siege nodded.
"Gravethorne Citadel has fallen. It's not public yet. But it will be."
The world seemed to shudder with the weight of those words.
Siege felt it. The slow, sick lurch in his chest.
Gravethorne wasn't just a city. It was a hope. A place people believed would never fall.
And it was gone.
Just like that, the monsters outside had claimed another patch of humanity. Another sacred fire snuffed out beneath a tidal wave of claws and teeth.
Siege leaned forward, eyes narrowed. "Why hasn't it been announced?"
Albion looked out the window, pale blue eyes glinting.
"Because if they do, panic sets in. Refugees from Gravethorne have been redirected to Halgrith. Anatheon's swelling with them. It's why so many new bloodlines are merging. Why people like us are being brought in early."
Before Siege could reply, the others began drifting toward the conversation, sensing a shift in tone, but the train screamed to a halt with metallic fury.
Anatheon loomed outside the window, veiled in silver fog.
Even through the tinted glass, the academy looked intimidation.
Its modern spires twisted into the heavens like the bones of forgotten giants, architecture forged in mimicry of gods no longer worshipped.
Black marble towers with golden veins, runes that pulsed faintly with something old and malicious. The air around it buzzed like a storm not yet born.
Siege's skin crawled.
They were here.
Anatheon Academy. Cradle of demigods. Tomb of the weak.
Where boys with legacies like Achilles, Karna, and Enkidu were trained to die for cities that would forget them.
As Siege stepped off the train, the earth beneath him felt like it exhaled. A graveyard's breath.
He looked around at his fellow passengers—each of them powerful, arrogant, and radiating unearned confidence.
For the first time since he returned from his Trial, Siege felt a bit nervous.
And somewhere deep in his soul, something whispered:
*Not all who ascend survive.*