Chapter 1.2 ||  City Walk

Henry started his walk to the tram station. It was quite some distance, probably more than a few blocks away. It would take him a few minutes, but he had time. It wasn’t like his boss was screaming for him to get to work as soon as possible. Though, if he arrived late he’d have to work an extra hour or so, and he couldn’t do that. Especially with his promise to Camilla on the line.

His feet picked up the pace a bit, briskly walking the streets of Thamesford. He looked around him as he did, taking in the sights. He’d seen it a thousand times before. Walking the same streets to the station had become second nature to him like a well-practiced routine. Sometimes it gets boring for him. The city wasn’t particularly pretty, but it wasn’t without its charm.

Buildings with large steel works were stacked on top of one another, complimenting its old gothic roots and classical architecture, melded together with practicality before aesthetics in mind. All around him, exhaust pipes were puffing out dark fumes while attached to white marble structures, turning a shade of gray due to the soot. 

The city’s silver-tipped spires stretched upward like skeletal fingers, remnants of a bygone age clashing with the modern, industrial behemoths that now dominated the skyline. Old buildings roped in with new ones made mostly of steel.

In the distance, mid-rise towers and skyscrapers were strewn along the city together with old establishments still standing with their old wooden posts and walls of brick and stone. Large covered overpass bridges connecting one building to another were scattered around, creating tall-reaching archways for the people walking along the street. 

The pale morning light struggled to pierce the thick layer of clouds hanging over Thamesford. The chill of the morning air clung to Henry's skin, biting at the fingertips as he stuffed his hands deeper into his coat. Around him, smoke poured from every towering factory chimney, the fumes curling into the sky like long, dark palms gripping the horizon.

He noted the metallic tang that lingered in the air, mixing with the oily stench of factory smoke and the faint, stale scent of old newspapers scattered along the pavement. One that he was all too familiar with.

He passed by a small shop with a large glass window pane, showcasing the newest gizmo to hit the market. Picture boxes. They brewed up a storm when they first hit the shelves. They looked like a smaller self-contained theater mashed with the humble radio. 

“—are calling for the government to do something about the recent trend of increased unprovoked violence against duskwalkers by certain disgruntled individuals. The mayor of Dante has yet to give an official statement, but it is clear that tensions are higher than ever before—” 

Henry paused in his step. He reversed a few paces and turned his attention to the news on the picboxes stacked on top of each other. He looked at the man talking on the screen. Red eyes and pointed ears wearing a mask that covered half his face. He was being interviewed on his thoughts on the matter.

“—don’t really care. We’re just trying to live our lives out here. We don’t want to hurt anyone. Here in Dante, we’re taught patience. But that patience has certain limits, mind you. We are a peaceful people, but if you think we’re just going to lay down and take it then you have another thing coming. Don’t forget, we bloody risked our lives to fight for this country decades ago. And don’t you dare begin to say we’re all addicts. We detest those monsters, same as you! Duskwalkers or whatever you call us deserve the same amount of respect as everyo—”

Duskwalkers. Thamesford’s resident strigoi.

He didn’t know a lot about them. He would see some from afar when he walked home at night and tried his best to keep his distance. From what he heard, they were… complicated people. Some said they were monsters, others said they were misunderstood. Henry just learned to stay away. It was definitely a growing issue, but it wasn’t pressing or anything—at least not to him.

He shook his head and continued on his walk. 

He was getting closer as he recognized certain buildings up ahead. Elegant-looking structures with silver accents. The newer ones were built near tram stations for easier access, and nearly all of them had silver signages and accents. In fact, silver accents were becoming more commonplace among both old and new buildings—so much so that Thamesford was dubbed the ‘City of Silver’. 

But down where Henry walked, the towers were tarnished, their gleam long smothered by layers of grime and soot, even as the shine of silver threatened to prove otherwise, and beneath them, the bones of an older Londonium still lingered. Crumbling brick facades, gas lamps now overtaken by brighter, more efficient arc lights, and narrow alleyways that seemed untouched.

It wasn’t all doom and gloom however.

There were parts of the city that truly shine among the others. Especially the great statues of St. Solarias, the great savior of Thamesford during the War of Darkness—a great war that lasted for two hundred years. 

Huge monuments made of silver covered in ornate gold coatings dressed the vicinity of the architectural wonders and towering cathedrals with intricate designs. They sported white marble and sandstone walls, steel arches and stained glass, hand carved depictions of great battles of old. The biggest of which was The Thamesford Grand Cathedral.

He had visited it a few times, and each time he would strain his neck to take it all in. The silver, gold, marble, and sandstone, glistened as Holy Sol’s rays hit its form. It reflected light from all sides, shining even in the dark of night, using only the reflection of the moon. 

Perhaps the most impressive part of the cathedral was the twelve-foot lifelike statue of Helena—Goddess of the Sun— just outside its entrance, made entirely of silver and gold— its pristine form a stark contrast to the grime-covered streets all around, a constant reminder of the city's once-holy origins.

The statue had six golden wings, depicting the goddess in flight. A silver torso with a golden carving in the shape of the sun just above her sternum. She wore a golden crown and halo extending around her back. Her upper body was exposed, while her lower body was lightly clothed in a golden stola wrapped around her waist and extending just above her toes. 

She had four arms. One arm was stretched into the sky holding a sword of silver and gold, while the other rested on the side and held a golden orb with rings around it. An armillary sphere. Her other two lower arms were open-palmed and outstretched downward as if to welcome the broken into her embrace. It was beautiful beyond comparison. Possibly the most beautiful sight in the city, and who would contest it? Perhaps he would visit it later after the orphanage. He barely attended mass anymore.

Henry’s footsteps echoed through the streets, yet the sound was barely audible over the relentless hiss of steam vents and the busy road. He turned to glance at some of the vehicles passing by. Large walkers—long, heavy, steel, mechanical legs moving across the asphalt, guided by their drivers. They trekked along with other bigger and lighter walker variants. Some with two legs, others with more, plodding alongside cars and street trains He could hear the mechanical grind of the walkers clomping along the cobbled streets. 

He wished he had one of those. Only the rich could afford cars. They were built for comfort and convenience. The rest of the populace had walkers. Not as comfortable or sleek, but as clunky as they looked, at the very least they got the job done. Besides, cars were more like novelty items. Most preferred to take the trams anyway, of which he could already see the station up ahead, with a tram already waiting.

Suddenly, he heard a crash, making him jump. He turned his head over to the scene across the street, where two drunks were yelling at a hooded figure wearing a mask. One of the men had thrown a beer bottle but missed, scattering broken glass on the floor.

“Go back underground, you damn leech! Sol is up!” one of the men said. 

“We don’t want your k-kind up here, d-duskwalker! Fuck off to bloody Dante!” The other spat.

Henry thought back to the news he saw on the picboxes. Hearing about it was one thing… seeing it for himself was… unsettling. He shook his head and quickened the pace, but kept his eyes on the scene. He didn’t want any trouble with them. Especially not with a duskwalker involved. Things could go sour quickly. 

One of the drunks threw another bottle, laughing and spitting at the hooded figure. The duskwalker reached out and caught the bottle mid-air with barely any effort at all, keeping their arm raised as if to throw it back. The drunks stepped back, stumbling over themselves. “Whoa, w-whoa! W-we’re s-sorry!” the two stammered, turning back and running away. 

The duskwalker stood there watching them run, before slowly lowering the bottle and setting it gently on a nearby corner. 

Huh. They didn’t fight back. Henry thought to himself.

A loud bell rang, alerting him back to where he was going. The tram. He turned back to the station, seeing the tram start to leave, ringing its bell to signify its departure. 

“H-hey wait up!” he said, taking off into a sprint.

He was going to be late again if he waited for another to come by. He pushed his legs forward and ran. In his worry, however, he didn’t see the person coming from the other side of the street, crashing into them.

The force sent the two falling to the pavement, with the latter landing on their back.

“O-oh dear, I’m so sorry. I was in a hurry,” Henry said, quickly picking himself up and helping the one he had knocked over. He offered up his hand, which the stranger took without a word. It was then that Henry noticed the stranger’s mask and caught a glance at their eyes. His own widened, and his heart jumped to his throat. His instincts screamed at him to pull away and run, but he steeled himself to stand his ground. He swallowed hard.

The duskwalker. He had just crashed into the duskwalker.