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Mikhail sighs as he stands by the windows of the Express. Currently, they’re stopped in front of the Asdana system. The entire thing looked peaceful on the outside, but all the Nameless on board knew that inside, the frontier prison was in the midst of a violent conflict. Yet, he could also feel the familiar thrill that came with trailblazing creeping up his spine. He is shaken out of his thoughts by a tap on his shoulder.
“Is our mechanic getting cold feet?” Razalina says, settling beside him. She shoots him a grin, which he returns.
“Not at all,” he responds, “just trying to do a bit of self-reflection before we set out.”
“Oh?” The two turn around as a new person joins in the conversation. “Are you two finally reflecting on the recklessness of your actions on our previous expedition? Colour me surprised.”
“Awe, don’t be such a downer Tiernan! I think it ended pretty well! Planet saved, new friends made,” Razalina says, pretending to pout. Mikhail chuckles at her antics, before flashing a smile and a wink at the gunslinger.
“Lina’s not wrong. Plus, even if there were a few close calls, we had our strong, reliable guard there to save us, right?” he teases, and his smile widens as Tiernan sighs in equal parts amusement and exasperation. They make eye contact, and he sees the other’s gaze soften. Razalina fakes a gag before jokingly rolling her eyes at her two best friends.
“You two better not be like this the entire time we’re on Penacony,” she says, and laughs when they immediately break eye contact. Mikhail absentmindedly fiddles with the cuff of his shirt, but out of the corner of his eye he can see that the tips of Tiernan’s ears are red.
Footsteps signal the arrival of their navigator, and they all turn to greet Granholm.
“You’re all as lively as ever,” Granholm remarks.
“And you still talk like an old man, even though we’re all of similar ages here.”
He clears his throat. “Anyways, if you’re all ready to depart, the conductor is waiting for you in the Parlor Car.”
As he walks out of the train car, he turns back, as if suddenly remembering something. “Right, as always, have fun, and don’t forget to keep yourselves safe.”
“Got it, sir,” Mikhail responds for the three of them with a mock salute, and receives a smile and a nod from Granholm as he turns and leaves.
“Well, better not keep the conductor waiting,” Tiernan says as he checks his inventory.
Razalina nods. “Yeah, plus I also left some equipment back in the parlor so I was going to head there anyways. Might as well go there together.”
It’s a short trip from their train car to the front of the Astral Express. Despite being the mechanic, Mikhail still marvels at the train and the strange workings of its interior. The familiar hum of the engine and the calm music drifting from the phonograph welcomes them into the parlor, where Pom-Pom is waiting.
“There you are! Pom-Pom is here to see you guys off! Have you got all your things?” they ask as they shuffle over. Mikhail nods while resisting the urge to pat the conductor on the head. Years of trailblazing has taught him to somewhat control his impulses, but Tiernan obviously catches onto his thoughts as the gunslinger looks over and shakes his head with a soft smile. Razalina, on the other hand, is running around the parlor collecting her surveying tools.
“I’m almost done!” she yells, shoving another tool into the seemingly never-ending space of her bag. Mikhail remembers fixing that particular tool after it took a harsh hit on one of their expeditions.
“But seriously,” she continues, “what do you guys suppose the world inside the dream will look like? I just have to map it all out!” She has a familiar twinkle in her eye, one that appears whenever the conversation touches on the subject of memoria.
“I wonder…” Mikhail muses, “I mean, the possibilities are endless, right? Within a dream, anything can happen, even outside the confines of rationality. Though, I wonder if it’s possible to fall asleep inside a dream.”
“We’ll have to test that when we get there, but if my theories are correct, then there should be more layers to the dream…” Razaline mutters, occasionally whipping out her notebook and jotting a few things down.
“Well, whatever happens, keep in mind that that place is currently a mess,” Tiernan says with a grimace, “Don’t run off as soon as you get there. Stick close to me, I won’t have you two getting kidnapped again .”
“But still, this is the Land of the Dreams,” Mikhail murmurs, “it holds infinite promise.” He turns and winks at Pom-Pom.
“Oh dear, conductor, what if we fall in love with this place and never return? Would you miss us?”
“‘You can’t make jokes at the conductor’s expense like this!’ Is that what you want to say, conductor?” Razalina sings-songs from across the train car, smiling mischievously while Tiernan struggles to hold in his laughter.
“You guys are! So! Mean!” Pom-Pom fumes, stamping their feet. Once again, Mikhail has to resist the urge to call them cute.
Before they set out, Mikhail stops for a moment to take in the scenery in the train car. The familiar red plush seats, the whale model hanging from the ceiling, and muffled music from the phonograph. He’s called this place home for many, many years now, travelling from one planet to another. And yet, every time they begin a new expedition, he finds himself feeling the same way as he did when he first boarded the Express. He’s older now, more experienced, but the spirit of trailblazing keeps every journey new and exciting.
“We’re off!” they say, and they watch as Pom-Pom waves at them from the train, until they can no longer see the Express. Turning around, they delve into the depths of the dream.
Granholm turns around as he realizes Mikhail has yet to move. “What are you doing, Legwork? It’s time to set off towards our next stop.”
Mikhail remains silent for a moment. For many years, he has called the Astral Express his home. He has travelled with the Nameless, made unforgettable memories, and forged ever-lasting bonds. Technically, Granholm is correct. The role of the Nameless on Penacony has come to an end, and they must move on to the next planet. With time, Penacony will slowly but surely build itself up.
And yet, he remembers the former prisoners he spoke to on his journey. He remembers the hard set of Hanunue’s face when they tell him they’re supposed to be leaving soon. He remembers watching, mesmerized, as dream bubbles drifted into the fake sky of the dream and dissipated into the night, as if they had been scattered amongst the stars. Finally, he remembers Tiernan’s and Razalina’s expressions, and Mikhail puts words to the feeling that had existed for quite some time now.
“I think…I’m staying on Penacony, with Tiernan and Razalina,” he says quietly, “this is my stop.”
The navigator stills at his words. “I see…Does this place remind you of home?” Mikhail nods, before looking towards the floating structure in Penacony’s sky. It’s no longer a prison, but there’s still work to be done.
“The people of Asdana have mostly shaken off the control of the IPC, but they still have a long way to go. They are not truly free…not yet.” The face of his new friend pops into mind again. “Hanunue is strong, but he still needs our help.”
Mikhail turns around to face Granholm. As expected, the man is wearing a pained yet resigned expression. He feels his throat closing, but still, he is set on his decision. He settles for a bittersweet grin.
“Don’t worry. Not all journeys lead to the stars. Even if we leave the Express, our path of Trailblaze will still continue.” After a long pause, Granholm sighs and returns the smile.
“In all honesty, I knew you wouldn’t stay on the Express forever. All three of you are and will always be a part of the Nameless, but I know you also have your own roads to walk. I guess I just didn’t expect…” he trails off. Mikhail can easily fill in the omitted words, and he waits as the other man takes a deep breath before speaking again.
“Leave in peace, my dear friend. And…take this with you.” Granholm holds out a familiar looking hat, and Mikhail has to do a double take before realizing that his eyes are not playing tricks on him.
“This is…Mr. Amundsen’s hat?” The memory of the former navigator, as well as his teacher, is still fresh in his mind. He had always assumed that his teacher would have taken his signature hat with him when he departed, but here it was, being offered to him years later. “But, why?”
Granholm reaches out and places the hat in Mikhail’s trembling hands. “When he departed, he pulled me aside, and said he would leave it to his best student. It’s sooner than I expected but…I guess the time has come.”
“I see…” Mikhail whispers. The hat is light, but at the same time seems to hold immense weight.
“Well then, farewell, Legwork.” Granholm pats him on the shoulder. “Take care of Tiernan and Razalina, alright? And…don’t forget to write.”
Mikhail nods, and he stands there long after Granholm’s silhouette has disappeared. For all the action they experienced while on Penacony, at that moment, the dream is still and silent. He feels something wet roll down his cheek. Mikhail places the hat on his head, before bowing deeply in the direction Granholm had left in.
“Thanks for everything,” he says, before setting off in the opposite direction.
“What do you mean, Breukelen? Do you know how dangerous this is going to be?” Mikhail asks, his voice bordering on desperation.
“Hey, I won’t be alone,” Tiernan tries for a reassuring smile, “I’ll be going with the Lampmoth family. Besides, I’m strong, right? You said it yourself.”
“Then at least let me go with you!” he cries, clinging onto the other like his life depends on it. The usual smooth composure of the Watchmaker is nowhere to be found. Tiernan, at a loss for words, pulls him into a hug, rubbing soothing circles on his back.
“Razalina is already gone,” Mikhail whispers, trying not to remember the moment he got the news about their best friend’s disappearance into the sea of memoria. “Breukelen, I can’t–” His voice breaks.
“I can’t afford to lose you, too.”
Tiernan hums. He begins to speak, but neither of them leave the embrace. Mikhail still remembers seeing Razalina off, both of them still theorizing about what secrets the enigmatic sea might hold. He remembers her smiling brightly at the both of them, waving and shouting “don’t miss me too much while I’m gone!”.
I miss you , Mikhail longs to tell her, please come back. Her research still lines his shelves, and a couple of her surveying tools remain on his desk. He wants to leave them there, in the hopes that their owner will come back to pick them up. They’re still there.
Tiernan’s voice brings him back to the present. They’re in their shared bedroom, a gentle blue light spilling in through the window.
“Misha,” he says, “you know you can’t go. Penacony needs you.”
“They need you too, Tiernan. I need you.”
“And so does the Lampmoth family. It’s what I must do, as a member of the Nameless.”
When Mikhail does not respond, Tiernan unwinds his arms from around him, before gently cradling his face and lifting it up. Their eyes meet, and the gunslinger smiles before kissing the mechanic on the forehead.
“Misha, my love. Don’t worry. Penacony is my home. I will come back to you.” He leans down to kiss him on the cheek.
“Besides,” he chuckles, “I can’t leave you here alone, after all. So wait for me, alright?”
Mikhail lifts his arm up, touching the hand that is still on his face. He remains there, leaning into the touch. It’s warm, it’s steady.
“You have to stay safe.”
“Okay.”
“No reckless actions.”
“Alright.”
“No self-sacrifice.”
“Duly noted.”
“Don’t forget to report back regularly.”
“Understood. Any other orders, Watchmaker sir?”
Mikhail purses his lips, finally looking up and meeting Tiernan’s warm, brown eyes. Both in the dream and in reality, the warmth and affection behind that gaze has never changed. He doesn’t want to let it go.
“Go. I’ll be here, watching over this dream. So, make sure to come back to me, Breukelen.” He smiles, trying to calm the wave of rising emotions.
“Got it.” He leans down again, and this time the kiss is long and slow. Outside, the stars shine, yet the sky remains unchanged even after hours have passed.
Mikhail Char Legwork opens his eyes to a starry sky. For the first time in a long while, he feels at peace. Memories come rushing back, some old, some new. He recalls “Misha”’s conversation with the Nameless that had come to visit Penacony, and remembers passing on Mr. Amundsen’s hat and will to the grey-haired trailblazer. He remembers making his way back to that old star-gazing spot, and finally, finally, sitting down for a long rest.
“Sorry, Clockie,” he says to no one in particular, before chuckling to himself. “Or should I call you Compassie?” His friend had kept him company for many years, and now it was time for him to set out on his own.
“I guess this is where my journey ends.” The expanse of space behind him is blank, but if he focuses, he thinks he can make out a long, winding road.
“I can’t say I don’t have regrets, but…strangely, I feel quite light right now,” he muses.
“But I guess in the end I am still alone,” he whispers. Yet, the moment the words leave his mouth, he hears a familiar voice.
“Mikhail! Oi, over here!” He turns around to see long, dark brown hair and round glasses. She’s waving at him enthusiastically.
“You finally turned around, slowpoke!” She grins at him, and he isn’t able to resist the urge to smile back.
“We’ve been waiting,” comes a deeper voice from behind her. His revolver is still tucked in that same place by his hip. “You were taking your time, so we came to pick you up, Misha.”
Mikhail takes one last glance behind him, then turns around and steps towards them.
“Sorry for the wait, you two. I’m ready to go.”
He doesn’t turn back.