The voice came faintly at first, then sharpened with anger.
"Your existence is meaningless. Entirely meaningless."
Fragments of the past surfaced once more. Through the haze, rivers of molten iron glowed a furious crimson beneath the deafening thunder of machinery. Then another voice rose from somewhere beyond the noise.
"Everything you've done has been futile, you pathetic fool."
Laughter followed—countless voices crashing over him like an endless tide. He reached desperately into the darkness, fingers straining for anything to grasp, yet found only emptiness. There was nothing to hold onto. Nothing to stop his descent as he sank deeper and deeper into the abyss.
Until he struck the ground.
The impact jolted him awake.
Higg slowly opened his eyes. Above him stretched the familiar grayish-green ceiling. Perhaps it had once been painted in brighter colors, but like its owner, time had drained away every trace of life. Year after year, it had faded into a lifeless, weary shell.
He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and remained motionless for a long while before finally reaching over to pull open the curtains. Pale morning light slipped into the room, just enough to chase away the darkness.
He had lived here for many years.
This was his home.
Though, in truth, it was nothing more than a rented room.
Like every morning before it, Higg propped a pillow behind his back, sat upright, and reached for yesterday's unfinished newspaper resting beside the bed.
He had never been good with people. Friends had always been few, and the world itself seemed reluctant to cross paths with him. So, to keep from feeling completely abandoned by it, he made a habit of reading the morning paper, trying in his own quiet way to stay connected with everything beyond these walls.
It wasn't so different from Lloyd sitting idly on the roadside, watching strangers pass by. Lloyd often claimed that simply observing people come and go made him feel like part of the world—even if it was only an illusion. For Higg, the newspaper served much the same purpose.
The headlines were as predictable as ever.
Another explosion had rocked one of the city's districts after an aging steam pipeline burst.
Such stories appeared almost weekly. Old Dunling had been built upon an immense web of steam engines and pressurized conduits. Most of those pipelines had been operating for decades, and there were simply too many for the authorities to maintain properly. Priority was given to the main arteries, while the neglected lines at the city's edges were left to decay until they inevitably exploded.
Not that anyone found it surprising anymore.
The citizens of Old Dunling had grown accustomed to it long ago. In the beginning, people screamed whenever manhole covers were blasted into the air and clouds of scalding steam erupted into the streets. Now, they barely spared the spectacle a glance. It had become just another ordinary part of daily life.
Turning the page, Higg found reports about the foreign delegations arriving in the capital.
Only a few days earlier, envoys from the Viking Kingdoms had reached the city.
They looked less like diplomats and more like warriors who had stepped out of an age centuries gone. Draped in furs and leather, their long beards braided with care, weathered hand axes hanging from their belts, they stood in stark contrast to the modern elegance of Ingelvig. There was something raw and untamed about them, a savage strength civilization had never quite managed to tame.
The accompanying black-and-white photograph captured the moment they arrived.
Judging by their imposing presence, one could easily mistake the delegation for an invading army rather than honored guests.
With their arrival, nearly every major delegation had now gathered in Old Dunling. Behind closed doors, they met with Queen Victoria, negotiating matters of power, trade, and politics—subjects far too sensitive to find their way into the morning papers.
A faint sound drifted through the room.
Someone next door let out a long yawn.
Higg instinctively glanced toward the wall separating his room from Lloyd's.
Despite having shared the house with Lloyd for so long, Higg had never admitted that the walls were astonishingly thin. From his own room, he often overheard... peculiar things.
Fragments of strange conversations.
Dukes.
The Lower District.
Dark places that no one ever described plainly.
The details were always muffled, impossible to piece together, but unsettling nonetheless.
There were other sounds too.
The metallic click of firearms being cocked.
The whisper of blades sliding from their scabbards.
Back when Lloyd had first moved in, Higg's greatest fear wasn't seeing his roommate stumble home covered in blood.
It was imagining Lloyd suddenly disappearing one day, only for a gang of dangerous men to burst through the front door looking to settle old scores.
After all, Higg was only a mechanic.
The most dangerous weapon he owned was the wrench tucked beneath his bed.
The noises next door gradually faded.
Whatever Lloyd was doing, it had finally gone quiet.
Higg lowered his gaze and continued reading.
Another workers' protest had broken out at one of Duke Salicado's factories.
The report occupied only a tiny corner of the page. Most of the space was devoted instead to the duke's latest industrial triumphs. He had officially entered the civilian airship business, and several passenger vessels were already nearing completion.
According to the article, these airships would become part of the Serpent of the Atrium transportation network. Their inaugural route had already been announced.
It would be the first long-distance civilian airship ever to leave Ingelvig, flying south across the White Tide Strait before arriving in the Kingdom of Bethsel, just north of the Holy Gospel Papal State.
The route would establish Bethsel as the primary trade gateway between Ingelvig and the Holy Gospel Papal State, marking the first truly deep exchange between the two nations.
That was the end of the morning's news.
Yet after finishing the paper, Higg found his eyes drifting back to the small report about the factory strike.
A familiar name stared back at him from the faded print.
For a long moment, he simply froze.
Then, without another glance, he tossed the newspaper aside.
It was the factory where he had once worked.
After completing his apprenticeship, he had spent years there—until addiction to hallucinogens had cost him everything.
He had never imagined he would see that place again.
Not like this.
Climbing out of bed, Higg repeated the motions that had become second nature over countless mornings.
Brush his teeth.
Wash his face.
Then stand before the mirror, forcing the stiff muscles of his face into something resembling a friendly smile until the expression no longer looked quite so unnatural.
When he opened the bedroom door, the aroma of breakfast drifted up from downstairs.
Mrs. Vanrud was already in the kitchen.
Almost at the same moment, the neighboring door swung open with a loud bang.
Lloyd emerged wearing a faded pair of pajamas that had clearly been washed one too many times.
The past few days had been unusually quiet.
Not truly quiet, of course.
There was still the delegation from Fiorenze, the exiled Shermans, the endless complications surrounding the Temple of Stagnation, and the dangerous secrets hidden behind the newly elected Pope.
There was always something waiting for Lloyd.
But he was still human.
And humans grew tired.
Sometimes they simply wanted to lie still and refuse to move.
Ever since piloting the Black Angel, an inexplicable exhaustion had settled deep into his bones. Even after a full night's sleep, the fatigue lingered, draining every ounce of motivation from him.
If he had the choice...
Today, he wanted nothing more than to rest.
"Morning."
Spotting Higg, Lloyd greeted him with an easy smile.
The old Lloyd would never have bothered.
He knew Higg had always been afraid of him.
But after yesterday's conversation, it seemed the mutual-support group Higg had been attending was finally having an effect. The quiet mechanic appeared... brighter somehow.
At least, he was trying.
"M-Morning..."
Higg's hesitation was still obvious, but he forced himself to answer, struggling to appear cheerful.
Lloyd, oblivious as ever, simply headed downstairs.
Since becoming a consulting detective for the Suaran Bureau—and thanks to years of distinguished service—the Purification Agency had rewarded him with a respectable sum of money.
It wasn't enough to make him rich.
Still, after paying rent, covering daily expenses, and continuing to support the orphanage, he had enough left over to improve his own life.
Monster hunters could survive hardship.
Creating hardship for yourself when you didn't have to was simply foolish.
One welcome result of that decision was that Mrs. Vanrud had agreed to prepare all three of Lloyd's daily meals...
Provided he actually came home in time to eat them.
Imagine spending your days battling demons, monsters, and horrors beyond imagination.
Imagine staggering home battered, exhausted, and soaked in blood...
Only to find someone waiting with a hot dinner prepared just for you.
The first time it happened, Lloyd had nearly cried.
In a burst of gratitude, he even hugged his kind-hearted—if perpetually short-tempered—landlady.
She had not appreciated the gesture.
"Lloyd, aren't you going out today?"
Mrs. Vanrud called from the kitchen after glancing into the living room.
Normally, Lloyd would wolf down breakfast and dash out the door.
Today, however, he remained sprawled lazily across the sofa in his pajamas, breakfast balanced comfortably on a tray.
"I'm taking the day off."
The lingering effects of traveling through the Gap still clung to him. Even after sleeping, he felt utterly drained.
Mrs. Vanrud blinked.
"You people... get holidays?"
Though Lloyd insisted he was merely a detective, after living under the same roof for so many years, she hadn't believed that story for a second.
"I gave myself one."
Lloyd grinned.
"One of the perks of freelance work."
Though, depending on who you asked...
That was simply another way of saying unemployed.
Carrying the remaining dishes into the dining room, Mrs. Vanrud immediately barked,
"Eat at the table!"
Her booming voice echoed through the house.
The stubborn old woman refused to tolerate meals on the sofa.
With a resigned sigh, Lloyd climbed to his feet, picked up his tray, and obediently shuffled over to the dining table.
Higg was already seated, eating quietly.
Though neither of them spoke, whenever Mrs. Vanrud reached for a seasoning, Higg seemed to anticipate it, passing the bottle over before she even asked.
Watching the silent coordination between them, Lloyd couldn't help smiling.
"Higg."
He rested his chin on his spoon.
"How long have you lived here?"
The question caught Higg completely off guard.
He opened his mouth to answer but hesitated.
He honestly couldn't remember anymore.
Mrs. Vanrud answered for him after a moment's thought.
"Nearly... what? Fifteen years, I suppose."
She chuckled.
"When he first arrived, he wasn't even much taller than this table."
She held a hand beside the tabletop to demonstrate.
Lloyd nodded slowly.
"That's... a long time."
Watching them together, they looked almost like mother and son.
Perhaps Mrs. Vanrud thought so too.
Despite her fiery temper and lonely life, she had often shared stories about the strange, sometimes terrifying romances of her youth.
Yet she had never once spoken about what became of the man she loved.
Lloyd had never asked.
Some questions were kinder left untouched.
Still...
Whenever he caught a glimpse of the old woman's loneliness, he couldn't help feeling a pang of sympathy.
She had once served as an air cavalry pilot.
She was stronger than most people could ever hope to be.
But strength did not make sorrow disappear.
Perhaps, like anyone else, she simply needed someone to share the silence with.
Someone to make the house feel alive again.
Perhaps that was why she had taken in the lonely little boy named Higg all those years ago.
"Eat faster."
Mrs. Vanrud spoke between bites.
"I've got cleaning to do afterward."
"In such a hurry?" Lloyd asked casually, picking up today's newspaper from beside the front door.
"Got somewhere to be?"
"I'm going to visit Ceryu."
She answered without thinking.
Lloyd slowly looked up at her.
His expression became... rather peculiar.
This old lady really did have a generous heart.
One adopted son apparently wasn't enough.
Now she was collecting daughters too?
"Ahem."
He quickly coughed into his fist, wisely deciding to keep that particular thought to himself.
As always, he handed the newspaper over to Mrs. Vanrud.
Social hierarchy revealed itself in the strangest ways.
Whether it was seating arrangements...
Or the simple matter of who got to read the morning paper first.
In this household, Mrs. Vanrud always claimed that privilege.
Outside, the sleeping city was awakening.
Pedestrians filled the streets.
Horse-drawn carriages rattled across the cobblestones.
Dense clouds of steam billowed skyward.
Everything felt... peaceful.
For perhaps the first time in ages, Lloyd found himself genuinely relaxed.
No monsters.
No bloodshed.
No mysterious figures carrying black cases arriving at his door to announce,
"Mr. Lloyd Holmes... the world stands on the brink of catastrophe. We need your help."
How wonderfully ordinary.
He glanced at Mrs. Vanrud.
Then at Higg.
Together, the three of them looked almost like the cast of a family drama critics would mercilessly tear apart.
"Oh?"
Mrs. Vanrud's eyes brightened as she continued reading.
"The civilian airships are launching sooner than expected."
"You sound excited."
"Of course."
A rare smile softened her features.
"I was an air cavalry pilot."
"I spent the first half of my life in the sky."
"I haven't stepped aboard an airship once since retiring."
"I'd love to fly again."
Higg looked up from his meal.
"The ones Duke Salicado is building?"
"That's right."
"There are several companies competing, but Salicado's project is moving the fastest."
She continued reading.
"They've even started naming the first vessel."
Lloyd stretched lazily before announcing,
"I'm finished."
Looking toward Mrs. Vanrud, he asked,
"So what's it called?"
"The Great Salicado?"
She snorted.
"Hardly."
"They say this airship carries great symbolic importance. It'll establish a permanent trade route between Ingelvig and Bethsel, becoming a bridge to the Holy Gospel Papal State."
"Fair enough."
Lloyd shrugged.
"The chief designer happens to be from Bethsel."
"The government gave him the honor of naming it."
"He said he always remembered playing beneath the waterfalls near his hometown as a child."
"So he chose the name of that place."
Lloyd absently picked at his teeth with his fork.
"And?"
Mrs. Vanrud lowered the paper.
"Its name..."
She smiled.
"Leisenbach."
"Leisenbach..."
Lloyd rolled the name thoughtfully across his tongue.
"Not bad."
Tilting back in his chair, he idly twirled the fork between his fingers.
Then—
The doorbell rang.
The sharp chime snapped Lloyd out of his daydream.
He stiffened, eyes narrowing toward the shadow waiting beyond the frosted glass.
Please...
Just this once...
Let my day off stay a day off.