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October 9, 1994 - Troudon City, Eastwood Railway Station

The steam engine's whistle pierced the crisp autumn air as the train slowly ground to a halt at Eastwood Railway Station. Among the throng of passengers disembarking, a young man stepped onto the platform, his presence immediately drawing attention.

Jasper Blatherwick, now in his late teens, cut an impressive figure. His tall, well-built frame was accentuated by a long black coat that billowed slightly in the breeze. A wide-brimmed hat sat atop his head, casting a shadow over his handsome features. In one hand, he carried a weathered leather suitcase, its surface marked with the scars of previous journeys.

As he made his way through the bustling station, Jasper's keen eyes took in every detail. The mundane hustle and bustle of travelers faded into the background as he focused on the less obvious aspects of his surroundings. A faint shimmer in the air near a hurried businessman caught his attention—a minor cloaking spell, perhaps hiding some magical artifact. Near the ticket booth, he noticed a pattern of symbols etched into the woodwork, invisible to most but clear as day to his trained senses. Even here, in this hub of modern transportation, magic has left its subtle marks.

Stepping out into the street, Jasper hails a cab. The driver, a gruff-looking man with a bushy mustache, eyed him curiously as he approached.

"Where to, young sir?" The driver asked, his voice gravelly from years of tobacco use.

"Drage Street, 9th Avenue, if you please," Jasper replied, his voice carrying a hint of the refined education he'd received from the Blackwoods.

The driver nodded, helping Jasper with his luggage before they both got into the cab. As they set off, Jasper leaned back in his seat, allowing himself a moment of reflection.

It had been years since he'd last been in Troudon City. The Blackwoods had sent him away for specialized training with various magical mentors across the country. Now, at last, he was returning – not as the broken child who had once been cast aside, but as a young man coming into his power.

The cab wound its way through the city streets, the scenery gradually changing from the industrial areas near the station to more affluent neighborhoods. Jasper observed the changes with interest, noting how the magical undercurrents of the city shifted as they moved from one district to another.

After an hour and a half of travel, the cab finally pulled up to their destination. Jasper paid the fare, retrieved his suitcase, and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Drage Street was a vision of upper-class respectability. Stately homes lined both sides of the avenue, their manicured lawns and ornate facades speaking of wealth and privilege.

He approached the house at Number 9. Its Victorian architecture was grand yet somehow foreboding.

He walked up to the main door and rang the bell.

The door swung open, revealing a woman in her early forties. Her dark hair was streaked with silver, and her eyes held a depth of knowledge that belied her physical age. A warm smile spread across her face as she took in the sight of him.

"Welcome home, Jasper," she said, her voice rich with genuine affection.