Tick tick… tick ti-ck… tick

  The graphite pencil traced an almost smooth line down the page, for no stroke could be perfect while on a train. I then tilted my journal at an angle and sliced several parallel lines, mimicking on the page what would be the hollow between the sternocleidomastoid muscle and the trachea in reality.

  The skin was in the way. It was a thought I should have known would come up, and I did my best to ignore it.

  Tick… tick tick… ti-tick

  The page sunk as the point of the pencil dug into the material, and I quickly pulled back my hand before I snapped the tip off, still a few motes fell onto the paper. I pressed my finger against the dark flecks and lifted it before flicking the pieces of graphite away.

  With a light swirl I indicated where the left clavicle met the sternum, then followed through with a trail that led to the acromion process. Satisfied with the positioning I followed through with a more defined line that petered off into small hatches and then began to put in the right shoulder.

  Ti-ck tick tick… tick

  The shoulder became more round and the blunt teeth of gears spread across its length. Sharper teeth, like the canines of a human dug into one of the grooves and with a quick loop I sketched out the body of the next gear.

  It had to be the escape wheel. Perhaps one of the teeth was crooked or the jewel was disfigured.

  Realizing I had deviated I erased the gears and moved up the throat to the jaw, glancing up to my subject matter.

  The boy Jerico… Malz? Malls? Malice? Oh, right, Maliese, fidgeted in his seat, looking out the window, through the upward curve of the crop filled plains while tapping away at the briefcase he kept close at hand. I ignored that and instead focused on the shape of his head, round with well tanned skin, and the shoulder length dirty blond hair, curly. It reminded me of a dumpling with noodles on top.

  His bright orange eyes flicked to my own dull grey ones before once again looking outside.

  Did he know I was using him to practice drawing? Should I have asked?

  Tick ti… ck tick tick tick

  Once again Maliese had pulled his dented, and more aggravatingly, broken pocket watch out of his vest pocket to gape at it like a hypnotized fool. I examined the drawing, noticing that his jaw was too sharp and the gap between his eyes and brow too large.

  Maliese eyes flicked to me once more, then to the window, then to his watch. Finally he put away the watch and swallowed, his prominent adam's apple the reason I decided to draw him in the first place, and spoke.

  “Mister Monty Gao, correct?”

  “Yes, and you are Mister Jerico Maliese,” I replied.

  “Uh, yes, I am. You first said you were coming to Zuva for education. What field of study were you interested in?”

  I stayed quiet for a moment, surveying the boys' clothing. It was altered to fit him, a hand me down from a relative no doubt. The coat he wore had faded dirt stains on the hems, his striped vest was too loose, and his cravat looked to be the only new thing he owned.

  He too must have come for education, though I doubted we were entering the same institution.

  Social conventions were a double-edged sword. On the one hand it allowed me to utilize it as a mold for most if not all of my conversations. On the other hand it meant to ignore the boy sitting across from me would be dreadfully tactless.

  “My apologies Mister Maliese for not being specific enough. It is not Zuva University that accepted me. I passed the National Dreamer Examination and will be attending Daybreak Dreamer Academy.”

  Just saying it out loud caused my heart to begin hammering in my chest. Stories of Dreamers bringing ruin and prosperity in equal measures flashed through my mind. The Coal Emperors, The Drowned King, The Glass Kingdoms royal family, The One, and of course The Saint of the Setting Sun.

  A flash of fear flickered across Maliese’s face, then surprise as his orange eyes scanned first my black hair then my own grey orbs.

  “Really?!” he said, his polite facade cracking. “With the news from the Charred Continent I didn’t think they’d allow- forgive me I didn’t mean anything by it of course, but with the current times it just doesn’t seem appropriate.”

  Maliese trailed off quietly.

  “It is quite alright, I was surprised as well, but times have changed,” I replied placatingly. “The Sun State does not want to show a decentralized people with the Brew Union forming on the other side of the Layer.”

  A fib, if only a small one, from my research Daybreak Dreamer Academy had begun admitting Empyreans two years after the Coal Empire’s collapse.

  The boy nodded, but I thought I could see a bit of distrust in his eyes. My grandfather told me this was likely to be the case after leaving Eichlin. Compared to the small isolated town in the mountains where everyone knew our family, the Solarians in the capital city of Zuva were going to show more outward hostility toward Empyreans.

  As if the current Empyrean population that grew up post-rebellion cared at all for the destroyed Coal Empire’s dogma. Every night we could see the land on the other side of the sun still covered in churning smog.

  Maliese scrunched up his nose in a too expressive way.

  “Government and people are two different things however, Gao,” Maliese said.

  “True, but thankfully Daybreak Dreamer Academy is a boarding school and as long as I do not start speaking ridiculous rhetoric of the Empire’s resurgence then I should be fine.”

  Maliese chucked stiffly. Odd, I hadn’t been making a joke.

  He then took out his pocket watch, flicking open the latch to look at the hands.

  Tick tick ti-ck… ti…

  My jaw twitched, my own hand covering the watch on my wrist. Its smooth, perfectly functioning parts soothed the agitation rising within me.

  “What is wrong with your watch Mister Maliese?” I asked casually.

  I wanted to wrench the thing out of his hands and crack it open like a butcher cracks open a pig's ribs. But I couldn’t we were too close to Zuva and while I might be able to take the piece apart to find the issue putting it back together would be difficult in the jostling train compartment.

  Still I felt the weight of my briefcase overhead that carried my watch making tools.

  “Hm? Oh, it was my fathers before he passed. My mother only just gave it to me before I left. It hasn’t worked for ages, but you know how new toys always seem to draw one’s eye regardless of if it works or not,” he said before putting the watch back into his pocket.

  I chose not to think about how true his words were, instead I looked out the window to see the city of Zuva slowly closing in. With the pre-dusk light the shining Sun Stone’s embedded into the towering skyscrapers made them look as though they themselves carried small suns in their buildings. Some of the more extravagant buildings had designs or words spelled out using the precious stone. Swarming to and fro from the city were dozens of airships carrying cargo and passengers, but giving the appearance of flies feasting on a corpse.

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  As we pulled into the station Maliese told me that if I ever needed anything I could call upon him at the University.

  Despite my courteous words I knew that I came off rather detached in most conversations. So his offer was either his own basic courtesy or he wished for a potential connection to a Dreamer.

  I wondered if he knew that most of those who entered Daybreak Dreamer Academy didn’t actually end up becoming Dreamers.

  I collected my belongings which included a briefcase with my important documents as well as more personal items, and my trunk that I pulled behind me, its metal wheels squeaking in the annoying way wheels do.

  Exiting onto the platform my nose was filled with the scent of sugar and sunflowers, which came from the prismatic steam discharged from Sun Stone use. Even with the opened windowed ceilings the scent was still pungent, overwhelming everything but the urge to depart as quickly as possible.

  Being rather below average in height and weight for a fourteen year old boy caused me to be jostled and bumped in the busy building. A prickly annoyance built up within me, forcing me to step to the side to collect myself once I exited the building.

  The train station might be large and grand, with Sun Stone beacons up high, incatrite carvings on the walls, and statues of heroes from the rebellion sitting in the middle of grand fountains; but despite all of that the place was unquestionably inefficient.

  Why were there no separate doorways for entering and exiting? Why were the signboards not to the side and hanging from a higher vantage point? If they were, people wouldn’t stop in the middle of the hall, pushing and shoving their way to the front of the crowd to check their departure time. The booths should also be off to the side rather than behind the fountain, enough so that the lines didn’t interfere with people who already had tickets, but not so much so that they were difficult to locate. As for the smoking area? Put that stagnant sickness as far away as possible.

  In my mind the train station building warped and shifted. Hallways extended, signboards rose, it became more methodical. Instead of a slapped together piece of machinery it was a smoothly flowing mechanical design, like a watch. People went in and out, money was exchanged for tickets. Working good, rather than just good enough.

  Feeling better I opened my eyes to the street, the hustle and bustle of the city far different than the meandering countryside. The last time I stood there my parents hadn’t even taken me inside the building, leaving a seven year old me on the doorstep like a destitute mother leaves their child at the orphanage.

  I had looked back then, tears in my eyes dragging a too-heavy suitcase, unable to even see their faces from my blurred vision.

  I scanned the crowd, as though they had been waiting at the same spot for seven years for me to come home. That word left a sickly sweet taste in my mouth, so I squared my shoulders and began heading toward the cabs waiting on the side of the road.

  Then I fell to the ground as someone rushing out of the building slammed into me.

  The sound of my briefcase slamming into the cobbled walkway made my heart jitter with fear. My watches! I scrambled forward, grabbing the briefcase and clutching it with a white knuckled grip.

  Were they broken? Case shattered? Gear nicked? Balance damaged? I trailed my fingers over the latch, about to flip it open when someone growled beside me.

  “Bloody- Deep Ones!”

  The Solarian boy who had run into me hissing as he waved his scraped hand back and forth, blood trailing down his arm and staining his off white shirt. He was large, around my age or maybe a year older, with gleaming orange eyes and close cropped blond hair. He was halfway between strapping and thuggish, as if he could flip between the two like a coin.

  He gave me a glance, a put out expression on his face, however he didn’t lash out, instead standing up and holding out a hand for me.

  I took it gratefully, only realizing a moment later it was the one covered in blood. He pulled, hard. So hard I was nearly thrown onto my face, and if not for his hand releasing mine to grab my collar I would have.

  “Watch where you’re going, Duster,” he said, punctuating his words with a glob of spit, hitting me just under my left eye.

  I flinched back, a wave of disgust rolling off of me as the saliva slid into the crease of my nostril. The boy let go and grabbed his luggage, and I took the moment to wipe away the spit before it reached my lips.

  When I looked for the Solarian brute again I only saw his back as he trudged toward the cabs waiting on the side of the road.

  The small crowd of onlookers dispersed quickly, shoulders slumped in disappointment as they went back to their obviously entertainment barren lives. A few fellow Empyreans gave me wry grins, a sad secret shared between us.

  “Need a hand lad?” a quick waspish voice asked.

  An Empyrean man in a red coat that had no doubt once been much more vibrant held out a worn handkerchief toward me.

  “No thank you,” I replied, taking out my own clean handkerchief and wiping away the blood from my hand and the remnants of spit from my face.

  “Not a problem, not at all. So, I take it you’ve just arrived.”

  I glanced down at my clothes, which while not in Zuvan fashion, was not so foreign as to single me out, at least I thought not.

  “How could you tell?”

  “If you were leavin’ then you wouldn’t be standing around talkin’ to me would ya? Nobody shows up to train stations until the last minute.”

  I usually liked to arrive early, the stress of having somewhere to be was worse than sitting at the train station reading a book.

  “So lad, got a place to be?” the man said, then tilted his red bowler's cap. “I’m a cabbie you see, can take you just about anywhere in the city, show you the sights that the transit just passes by.”

  “Can you take me to Daybreak Dreamer Academy? It is out of the city and the rail does not go there.”

  The man stiffened for a moment, and he took a visible gulp before sliding back into businessman mode.

  “Of course, it's a bit out of the way, but we Empyreans gotta stick up for one another you know.”

  Out of the way meant he’d charge me extra, but it took away the trouble of looking for a ride.

  “Okay, thank you sir.”

  “No sir, necessary Mister, just working the wage.”

  His smile was different as he led me away, as if he was stretching his lips so far as to cause rifts in them.

  Dreamers were also not exactly idolized here in the capital either it seemed. Back in Eichlin when word of my acceptance into the academy became known, most previously placid neighbors became unbearably tense, save for the retired Forged Order Champion that had worked with Dreamers before. If I were to pass the Academy and become one it may cause me to become even more of a social pariah. It would be worth it, it had to be.

  I expected an automobile, however instead he led me to a rickety horse drawn carriage. The brown and grey beast eyed me before throwing its head to the side to snort at the driver.

  “Aye lassie, we’re leavin’,” the man said, patting the horse on the side. “I don’t have one of those fancy cars, I need some special license to even drive one, and another one to be a cabbie.”

  Because automobiles driven by novices had the habit of running over pedestrians.

  He helped me place my trunk in the back of his carriage then opened the door for me as I stepped into it. From the tiny window I could see him climb aboard and switch his red tophat for a black one, indicating that he was no longer available for hire, before smacking his reigns.

  The city changed a lot in the seven years I’d been away. Or perhaps back then my mind didn’t put thought into my surroundings. I knew that before the area around the train station had been a poor neighborhood that mainly housed Empyreans, as most people did not want to be bothered by the raucous sound of trains at all hours of the day.

  Now those houses and apartments were torn down, office buildings and warehouses taking their places.

  Women in their blouses and skirts left the offices, having only a couple layers of petticoats due to the rising temperature and cost of fabric. Their clothing, while not stainless, was cleaner than men's due to the different work environment, but unlike women with more means, were not over-flattering of the figure, giving them a more boxy look.

  Meanwhile men in mismatching clothing left the warehouses and factories, the fabrics were always dark to hide the build up of stains. Most of the clothing was second-hand and they used suspenders or drawstrings to hold up pants, and had ties home made from worn down jackets and trousers.

  While none of the people working looked downright miserable there was the sense of mindless drudgery that only came from an unfulfilled lifestyle.

  The coachman stuck to working areas and main roads, apparently the trip out of the city meant he was not taking a meandering tour. Even so by the time we got to the rolling hills the sky darkened as the sun up above began to shift into its night phase. Bright yellow dimming to an odd green and was soon to become a soft blue. I preferred the morning shift of pinks, reds and oranges. There were already far too many things that were green in the world.

  Once I got my fill of the city landscape I finally opened my briefcase, glancing at the worn down notebook before opening a second latch and inspecting my small collection of watches.

  I picked up the oldest one, a pocket watch that belonged to my great-grandfather, and rewinded it, placing my thumb over the case. Closing my eyes I felt the mechanical movements as much as I heard them.

  Tick tick tick tick

  My shoulders relaxed, the steady rhythm bringing peace to my mind and body.

  It was so much better when things worked as they were supposed to.