"Flora, is this the Imperial Capital?"
Flora looked down at the little girl before her, who was leaning over the ship's rail on tiptoe, trying hard to look outside.
"Yes, Alice." Flora reached out and picked her up so she could see from higher up.
"I'm not a little kid anymore..." Alice muttered, looking a little awkward, but she nuzzled against her without thinking.
Orphans were never used to hugs, yet they longed to be held. Perhaps this was one of the few moments of warmth they could feel.
"So, do you like Saint Clair?"
At her question, Alice looked ahead intently, her gaze passing over chimneys spewing coal ash, somewhat dilapidated streets, and the gradually rusting Steel Firmament.
She shook her head, then nodded, a trace of fear in her eyes.
"It's like a really, really big furnace."
Flora froze, not having expected that answer. She gently stroked the little girl's golden hair and sank into thought.
A furnace?
That did not seem wrong. This place was indeed a furnace, where everyone lost their shape, or was forged into something new.
Flora did not know whether bringing the Mourning Poetry Society and the orphans here would prove a good choice. With most of the decisions she had made in her life, she had not known whether they were good or bad when she made them. Thinking back now, all the changes seemed to have begun with that letter bearing the Sterling Coat of Arms.
That time, she had had no choice. This time, she had come of her own accord, ready to step into this furnace.
There were too many people here whom she loved and hated, as well as the mist that never dispersed all day. She might die here. The only thing she could do was stand