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Horses, real horses, don't like the land around the old capital. Pilgrims arriving at the ancient, deserted city used to travel on foot, or held aloft on plush palanquins. Fortunately, you don't have to face such an indignity. First taking the train northwards from Coral House, as far northwards as the rail lines go, you then moved over to an automatic carriage.
There's something eerie about watching the gleaming metal horse march silently through the thick grey dust coating the landscape, to say nothing about the faint hum of voltaic power that keeps it moving. But still, no matter how uncanny it might be, it's still infinitely preferable to slogging through the dust on foot. You'd hate to get your best boots dirty, after all.
“So,” you begin, glancing aside at Sakhalin, “What happens now?”
“Now,” he replies slowly, “We wait until our arrival at the old capital.”
If you didn't know any better, you'd say that he was mocking you. “And after that?” you press, without even bothering to hide your irritation, “Why exactly am I being summoned here?”
“As the new head of the Pale family, you are expected to attend a gathering of the families,” Sakhalin explains, “But that aside, the King is expecting to see you personally. It is regarding your father, as I'm sure you can guess. I will not say any more on the matter – I will leave it to my liege to give you the full and proper explanation. It would not be right for me to speak on his behalf.”
With a frown, you turn aside and watch the landscape passing by outside the carriage window. There isn't a single hint of life out there, with nothing but rolling hills of dust for as far as the eye can see. There's a theory that the land grows to resemble to men who live upon it and the deeds carried out there. Looking out at the old capital, and the grim history that swirls around it, you can well believe that theory. No wonder that the king only ventures up here for the most special of occasions.
You'll be seeing this place in your nightmares later, you're sure.
-
Day and night blend together, time seeming to slip by without notice until a bright full moon is suddenly hanging high in the night sky. You lean out the carriage window and let the silver moonlight pour over your face. The full moon, the symbol of your family, has always stirred strange feelings within your heard – a confused mix of awe and dread, a fear of something unspoken that is yet to come.
Sakhalin doesn't say anything, simply watching your restless motions in silence. More and more, you start to draw unflattering comparisons between him and the mechanical steed pulling the carriage onwards. The ability to form connections is a gift of Insight, yet sometimes it feels more like a curse – unstable foundations upon which your thoughts are built.
As if sensing your thoughts, Sakhalin turns and gives you a mournful stare.
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