The streets were utterly deserted, wrapped in a silence that felt almost oppressive. In the distance, the shadow of something glinting seemed to watch us—motionless yet undeniably present, accompanied by a sound that felt unsettlingly familiar. It was metallic, harsh, and repetitive, like the clash of a hammer against an anvil, mixed with the whirring of a drill biting into metal.

  A shiver ran down my spine, but curiosity—that absurd, irrational force—always finds a way to win. I took a step forward, ready to move closer, until I felt a tug on my arm.

  Isolde.

  Her hand trembled slightly, her pupils dilated with fear. I didn’t need to ask to know she’d reached the same conclusion as I had: the unknown is usually dangerous.

  “You’re planning to go in there?” she whispered, her voice shaky.

  “Yeah, just to take a quick look,” I replied, downplaying it.

  “You shouldn’t. What if it’s something dangerous?”

  A fair point. But if it were truly dangerous, the Veil Masters would’ve detected and eliminated it long ago. The fact that nothing had happened meant it was either harmless or something discreet enough to evade notice.

  “If it were a threat, they’d have intercepted it by now, don’t you think?”

  “Hmm…” Isolde didn’t seem convinced, but after a moment’s hesitation, she said, “Then let me come with you.”

  Should I allow it? Well, two is always better than one.

  “Fine.”

  We moved quickly and silently, slipping down the street with the caution of people who knew they might be making a mistake. As we got closer, the sounds grew clearer: metallic screeches, parts being screwed together, something being cut with precision. Were they assembling something?

  We pressed against the wall of an alley, stopping when we realized the noise was coming from a part of the kingdom we’d never seen before.

  Damn it. We should’ve explored more.

  The noise grew louder, and then we heard it.

  A hum. Slow, rhythmic. A man’s voice.

  A moment later, from the depths of the alley, gray smoke began to rise—thick and dense, curling into the air.

  Perfect. Just what we needed to make this even creepier.

  Isolde squeezed my hand hard enough to make me wince. I understood. Truth be told, I wasn’t exactly calm either.

  Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. But we were already here. Turning back now would feel like admitting defeat.

  “We should go back…” Isolde whispered, stopping.

  Her feet were shaking, and despite the cold, her skin was beaded with sweat. There was no point in dragging her through this. Curiosity is a personal poison; she didn’t need to share it.

  “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s go back.”

  She nodded immediately. We turned and began retreating in silence.

  Then I heard it—a metallic clink.

  I looked down just in time to see my foot nudge something. A small metal object skittered away, and when it hit the ground, the echo bounced off the alley walls, loud enough to carry several houses down.

  Shit.

  We spun around instantly, alert, waiting… but nothing happened. Did we get away with it? Maybe.

  We both exhaled in relief and kept walking.

  Then everything went dark.

  The light returned abruptly, forcing me to squint. The first thing I noticed was Isolde beside me, utterly terrified, on the verge of tears. The second—and perhaps more concerning—was the sensation of immobility.

  We were tied up.

  My hands and feet were bound by magic, an invisible force restraining every movement with near-surgical precision. Damn it. Where the hell are we?

  My eyes darted around the room. Shelves crammed with strange objects. Metal birds with folding wings. Guns and rifles I didn’t recognize. Armor with exposed mechanisms. Steam-powered machines? Bloody hell.

  “What the devil were you two doing near my workshop?”

  The man’s voice from across the room was deep and casual. He held a cup in one hand, as if this were just a minor inconvenience in his routine.

  I swallowed hard.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  His crimson hair and blue eyes seemed to glow in the dim light. His gaze held no anger or surprise—just cold, calculated assessment.

  “W-we were just passing by! I-it’s not like we were here out of curiosity or anything,” I stammered, sounding like a damn amateur.

  Shit. I’m terrible at lying.

  The man tilted his head slightly, never breaking eye contact.

  “Hmm… Unfortunately for you, seeing this will have consequences.”

  Flat. Unambiguous. No room for negotiation.

  My jaw tightened. I glanced at Isolde, but the result was worse than expected. Her eyes, already brimming with tears, looked even more desperate. Her fear was palpable, and I had no way to tell her everything would be fine—because it probably wouldn’t be.

  The man approached with calm steps, plucking an oil lamp from the wall to study us better. And then, something shifted.

  His expression morphed into something I hadn’t anticipated. First, surprise. Then, a grin.

  “Oh? Oooh… Hahaha! Shit! You’re Lucius! And I’m guessing she’s Echidna! Hahaha! No wonder you felt familiar.”

  …

  What the hell’s wrong with him now? No—better question: How the hell does he know us?

  Isolde, who’d seemed seconds from collapsing, now looked baffled. Though tears still clung to her lashes, fear had been replaced by confusion.

  “Never thought Erika and Elias’s kids would wander into this place. Or even find it,” he mused, still chuckling to himself. “Guess I got sloppy with the Vigil of the Fallen festival going on.”

  He knows Father and Mother.

  My thoughts scrambled into order. If he knows us, then…

  “Mind untying us? We’re innocent, I swear,” I said, layering on a pitiful tone. Not that it worked much, but worth a shot.

  Hearing that this guy knew our parents, though, made my voice waver mid-fake sob.

  “Oh, right. My bad.”

  With a careless flick, he dissolved the magical bindings. A tingling sensation spread through my limbs as movement returned. Fear still prickled under my skin, but I managed to stand.

  I helped Isolde up. Her breathing remained ragged, though the tears had slowed. Only quiet sniffles and the occasional stubborn trail of snot remained.

  That could’ve ended very badly. Hell. What if we’d died? No—not the time. First things first.

  “You know our parents?” I asked quietly, staying alert. Now that we were free, we could run. Assuming this guy didn’t decide to recapture us in a blink.

  Though, let’s be real… at our current level, we stood no chance against an adult.

  The man clicked his tongue and smirked.

  “Know them?” he echoed, playful. “We bled together, kid! Been friends since the academy.”

  Oh… What? If that’s true, why had we never seen him before?

  Just as I tried to process it, Isolde hesitantly opened her mouth—

  “Then you’re…” She seemed to doubt her own words. “You’re Uncle Reginald!”

  …Excuse me?

  I slowly turned my head toward Isolde.

  "You know him?" I asked, feeling the tension gradually drain from my body. Something about the man's aura had shifted—calmer now, yet still wrapped in an air of mystery.

  "Yes! Mother actually told both of us about him, but you always fall asleep before she even starts her stories. You really should pay more attention, Lucy."

  …

  Thanks for throwing that in my face, little sister.

  "Hahaha. So they do still talk about me," Reginald mused. "I figured they'd forgotten after twelve years of radio silence."

  Twelve years? And yet he’d just said they bled together? If they were that close, why cut ties for so long?

  Not that it surprised me. People were like that. Still… curious.

  Even so, Reginald seemed decent. But the main question remained unanswered: Where the hell are we?

  He’d said "workshop," so I guessed he was some kind of mechanic. Though, judging by everything here, that’d be an understatement.

  "Wow," I blurted without thinking.

  I’d just noticed his outfit. Until now, the situation hadn’t let me appreciate it. Was this the legendary "Gothic Victorian Aesthetic"? Damn. He looks incredible.

  Come on, admit it—even in my past life, I’d had an eye for fashion, and this guy knew what he was doing. Impeccable style. Elegant, dark, with that hint of mystery making it even more striking.

  I’m stealing his look. Not a possibility—a certainty.

  "I see you like what you’re seeing, Lucius."

  His voice snapped me out of my trance. I cleared my throat and glanced away, feigning indifference.

  "Just… admiring your style."

  "If you want, I could give you a few pieces. Got some that might fit you."

  "Seriously?!"

  "Why not?"

  No way I’d say no. Even if I’m still too small to pull it off, I’ll make it work.

  Reginald strolled over to a cabinet across the room, rummaging through boxes while Isolde and I took the chance to properly survey the place.

  "What are all these things…?" I muttered.

  "This is amazing. A metal bird? Metal spiders?" Isolde was even more awestruck than me.

  To me, though, this wasn’t entirely foreign. In my past life, I’d read enough novels to recognize these contraptions—steampunk inventions, powered by steam and meticulously assembled gears.

  Steampunk.

  Wait. Steampunk?

  "Weren’t you just crying a minute ago?"

  "Hey! You were about to cry too!" Isolde shot back, indignant. "Besides, I was just faking it so he’d let us go."

  Wow. She said it with such pride it almost sounded narcissistic.

  "Really?"

  She nodded with a smug little smile.

  Well, I had no proof to refute that. But at this point, I couldn’t tell if she cried from fear, sadness, or just because she’d learned to manipulate people with her tantrums. Not me, though. I think.

  "Seems you two are interested in these things," Reginald cut in, picking up a mechanical bird from his workbench.

  At a glance, it looked like his latest project. Isn’t it too big? Roughly the size of a raven.

  "They’re amazing!" Isolde blurted, her usual boundless energy surging back.

  She was clearly fascinated. Then again, what kid wouldn’t be? You didn’t see steam-powered animal machines or intricate clockwork devices like compasses and mechanical weapons every day. Even I had to admit it was impressive.

  "Is this kind of thing even possible?" I muttered, remembering how, in my world’s Victorian era, these concepts were just sci-fi dreams.

  "Of course," Reginald said casually. "You just need a bit of magic to generate water, turn it into steam, and use that to power the engine. Once you grasp the process, it’s fairly simple."

  Like steam locomotives? In my world, pistons converted steam energy into mechanical motion. Here, the difference was using magic to create water and steam in a self-sustaining cycle. Does that mean it could run indefinitely?

  Fascinating… though I didn’t fully get it.

  "I see…" Isolde murmured, studying the bird with keen interest.

  Wait, did she actually understand? If so, I definitely needed lessons from this guy. Maybe I should come back—

  Come back.

  "Come back!" I suddenly shouted.

  Isolde jumped, startled, while Reginald frowned at me.

  "W-what’s wrong, Lucy?" Isolde asked, clutching her chest.

  Shit. We got way too sidetracked.

  "We have to go. We should’ve been home ages ago. We’ll come back tomorrow."

  "Huh? Oh, right!"

  "Thanks for not killing us, but we gotta run. Maybe we’ll drop by tomorrow. Or… someday."

  "Wait, what?" Reginald blinked, visibly baffled. Couldn’t blame him.

  "We’ll be back," I declared, grabbing Isolde’s hand and bolting for the door.

  And so concluded the day.