Discrimination is a terrible thing.

To think that we live in a world where a man is judged, not on his accomplishments or personality, his failures or shortcomings, but on inevitable, intrinsic properties which they have no control. The color of his skin, the blood in his veins, and even the nature of one's own Magic Circuits are cause for unwarranted bigotry in the modern era. Even now, in the year of our Lord two thousand and four, we are still in the grips of such crimes against our fellow human beings.

9/11 was only three years ago, you know? I thought we are past such things. Something something, current year.

Ah, hmm, letting old habits crawl out of the woodwork, as it were. And based on the icy glare being delivered to me, my internalized sass is not going without notice. A shame, really. Though I find dark irony in her expression of disgust, the perception of gazing upon something disgusting makes her own appearance more disgusting in turn, which sadly ruins her otherwise attractive features.

"What appears to be the problem, Dame Fellows?" I ask with all the precocious innocence a thirteen year old can muster. Alas, puberty had begun, and thus sealed away the vaunted "Adorable" card in which I had once unknowingly put so much stock. Much like any other child actor at my current biological age, it would seem that Trisha Fellows, my friend's primary tutor, is determining that I am reaching my expiration date.

Blue eyes, hard as agates, narrow. A sniff of imperious disdain accompanies the expression, causing her carefully coiffed blonde hair to bob from side to side, "I am looking at it, Vine." My hand taps my chin thoughtfully, and I take note of the change in address. What, specifically, had changed in the time since I had last been here? Though I joke about expiration dates, surely the Christmas Cake before me isn't going to judge me based on that, is she? We are comrades, after all, "Whatever you are thinking," Trisha Fellows begins, the lenses of her glasses flaring with actinic light, "You will cease this instant, before I am forced to defend myself."

I blink, "And what, pray tell, would you be defending yourself from?"

Her nose crinkles further, as if her nostrils were sympathetic to her ears, "Emotional damage. Whatever inappropriate thoughts one such as you would harbor towards me would no doubt linger like a foul curse, infecting and ruining my prospects in the future, thus causing undue stress in a single encounter."

"But, why?" I pause, considering, "Surely I've done nothing to you since I last visited." It had been a few years ago, true, but in that time I had been engrossed in my studies, finally nearing mastery of the most basic elements of the Vine Clan Crest. And so, my eyes roam over her searchingly, seeking the answers to my question in her body language. She shudders.

"The error was on my end on the previous occasion," The blonde answers, "I had not properly vetted you for the sake of Lady Animusphere, and as a result she was exposed to a corruptive influence." Spectacle frames shift, and once again I am confronted with lens flare that would otherwise be the hallmark of poor quality lenses, "So it falls to me to rectify that error."

There is a beat of silence as I stare at the woman incredulously, "But...You knew who I was the last time I was here to meet with Olga-"

"Lady Animusphere, to you."

I continue undeterred, "So what do you mean by 'improperly vetted'?"

There is another pause, as the Dame seems to consider her answer carefully, "At the time, I was only aware that you were a noble scion whose father was closely allied with Lord Animusphere." Lips purse, "Shortly afterwards I was informed by fitting parties to the pertinent information regarding your…" Eyes narrow into a disdainful glare, "House."

My mouth twists into a frown, then. So it's like that, then. I see, I see. I see most profoundly. The Vine clan's reputation would indeed matter to someone who wants to network into higher positions. No woman wants to be governess forever, I suppose. Even for one of the future Twelve Lords. I see, I see. Defending the reputation of her employers, an adherence to, and rigorous loyalty to, the orthodoxy of the Clock Tower's political movements- all of those things are attractive things to put on ones resume when shopping around on PlentyofMages, the infamous Dating Website.

Poor thing, she doesn't even realize who constitutes the other half of that partnership with the Animusphere.

But still, I had come here to discuss my future plans with my friend, and no mere tutor was going to stand in my way, especially after taking the trouble of getting a Charlie Horse from Touko Travel, "You raise an excellent point," I say at last, my hand fishing around in my pocket, "Allow me to present my counterargument." My fingers move deftly, the feeling of a soft plastic flip phone giving better prehensile feedback than any smartphone would.

"Counterargument?" Trisha Fellows responds, immaculate eyebrow raising, "There is nothing to say, as you shall not enter here."

"You hear that, Olga?" I say with a smug grin, "It appears that I am not allowed to enter your home, in spite of your invitation." Lips opposite me curve into a frown as I withdraw the flip phone, speaker facing my opponent.

"Put Trisha on the line, Vinea." The voice of Olga-Marie Animusphere slightly crackles from the signal being muddied by the property's wards and ambient magical energies. Amusingly, this makes one of the most advanced pieces of current modern technology that any average Magus will encounter sound like an ancient radio. "I need to have a word with her about what privileges she does not possess as a mere employee of the Animusphere estate."

Dame Fellows' expression sinks even further into a blatant scowl, as she daintily reaches for the phone. She hesitantly raises the speaker to her ear as one would a loaded gun, and I watch her skin pale with no small amount of relish at the sound of Olga-Marie's screeching, audible even from this short distance away.

It is with a defeated look blunting those piercing eyes that I am finally allowed on to the property.

…

"I apologize for Trisha," Silver hair, ever unkempt, waves idly to the tune of finely clinking china, "She seems to take it upon herself to serve as a gatekeeper for my social interactions." She sniffs aristocratically, "As if I were not an excellent judge of character."

It is with the ease of long practice that my expression remains straight, while I gently sip at my tea. While wishing desperately for coffee. I set my cup down and answer, "You shouldn't be too hard on Dame Fellows," My voice is at ease, a simple act to alleviate Olga-Marie before she could do something to pre-empt my own inevitable vengeance, "She simply wishes to look out for your best interests, and, well, it's not as if my family's reputation is not well earned." My shoulders rise in a helpless shrug.

"Hmph," Amber eyes shut, turning away from me in a huff, "I swear, Vinea, you don't need to make excuses for her rudeness." Her nose lifts up disdainfully, "Besides, know you you're probably just covering for her due to that rotten obsession of yours with older women."

I blink. Once. Twice. How did she know?! "I have no such thing, Olga." I cough surreptitiously, "It's simply polite to treat ones elders with proper respect."

A golden iris snaps open and regards me with wholly unwarranted suspicion, "Don't think that I don't notice that wandering eye of yours. What's respectful about that leering gaze, hmm?"

What's wrong with having a healthy attraction to those whom I relate to, Olga?! I do not say, "I am not leering," I intone seriously, "I am simply...keeping my eyes level. Proper posture and all that good rot." My body was only thirteen years old, not quite hitting it's growth spurt. It was only natural that my eyes would not match up to those who were at least a decade my senior, after all.

My friend hums thoughtfully, "Slouching forward is proper posture for boys your age?" A dainty finger rests on her chin, "What a fascinating change modern health is, but my father had always said something about being able to tell the worth of a man from the set of his shoulders." Her lips curve into a smug smile, "Is he wrong?"

My eyes narrow, and with an effort of will I change the subject, "Speaking of Lord Animusphere, where is he?"

"Father?" Olga blinks in surprise, "He's off on business to the Far East." A faint memory tickles at the base of my skull, a familiar Fake Priest.

"Fuyuki City?" I ask, it seems to be the right time for the Fifth Holy Grail War, isn't it?

Her head tilts, then previous recognition dawns on her features, "Oh! You said you spoke to that Priest, Kotomine, at the party a few years ago, did you not?"

"Yes, he had explained that he was there by invitation of your father, and he did tell me where his congregation was set."

"He was an odd sort," My friend hums thoughtfully, "Strange, he isn't usually the expressive type." She looks back at me, expression taking on a triumphant sheen, "I suppose you made an impression on him." A smug smile blooms upon her features, "As expected of my Vinea!"

I groan, "Since when am I yours?"

"The moment you agreed to be my guard dog, of course!" She holds her hand out, palm up, "Now! Shake!" The sound of brief rapping on the door to the room covers my groan and stops me from doing something I'd probably regret, "Who is it?" Olga shouts.

"It's Fellows, My Lady." That stern voice answers, "I'd like to have a word with you." The air before the portal shimmers, and the sound of heavy iron clicks with a gesture from Olga. Trisha Fellows enters, glasses flashing as she looks upon me in disdain, "In private, if at all possible."

"Anything you wish to say to me can be said in front of Vineas," Olga's expression takes on a stern look, while Dame Fellows' own look is that of the long-suffering governess, which she undoubtedly is. My heart goes out to her. If I could affix her with a muzzle, I wouldn't mind comforting her in private. Hehe...

After a tense moment, Trisha sighs, "Very well." She glances towards me, and I pointedly return to my cup of bitter, room temperature water with leaves in it, "I've received…" There is a pause, but I ignore it, resisting the temptation to investigate the cause, "News of a rare opportunity, My Lady."

Olga's voice firms, "What opportunity?"

"Are you familiar with the Rail Zeppelin, Lady Animusphere?" Olga pauses, attempting to recall, but there is no need.

I metaphorically step in, "The Rail Zeppelin is a line that runs through Eastern Europe and the Russian territories to terminate at the Liaodong Peninsula, established over one hundred and fifty years ago by one of the more powerful Superior Dead Apostles, one Rita Rozay-en."

"And why does that matter?" The heir of House Animusphere asks, "What does the pet project of a vampire have to do with us?"

"My Lady," Fellows replies, "The Rail Zeppelin goes by another name: The Mystic Eyes Collection Train." My head tilts, some half forgotten memory poking about. I probably recognized that specific title for some reason, but it had been at least a decade since I had a chance to investigate the more far flung Type-Moon properties. That, and I had spent most of the years since realizing the circumstances of my rebirth and committing knowledge of the Grail Wars to my memory, it appears that more niche knowledge had fallen by the wayside. Even my knowledge of the Rail Zeppelin was incidental, the result of research into the Twenty-Seven Ancestors and their circumstances in this world.

"What rank?" I ask quietly, turning back towards the Governess.

There is a brief pause as the blonde glares at me for my temerity, before locking gazes with her Mistress, "...Rainbow."

Olga-Marie's eyes widen in shock and I let out a low whistle.

Classified by the ranks of the Noble Color System, ranked from Gold, Jewel, and Rainbow in terms of noteworthy potency, the majority of Mystic Eyes are capable of enacting minor phenomena through channeling magical energy through circuits developed within one's eyes. "The absolute highest, far superior to these." I added quietly, tapping the frames of my glasses.

"Aren't those made from Pure Eyes?" My friend replies skeptically, "Hardly the same thing." Which was true. The difference between one and the other lies in the fact that Mystic Eyes enacted phenomena upon the world, whereas Pure Eyes allowed a form of superior, supernatural perception. Mystics Eyes of Binding would inflict paralysis upon a target, whereas the Pure Eyes these spectacles were made from could perceive the various Textures which permeated our world. There were also those who possess Eyes which had functions of both, and by far those were the most powerful. Death Perception is King among them.

"The rank still applies," I respond with the casual air that only the technically correct can manage. I continue, "You heard there would be Rainbow level Mystic Eyes present on the train?"

"Yes," Fellows reluctantly nods to me in confirmation, "There will be one such eye available for auction." Which was the major selling point of the whole affair, really. It was all one big honeypot, but any worthwhile trap needs to be of such a nature to attract something more than the craven, the mad, and the desperate. Rumors of Rozay-en painted the picture of someone who fancied themselves an aristocrat, as odd as they were. I had long since come to learn that one with such a self image would have too much pride to tie their self perception to the lowest rung of society, no matter what form.

"You think we can take it?" Olga-Marie's amber eyes seem to sparkle in excitement, and her hands clutch themselves into fists as she leans forward. The blonde governess nods in confirmation. Before the two can get caught up in one another's excitement, I raise a hand.

"This is a trap." I add in, determined to deflate the atmosphere of ambition as toxic as any poison, "If there is such a valuable treasure available for auction, there's no way that a Superior Dead Apostle would make it publicly available and then spread word of it unless they wanted to draw in someone or someones of a very particular nature." I raise an eyebrow, glancing knowingly at the silver haired Noble besides me, "Olga would make a fine target for ransom, or perhaps a thrall for the bloodsucking leech-owner of the train. I recommend against going."

Blue eyes take on a curious yellow sheen, as the blonde woman levels an intense glare at me.

"There's no need to worry, Vineas," Olga says confidently, standing up to her full height as she places her hands upon her hips, "Trisha's source is the most secure information there is!" She nods, unwittingly demonstrating the same judge of character that endears me to her, "The people organizing the auction have no idea the information got out, I promise you!" I narrow my eyes at the eleven year old girl before me, before sighing in exasperation.

"My Lady, ignore the Vine." Fellows stern voice cracks through the air like a whip, "He likely intends to dissuade you from going so he can secure the treasure himself." Her azure eyes, hard as agates, lock with my own, "The Vine are a clan of traitors to their very core, and someone like him can not be trusted. It is in their blood, their very nature!"

Olga puffs her chest out, with cheeks inflating, and a finely honed instinct flares in the back of my mind as my friend prepares to move to my defense, probably out of implicitly wounded pride in her choice of playmates. I decide to take control of the conversation for the first time today.

I snort. Loudly.

I reach into my pocket, before withdrawing my hand and slap down a small notepad on to the table, wrapped in the softest leather. With casual ease I open it, thumbing to a specific page as I lock eyes with the older woman before me. Christmas Cake indeed, it appeared that her grey matter had gone stale as well!

"I find it ironic that you speak my name while forgetting whom you're speaking to, Dame Fellows." I chuckle, fitting as much derision into the sound as possible, "I am indeed Vineas Vine." I find the appropriate, most recent entry in the small pocketbook, "As wealthy as the Animusphere may be, do you truly believe that Olga's pocket money can match up to my own resources, let alone that of my clan at large?"

I turn the bankbook around, and gesture for the older woman to take a look.

It is with a petty satisfaction that I watch the color drain from her face. Olga sidles on over to take a look herself, humming appreciatively at the figure on display, "That's quite the number of zeroes, Vineas."

My lips twitch smugly, and I pocket the book once more, "New businesses have been good to us." I glance back towards the governess, her lips opening and closing as if speaking silently to herself, "As you can see Dame Fellows," She twitches, looking back at me in a whole new light, "I don't need to keep Olga away from the train to be able to outbid her. I just want to make sure that she stays safe."

Said girl nods, thrusting her chest out proudly at the defense of her guard dog, "Well, we're both going, this opportunity is too rare to pass us by. Besides, Father will be in Japan, and this would make a fine celebratory gift, I think."

My hands steeple together on the table. A momentary assessment tells me that she will not be swayed from going. "Then I certainly can't leave you to your own devices, and let you mess things up." I shrug helplessly, "So I may as well come along and make sure that you don't get outbid, at the very least."

"Hmph!" My friend smirks, triumphant, "As if you ever had any choice in the first place!"

...

It seems strange to say, but the Vine are not particularly...popular.

Oh yes, don't get me wrong, the family has an outsized amount of influence. They are fabulously rich by the standards of the Magical World, and most importantly, my, ah, father was introduced to the Internet by Lord Billy-Mari Animusphere during that party, when they had been going over the technological innovations developed by mankind in recent years.

Being the profit-minded individual he was, he immediately thought of a way to exploit his immense trade connections for even more profit. I recalled the existence of a certain mundane online service, and pointed out to him that it had existed quite comfortably since three years after I had been born. In a move that almost made me feel like I belonged in this family more than any moment prior in my less than a decade of life in this world, he immediately seized on my suggestion.

With feverish excitement, "Dark Amazon" was born, intent on capitalizing on the brand recognition of the existing service, which in hindsight is an irony Mister Jeff Bezos can appreciate. Well, the man had appeared on the cover of Time that year after all. So it can be said that while I was unsurprised by this development, the fact that it was up and running to near-peak efficiency within the year was still quite the feat, if one managed by the original. Still, I suppose it seems less impressive when you realize the full context of our situation.

In any case, time passed by, as it is wont to do, my thaumaturgical training advanced, and Lord Vine became caught up in the rush of laying down a new venture. Explaining why this worked isn't all that necessary, but to put things shortly: The Vine family, through our role as the primary intermediary by which a number of craftsmen and suppliers of reagents negotiate and get in contact one another through the Clock Tower, were the only ones capable of putting out a platform through which individuals could order products through any number of vendors online, and thus have those funneled through a centralized distribution network. My father simply relied on Lord Animusphere's contacts to recruit some skilled programmers to put together the framework - liberally 'borrowed' from Amazon's own source code - while he negotiated the distribution channels.

Again, this all seems fairly straightforward for such a complex network of vendors, but the simple truth of the matter is that Lord Vine already had all the connections necessary to put together a centralized third party platform like this. Chances were, had any other figures attempted such a work like this ahead of its time, they might have managed to supplant our family's role through a superior platform, but as things stood that concern was now abated. Understandably, the Vine Clan's stranglehold on such mercantile channels growing stronger did not endear us to the Clock Tower nobility who saw the updating of our methods to the modern era to be yet another black mark upon the families long, checkered history.

For a third time, I note that the unpopularity of the Vine Clan in the Clock Tower is unsurprising. The astute reader may note that it's likely due to the clan's departure from Londinium after the second century Alpha Domini, but there is a funny story to be had there: The Vine were known for a far greater number of actions in Britannia's supernatural world than merely being a long-lived family of merchants who had outlasted the Britannian-Romans.

The first, and most important, requires that I draw attention to where specifically the Vine abandoned Londinium. The aftermath of the Hadrianic Fire, when Hadrian's Wall was approaching the shape that it would have, one which would last for almost two thousand years. At this point, the Romans were eager to have families capable of footing the bill of enriching and uplifting the necessary port towns along the wall, and this opportunity was taken with glee by the Vine head at the time. So well entrenched did the family become, that the clan came to be known as the Arcani or secret-ones for the open secret of their magecraft with the Legions, and as a poor pun on the Areani or "people of the sheep-folds" who were under our aegis. Our relations with them continue to this day in fact.

Our relationship with the Roman Legions...well, as I said.

The Vine are simply not well liked. I never said that this hostility was unearned.

After the messiness of the Grand Conspiracy and the severing of our ties with the Roman Legions at large, the Vine were still an incredibly wealthy and powerful merchant class, with roots into many of the tribes of the area. And we've always been rather good at networking, as you may imagine. So, when the Picts, Caledonians, and other groups sought mystical muscle to assist in breaking through the Antonine Wall, the Vine were only too happy to lend their assistance in subverting those empowered fortifications for the right price: Namely the secrets of their own mystic traditions and in one particular windfall in the chaos of Rome's abandonment of the island we managed to 'shelter' an entire tribe of Picts who were facing certain death otherwise.

Discovering that in this world, the Picts were some kind of humanlike monstrosity that shared traits with Ridley Scott's Xenomorphs came as quite the shock! Rather than acting on the self preservation instincts which should come naturally, the Vine clan realized the value of having such a stock of highly adaptable humanlike beings on hand, and set up a control group in the Bounded Field preserves located within the clan's ancestral workshop. They really are marvelous for testing out hostile environments that are theoretically from the Age of Gods though, able to survive and even thrive where normal human beings are incapable of surviving. The baseline mutations that they carried from Britain at that period are well recorded, and the conditions of the texture of the era are thoroughly documented. Seeing how they adapt, and comparing that to records of baseline humanity from that period, courtesy of another trade route that the Vine have cultivated over the centuries, allows us to further advance the pieces that we fit into our Etemenaki.

Sure, it sounds horrifying to keep what amounts to a tribe of sentient beings basically kept on an animal preserve and locked into cultural stasis for thousands of years, but if we hadn't taken them in there wouldn't be any Picts left! So really, who was the villain here, us? Or that dastardly genocidal King Arthur? Eh? Eh?

In any case, the Vine were, by this point, thoroughly divorced from the Clock Tower in its state at the time, as well as thoroughly in control of the major port in Albion for the Scandinavian trade routes in region. And given the Vine Clan's expertise in dealing with layers of reality...well, it was only natural that we would reach out to the Wandering Tomb, the Sea of Estray. The former core of the Mage's Association predated even the Vine Clan's true origins by a significant margin, and as such it was a repository of a great deal of knowledge regarding the human form's evolution and changes through the waning of the Age of Gods, due to their own speciality in experimenting on the human form. Naturally, their records pertaining to both of these subjects were the family's intended objectives in their interactions with the organization over the centuries. Fortunately, in turn, we had access to records on Britannia's own unique progression as the world changed, in addition to records and examples of unique humanoid specimens that the researchers of the Sea of Estray were able to make use of.

In many ways, however, the Wandering Tomb had other, less crucial resources that they were willing to let go of for lesser prices. These being certain samples of Monstrous Beasts from the ocean floor. It was noted early on, that certain Caledonian tribes had an affinity for crafting the bones of certain sea beasts into powerful weapons through the use of their own scripts and ancient runes to empower them. Of course, by the time King Arthur had united Britain and driven back the various tribes into the lands of Ulaid, the times of the Ulster Cycle had long since passed, and the Vine had sought the methods behind the armaments and treasures brought forth at the time.

Incidentally, the Vine had managed to acquire several complete examples of Gaellic Script from numerous tribes, the result of deciphering which had been the flowing not-quite-runes which enshrouded our families workshop so very thoroughly. While I was vaguely aware that this language likely lacked the sheer potency of the ancient runes which lay behind the crafting of Gae Bolg, and almost certainly was not the same as the Fairy Letters which were engraved upon such artifacts as Avalon, Excalibur, or even Gae Buidhe and Gae Dearg. Even so, the Gaellic Script was...artful in its own way. It lacked the straightforward power of the Primal Runes, and thus was not sealed away only to the divine. Nor was it possessing the artfulness of the Fae, and thus was exempt from their disturbing games. With the passing of the Caledonian tribes into myth and history, the mysteries of those letters became ours alone, and within them I sensed the potential for the advancements I wish to pursue.

Ah, right, but speaking of Avalon. As you may have guessed by now, the Vine family were not exactly in league with the forces holed up in Camelot. Too many of our vassals were tied to the Northern lands which opposed the High King of Britain, and a great deal of King Arthur's opposition in those early years made use of the Port of Tyne to arrive from the North Sea. So really, we basically had no choice but to allow the Saxons to make landfall! Arbeia never fell to invaders, and as the lords of the area, it fell to the Vine to protect their vassals from the threat posed by all those foreign invaders. I have it on good authority that the immense wealth we took from them, as they made landfall was both largely incidental, and taken with our deepest regrets.

Of course, those Lords who decided to stick it through in Londinium declined to see things from this point of view. As such, when they spent over a millennium interbreeding with one another to maximize their magical potential, they went the very spiteful and elitist route of shutting the Vine clan out of their eugenics program at every opportunity even after the Vine had rejoined the fold during the 9th Century.

So, in summation, my family is the target of numerous grudges. Not just envy at our own successes, but also wholly legitimate grievances courtesy of almost a thousand years worth of backstabbing those who would form the central pillars of the Clock Tower. In our defense, those decisions were likely good ideas at the time.

It is ever the duty of one's forebears to leave behind messes for their descendants to clean up. I kind of look forward to seeing what skeletons my father and I stash away to be discovered later. Perhaps it'll be a world ending threat of some stripe? Sounds somewhat exciting.

…

Arranging our trip to the Rail Zeppelin's departure point in Vinkovci was a simple matter. The chill of winter went beyond the wet and windy weather of Britain I had grown accustomed to. Though the cold flirts more closely with the freezing point than I was used to, in place of sheets of ice and biting gusts, the land is buried in a thick blanket of white snow. It was in this manner that I got my first sight of Croatia in either of my lives, and snow was so uncommon to me that I found my breath temporarily stolen. For a moment, the snow was more than mere mundanity. In the place of frozen water, randomly slumped onto the ground, there was an expanse of diamond jewels, painted onto the world with the most delicate brush the world had ever seen.

A large hand, ensconced in a leather glove, harshly grips my shoulder, and so I am forcibly marched towards our destination: A waiting rental car, which will take us to a run down train station near the city's outskirts. There, the engine of the Rail Zeppelin was already blowing a steady stream of grey into the air from it's smokestack, a single orb on it's front emitting a baleful, poisonous glow.

"Quite the number of people here for an auction no one should have heard about." I remark innocently, eyes scanning the crowd for the telltale signs of magecraft and finding myself unsurprised. There were at least eight mages that I could tell from those assembled in the crowd, and a larger number of mundanes, curiously enough.

"When I was making travel arrangements I noticed that the train offered services to a startling number of mundanes." Fellows says by way of explanation, "A way to traverse the land route across the Eurasian continent is attractive to many, I suppose." In that moment, a whistle cuts through the air with a shrill shriek, and in so doing we begin to make our way onto the train, dragging our luggage with us.

There simply hadn't been enough time to arrange for any of the more competent servants in either of our households to join us, you see, and as I was still certain that the train was a death trap, an incompetent member of the party would be an unbearable handicap in an already dangerous situation. Dame Fellows had protested, naturally, but I pointed out that if she wanted to drag along a corpse she could very well take care of cleaning up the mess they'd make of themselves after the inevitable occurred.

She had stopped complaining, then, giving me a strange, intense look before going back towards preparing for the journey.

So it is with a stony resignation that Olga's governess rubs elbows with the common man, and drags her own luggage onto the train like a common peasant, and we slowly file in with the crowd. The pale, December sun shone down, and as I gaze upon the train that would carry us across the continent I could see the numerous partitions in space which separated the train from the outside world. Bounded fields insulating the individual coaches from the air. Shorn space at the front of the locomotive, the better to smash aside potential obstructions. Many layered wheels within wheels, enshrouding the bogies beneath it, protecting the machinery and allowing the constructs to move apart from the elements.

Beneath our feet, the earth pulses, the steel rails buried into the earth are only a decoration, a guidepost at best.

I step in, and find that the space was suddenly quite cramped, indeed.

The Train is divided into three distinct sections, from what I could understand, consisting of two coaches each, with the locomotive on one end and the caboose at the other. Varnish, which was where the three of us were staying, and where the majority of the magic capable passengers seem to be riding. Business, which is where the wealthier, if mundane, occupants are riding. Goods, which has unfortunate implications given the trains owner, is easily the most crowded and consists of the truly desperate. I have little doubt those in the third section of the train will never see the last station...And I pause to consider that for a moment.

Here we were, three individuals gifted in magecraft. One of which is a grown, experienced woman- in magecraft, if nothing else. Another is a lauded prodigy, Heir of one of the Clock Tower's major families. The last is myself, similarly proclaimed as a young genius. Between us, we will be a formidable threat against any magus we put ourselves up against, I'm sure.

Yet, I hesitate, and reassess the situation: The adult, and thus most capable combatant, in the form of Dame Fellows, would object on principle, or lack thereof. She had convinced Olga to get on this train for the sake of acquiring an incredibly valuable Mystic Eye, not to play Good Samaritan for the sake of inconveniencing a vampire, which none of us are capable of defeating. Would I do such a thing?

Of course! It is for this very reason which I pursue power from the start. The very meaning to battle embedded within ****-

Hmm?

"Something the matter?" Amber eyes meet my own, equal in height despite the age difference, "You're holding up the line, Vinea."

I glanced backwards, staring into the annoyed expression of a middle eastern man, dressed in a suit, bangles and other jewelry hanging from his wrists, "Ah, yes." My body turns towards him in full for a hasty bow, "My apologies." The older man merely groans, his green eyes rolling in annoyance.

"Just hurry it up already." The stranger's emerald orbs rove over the interior of the coach, his focused gaze taking in the austere decorations with a sneer of disdain, "I don't want to be in this tin can any longer than I have to be."

With a final nod, I grab my luggage anew and follow my companions further inwards. From what I have heard from Dame Fellows, the three sections of the train are further divided into passenger coaches and meal coaches. With the exception being the caboose, which serves as an area for the passengers in the Goods section to sleep, away from the crowded confines of their primary coach.

And, let's be fair, it was also the most likely place on the train for unsuspecting victims to be easily abducted by the vampires who doubtlessly keep the thing running.

The three of us continue through the narrow passage between the compartments, their size can easily enough accommodate the need for it's First Class passengers to rest as they need. Which was a small comfort, as I am still expecting a trap to come at us at any moment. The Magical World was a place of all-pervasive danger, and looming brushes with death. Constant vigilance is the key to survival, and in this life, I have things to protect, and the means by which to do so. It has been eight years since I began to study Magecraft. Seven since I began to learn how to control the spells and techniques inscribed within the Vine Magic Crest.

Due to the Vine's specialty, where all but a few geniuses and ascetics with strange designs for self inflicted head transplants would need an Incantation to establish even one Bounded Field under such confines, as the Heir to the Vine Clan I was able to seamlessly integrate several with but a few gestures. The effects of my Pure Eye Lenses serves to enable a smooth alteration to the magical effects already in place around our cabin.

"An adequate suite." The icy voice of Trisha Fellows rings out with grudging approval in her tone as she evaluates my work, "An alarm keyed to the three of us. A ward against obfuscating effects, designed to cannibalize itself to power a dispelling effect on the trespasser." Her eyes narrow further, "A counter?" She stares at me, eyes curious.

"It records how many times it's been bypassed, transmitting that information to me each time I pass through it." Attempts to circumvent the security of an ancient vampire's ancient train meant to accommodate and transport ludicrously valuable objects like Mystic Eyes...Weren't likely to work. Instead, it was more prudent to simply ensure that I would know 'Did someone pass through this door?' each time we entered and exited the cabin. On one's home territory, there were no doubt countless workarounds for any more active defenses available to any bloodsucker which wants to prey upon us. Better to at least have forewarning of a trap before it's sprung, and simple passive monitoring such as that was less likely to arouse the ire of the staff.

I'm sure the other passengers in the Varnish section rely upon less elegant methods to keep watch on their residences for the duration of the trip. Probably familiars, gimmicky Mystic Codes or some other less impressive nonsense.

"I had expected something a bit more…" Dame Fellows begins, "impressive, from a Clan such as yours, Vineas Vine."

I snort, "Only a fool stomps around in a viper's nest and expects to not get bitten." My eyes meet her own challengingly.

"Well, good work Vinea!" Olga intercedes on her governesses behalf, no doubt saving her from an utterly humiliating loss to a thirteen-year old, "All of this has been hard work, let's grab something to eat!" Silver hair bobs authoritatively, and I can't help but shrug.

Somewhat appropriately, my stomach takes that moment to voice its agreement, "So long as they don't try and serve us meat pies or anything." I say with a long-suffering sigh.

The three of us finally exit, having secured our territory as we make our way to the meal coach. My friend takes the lead, her poise proud, which only makes circumstances all the more comical when she walks straight into a tall figure, standing just outside in the hall himself. The stranger, dressed in a black suit, his face drawn and almost haggard, is framed by long, black hair. The eleven year old girl bounces off the grown man, and I easily catch her before she falls to the ground.

"Watch where you're going." He all but growls, gloved hands adjusting a tie as his long black hair shifts from the girl's soft impact. A twinge of faint recognition hits me then, but before I can put a name to the face, he has already left my field of vision.

"My apologies," Olga answers back with reflexive, consummate grace, but too late, as the gentleman leaves as suddenly as he had appeared, a faint grumbling carried through the air the sole remaining evidence of the brief encounter.

We proceed to the dining coach, where several of our fellow passengers are already seated. It is as we claim a table for our own, that a harsh, hateful whistling drowns out all other sound. Once, twice, comes the shrill shriek of steam, and a booming voice, tinged with Mystery fills our ears.

"All passengers, this train will now be departing. Ticketers will now be performing a final check for those on board, and then we will begin our journey." There is a pause, as a uniformed man appears from shadow, doffing his cap towards us in greeting. Eyes the color of blood meets our own, one by one. There is a muted shuffling of paper as train tickets are retrieved by all present, and it is but the work of moments before the ticketers job is complete, melting back into the darkness with a polite bow.

The whistle screams a final time, like a great, lumbering beast taking deep, desperate breaths. A monster, denied air for for who knows how long, finally being blessed with the opportunity to breath the fresh, clean air. The train groans as a morose light from the engine glows brighter, washing over and through the coach, like a stoked brand serving the place of a whip, pistons and pulleys pull taut and move, the muscles and sinews of the creature in which we now dwell heave with the dire direction of its riders. It is with a sense of tugging and profound weightlessness that the Rail Zeppelin begins its journey on the eve of the Fifth Grail War.

"They really do have meat pie after all," I glare at the menu disdainfully, "And it even says best tried after the night of the first day for peak freshness." My lips quirk into a grimace, "They're not even trying to hide it!" I slap my thirteen year-old hands onto the table in front of me with a groan, and my discontent is accompanied by the light tittering of Olga-Marie Animusphere.

"Well, what do you expect?" Her lips quirk into a smile, "There are Dead Apostles running the train." My grimace deepens.

"That isn't the point." I sigh, "They're advertising that people on this train will be turned into food." My shoulders hunch, "Why doesn't that bother you?" It's an old argument between us. One of the most difficult things to accept about my changed circumstances, a core part of ******, and the current Me, Vineas Vine.

It is with an indulgent smile that Olga turns towards me, "They're only mundanes, Vinea." A dainty, pale hand pats my shoulder, "And you can hardly save them all, you know."

Yes, that's true. I can not save them all. I can not right every wrong before my eyes. I am still only a child, I am still weak. And I am alone, at least in this. I say as much for my own benefit, but while Olga-Marie Animusphere could be warm and caring in her own dare I say special way, she is a magus to her very core. The affection she carries is that of a Lord over her fief. To her, those she cares for are her possessions, and as such she will treat them with all the concern her property merits.

But that did not carry true for strangers, those faceless individuals that make up the crowd. It is a difficult thing to adjust to, that for all the maturity this young girl before me possesses, as real as she is...There was no depth to her love for others, and I suspect that there never would be. I, and perhaps her father, and almost certainly Lev Lainur... and mayhap a few others she may meet over the years, will cause her to reach out, and truly care for them. But she holds no love for her common man, and that is a difficult truth to bear.

In the end, she is still my friend, even though we argued about the subject over the years. And as weak as I am, if forced to choose between those faceless masses whom I was helpless to protect and the person right in front of me, I can only put those before my eyes first. I truly am no better than this young girl besides me.

But then, that is what it means to be a magus, is it not?

A shadow casts itself over my shoulder as I stare down at the table, "Hey there." an unfamiliar voice greets us, "Mind if I join you three?" The blonde among us sets her lips into a scowl, ready to issue a refusal. But she is too slow, and her master had already made her decision.

"Certainly." Olga-Marie answers, her voice soft, yet commanding. I look up, and am greeted by yet another pair of glasses, the frames thick, but too thick to hide light blue eyes. A mop of light brown hair lays upon his head, twinging yet another sense of recognition. Something tells me he is in the wrong clothes, however.

My line of thought is broken by the sound of a chair scraping against the floor of the car, as our nameless guest drags it from where he had been seated prior.

"Thanks," The young man says after taking his seat, "It's kind of lonely just being here by myself, you know?" The smile seems genuine, if tinged by nostalgia, "My name is Caules Forvedge, by the way. Next head of the Forvedge Family." He glances at us in turn, as I wrack my mind to try and recall the name.

"I am Olga-Marie Animusphere, Future Head of the Animusphere," She gestures towards herself as Caules eyes widen in surprise, "This is my governess, Trisha Fellows." The blonde woman inclines her head, the naked disdain tampered down in the face of someone with decent social standing by her standards, "And this is my bodyguard-"

"Vineas Vine." I reach out my hand to him to offer for a shake, the sound of the letter y teasing at my lips, "It's a pleasure." He takes it then, and I feel my the hairs on the back of my neck raise from the static charge.

Ah.

Caules Forvedge Yggdmillenia.

Or not, in this world. No wonder I had felt something was wrong with his outfit. He lacks the pinnacle of fashion inherent to the Yggdmillenia Clan. I suppose that means either the Clan's leader, Darnic Prestone Yggdmillenia is long dead, or that he never would have dared to absorb other clans so relentlessly without the Greater Grail on hand. Well, I had already known that Darnic had failed to steal the Grail given Lord Animusphere's circumstances, but this was still nice to know. My mind drifts off towards thoughts of intimidating necromancers in biker jackets, and I hope that that man had achieved some measure of happiness after all.

"Are you alright?" Caules' voice broke me out of my reverie as Olga giggles.

"Don't mind Vinea, Sir Forvedge." My friend tittered with a smile, "He sometimes spaces out like that over the most[I] random[/I] things."

A hand reaches up, tussling my hair, "I knew someone who was like that sometimes." He says, a warm smile on his face, "From how I could hear you talking earlier, I kind of figured you two were alike."

I roughly shove off the offending limb, I was over ten years your elder, dammit! "I remind you of someone?" I ask, glaring with all the indignation this thirteen-year old body could muster, "A sister, or something?"

Caules face flinches at the reminder, "Just…" He pauses, considering, "Just someone who isn't here anymore."

Well, I suppose it isn't some great surprise that Caules' wheelchair bound sister had perished, what with the complications in her legs to worry about. I wonder, would they have been happier in that world? At least they would have still been together then, right?

"So what brings you here?" Olga, ever the nag, inquires of our new acquaintance.

He scratches the back of his head, laughing nervously, "I'm actually here with my teacher to run an errand. It was kind of a last minute thing."

"Similar to our own circumstances." I say knowingly, casting a suspicious glance toward Trisha Fellows, who chooses to ignore aspects of reality that she doesn't like. Such as her age-

"Oh?" The face of the boy before us remains friendly, inviting, but takes on a false sheen. A mask casually slid into place, "I'm guessing you got an invitation, as well?"

If the man is going to be so unsubtle while fishing for information, there's no reason that we can't make a trade of it, "No, more like we invited ourselves when we heard about what was on offer."

Blue eyes turned icy, and my nose catches the faint whiff of ozone, "Anything specific?"

"Well-" I drawl, glancing towards Olga only for a pair of hands to slam into the table between us, a shock of gold filling my vision.

"What else?!" A barely remembered voice breaks through the clamor of conversation, "It's Mystic Eyes, of course!" With a casual toss of hair, the incredibly memorable face (and personality) of Arciel Yves du Bifronnes appears before my eyes once again.

"Ha!" Her teeth are as white as ever, "I'd recognize that color anywhere, Vinea!" The woman grabs one of my hands in both of hers, "It almost feels like the hand of Fate at work that you're here, and I'm here too!" Her eyes glance over the rest of the table, roving hungrily as she dismisses the other two girls, though she raises an eyebrow at Caules, before meeting my eyes once again, "I've been looking forward to this."

A coughing sound reaches our ears, amber irises narrow in annoyance at the newly arrived interloper, "Hello." Her eyes shift, the weight of her gaze crushing upon my captured hand, "Isn't it the height of impropriety to make such a scene and interrupt our conversation without at least introducing yourself?" A silver eyebrow raises in challenge, the force of the expression washing over its target ineffectually.

"Aha," Bifronnes huffs out, her expression unchanging, and she continues to stare at me unblinkingly, rather than so much as second-glance at Olga, "I'm Arciel, Arciel Yves du Bifronnes." Her eyes make me feel uncomfortable, as if they are drinking in my very presence, "Me and Vinea here go way back."

Olga's expression blanches, "H-how long have you known him?" She asks, and the question makes me feel a chill run down my spine. Danger. There is danger here!

"Five years, at least." The golden haired woman before me answers easily, "Sometimes it's hard to keep track, you know?" I glance back towards Caules, who merely looks upon me with an expression of pity. Your pity is worthless, offer me help!

"O-oh!" My friend folds her arms across her chest, "I've known Vinea far longer than that!" She huffs proudly.

This too, goes ignored by the creepy woman before me, "I've wanted to see you! Your unique color, I've looked and looked and looked all this time, and never seen the like again!" Her face begins closing the distance, and I desperately attempt to kick my seat back.

Damn these stubby, childlike legs!

"And now you're here on this Mystic Eye Collection Train." Too bright teeth, like predatory jaws, continue to close the distance, "With Little Miss Genius, and now me, and so many other interesting people." Her face fills my vision, an unnatural hunger hidden behind doll-like eyes, "I've been waiting for this." Bifronnes pants, hot air blowing against my face even as I break out into a cold sweat.

I gulp. I need an adult. Sadly, that adult appears to be me and is utterly useless for the task at hand.

The moment passes, and the woman backs away from the table, finally letting go of my hand as golden strands dance through the air, her bearing is as if the moment never happened, "I'm looking forward to your performance, Vinea!" With a casual wave and a cheerful tune on her lips, the older woman departs.

"So." Olga-Marie breaks the resultant silence, "How did you meet with the Mystic Eye Pervert, Vinea?"

Caules stills in his chair, and I blink, "Wait, 'Mystic Eye Pervert'?" My hands reach my forehead, attempting to massage a growing tension headache, "What kind of a nickname is that?"

"Lady du Bifronnes," Olga begins, expression distasteful, "Is a woman in her twenties, and the result of a very…" She grimaces, "Eccentric experiment. The Bifronnes are a family which specialize in the perception of the world through the Noble Color system."

I stare at her, "That's exceedingly specific."

"No more specific than people that try to reach the Origin through creating perfectly beautiful young women." Caules points out, as if speaking from experience. Ah, right. That Silver and Gold sister thing was only a few months ago, wasn't it?

Olga clears her throat primly, "So, the family had prepared an entire array of spells that would supplement an individual born with the traits necessary to perceive the world through those colors. Pure Eyes." She adds, glancing at my own spectacles, "Her parents adjusted her, and succeeded. Too well." She snorts derisively, "So now she sees things in weird colors all the time, and apparently has taken a liking to collecting Mystic Eyes that catch her fancy. For whatever reason."

"That does explain her presence here." I point out first to get out of the way, to the agreement of the rest of the table, "Although it doesn't explain why she zeroed in on me. Twice." I say, to focus on what's really important. Me, specifically.

"Where did you meet, exactly?" My friend asks, her eyes narrow.

"At your celebratory party back five years ago." I answer, "She confronted me out of nowhere and acted incredibly creepy." The silver haired girl before me looks me over, expression imperious for a long, drawn out moment.

Finally, she nods, "Well, while I may not know the exact reason, at least she appears to appreciate your proper value." I keep my memory of the golden haired woman's dismissal of my friend on that occasion to myself.

It is at that moment, that a waiter finally arrives and we order our brunch at last.

…

Caules gives his goodbyes and departs. With conversational security back in place, I turn back to my companions, "Something been bothering me, where exactly will the auction be taking place?" I presume that the Varnish section coaches are too cramped. Even with the cabins' generous space allotment there were only eight of them, and all are filled, from what Fellows had informed us. Then again; Magecraft.

The governess in question glares and adjusts her glasses at me, "There is a scheduled stop during the second night of the trip at a hidden station on the line's route. The auction will be held there." She nods confidently.

"I see," Olga stands, eyes gleaming, "Then that gives us two days with which to keep ourselves entertained." This is true. As a veteran of many road trips in my past life, I had been sure to pack along the essentials: Idle entertainment. Now that we had entered the new millennium, at long last, I had been sure to invest in a G***boy Advance, and with it, make up for one of the few regrets from my first go at childhood: A third generation P***mon game! Yes, now that I didn't have Lord Vine breathing down my neck to ensure that I stuck to a strict training regimen I can-

"Let's go explore the train!"

"Wait- what?" I stare at the energetically nodding eleven-year old girl who's pointing towards me, as if deliberately poking a hole in my idle thoughts and dreams, "But...why."

"What do you mean, Vinea?" Olga's head tilts to the side curiously, "Weren't you the one who cared about the mundanes to begin with?" I don't want to get to know them, I just want to keep them from being treated like livestock! "Well, now's your chance!" She grabs my arm and begins to drag me out of my seat, "It's not as if they'll still be here tomorrow!" It's with a mournful cry in my heart that I give in to her urging, and thus she drags me from my seat.

I turn a piteous, almost pleading glance towards the allegedly responsible adult in our group. Dame Trisha Fellows answers my look with one of contemplation, our silent exchange lasting a small eternity before a kind, gentle smile appears upon her features.

"You two have fun, My Lady."

I may have been joking before about exacting petty vengeance, woman. But just for that I'm going to adjust your dating profile to say that you're only attracted to children and devastatingly aged-looking old men!

…

The pair of us exit through the rear of the dining coach, facing the connection between the Varnish and Business sections.

"Why is this in the open air?" My friend asks, her breath misting in the cold of winter. I glance about, the mystic partitions between the two coaches are as clear as daylight before the lens I wear. There was a curious amount of shaking, and as I look down, I note the blurred landscape and the rails beneath us in a thick line, interspersed with streaks of earthy brown.

"I'm guessing to keep the sections distinctly separate." I say after a moment, the atmosphere of the partitioned space emits a compelling desire for segregation, the idea that one must not cross this divide, even on pains of death, "To keep the mundanes away from us."

Olga nods, before hopping over the brief space between the two carriages. I can't help but shake my head in exasperation, "You do realize how fast we're going, don't you?" I call out to her over the sound of the screeching train.

She smiles back confidently, "If it is dangerous you would have said so, Vinea." The girl turns her back to me, hand already grasping the handle to open the door to where the Business class passengers stayed, "Come on, then! We'll never get anywhere before nightfall if you don't hurry up!"

I sigh before following, the pair of us entering the interior of the carriage, which appears remarkably similar to the one which we ourselves occupy. Did we get ripped off? To think that a vampire would be even worse than modern airlin-Oh wait.

There are no mystic enchantments set along the cabins in this section. Interesting. Did that mean that the owner of the train doesn't care what happens in the lesser two sections of the train, so long as they paid beforehand? Olga and I walk forward, nearly bumping into a man in a heavy grey trenchcoat.

"Good afternoon!" The young girl besides me greets with the type of cheery upfrontness that usually has the exact opposite effect of its disposition, "How are you liking things in this lesser section of the train, sir?" I look upon the no doubt offended adult before me, his expression inscrutable beneath layers of white bandages, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat. In silence, he inclines his head, before quietly navigating around us to the rear of the cabin. With the sound of rushing air, I realize that he had exited into the section of the train we had just departed from.

"Oh?" A new voice, smooth and clear, like a curious and affected ring that contrasts and overpowers the faint, ambient sound of rushing air that was ever present within this train, "Who might we have here?" I turn to face the source, standing idly within the doorway to one of the cabins.

Long, pale fingers grasp the thin, wooden door, the action seemingly stunningly natural. My breath shakes as she looks down upon us with dark eyes behind crystal clear lenses. The unerring white of her skin contrasts with the deep shadows of hair, falling back in a murky waterfall that spills down to her ankles, swaying with the motion of the train. Framing her form was long sleeved robe, dyed a deep ocean blue, and wrapped around her waist was a purple obi, a golden tassel wraps around it to complete the image of picturesque elegance.

The beauty before us was clearly Japanese and-

A snake.

I blink.

The air of a magus wafts from the woman before me, and I find myself instantly on guard. My eyes eyes drift towards my self appointed charge, to find her own eyes warily meeting mine.

"I apologize for my rudeness," The woman before us continues, the back of her hand hiding her mouth demurely, the arms of her dress falling downward to reveal skin like porce-Ow! Why did you pinch me, Olga?!

A tittering sound fills the hall, followed by the sliding of wooden panels, as this stranger comes out to join us, "Allow me to introduce myself; I am Hishiri Adashino." She bowed slightly, "It's an honor to meet you here, Lady Animusphere." Her eyes turn towards me, irises twinkling, "And Lord Vine, as well."

"Hmph," My friend huff, her nose turns up into the air in an imperious sniff, "I suppose that is to be expected," I recognize the moment her eyes turn speculative, "How do you know of us?"

"As a member of the Faculty of Law, it's only to be expected that I would know of you, My Lady." Adashino bows again, this time slightly more casual. I suppress a twitch, "I can't say that I had expected two of such high standing to be here by themselves." She straightens up, adjusting her spectacles as she does so, "What brought this about, if I may ask?"

Olga pauses and I step in smoothly, "Why do you think, Dame Adashino?" Addressing her by that title seems a bit much, but I trust it was a safe bet. After all, though she was likely considered an apostate for her chosen path, those within the Faculty of Law were of no small power within the Mage's Association.

There are twelve faculties in the Clock Tower, tied into the teaching of Magecraft:

[*]General Fundamentals, which covered the basic theory of magecraft. The majority who enter the Clock Tower spend their first time learning general magical theory, relating to things such as sympathetic magic, leylines, and mana studies.

[*]Individual Fundamentals, which are the next step towards specialization in specific fields.

[*]Spiritual Evocation, which researches matters relating to the summoning and manipulation of spiritual entities such as a soul, wraiths, or certain types of magical creatures.

[*]Mineralogy, which handles the study of natural materials and their magical nature. Subjects such as Jewel Magecraft are studied in greater detail here.

[*]Zoology, which looks into matters regarding living creatures, often centering around the study and development of chimera.

[*]Anthropology, is more of a social science, and also known by the name of Lore. Though this still has the study of humanity under its purview, it is more accurate to refer to "Humans and that relating to them" as the Sixth Faculties area of study.

[*]Botany, the Seventh Faculty is that which delves into flaura and its applications in magecraft.

[*]Celestial Body, otherwise known as Astronomy Facility, covers the study of the heavens in a very general sense. In all it's literal and esoteric terms.

[*]Creation, is as pretentious as its name implies from my perspective. The domain of those craftsman obsessed with proving their superiority. Form over function, as it were, but they are still all but unequaled in their field the world over.

[*]Curse, is the Faculty in charge of studying lingering magical effects the world over. What defines a Curse in the Mage's association is not something as simple as malice, but more a self propagating magical formula. Thus, it covers a wide field.

[*]Archaeology, in comparison to the Sixth Faculty, the Eleventh is focused on the study of history in general, rather than merely that which relates to humankind. The recluses among the recluses which is the Clock Tower, it is this Department which so strongly appeals to those who look towards the past with wonder.

[*]Modern Magecraft Theories, the most recent Faculty, the Twelfth is focused on the study and development of that Magecraft which carries with it an air of modernity, taking into account concepts and technologies introduced and developed in the past century. Perhaps the foremost example of this would be the hodgepodge mess of a Foundation known as "Chaos Magic".

The Vine have a very good relationship with Anthropology, I myself intend to ingratiate myself into Archaeology, and Olga-Marie's father is the head of Celestial Body. But, perhaps most ominously, there is a thirteenth faculty tied to the Clock Tower: Focused towards social sciences and the enforcement of Magi culture, the thirteenth department, which eschews the research of magecraft, for the sake of maintaining the power and privilege of the Clock Tower, is an outcast from the majority of the Magical World.

But in that world, to be an outcast and survive requires no small amount of power, even by the standards of the Lords that rule over it.

Thus, I address her with respect. For those who declare allegiance with the Thirteenth Faculty in the outside world are either fools or confident against all those whom they would encounter. Either way, they are unpredictable.

This place stinks of being a trap. It sounds like a trap. Feels like a trap. It is a trap. It is too damn suspicious not to be, and if there is a member of the Thirteenth Faculty here, that is as sure a sign of trouble as if we had stumbled across a sudden invitation to the reading of a will of a distant uncle or something.

"You've caught us at a disadvantage, I'm afraid," I answer her question with my most disarming smile, "Is it really fair that you know everything about us before we can ask a question ourselves? And on a first meeting, no less?"

A giggle escapes her lips, hidden demurely behind her hand, "Fair enough, My Lord." Her head inclines slightly, bangs fluttering slightly with the motion, "Ask away."

I consider the obvious question of 'What are you doing here?' for but a moment, before realizing that it would only justify her asking in kind. No, it's better to try and draw the conversation away from dangerous waters, "For a member of the Thirteenth Faculty to be present, I find myself worried." I give an exaggerated sigh, "Have you encountered any self-styled detectives, Dame Adasino? I would hate to have accidentally stumbled into the plot of an old murder mystery novel." I can feel Olga glaring at me, having turned down the opportunity for a true investigation, but behind the light, patronizing giggle that follows I see a minute twitch flicker briefly upon the woman's pale features. The self control of one who walks the path of Magecraft is all but impeccable, and their resistance to pain and surprise is immense. Further, in order to walk the path of enforcing law and etiquette upon the incredibly violent law of Magi, requires one to be able to possess an even more exceptional poise, on top of that.

Thus, as much in this life is my previous one, audacity will be my most treasured tool, and my most valuable partner. Here, too, it proves it's worth in overcoming even this snake's composure, if only by a microscopic margin.

"That's quite the imagination you have there, My Lord." Adashino turns a knowing look towards my friend, "Is he naturally so creative, My Lady?"

Olga gives the sigh of the long suffering, a palm absently reaches her forehead, "Yes, I can hardly take him anywhere. His terrible sense of humor and leering are painfully embarrassing habits of his."

I do not leer! I think to myself, doing my best to spontaneously develop either telepathy or Pyrokinetic spells, whichever would let me best transmit my displeasure to this insufferable girl beside me!

"My sense of humor is flawless," I state with all due gravity, my arms folding over my chest, "You are merely too young to understand it." I channel all the experience I have over two lives to create the perfect image of aristocratic condescension.

"Hmph!" Olga snorts, amber eyes glaring at me, "You say that despite being only two years older than I am, Vinea!"

My immaculately cared for hand rises up, palm reaching my forehead before running my fingers elegantly through the blond strands of my hair, "Two years is all the world, my dear Olga." I affect a nostalgic sigh, "The road to puberty is one fraught with great peril, but bestows those who walk it with equally great wisdom."

"And perversion." I scoff.

A true giggle fills the hallway once again, Adashino looks upon us with an amused expression, "Now now, My Lords, there's no reason to fight." Her hands wave at us placatingly, eyes twinkling, "Are you having fun, exploring the train?"

"Somewhat," Olga replies instantly, "We're about to go see what the third section looks like."

"Ah." The woman before us nods in understanding, "Do be careful, this train does cater towards those of a less savory nature, and they often gather in the rear of it." She glances out a window, the sole beam of sunlight already taking on a slightly red hue, "Well, do not let me stop you two. I bid you good day for now, My Lord, My Lady." She bows slightly at the waist, we nod respectively in turn, before she makes her way past us. We stay silent as we walk ahead ourselves, when in short order the sound of rushing wind reaches our ears.

"Well, you certainly made a fool of yourself, Vinea. Again." Olga snorts, as we reach the door to the outside. Her dainty hand pulls it open with a certain degree of unwarranted viciousness.

"I do not leer." I reply with affected dignity, holding the door- like a gentleman, thank you very much, Olga!- open for her to pass through before, following her into the accordion connecting the this coach with the next one. As I close the door behind me, my free hand makes a sweeping gesture, completing the Bounded Field and ensuring a certain level of privacy, "And the evidence just keeps piling up." I add, as Olga turns to glare at me, hands on her hips.

"Yes, well, that's why both you [I]and Trisha are here with me, Vinea." My eyes nearly bulge with her continued flippancy.

"Can you at least tell me why you trust her sources enough to take this risk in the first place?" Exasperation tinges my words, and I do my utmost to keep my voice level. Even so, Olga noticeably flinches back. It seems that I had been more expressive than I thought.

The future head of Chaldea looks to the side, face vulnerable for but a second, before her features set and hands clench into fists, as she faces me in full, "I can not." Her golden eyes imperious, expression filled with a hardened determination, "As the future Head of the Animusphere, it is my duty to keep the trust of those who work under me."

I roll my eyes until I'm looking away from her, and sigh. I was in the midst of a mixture of honest feelings, and perhaps a tinge of adolescent fueled melodrama, but the gesture allows me to drink in our surroundings and confirm the continued absence of magecraft in this section. Curious. I run my hand through my hair until I can marshall my own resolve. After a moment, I find myself matching her gaze, "...And what of my trust, Olga?"

She looks away, "Y-you promised." Her voice trembles, shoulders shaking, and so very, very small. For a moment, if only in my mind's eye, I see all that she is, as I've come to know her, and all she was, as I knew her in my past life.

Once more I sigh, This brat…

A hand reaches out, tussling her silver hair further. It's not as if I can muss it up any worse than it already is, after all.

"Yes, I suppose I did." With that statement I dispel the Field around us, and enter into the Coach ahead, an unremarkable space that was a mundane echo of it's twin behind us.

After a moment that is so long I almost begin to wonder, my dear friend follows, her confidence seemingly restored.

…

The third section, Goods, is markedly different from both prior ones. In place of the orderly defined eight cabins, which had dominated the residential coaches of Varnish and Business, the space here was halved, and then halved again, turning both sides of the hall we now walk down into walls consisting of sixteen doors each. Cramped confines to be sure, there was no doubt that there would be barely enough room in the individual cabins for two longer couches and enough room to comfortably move around, they might even need to store their luggage in overhead compartments, the poor bastards.

Huh.

Maybe I'm more acclimated to the perspective of an aristocrat than I thought?

"Again?" Olga mutters to herself, striding past me. I can't help but wonder what her problem is, but there's really no helping it by this point. A few doors open into the hall and some children come pouring out, playing around and shouting incoherently before they spot the two of us. Naturally, we play around for a fair bit and humor their games, as Olga drinks in the attention and admiration of the other kids.

I wouldn't be losing in cards otherwise. It's beneath an adult to take children seriously, you know?

So it's as the day drags on, and the sun nearly completes its descent over the horizon that I gently point out the time to the heir of the Animusphere. We take what is only moderately a rushed leave. The caboose remains unexplored, but not before I drop a few very unsubtle hint for our temporary companions to not go there. Especially if the cushions in their cabins are uncomfortable to lay down in.

The face of my friend is bright as we return, only one person has passed through, and we are welcomed by the extremely unwelcome and stern face of Dame Fellows, who declares it time to retrieve dinner, before explaining over our meal that if only we had returned earlier we could have taken our meals with the Lord El-Melloi as well-

I bite my tongue.

"Lord El-Melloi is here?!" What was Waver Velvet doing present on this damn train?! One of my favorite characters in the setting, his dour expression and faint smell of cig-oh my God Olga nearly bowled the poor man over and I didn't even notice.

My face falls down into my hands, wincing from a pain both physical and emotional. A tiny hand pats my back in commiseration, and I felt the weight I kept there shift a bit from the impact. It was a nice gesture, but ultimately meaningless. I need to grab the girl besides me and force her to apologize at the first available opportunity. That opportunity being right now. I raise my head, looking Fellows in the eye, "Where is he? We should go and apologize for not greeting him properly immediately." I try to put as much urgency into that last word as possible, and the old hag before me simply grins smugly in response, damn her!

"Lord El-Melloi said he would be most interested in greeting you, but said that with his apprentice in tow he was [I]quite[/I] tired from the days exertions. After taking their dinner they retreated back to their room, you see." Her eyes took on a malicious glee, in that moment, "And he requested privacy until he was ready to call upon us." I resolved to add 'is attracted to particularly pungent odors' to her dating profile in that moment, then cursed the fact that even if Waver had been born as a mere third-generational magus, as a Lord of the Clock Tower, and head of the Modern Magecraft Faculty, he still had the standing necessary to dictate how we would meet.

He doesn't even care if we're the heirs to Lords of comparable social standing! So cool~

…

I awake to dawn's first rays of sunshine pouring in through a gap in the wooden shutter partitioning my bunk from the rest of the cabin. I made the narrow gap in it's slats to serve in place of an alarm. The sound of rushing water reaches my ears, it's the cabin's washroom in use. I realize that the one using it is likely Dame Fellows, and I consider just how much I value spite versus the escalation in inconvenience, were I to act upon it. Alas, caution wins the day, and I decide to push the moment of sweet vindication towards exploring methods to bearing witness to the trainwreck of her inevitable blind date. There was no way I would be caught on the management side of things, of course, and for all that my father was familiar with modern technology, he wouldn't have the time to spare attention to such petty abuses of power.

Yes. I could picture it now: The look of blank shock. Her pupils widening in surprise. The pallor bleaching her already fair skin, the nostrils flaring at the inevitably rancid body odor. The firm set of resolve to push through with it because she's just that much of a trooper. Aaaaaaaaah! It would be so magnificent!

"Vinea…" Olga-Marie's voice groaned tiredly, "It's too early for that creepy laugh of yours…"

"It's not too early- and my laugh isn't creepy…" I reply back with aristocratic dignity, retrieving my portable gaming system before distracting myself from the darker urges that well deep within my tortured, poet's soul. Man, women sure are cruel creatures, aren't they?

Time passes in such a fashion until it is finally my turn ("Ladies first, Vinea!") and in so doing we greet the day with a continental breakfast in the dining car.

I avoid the blood sausage on offer because that level of irony is a bit too dark for my taste, thank you.

Which reminds me, "I'm going to spend the morning checking out the rear end of the train again." I announce to the table as Caules walks in, and the bandaged man from yesterday follows in shortly behind him.

"Oh?" The teenager speaks up, making a beeline towards our table, his temporary companion taking a seat by himself as a shock of straw-colored hair peeks through his wrappings, "What for?"

"Vinea is probably just feeling like he needs a rematch with some mundane children he lost badly to yesterday," Olga says in a stage whisper as she fiddles with a grapefruit, "He's very competitive."

"And you are very subtle, Olga."

"Really?" The older man chuckles, rubbing my hair for the second time in two days, "I guess you're really a kid after all." But I'm not, though, "I guess even you must find this kind of stuff boring too, huh?"

"That is true…" Wait, Caules was into computers and such, wasn't he? I casually reach into my pocket, flashing him a piece of brightly colored plastic, it's white buttons and screen catching the light just so, "But honestly, I'd like to get a look at the rest of the train. We both got caught up with those children, so we never got to finish what we were there for in the first place."

"You're just jealous because I won."

"Those kids were sharks, Olga. They only let you win because you were a girl with funny looking hair."

"All's fair in love and- Wait a second! You take that back my hair is not funny!"

"People who are wrong about a man's laughter say 'what'." I almost mutter.

"What?"

"A-ha!"

Caules chuckles, no doubt having caught on to the whole exchange, "I think I might join you two." Olga and I nod, eager to get started, yet Dame Fellows chooses that moment to show just how wet her blanket really is and loudly clears her throat.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, My Lady." She inclines her head towards Olga, "We are waiting for an opportunity to greet Lord El-Melloi when he calls upon us this morning, we can not afford to leave him waiting after your rudeness yesterday."

My friend looks towards me pleadingly, and while normally I would absolutely love to tell some random noble to take a hike or to spite her governess in this regard I felt we needed to have Waver in our corner as firmly as possible in the times ahead. If Lord Animusphere is getting ready for the Holy Grail War, we would no doubt need the resources of Lord El-Melloi II on our side when the time came to establish Chaldea. I do not know the exact details of how it had been founded, but I know that the resources to assemble forty-eight reyshift-capable Masters from across the globe comes neither cheaply nor easily.

Also, he is a pretty cool guy whom I admire, able to take his formative experience in the Fourth Grail War to become an impressive Lecturer in the Clock Tower, who raised up incredibly talented students in his El-Melloi classroom. A peerless teacher, among a profession I still have a deep and abiding respect for, even now.

It is no exaggeration to say that when it comes time for me to attend classes there in a few years, his lectures are to be the first ones I will sign up for, no matter how many dirty tricks, backdoor dealings, or 'blind' dates I would have to set up in exchange. I will make it happen.

"This is a great opportunity for you to make future connections, Olga." I nod with a bright smile on my face, "You should definitely take advantage of it." I nod again, seriously, "Ser Forvedge and I will simply take our time exploring the train later, and then I'll try and make my own introduction."

"Actually," The young man besides us interrupts, "I happen to know his apprentice." A dark eyebrow raises itself, "I can set up a chance to introduce you both to him later, if you'd like."

Olga's eyes light up, hope raised in a singular moment, "I'm afraid we'll have to decline," Trisha Fellows responds seriously, mercilessly crushing her charges bright spot, "We have our own appointment to keep with Lord El-Melloi, and it would be quite rude to reschedule in such a way after he had extended such an invitation to us."

Caules chuckles nervously, "You're probably right about that. He can get pretty scary when he's angry." He excuses himself to grab a plate before rejoining us, then, and as time passes he exchanges stories with us of the Clock Tower in London from a student's perspective, which Olga and I listen to in rapt attention.

…

"So."

It is about an hour later, breakfast having concluded, as Caules and I stand at the divide between Business and Goods, when the man with the resolve to be a Master and survive the largest Grail War before the Grand Order turns towards me, his expression serious. I am no fool, and was aware that the person before me has more than enough mettle to survive a life and death struggle. With a gesture, I establish some privacy.

"Were we that transparent?" It was a legitimate concern, if I show my motivations that easily on my face, that bore poorly for future interactions in the Mage's Association at large. Best to catch it now.

Thankfully, Caules Forvedge shakes his head, "No, but you don't act like the kind of noble's son who'd get caught up in spiting a bunch of regular kids just because you lost a few hands of poker."

I laugh, then, long and loud, before looking at the young man before me with a smile full of teeth, "You would be wrong there, actually." I place my hands behind my back, leaning forward as I meet the taller man's eyes, "Olga was telling the truth, I happen to love the idea of competing, and really hate losing without getting at least one good shot in." My lips twist into a smirk, a savage beat of my heart, "But no, in this case you were right about there being another angle." With an effort of will, I force down that nostalgic, lovely, amazing feeling of utmost euphoria, and replace it with a placid, businesslike facade.

I inhale, breathing deeply. I exhale, letting it out in a rush of air.

"You know who owns this train."

Caules nods, "That Dead Apostle, right?" I nod.

"What's the difference between this car," My hand gestures behind me towards the Business Section, "And that car?" I gesture ahead of us, towards the Goods.

To the man's credit, he pauses, thinking it over as he glances between the two. I can almost see him putting together the dots, the moment that realization hits him as a closed fist hits an open palm with a meaty thud, "There aren't any enchantments in the Business class, right?"

I nod, "But there are ones over the Varnish and Goods class coaches." I receive only puzzlement in return before sighing, "First Class and Coach."

"Ooooh," He turns to look ahead, "This have to do with why you were there yesterday?"

"In my defense," I reply, "Olga really did have a lot of fun playing with the other kids." I shrug helplessly, "She just likes the attention," My fingers rub away the forming tension headache, "She's such a child sometimes."

Caules just smirks at that, for some reason, "So what were you thinking?"

"You know what they have another name for in train industry terminology for Passenger trains?" At the shake of negation I continue, "'Varnish'," Then jerk my thumb backwards.

"First class, makes sense."

"So you know what they call freight trains? The ones that carry cargo from place to place?" As the eyes of the man before me narrow, I realize that he gets it, "'Goods'." I glare ahead at the death trap behind the older magus, "And what would a vampire consider 'Goods', exactly?"

"Do you plan to do something about it?"

"I...don't really know." I say after a moment, "I can't really do anything on my own, but-"

"You don't know what you want until you confirm it with your own eyes, right?" Caules says with a shrug, "I know that feeling." He turns around, stepping towards the rear section of the train with ease, "You coming?"

As I dispel the Bounded Field behind me, for the first time I feel a distinct aura of reliability coming from the young man ahead of me.

…

The children Olga and I had played with had listened to our advice, thankfully, and their parents had indulged in the excuses they gave, enough to put up with the momentary discomfort. Fortunately for them, as those same parents had made acquaintances of their own, who had the misfortune of their own exhaustion causing them to retreat to the caboose for rest. That they had gone missing afterwards served as enough validation of their warnings, and when those same parents confronted Caules and myself we explained that there had been rumors of this line being used as a front for human traffickers, which inspired no small amount of healthy paranoia in the group.

Dutifully, Caules played the role of concerned older brother, furious at his younger sibling's recklessness to knowingly travel such a dangerous place without adult supervision, and with that affected chastisement done we bid goodbye and good luck before making our way towards the caboose of the train to investigate.

The first thing that stands out to me as we enter, is that the floor we stand on doesn't really exist.

Well, that may be an exaggeration. The floor does exist, but it isn't made of anything solid. In reality, it is part of an extremely subtle Bounded Field which encases the entirety of the caboose, enforced with concepts of subtlety and misdirection, projecting calmness and security. Caules doesn't pick up on it himself, but to my spectacles the magecraft at work is as clear as day. The older boy asks me what lay beyond it, and as I describe the formalcraft at work he can only hum in confusion, before pulling out a notebook and asking me to draw the symbols and circles that I see lining the rest area. Fortunately, a part of growing up in a magical household that works with incredibly precise dioramas means having the keen eye and steady hands of an artist.

"You know that acquaintance I told you about?" He asks me after I had finish copying down what I see in painstaking detail, the effort a work of several hours by that point. I nod, "He's really good at puzzling out stuff like this. I might be able to get him to look it over when I'm trying to get his Master to meet you," He raises his hand to stop me when I open my mouth to give him my thanks, "But I won't promise anything." He shrugs, "He's not the kind of guy to particularly care about the problems of mundanes anyway." The young magus' expression turns bitter, then, "He's got his eye on something else entirely for this trip, but he's being awfully cagey about it. Lords, eh?"

I can't help but agree with the sentiment. Aristocrats, am I right?

With a grim determination, the pair of us return to our section of the train, just in time to catch a sullen Olga and a preening Fellows in time to join them for dinner. The investigation of the trap at the back of the train had taken us all day.

…

It is a few hours after nightfall that the Rail Zeppelin comes to a complete stop. The morose voice of the Conductor manages to make apologizes for the delay sound predatory. Evidently the pause is caused by a snow drift that will be cleared out in a few hours. A knock on our door draws our attention to it. It slides open to reveal the bowing form of the ticketer from the first day.

"Sir, Madames," He begins with a slow, sonorous voice, "The Main Event is about to begin." A hand, gloved in an unsettling white leather, gestures outwards towards the hall. He lifts his head, blood-red pupils meeting our eyes, "If you would allow me to escort the three of you to the venue."

The three of us nod towards one another, Dame Fellows taking point as Olga follows behind her, my own self holds the position of rearguard. My circuits thrum with a subtle heat, my consciousness drifts towards the subtle weight on my back as we are lead through the hall, gently escorted off of the train, and onto a station drenched in darkness, obscured further by surrounding flurries of snow.

We step forward into the unknown.

We stand upon solid stone, immaculately shaped, and the platform is illuminated by cheerfully crackling torches. I blink. There is a Bounded Field of such subtle working that I hadn't noticed it immediately through my glasses? I glance back towards the train, eyes narrowing, as the vehicle blurs slightly, revealing the illusion for what it was.

Spatial Partition?

An advanced form of Bounded Field, which takes the role of a 'Boundary' and stretches the definition enough to render the affected area an entirely new region of space from beyond its border, outright. It is a Magecraft only a few steps removed from one of the pinnacles of its field, and no doubt is an incredibly complex working to be kept so immaculate, even under such hostile conditions.

Or perhaps, it is because of such conditions that it is able to remain in such good condition?

I turn away from my musings over our current environment, and fall in line behind my companions, as the vampire leads us further into the station, a polite smile upon his face the whole time.

Eyes.

Set upon a table on a raised platform are a dozen jars are filled with some form of embalming fluid, and suspended in them are the scraps of flesh and thick nerves and white orbs of human eyeballs, arranged on display for all to see. Well, I say 'all', but it appears that our party is the last to arrive, seated in front of us are the rest of the occupants of the Varnish section of the train, familiar black hair falling backwards over the back of a chair, the bandaged head of a stranger, the light reflecting off of Caules' glasses, the dark skin of another stranger that I faintly recognized from first boarding, and walking on to a podium, upon which rests an auctioneer's gavel, is the easily recognizable figure of Hishiri Adashino, this evening her kimono is a deep purple, nearly black in the torchlight, and the lighter obi now replaced by one the color of the clear blue sky with elegantly patterned wisps of clouds.

The three of us take our seats silently, and Fellows moves her head in slight negation. The Rainbow eyes aren't out yet, it seems. This means it will be up to us to play the auctioneering game, to drain our rivals of their funds ahead of time and to set up a true coup de grace when the time came for the real prize of the evening.

A shower of gold fell at my side, it's brilliant strands brushing my shoulder. I glance to the side as Arciel Yves du Bifronnes took her seat besides me, giving me an exaggerated wink as she met my eyes.

Hmph. Challenge accepted. I'll have you know that I read a ton of Xianxia stories in my past life, played the online auction houses of countless MMORPGs and spent innumerable hours on Ebay! See how you handle the skills I picked up over months spent in front of a computer screen, you normie!

…

The first test came by way of a set of Gold Ranked Mystic Eyes, a perfectly preserved pair that had been sold by an unfortunate Indian Psychic with a talent for Divination. Dame Fellows smirks at that for some reason, and opens the bidding with an offer of five thousand pounds, one which is soon followed by Arciel, who doubles the bid. Waver took a stab at it himself, raising the bid to eleven thousand, upon which the woman besides me answers by raising it to eleven thousand and one. The older man scowls in my direction, and I hastily gestured towards the instigating party, declaring my innocence with as much feigned sincere conviction as possible.

When it becomes clear that no one else is interested, I choose to test the waters, raising the bidding to an even twenty thousand, but as I meet the eyes of the woman besides me, she gives me a sly grin as the auction is called, and I am awarded the Gold-Ranked Mystic Eyes of Guidance: An advanced form of dowsing, for my troubles. It has little direct use for me, but I am sure my father would be able to find a use for the things. If they can be utilized, their ability to guide ones hands to the most correct conclusion would be invaluable for progressing work on the Etenmaki. But even so, the fact is that Arciel has still played me in this first round, and there are still at least twelve more items up for bidding.

I know that the only ones with truly comparable resources to my own are the pair of Olga and Fellows, and maybe Waver, if he has the full backing of the El-Melloi behind him. But I am suspicious of why he is here in the first place, and Arciel is known as the 'Mystic Eye Pervert'. Draining her of her resources to keep the cost of the main attraction down for Olga and myself is absolutely critical.

Next on the docket is a single orb, described as beneath Gold Rank in potency, a Pure Eye which provides information on the composition of an object. I open the bid with a half-hearted thousand pounds, which Waver follows up by raising to two thousand. From there we exchange raises up to eight thousand pounds before Arciel steps in, declaring a bid of ten. I back off, and hope that the older magus will have the common sense to realize what I am doing.

He does not, his eyes narrow into a glare as he raised the bid to eleven thousand, and I repress a sigh as Arciel merely smiled viciously at him. The bid goes to him, the 'proud' new owner of a Pure Eye of Structural Grasping, and all I can do is mourn the waste of good money on such a frivolous thing. That isn't even your money Waver, you know? Be a little more responsible, please.

It is in similar fashion that the next few auctions go, the bidding remains heated between myself, Arciel, and Waver, with an occasional bid from the two whom I did not recognize. A set of Mystic Eyes of Flame Conjuration, one eye taken off a Psychic who claimed to be capable of telekinesis but the eye had not yet been tested beyond confirming its classification, and a Pure Eye of Saturation, which let it's bearer recognize the degree by which any given object was stained by an outside influence. All three went towards Arciel. Although I had put up a bitter fight for that last one, she is triumphant in the end, with a bid of 30 thousand pounds.

The glare I shoot at her was quite real, to the point I fully admit I had forgotten I was supposed to have made her spend outrageous sums of money in the first place, you know? But can you blame me? If the Vine had been able to convert such a thing into being compatible with my Spectacles, the information we could glean through them would be absurd! Not to mention the Mystic Eyes of Dowsing I had picked up. I am sure my father could have put them towards some kind of enormously cheat-like use for the family magecraft.

Oh well. Maybe I can get Arciel to trade them for something else down the line? Or just buy them from her outright? It's not like we were lacking for money at any rate.

"This next object is incredibly valuable," My ears perk up as Adashino gestures backwards, there's a change in the atmosphere like a curtain dropping back, and the ambient magical energy spikes up, "A single Mystic Eye of the Jewel Class," She reaches back, holding it up for us to see, "Preserved since ancient times, this Mystic Eye has confirmed effects regarding the flow and connection of various energies. Tentatively titled 'Pasha', until such time as its effects are further tested out, there are standing requests from the Mineralogy, Zoology, Evocation, and Modern Magecraft Faculties to assist with experiments related to its abilities." The woman pauses dramatically, "In addition to a request from the Sea of Estray." Those around me begin to murmur excitedly.

"Bidding will begin at one hundred thousand pounds."

"One hundred fifty." The deeply tanned man declares instantly, drawing a slight gasp from...Waver Velvet. The bandaged man simply turns to stare, as well.

"Two hundred thousand." A familiar voice calls out, and I'm caught off guard by the resolute expression worn by Caules Forvedge, as he stares unblinkingly at the prize on stage.

"Two hundred and ten thousand." The first bidder raises again, glaring at the younger man with a look of utmost loathing.

"Two hundred thirty." Alciel calls out from besides me, and I can see the sweat beginning to bead on Caules face.

"Two hundred thirty-five." I raise again, and in that moment I meet Caules eyes. I don't know what he sees there, but in the next moment, he nods, and the tanned man raises the bid an additional fifteen thousand pounds.

The Heir of the Forvedge families' knuckles turn white, as he clenches his fists, "T-three hundred thousand pounds." He says with a deathly finality, and there is more murmuring that greets this latest bid, the dark-skinned blond's expression contorts in an impotent rage.

"Three hundred and one thousand pounds." Arciel calls out easily, and Caules once again meets my eyes.

"Three hundred and two thousand."

"Hmm…" The golden haired woman stares at me curiously, "Sure. You can have it." Her lips pull back, revealing too white teeth as she stares down Caules, even as the woman from the Faculty of Law declares him the winner.

Huh.

I glance back between Arciel and Caules, the two exchanging glances at once another before looking surreptitiously at me.

Seems I got myself stuck in something troublesome, I note, as the final bidder for the Pasha Eye, having picked up on the silent exchange, is now taking the opportunity to glare at me with unrestrained hatred. Hey. Hey mister. Is it okay for you to look at a kid like that?

What follows are more Gold ranked eyes, one for casting forth lightning bolts without frying the eyeball, another set of Pure Eyes that are particularly effective for perceiving spirits and wraiths and the like. These both go to Arciel. A pair of Mystic Eyes of Command, a more powerful variant of typical hypnotic suggestion. This goes to the dark skinned man. Pure Eyes which show the currents and eddies of the world as colorful streams superimposed on normal vision, those ones go to the man in bandages for an incredible sum. Mystic Eyes which adjust the weight and volume of what they focus on, depending on the energy invested into the action. These are picked up by Dame Fellows, oddly enough, but I assume she didn't want to tip her hand about only being here for the hidden showcase item.

After that were two pairs of Mystic Eyes, having belonged to a set of twins. One who could predict any action perfectly so long as it occurred in front of her, and the other who could interfere with the execution of any event that occurred before her with which she had perfect knowledge. They were auctioned as a pair, and while the Animusphere team and I made a fair game of it, ultimately the win for that set goes to Arciel for two hundred thousand pounds.

It is hard to keep down my grin, as the light of the torches dims.

"Now, I have been informed by our generous host that there will be one more item on the docket this evening. A twelfth auction, in recognition of the guests' collective ties to the Clock Tower." The auctioneer of the Thirteenth Faculty declares, the atmosphere shifts again, as a new presence makes itself felt, stifling the air. Hishiri Adashino reaches into the podium, withdrawing a thirteenth jar, suspended within is a single eye, it's iris glowing with a multicolored hue.

"Courtesy of Lady Rita Rozay-en, I present a Mystic Eye of Rainbow-Class with an undisclosed ability. The bidding will begin at five hundred thousand pounds."

Olga-Marie and I grin maliciously at one another as those around us explode into excited shouting.

…

"Two million pounds, Vinea." My friend shakes her head some hours later, the two of us having retreated to the dining car for a late night meal, "Do you even have that much money to throw around?"

I give her a cheeky grin, "Of course not, but Father does. And that is who I asked the auctioneer to both charge and ship the eye to." I puffed my chest out proudly, "No doubt he'll be furious that I spent that much money until Lord Animusphere asks about it later on."

Amber eyes roll in exasperation, "You wouldn't even be here were it not for my timely warning. Or insistence that you join me." She closes her eyes, before straightening up in her seat, huffing with indignant and aristocratic poise, "And to think." She continues, cracking open one eye to glare at me, "You were worried that this was all a trap."

"Oh, I haven't forgotten." I reply easily, "I'm still fairly certain that this is a trap for someone, even if it's not us specifically, and thus we're likely to be a target of opportunity if nothing else." A red-eyed waiter arrives, and I order a coffee with absolute relish, "Not even taking into account whatever crazy stunt Arciel is going to get up to."

Olga hums thoughtfully, "You may have a point, Vinea." With a request for tea in hand, the vampire bows, and returns to the kitchen to get our order, "She is rather dangerous. The amount of money she had was unexpected, though."

"Well, she does have a reputation. I'm less surprised that she was rich, and more surprised that she had enough money to win every bid prior to the last combined." My own eyebrows furrow, "I'd be more suspicious of the fact that she let Caules win that Jewel eye if I wasn't sure she would just hold him hostage for it later."

"The Forvedge heir?" Olga asks, and I nod, "What was going on between you, anyway?"

"A promise between men."

My friend simply shakes her head, "Well, whatever weirdness you get up to aside, who do you think is most likely to try to kill us later?"

"The tanned guy, for sure."

"The Middle Easterner? I'm pretty sure his name was...Atrum Geh...G-something."

"Gatorade?" I supply helpfully, only for Olga to glare at me again.

"No." She says with a grim finality, "That would be ridiculous." I can't help but agree, to be honest, but before I can voice that opinion the server returns with our drinks, accompanied by light snacks that we indulge in, chatting over small things, as the night drags on.

…

A twinge of warning reaches my consciousness, and I abandon the table quickly, ignoring Olga's cries of protest and questions. Over a hundred channels in my body begin to heat up, and my back becomes a furnace as I feed power into what lays rested upon it. I sprint toward out cabin, and I only have a moment to hear the sounds of Olga's frantic scrambling after me.

Within moments I arrive at our cabin, and slam the door open, no one has entered, and what lies before my eyes is a scene of horrible tragedy.

"NO!" I cry out with a primal fury, "No! This can't be real!" I fall to my knees, my hands clutching my head as I scream in frustration, anger, and loss.

Before me is the still corpse of Trisha Fellows, her eyes closed. She almost seems serene, a macabre joke that makes me stomach boil. A faint trace of silver liquid hangs from her lips, reflecting the artificial light in the cabin, "WHY WOULD SOMEONE DO THIS?!"

I hear Olga distantly ask me a question, asked in a rush of panic, until I hear her footsteps level with our doorway. She lets a scream, followed by a choked sob.

I must have spent more time trying to come to grips with this than I thought, as before I can turn around to comfort Olga, her small arms are already wrapping around my shoulders. My hesitation to turn around becomes clear, as the action is like breaking a dam, and I feel my tears flow freely as well.

"Such plans, Olga…" I finally turn around to sob breathlessly into that frail shoulder, "I had had such plans!" My friend's hands patted me consolingly on the back, her support in this harsh time more welcome than I could ever hope to truly express. Some part of me couldn't help but note a sort of dark irony. Here I was, more vocally expressing a anguish that would seem more fitting on the one who knew her better than I. "They'll pay," I choke out between tears and mucus, "Whoever did this…They'll pay dearly."

Olga can only nod through her own shaking and tears. That's right. Between the two of us, the bastard that robbed me of the chance of humiliating that Christmas Cake with a plan that I had spent [I]years[/I] fantasizing of, and the grudge that I had sunk hundreds of thousands of pounds into preparing to settle, would suffer a fate most likely worse than death.

But still, far better than they had deserved.

...

Somewhat unexpectedly, the first to arrive on scene after us is Caules. I suppose he hadn't been sleeping, which was something I could sympathize with, as I, too, had spent weeks fearing Arciel breaking into my room while I slept after the first time I had met her.

"What happened?" He asks, not unintelligently.

"A murder." I meet his gaze as I continue to hold on to Olga, silently conscripting the young man before me into being an accomplice in another such crime which would be occurring in the near future.

To his credit, Caules Forvedge attempts to contest my own will in this, but like he had suspected when we first met, I was no mere child. It is the work of moments before resignation enters his eyes and I nod in gratitude, "I'm guessing you had some Bounded Fields up?"

"I did," I confirm before giving him a rundown on the three Bounded Fields, all intact. The first was the alarm over the door, which triggered when it detected some kind of magecraft related anomaly, the second was the tripwire which was triggered to self destruct and interfere with any attempts to enter the room by stealth, and the last being the one to record the number of individuals to pass through the door other than myself, Olga, and Dame Fellows.

"So what you're saying," Caules said, "Is that no one entered through the door other than Miss Fellows over there. No one tried bringing magecraft effects through here, other than what presumably killed the woman. And no one tried to sneak past the other two Bounded Fields, is that right?"

I nod, "All three were free from tampering, and the window to the cabin was already incredibly secured against outside entry." The protections were all in place as well, unless you could ghost through walls, no one had entered or exited the room to kill Trisha Fellows other than the woman herself, "It's like a genuine Locked Room Murder." I say, almost in spite of myself.

Caules eyes narrow, "I might know someone who can help." He turns to glance back in the hall, "Do you have any idea who could have done this?"

I glance back towards the silvery liquid dripping out of the woman's mouth, "I have an idea or two. Just bring whoever you have in mind and let them investigate." I gently pull Olga to her feet, her sobs and trembling finally stopped, "This place isn't safe, and the only reason to try and kill Trisha Fellows is to get to her." The girl in question pulls at my sleeve, her grip tightening.

Caules nods, a bitter smile crossing his features, "Keep her safe, then. I'll make sure to find you later."

"Who do you think you're talking to?" I ask the man before me, who scans the hall behind him once more before departing.

"C'mon, Olga, we can't stay here." I whisper to my friend, who simply stares at the still form of her caretaker. Her shoulders stiffen, then straighten, and she looks into my eyes with a burning determination.

"We'll find whoever did this." She said with absolute conviction, "We'll make them pay." It appears as if Olga had managed to bounce back after all.

"Of course we will." Just like I knew that she would.

"And I have a plan."

…

"So what you're saying, Vinea, is that since there is only one person you know about on the train that has a mercury-based Mystic Code, chances are that they're our best lead on what happened to Trisha." Olga hisses at me as we near the accordion connecting the dining coach to the passenger coach, "And even ignoring how you know this to begin with, why do you want to ambush and take them hostage, let alone believe that you might succeed against a Lord of the Clock Tower!"

I dismiss Olga's words easily. Under normal circumstances, she'd be completely right. But Waver Velvet is a magus to the core. While he might express a scholarly interest in the method by which the murder was committed, he'll never help us solve it unless forced to by outside circumstances. Also he is terrible in a fight. I likely could take him hostage even without using any magecraft.

"Trust me, it'll work. Just hide in the Dining Coach until I give you the all-clear."

"And how do I know that the Dead Apostles will protect me any more than they did Trisha?"

"Because we're literally the only passengers that the vampires gives a damn about." I reply, "I investigated the train more fully with Caules today. None of the other sections have any of the protections that ours do. Business class has none. And Goods has wards and Bounded Fields that seem to actively encourage normal people to allow themselves to be abducted and murdered in the night." I look from side to side, spotting the heavily curtained window giving us a view of the night sky, punctuated by the flurries of snow, "So long as you're obviously where they can see you, you should be under their protection."

"Oh?" She growls, anger and fear in her eyes,"And what's to stop them from saving your would-be hostage?"

"One of our companions was killed in the space they had set aside to guarantee our safety," Yeah, that would do it, "I'm just being proactive about defending myself."

"This is stupid Vineas Vine!" Olga hisses a final time before I wave her off, enshrouding myself in a Field centered upon myself, hiding from view. With a sound somewhere between a growl and a whimper, Olga-Marie stomps into the Dining Coach, and presumably, safety.

Poor girl's scared, I think to myself, relying on memories of rock climbing and the conditioning of my thirteen year old body to scramble up the thick curtains onto the upholstery lining the ceiling of the Coach. I sigh, deeply, and breath in.

My heart beats. A pulse. A hand reaches down and squeezes the engine which pumps life through the rest of my body. My grip tightens, and with a savage grin, over a hundred channels of power flare to life.

"[I]Partition.[/I]" I say, my hand grasping at the air as if it were something solid, and dragging it back as if shutting a door. It ripples, and with a tug of effort from the Magic Circuits of myself and the Vine Magic Crest, I am all but separated from the outside world. One of the most advanced one-line spells recorded in my family's two thousand year history, an instant Spatial Partition. Inferior for long term defenses or other works like the station in which the auction had taken place, it was instead a peerless tool for staying hidden. Developed specifically to assist in observing the spaces within my family's workshop without having to be worried about the resident species noticing our presence as we recorded our findings.

Even if I only could maintain it for a few hours at most, compared to the weeks recorded in my father's notes, it was a technique more than sufficient for the task at hand. As I cling to the ceiling, the weight on my back grows more insistent, and the time for it to act on its purpose draws near.

A curse echoes down the hall, and the sound of running feet follow shortly after. A familiar figure charges down towards the Dining Car, his long, black hair swaying. I grip the upholstery with one hand, the other reaching behind my back as I drop down, swinging to gain momentum as the taller figure bulls forward, his breath already coming out in nearly winded huffs. With a thought, a latch opens on the leather bandolier I have strapped over my back, and my Partition vanishes as I swing forward, throwing all my weight into a kick aimed at the back of the man's legs.

He falls as easily as I had expected, and with a smooth motion I draw the red-bone knife, inscribed with Gaellic script, it's keen edge pressed against the throat of Lord El-Melloi II, "It's my understanding that the El-Melloi are in possession of a formidable Mystic Code composed almost entirely of mercury. One capable of acting autonomously and remotely," My hostage curses audibly, and I draw the knife closer to show him that I mean business, "Such a thing would fit the criteria for the method that took the life of Dame Fellows, don't you think?"

A sigh is my only response, but it is not from any voice I recognize. It is slightly nasal, arrogant, and aristocratic. It is the disappointment of a man who knows that he will not like the answer but feels an obligation to ask that question [I]regardless[/I]. The resignation of a man who is aware of his own place in the world, and the inevitable incompetence that he finds himself surrounded by. A true noble, in other words.

A true genius.

"Ordinarily I would ask how you came about such information, young man," A sense of deja vu strikes me, a singular possibility that I attempt to deny for the sheer impossibility of it, "But I'm afraid that I am more overwhelmed at the rather disappointing performance of the man you are currently holding at knifepoint, as if you were but a common hoodlum."

Slicked back yellow hair, and eyes like hard sapphires stare at me. He stands calmly, with the patience of a lecturer who has dealt with far too many rowdy students, his hands folded neatly behind his back.

"Regrettable as it is for me to admit, the man beneath you is my apprentice, and thus I will need you to let him go, lest I take certain disciplinary measures against you."

My jaw drops of its own accord, and the dead man before my eyes smirks, drinking in my reaction with a look of utmost satisfaction.

It is either because of, or in spite of, the fact the enormous gravity of the situation suddenly became so much larger than I previous thought, that I was able to speak more confidently than I felt.

"Lord Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald."

A gloved hand raises to meet his chin speculatively, and it is with great pride that he so solemnly declares:

"None other."

A.N.: Christ, this was a chore to shoot out this weekend, but mad props goes towards DawnGazer for spending nearly eight hours helping me betaread this nonsense! Once again, credit goes to The Out Of World for the use of his OC, Arciel Yves du Bifronnes. For this chapter, in lieu of being able to just nakedly rip off the actual Rail Zeppelin in canon, I was forced to improvise. There's several disparate forms of inspiration that I welded together into this absolute mess of an arc, but the two biggest are without a doubt the El-Melloi Case Files and a great little story called Kenkyo Kenjitsu, which is the story of an honest, hard working girl reincarnated into the main villain of one of her favorite shoujo mangas and her resulting struggles.

The stage is set, the Mystery begins, and the time has come for the Detective to take the stage!

Who is it?

Well.