Iron Town, 2nd District
Mash Steel and Prosthetic Company
The heavy clanking of machinery echoed through the factory as molten steel poured into molds, hissing steam filling the air. Workers moved like clockwork, their faces smudged with soot and sweat, each of them contributing to the city’s most renowned prosthetic limb manufacturer. The Mash Steel and Prosthetic Company wasn’t just a business — it was a lifeline for the crippled and the broken, offering mechanical limbs at prices affordable to even the lower class.
High above the factory floor, in a dimly lit office overlooking the machinery, an old man sat hunched over a desk, papers scattered before him. Mash, the head of the company, ran his calloused fingers through his short beard, his eyes squinting at the fine print of a contract. The gaslight flickered, casting long shadows on the walls.
The door creaked open without warning.
Mash jolted upright. “Who’s there?”
A figure entered the office without so much as a knock. He moved silently, his face hidden behind a smooth, featureless mask. A long black cloak trailed behind him, and atop his head sat a sharp, wide-brimmed hat, the kind that shadowed the eyes of its wearer.
The masked man raised his left hand, fingers curling slightly, as if gesturing toward something unseen. Mash stiffened. He glanced around the office, ensuring no one was nearby, then gestured toward a chair. “Sit.”
The mysterious figure lowered himself into the chair, the gaslight reflecting off his mask. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Finally, the masked man broke the silence.
“How are things here?” His voice was low, almost a whisper.
Mash shifted uncomfortably. “Everything is running smoothly… but why are you here?”
The masked man leaned forward slightly. “The clock is ticking for the Ashcrofts.”
Mash blinked. “What do you mean? Isn’t it too soon?”
The masked man’s tone darkened. “Silas Ashcroft. The new son. He’s been looking into our affairs.”
Mash scoffed. “A new guy? He’s just a kid. Why would he be a threat?”
The masked figure leaned back in his chair. “He knew nothing. But now… now he knows something.”
Mash frowned. “What do you mean by something? How much does he know?”
The masked man’s fingers drummed against the arm of the chair. “Just the tip of the iceberg. But it doesn’t matter. He’s poking around where he shouldn’t. We need to handle him before he uncovers the rest.”
Mash went silent, rubbing his temples. After a long pause, he sighed. “Very well. I’ll think about it.” He hesitated, then added, “By the way… those new recruits you sent me aren’t cooperating. They’re causing trouble.”
The masked man tilted his head slightly. “Then make them cooperate.”
Mash’s eyes narrowed. “How?”
The masked man stood slowly, his cloak billowing around him. “Torture them.”
As he turned to leave, he paused at the door. Without looking back, he murmured, “And don’t get directly involved. We can’t risk exposing ourselves.”
Mash nodded grimly. “Understood.”
The door creaked shut behind the mysterious figure. Mash sat back in his chair, his fingers steepled, deep in thought. Finally, he stood and called out.
A young man entered, his face pale under the dim light. “Sir?”
Mash’s gaze hardened. “Collect everything you can about Silas Ashcroft. Dig into his past. I want a full report within three days.”
The man bowed. “Yes, sir.”
Mash watched him go, then turned to the window, staring out over the factory floor. “Silas Ashcroft… Let’s see what you’re hiding.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
---
Ashcroft Estate
The morning sun spilled through the iron-framed windows of the Ashcroft estate, casting long shadows across the polished floors. Outside, the city thrummed with life. Factories clanked and hissed, workers bustled about their day, and the market overflowed with noise — the rich enjoying their luxuries, the middle class toiling for their wages, and the poor begging for scraps. The city was alive, yet somehow it felt… heavy.
Inside the estate, Clara, Victor, and Selena sat in the living room, the air thick with worry. None of them had gone to work that morning. Their thoughts were with Silas, who hadn’t woken up since his return the night before.
Suddenly, a servant burst into the room, breathless.
“Sir! Madam! Silas is awake!”
Clara shot to her feet. “He’s awake?!” She sprinted toward Silas’s room, Victor and Selena close behind.
They pushed open the door to find Silas sitting up in bed. His face was pale, dark circles rimmed his eyes, and a fresh bandage wrapped around his head. He looked weak… so weak.
Clara rushed to his side, sitting on the edge of the bed. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “You’re awake… You’re okay!”
Selena sat on the other side of the bed, gently taking Silas’s hand in hers. “How do you feel, my son?”
Silas gave a faint smile. “I’m… fine.”
Clara sniffled, wiping her eyes. “You scared me, you know?”
“I’m sorry,” Silas whispered.
Selena squeezed his hand. “What happened? Where did you go?”
Silas hesitated, his mind racing. Should he tell them the truth? No… not yet. He sighed. “I was attacked. Some robbers in the back alleys. They took my money.”
Selena’s grip tightened. “Robbers?”
Victor, who had been sitting quietly, watching Silas with a keen gaze, finally spoke. “Just your money?”
Silas hesitated again. “Yes… Just my money.”
Victor leaned back, arms crossed. “I see.”
The room fell silent. After a while, Selena and Clara left, leaving Victor behind. As Victor reached the door, he paused and glanced over his shoulder.
“I’ll talk to you tonight… if you’re awake.”
Silas frowned. “Alright.”
As the door clicked shut, Silas leaned back against the pillows, his mind racing. Was Victor suspicious of me? Did he know I was digging into the Ashcroft past?
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, only to wince as pain shot through his ankle. He glanced down, noticing the bandages.
“Great,” he muttered. “Not just my head… they had to bust my ankle too.”
A soft knock on the door brought the doctor inside. “Sir, you shouldn’t be moving.”
“How long until I can walk properly?” Silas asked.
The doctor adjusted his spectacles. “You’ll be on your feet in a week, but full recovery will take a month. Be patient.”
Silas sighed, running a hand through his hair. “One month… fine.”
As the doctor left, Silas stared at the ceiling, his thoughts swirling.
Someone was watching me. I felt it at the market. And the newspapers… Was it Victor? Or someone else?
The clock ticked softly in the background. Silas closed his eyes. The game had begun — and he was already behind.
—
Ashcog Industries, Head Office
The clock ticked softly against the hum of machinery outside. The evening sun dipped behind the city’s smoke-stained skyline, the flickering lights of airships dotting the sky like artificial stars. In his office, Victor Ashcroft sat behind a mahogany desk, the room dimly lit by a single brass lamp. The rhythmic tapping of fingers on wood was the only sound before a knock echoed through the chamber.
Knock, knock…
“Come in,” Victor called out, his tone sharp.
The door creaked open, and Edgar stepped inside — a sleek man with a sharp gaze, his presence quiet but precise. Victor gestured to the chair across from him, watching closely as Edgar sat.
“Did you look into Silas?” Victor asked, wasting no time. “Where did he go that day?”
Edgar shifted slightly, lowering his eyes. “He was telling the truth about the back alley. But… he left out a detail.”
Victor’s brow furrowed. “What detail?”
Edgar hesitated, then spoke quietly. “He was asking about the Colonial Wars — why people are suddenly talking about them again.”
Victor stiffened. The room felt colder. “Anything else?”
Edgar shook his head. “That was it.”
Victor leaned back, eyes narrowing. “Did he ask you anything?”
For a moment, Edgar said nothing, but then Victor added, “You don’t have to hide things from me. You’re not just a butler, Edgar — you’ve been with me since I was young. You’re family.”
Edgar exhaled slowly. “He asked me to bring him a stack of newspapers. Recent months.”
Victor rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “So… he’s after that symbol too.”
“It seems like it,” Edgar agreed.
Victor’s eyes darkened. “He’s sharp — more than I expected. Keep an eye on him. Don’t let him get too close to danger. The city… it’s not safe for an Ashcroft.”
Edgar nodded, standing. “Understood.”
As Edgar left, another visitor arrived — a known face.
“Minister George.” Victor stood, offering a polite nod.
George, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, stepped inside. An older man, his suit impeccably pressed, his demeanor calm and calculating. He’d served the Windmere Republic faithfully since the days of Sir Gerard II, and under his hand, the republic’s relationships with foreign powers had flourished.
“I heard about Silas,” George began. “Thought I’d check in. How’s he holding up?”
Victor gestured to a chair, taking his seat once more. “Better. He got caught up with some robbers in the market. Edgar brought him home.”
George frowned. “And the robbers?”
“We’ve asked the night patrol to look into it,” Victor replied. “They’ll be caught soon enough.”
George hummed thoughtfully, sipping the coffee a servant brought in. “Troubling times.”
“Indeed.”
---
Ashcroft Estate
The estate was quiet, save for the gentle clatter of pots and pans in the kitchen. The gas pipes hissed softly, their copper glow bathing the room in a warm light. Selena Ashcroft stood at the counter, carefully dicing vegetables. The stew simmered on the stove, filling the air with a rich, savory aroma.
Clara poked her head into the kitchen. “Mother, why don’t you let the chefs handle this? Why are you cooking?”
Selena glanced over her shoulder, smiling softly. “Silas lost a lot of blood. I wanted to make something for him myself.”
Clara’s eyes lit up. “Then I’ll help!”
Selena raised a brow. “You? Helping in the kitchen? The same Clara who refuses to learn cooking?” She chuckled. “You must really care about him.”
Clara pouted. “He’s injured. I can at least do this much.”
Later, they carried the food up to Silas’s room. He was sitting in bed, back propped against pillows, a book resting in his lap.
Clara burst through the door. “Dinner’s ready!”
Silas jolted, startled. “You scared me.” He eyed the tray. “I could’ve come downstairs.”
“No,” Selena said firmly. “Your ankle is injured. Stairs aren’t good for you.”
Silas smiled faintly. “Alright. Thank you.”
As they ate, warmth filled the room. Silas looked at his new family, feeling that strange mix of happiness and fear again. He had people who cared about him now… but what if his darkness hurt them too?
---
11 PM — The Carriage Ride
The city slept under a blanket of smog and steam, the only sounds the distant hum of factories and the occasional bark of a stray dog. Victor and Edgar rode silently through the streets in their carriage, the steady clop of horse hooves echoing through the alleys.
Victor stared out the window. “You looked into the robbers?”
Edgar nodded. “They were drunkards from a local bar. But they didn’t attack directly. They hired someone.”
Victor’s expression darkened. “They hold a grudge against our family.”
“Perhaps… but they didn’t know Silas was an Ashcroft. He never revealed his name.”
Victor rubbed his temples. “At least he has some sense.”
Suddenly —
BANG!
A gunshot echoed through the night. The carriage jerked to a halt. Edgar sprang into action, drawing his revolver and shielding Victor with one arm.
“We’re ambushed, sir!”
Victor reached for his own weapon as shadows shifted in the darkness. The city’s silence shattered as chaos erupted.
—