He was half-reclined, his boots stretched unceremoniously across the opposite seat. His arms were folded over his chest, his fingers heavy with black rings.
While a deep hood shadowed most of his features, long dark teal hair spilled down over his torso. A single braided strand hung along the left side of his face, streaked with crimson highlights that stood out in sharp, silent defiance.
Felix's brows furrowed.
Someone who draws the eye without making a sound... irritating.
Suppressing his annoyance, he scanned the cabin. The upholstery looked plush enough, luggage racks were bolted securely above, and a brass signal bell for the attendant was mounted within reach.
Acceptable, he mused.
He hoisted his suitcase onto the rack with practiced ease. Then, without a word of warning, he kicked the stranger's feet off the cushion. The man's legs hit the floor with a dull, heavy thud.
A faint, cryptic curve touched the stranger's lips at the impact.
Felix frowned at the reaction, but the man acted as if the world hadn't just moved beneath him.
He simply pulled his legs back, leaned his head against the cold windowpane, and closed his eyes.
Felix couldn't tell if the man had truly drifted off... or if he was merely playing a part.
He watched the stranger with a cold, lingering suspicion before finally settling into his own seat and leaning back.
The seats offered the exact plush comfort one would expect from a luxury liner like the SANTA EXPRESS. Powered by refined mana crystals, the train possessed a velocity that left ordinary steam engines in its wake.
As Felix gazed out the window, the endless expanse of the northern mountain range dominated the horizon. Steep peaks pierced the sky, their summits draped in snow like slumbering giants wearing frozen crowns.
A deceptive sense of peace hung in the air, accompanied by a heavy, profound silence. Soon, the train would plunge into the deep fractures cutting through those very mountains. Felix pressed the button beside his seat, prompting a sleek display panel to slide into place.
Just as the news feed flickered to life, the train let out a long, haunting whistle and lurched forward. The initial vibration smoothed out as they gained momentum, the landscape beginning to blur into a streak of white and grey.
Outside, the snow lay in thick drifts, and the needle-leaved trees stood resilient under the weight of the winter frost. For the first twenty minutes, the pristine white peaks were captivating, but the repetition soon turned monotonous.
Felix turned his attention back to the screen. He had just settled into his reading when the cabin door slid open.
A well-dressed young man, roughly Felix's age, stepped inside. His attire spoke of a lineage only high-ranking nobility could claim: a crisp black shirt paired with white trousers and knee-high leather boots.
A tailored white coat sat perfectly over his athletic frame, its gold and blue embroidery shimmering with unmistakable quality.
A sun emblem rested upon his shoulders, and at his waist hung a formidable sword in a white sheath inlaid with sapphires. The blade was nearly as long as his leg, with the same solar sigil engraved near the guard.
Yet, the most striking thing about him was his countenance. With bright silver hair and eyes the color of a calm sea, he possessed a gentle, composed expression. A peaceful aura radiated from him—steady, reassuring.
Turning to the valet standing behind him, who still gripped his suitcase, Damien spoke in a voice as refined and gentle as his countenance.
"I can manage from here," he said, his tone pleasant and soft. "Go back to my sister."
The valet lowered his head slightly but remained anchored to his spot. "The Young Lady specifically ordered me to remain by your side, Young Master Damien."
A faint, patient smile touched Damien's lips at the refusal. "I believe Sister Leila will have far more need of your assistance than I will."
Leila, the Young Lady of the Lionheart family and Damien's elder sister, had insisted they remain together in the first-class carriage. Damien, however, had declined—and he was certain she was still there, likely brooding over his decision.
"But, sir, your father—"
"Please, do not worry about me," Damien interrupted, the edge of his words softened by a reassuring smile.
The valet hesitated, finally letting out a quiet, defeated sigh under Damien's persistent gaze. Reluctantly, he held out the suitcase.
"The Young Lady will be far from pleased to learn you are staying in third class," he remarked flatly.
Damien let out a soft, melodic chuckle. "Then I shall rely on you to calm her spirits for me."
His kindness left no room for further argument. The valet sighed once more, nodding as he accepted his defeat.
"Have a pleasant journey, Young Master." He placed his right hand over his heart, bowing in a formal, disciplined salute.
"Thank you," Damien replied warmly.
As the valet stepped back into the corridor in silence, Damien entered the cabin and slid the door shut. His gaze immediately swept over the two occupants.
He paused briefly, noting the man in the corner whose face remained partially obscured, but quickly averted his eyes to avoid being rude.
Instead, he took the empty seat. When his gaze shifted to the dark-blue-haired young man across from him, Damien's brows lifted in subtle surprise.
He had felt it the moment he stepped across the threshold, but up close, the aura radiating from the stranger was unusually potent.
There was a frigid beauty to the man—striking and resilient, like a flower that refused to wither even in the dead of autumn. From his refined attire alone, Damien knew he was far from ordinary.
And his face… it was undeniably handsome, possessing the kind of gravity that naturally commanded the room.