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𝗪𝗘𝗟𝗖𝗢𝗠𝗘 to 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒
⭞ a short story collaboration by @mxtsuro (plot + revamp) & @shxlomoh (draft).
. . . In the labyrinthine streets of Yerushalayim, Galateya, a German scholar of the...
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Nearly three days had passed since the train had ground to a halt at the intermediate stop of Gjöll, yet Galateya remained ensnared in a web of surreal disbelief. How had a mundane journey from Yerushalayim spiraled into this bewildering odyssey, leaving her stranded in a realm suspended between fantasy and reality, her sole companion a living Wendigo? She sat by the window, her gaze fixed on the mist-shrouded landscape outside, lost in a labyrinth of perplexing thoughts and unanswered questions.
With a distracted air, Galateya tucked her phone into her sling bag, her fingers moving automatically as she hastily recorded a few fleeting thoughts. Outside the train window, the world unfolded in a surreal tableau, a curious blend of the ordinary and the fantastical. The desolate station lay cloaked in an eerie silence, the mist swirling around its abandoned platforms like tendrils of forgotten memory.
The Dvergr, renowned for their compact yet powerful frames and muscular physiques, presented a remarkable spectacle amidst the bleak and desolate substation, their presence commanding attention and admiration. Despite their diminutive stature, their presence commanded attention, their muscles rippling beneath layers of heavy leather and rugged attire. Every inch of their attire seemed tailored for the rigors of labor, each garment bearing the marks of countless hours spent toiling in the depths of the earth. Their weather-beaten faces told stories of hardship and perseverance, adorned with braided beards that hung like banners of resilience. Deep-set eyes, sharp and watchful, scanned their surroundings with a mixture of vigilance and wariness, while furrowed brows betrayed the weight of their responsibilities. Each line etched into their weathered visages spoke of a lifetime of dedication to their craft, a testament to their unwavering commitment to their laborious tasks. As they moved about the station with practiced grace, their movements were a symphony of efficiency and expertise. Every swing of their hammers, every deft maneuver of their hands, was executed with a precision born of years of experience. It was as though they were choreographing a dance of creation, each step bringing them closer to their goal of restoring the broken train to its former glory. Galateya watched in awe as the group of dwarves worked their magic, their tireless efforts a testament to their indomitable spirit.
Meanwhile, her cloaked companion stood sentinel outside the train, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the platform as he leaned nonchalantly against the door. Beneath the folds of his cloak, his keen gaze swept over the scene before him, every movement calculated and deliberate. Despite his outward appearance of calm, Galateya sensed a tension simmering beneath the surface, a silent vigilance that belied his stoic demeanor.
The Wendigo's antlered silhouette was a stark contrast against the ethereal glow of the station's lights. His eyes, a mesmerizing blend of amber and green, scanned the environment with an almost predatory focus. Each subtle twitch of his muscles and the faint rustle of his cloak conveyed a readiness to spring into action at a moment's notice. This was not mere nonchalance; it was the poised composure of a seasoned predator.
