h o r i z o n

[Swift!]

The smell of coffee in the morning, radiating from the living room of a small apartment. Gentle fog sweeps through a Barsburgian port city, a trio of young children crowding around a painstakingly decorated and served table. A silver haired mother watches over in good care. The family enjoys breakfast, preparing for a long journey over seas, the assumed father figure distanced and in another room. Living a separate life entirely. This is the last time the three children will see him, or at least that is what they are told. The implication doesn't openly rattle the children, all already aware to the cold and aloof care of their father. None the less, it was a special morning.

Traveling around Barsburg territory has evolved into a regular occurrence, even venturing outside of it for vacation has started to be expected by the trio. The quality of living the children had experienced to this point was stellar, not that it wouldn't continue to be, but there is a feeling in the air. A feeling of change. Nothing would be quite the same after today. The education they received was private, though styled in many ways by Barsburgian education. The region they were going to, by all texts and examples was...- archaic in comparison. Even the rowdiest of the three knows that, excited to explore what she internally deems the wild-west of magic. Knights, nobility, and dragons? Seems like something out of a novel.

Inspiration has to come from somewhere.

Laughs are shared at the table, messy eaters, children are. Chipper and filled with excitement for the trip ahead, each asking questions about where they're going. Mainly questions about Osrona, a place of fairy tale to most of them. The stories they'd heard only served to raise more questions. Specifically questions about the man in the other room. Questions about the scent of coffee which wafted through the kitchen attached, yet never joined the room in whole.

Alexei pyr Docro.

Father.

Yet never do they cross the bridge to ask a question about him. Knowing the dynamic of their relationship even at such a young age. It was instilled they held not entitlement to knowledge or his past. They held no entitlement to his affection or his attention. So often they find it else where. For Kateryna, one of two eldest twins, she found it in magitech and school. Despite a questionable disciplinary record her scores remained high and her honors from the government were often. Even at a young age she was assisting in magitech factories, learning the ropes of the trade from wealthy factory owners, their managers, and even rough mechanics themselves. Just as the authority of her father was unquestioned, she accepted the Machine Doctrine into her way of life, at one point making plans to enlist on her sixteenth birthday.

The world had other plans and she's now on trip to Esshar, tucked into one of the various quarters of a luxury ship. In all honesty, the young Docro is not a fan of navy transportation. Air-ships always interested her far more, but they were a rarity not always afforded. Especially when moving to such a contested region. Unable to sleep on a dull morning, Kateryna rises from bed and sneaks to the deck. The glimmer of sunrise comes from the horizon, ship workers ignoring the reoccurring interruption to their morning routine. Just another rough soul sitting among the robes of the flagpole, nothing out of the ordinary to them. Never one to carry herself above them, the Docro had been on deck often on this trip. The allure of sleep escapes her commonly and she wanders here finding introspection in replacement. Her chest squeezes tight with excitement, the wind of progress at her back. The quietest of sighs leave her, captivated in the hues of the sky before her.

The view is all the more beautiful while facing the unknown.

[Swift!]

Winter.

Snow falls in the courtyard of a grand little manor.

Memories of pleasant days spent wandering the streets of quiet towns. Far and distant from the war, such peaceful locations are tucked away in mountains or valleys. Making snowmen, throwing snowballs, and the alluring reprieve of hot chocolate. Such joys were of the past, now drinking the nostalgic beverage while reading headlines of war. The rebuilding of family was slow, the process of creating a foothold in Esshar more time-consuming than expected. What was thought to be a less advanced and less populated region, was actually a host to the pinnacle of magi. Her expectations were subverted.

She had found herself touching her neck as of late, running her hands over the wound left on her by a fiend of the night. The reflection of darker aspects in her family. Greater themes revealed themselves, readily becoming a topic of exploration, philosophy, and reflection. Her future. The choices which will be made to pursue it. What it means for her family, for the Empire, and for Esshar as a whole. Questions she never considered before moving here. Power presented through corrupting paths, the doctrine of her home guiding her through the blur. What is important? Is it power? Is it business?

No.

From the glass reflection a rowdy exterior kept within, greater questions were raised. Those memories of both travel and Barsburg. The distant utopia she once step foot in. The marvels of technology and design, the organized force of labor, and the national pride. Based in man and machine. There was a deep admiration within her, an urge to recreate the sensation, not just by returning, but by advancing the will of the Empire. The closer she got to age of enlistment, the more she wished to return home. Truly she wished not to return, but for more. To bring her home to her home. To rebuild what in her eyes never should have fallen.

Blood in the snow.

Yet with the fanatics of this land. The dangers which faced her family lingered over her mind. Indoctrination stronger than the government of Barsburg had lectured her with. The trappings of her father and mother, unquestionable loyalty to the siblings around her. What remains before them? The opposition to come, currently fighting amongst themselves in the snow. Killing, injuring, and changing the world with steel. All the while the delicate scent of finely made hot chocolate floats within the air of the manor. The quiet operations and mechanisms of a preparing machine. An eager artificer polishing its seams and repairing its state of unuse.

This next year will bring change. At such young age the vixen sets her eyes on the impossible. Bolstering herself to take on the boundaries of reality. Looking to the horizon from her foggy window, watching the sunset and snow fall off the branches of great greens. Soon it will be time, she must only wait. Patience and preparation. The difference between a great general and a determined zealot. Study. Understanding. Focus. Soon it will be time...-



-she will return pride to this family.