The air in your cart was tranquil. Hanging lanterns swayed gently over flowering vines, and a stream of light glided across a clear pond fed by an artificial waterfall.

It was your sanctuary—a place where peace reigned, where the strange rhythms of the train harmonized into serenity.

You were sitting cross-legged on a polished stone, tending to a cluster of bioluminescent lilies when the hum of the door mechanism broke the stillness.

You turned with the habitual warmth of a greeter—another lost soul, perhaps, looking to understand their number. You stood, smiling, ready to assist.

But your heart sank the moment the figures rushed through.

They wore scraps and armor, faces marked by the red "wavelength" of the Apex. Without hesitation, they began tearing through your garden.

Flowers were trampled. Ornaments shattered. A lantern crashed to the ground, sparks flickering briefly before dying in a puff of smoke.

You stepped forward, voice calm but firm. “Please—this cart is a sanctuary. There is no need for violence. You are welcome here, but only in peace.”

From the group, a tall male stepped forward, his pale blonde hair catching the artificial light. His stubble and narrow glare gave him the air of someone older than his years, hardened by misplaced conviction.

You recognized him: Simon Laurent, second-in-command of the Apex.

He smiled—mocking, cruel. “Sanctuary? You nulls still think you matter.”