Homecoming to hopetown

The train from Orange City to Hopetown glided silently along the tracks, its sleek body slicing through the misty countryside. Gyan sat by the window, the landscape rushing past in shades of green and amber. The cityscape had melted into soft hills and sleepy villages, a sharp contrast to the chaos he had just left behind.

Victoria was gone. Not forever—he hoped—but they had separated at the edge of the southern ridge near the waterfalls. Too many eyes had been tracking them, too many questions swirling around that necklace they barely understood. It had been a tactical decision: scatter, disappear, hide the artifact, then regroup later when things had calmed down.

He had entrusted Lucas and Jordan to remain in Orange City. Lucas would act as the face—calm, competent, trustworthy. Jordan was the eyes and ears, excellent at reading people and blending in with the city's undercurrent. The two of them would keep the business running and trace any remaining loose ends.

Now, Gyan was headed back to the place he hadn't seen in months—his quiet refuge, his supposed normal life. Hopetown. A hillside university town wrapped in ivy-covered buildings, cobbled streets, and a pace of life that felt a century behind.

As the train eased into the small, familiar station, Gyan stood, slung his bag over one shoulder, and stepped out into the crisp air. The scent of pine and distant chimneys hit him instantly. It was early afternoon, and a few students lounged near the platforms, laughing, sipping from takeaway cups, entirely oblivious to the storm Gyan had just come through.

---

His family home stood at the edge of town, a two-story cottage surrounded by sycamores and a weathered stone fence. He barely made it up the walkway before the front door burst open.

"You never text me when you're coming!" his mother's voice rang out as she stormed toward him, apron still on, flour dusting her sleeves.

"I did text you," Gyan said, chuckling, trying to sidestep her crushing embrace.

"No, no, a proper text, Gyan! Not your one-word 'Landed' and then nothing for five hours!" She squeezed him tightly before stepping back to study his face. "You've lost weight. Are you even eating?"

"I'm fine, Mum," he replied, brushing his hair back. "Just been... busy."

She narrowed her eyes knowingly, but didn't press. "Come inside. I made lentil stew. And warm bread."

Inside, the house hadn't changed. The bookshelves still sagged under the weight of ancient volumes his father used to collect. The fireplace still had that same faint scent of cedarwood. His old desk near the window was just as he had left it—neat, organized, always ready for late-night study sessions.

At the table, Gyan sat with a bowl of stew in front of him, steam curling into the air.

His mother leaned against the counter, arms folded, watching him. "So. You're not seeing anyone?"

He nearly choked on a piece of bread. "What?"

"I'm just saying," she said, moving toward the table and sitting down. "You're what—twenty-four now?"

"Twenty-five."

"Exactly. Twenty-five. When your father was twenty-five, he already had two children. A stable job. He could fix a leaking pipe without calling someone."

"Yeah, and he also ran off to join an archaeological dig in Tunisia without telling anyone," Gyan said dryly.

She waved that off. "That's not the point."

He smiled. "So, this is where you interrogate me about my love life?"

"No. I'm just suggesting... options."

He raised an eyebrow. "Such as?"

She took a sip from her tea and said too casually, "Charlotte Carter."

Gyan blinked. "Charlotte Carter? The Charlotte who used to stick chewing gum under my chair in primary school?"

"She's matured. Quite pretty now. Works at the museum. Smart. Educated."

Gyan laughed. "You're matchmaking now?"

"I just think you need someone who will keep you grounded. You've always had your head in strange places, Gyan—libraries, secret city maps, old books. You need someone normal. Charlotte's normal."

Normal. That word again. People always said it like it was some holy thing. But the truth was, Gyan had never been normal. He had come from a floating city and carried a past no one around him could ever guess. His mother knew about it but did she really know of the cruelties of that place? Did she know of his suffering?

"I'll think about it," he said vaguely.

She smiled triumphantly. "That's all I'm asking."

---

Later that evening, after she'd gone to bed, Gyan stood by his bedroom window. The lights of Hopetown twinkled in the valley below, soft and serene. For a brief moment, it felt like everything was still. Safe.

He reached into his coat and pulled out the item he'd hidden from even Lucas and Jordan—a small metallic fragment, almost like a sliver of the necklace they had recovered. It pulsed faintly with a dull red glow, like it was waiting.

He wrapped it again in cloth and tucked it deep in a drawer under some old textbooks. There would be a time to face everything—Victoria, the floating city, the shadows that hunted them. But tonight, he was just Gyan: student, son, a man dodging matchmaking schemes over stew.

But even now, his mind lingered on Victoria. Where had she gone? Was she safe?

His phone buzzed once. A message. No name, just a number.

"The hourglass was never meant to be broken. Be ready."

Gyan stared at the screen, his chest tightening.

Hopetown might have been calm, but the storm wasn't over. Not yet.