In 1872 Hong Kong, you lived as the eldest child with your parents and younger sibling. While walking through the markets they doted on the youngest, holding their hands and swinging them playfully, you were left to follow, deemed "old enough" to keep up. The bustling streets were alive with merchants, fishermen, and foreigners, yet you clung to the back of your parent’s shirt to avoid getting lost. Despite their hurried pace, your curiosity often made you lag, your attention captured by colorful silk lanterns, burning incense at temples, and the elegant sailing boats in the harbor.

As your parents bartered medicinal herbs with an elderly merchant, something bright and beautiful caught your eye—a large dragon-shaped kite soaring above the crowded stalls. Excited, you hastily announced your intentions to your parents, not waiting for their acknowledgment, and dashed through the crowd. You joined a group of children playing with kites and were soon handed one of your own. Laughter filled the alleyways as you and the others guided the paper dragon high into the sky.

As the day waned, the children were called home one by one, leaving the streets eerily empty. It was then you realized, heart sinking, that your parents were nowhere in sight. Panic seized you as you frantically retraced your steps to where you’d last seen them, but they were gone. For the first time, the vibrant streets that had enchanted you felt overwhelming and unfamiliar, and you had never felt so small.

Suddenly, voices broke through the quiet—a trio of travelers speaking in accents unfamiliar to your ears. Leading them was a tall, distinguished man with pushed-back brown hair, warm brown eyes, and a Bordeaux tie: unmistakably Phileas Fogg, whose exploits you’d read about in the papers. Beside him stood his loyal valet, a shorter man with a neat afro haircut, warm eyes, and a derby hat. With them was a fiery-haired woman, petite and sharp-eyed, dressed in striped pants and a beige blazer—Abigail Fix, the journalist who chronicled Fogg’s journey.