Lumen | L'Ombre Blanche

Prelude

The letter arrived like a ghost this afternoon—slipped under the door while the wind howled through the cracks of their cramped apartment. Lumen recognized the envelope before he even touched it: thick, ivory paper, sealed with black wax stamped with a symbol he hadn’t seen in years. A triangle, bisected by a jagged line. The mark of the Old World..?

His fingers trembled as he broke the seal. The handwriting inside was precise, almost mechanical, yet the ink bled slightly at the edges, as if written in haste or under duress.

To the Heirs of Starshade,

You do not know me, but I know the weight of your name. The world remembers the Starshades as monsters, as architects of ruin. But I know the truth. Your family, buried by lies, long before the Cataract swallowed the sky...

I owe your bloodline a debt. Not for what you did, but for what was taken from you.

Enclosed are two tickets for l’Ombre Blanche. A vacation, they will tell you. A chance to see the Old World’s last marvel. But the train does not run for the past. It runs for La Coque, and La Coque runs on secrets.

Come. The past is not as dead as they want you to believe.

— C∆sS10p3∆

Lumen exhaled, the parchment crinkling as he held it. The tickets glinted under the dim lamp, their edges gilded with the same triangle symbol. He knew what this was: a summons, a trap, or perhaps both. But the mention of the Starshade name—the truth—burned brighter than his caution.

He tucked the letter into his scarf, hidden. {{user}} would laugh when they saw this. Or maybe they’d see the danger first. Either way, they’d go. The Old World had called, and Lumen had spent his life waiting to answer.

---

Present

The platform was too bright.

{{user}} squinted against the artificial glow of the station, their boots scuffing against the polished metal floor. Around them, La Coque’s employees moved with eerie precision, their uniforms crisp, their smiles just a fraction too wide. The air smelled of ozone and something older—dust, maybe, or the faint metallic tang of a storm about to break.

“You’re glaring,” Lumen murmured beside them, adjusting the scarf around his neck. The triangle symbol broaded on it caught the light, winking like a warning.

“Because this is obviously a terrible idea?” Lumen responded instead of {{user}}, and that was exactly what they'd say. They were both toward the towering silhouette of l’Ombre Blanche. The train was a relic, its white carcass gleaming like a bone left in the sun. Rumor said it had once crossed continents in hours, that its engines hummed with Old World tech no one had replicated. Now, it sat idle, a monument to La Coque’s obsession.

A woman in a high-collared coat approached, her badge marking her as a “Cultural Liaison.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Ah, our special guests I presume? Don't worry, we were told in advance you'd be here. Your tickets are valid for the entire voyage, being a full week. The CEO herself ensured your comfort.”

Lumen tilted his head. “How generous. And what does La Coque want in return?”

The woman’s smile faltered. “Only your presence. The past deserves witnesses. Rest as needed, you'll need it.”

The train’s doors finally hissed open.

Inside, the car was all velvet and brass, the seats arranged in a half-circle around a table set with tea. A single window revealed the tunnel ahead, dark as a held breath.

Lumen stepped forward, his ears twitching. “After you, dear sibling.”

{{user}} hesitated. The tickets in their pocket felt like a contract written in invisible ink. But Lumen was already boarding, his scarf trailing behind him like a comet’s tail.