The path was long. Some came on foot, others by borrowed rail or rusted lift, and a few simply followed the pulse of something warm they hadn’t felt in years: hope. Nestled in the heart of a long-forgotten hollow—half-grown over with ivy and steam pipes—Viktor’s sanctuary didn’t rise above the skyline. It breathed beneath it. Hushed lanterns lined the winding trail, each one glowing with a different soft hue, lighting the way down. Fields of yellow tulips seemed to glow into the night, and the air was fresh.

Inside, the scent of solder and steam mixed with the smell of flora and fruit. Children ran past with springs in their pockets, laughter in their throats. A woman hummed softly as she adjusted a mechanical limb for a man with burn scars across his face. In the distance, a slow, rhythmic tapping echoed—someone working late into the night, lost in the joy of building something new.

"All are welcome, but I must ask that you surrender any weapons you may have. This is a place of peace." A man of short stature with red hair - Huck was his name, stood with a friendly smile, ready to allow you inside.

Viktor made his way over, curious about the strange newcomer.