Inside the Kingdom

Alorian, who had been tailing Brendant, appeared utterly fascinated by the world around him. He couldn't help but be constantly surprised by the wondrous sights and sounds that welcomed him at every turn.

What particularly caught his attention was the presence of weird robotic contraptions diligently tending to the garden's cleanliness. As they ventured further, they reached the heart of Aliron, the town square, which was alive with the vibrant energy of its inhabitants.

In this lively square, merchants had set up their stalls, each corner bustling with activity as customers eagerly approached them, their faces filled with happiness.

Alorian couldn't help but marvel at the kaleidoscope of colors and the variety of goods on display, from exotic fruits and spices to finely crafted trinkets and fabrics. Even an alchemist with a devoted spirit advertises the results of his concoction.

"We'll be arriving at the station soon, boy," Brendant called out, momentarily puzzled as he noticed that the child companion who had been with him had vanished into the crowd.

Undeterred, Alorian's insatiable curiousness led him to the unusual robots he had spotted earlier. These robotic helpers had a distinct appearance, resembling oversized capsules with wheels and two articulated arms.

The left arm held a container designed to collect all the litter and debris scattered around, while the other, cauldron robot stood nearby, ready to receive and dispose of the collected waste.

Alorian's gaze remained fixed on the intricate steam mechanism before him, captivated by the interesting movement of the steam mechanism. He marveled at how everything moved in perfect unison, creating mechanical splendors that seemed to operate flawlessly.

"We have many of them." Immersed in the realm of revolution, he was abruptly jolted from his thoughts by an unexpected voice, causing his heart to race.

Swiveling his attention toward the voice's origin, he spotted an old figure before him. The man sported a bald head adorned with a substantial white mustache, and his countenance bore the earned creases of a lifetime dedicated to the art of craftsmanship. "Isn't it the same within the palace?"

Although the man's expression seemed weathered and vulnerable, his attire told a different story. He wore a well-worn apron that was almost entirely covered in the dark stains of oil. With slow and deliberate steps, he approached Alorian and the mechanical wonder that had captured their attention.

Alorian's intense, inquisitive sights met those of the old man as he asked, "Do you know who I am?"

A faint smile sneaked across the man's lips as he replied, "Wouldn't it be unmannered not to recognize Prince Caeloria himself?" With that, he halted beside the robot, expertly pressing a button on its back to bring the intricate machine to a standstill. "What brings Young Master here alone?"

"Ah, no, I'm with Mr. Brendant," Alorian responded politely, his voice sounding a note of respect. "Do you manage the operation of all these robots?"

The old man's eyes twinkled with a blend of wisdom and nostalgia. "Indeed, I'm the one responsible for the assembly of these immaculate cleaning contraptions," he spoke with a soft reverence, his weathered hands gently caressing the intricately formed metal, paying attention to every detail. "I've devoted nearly a half of century of my life to these machines."

Alorian found himself not just admiring the old man's expertise but also captivated by his unwavering dedication. "You're truly exceptional! Your masterpiece has made life easier for all of us."

The old man let out a warm, heartfelt chuckle in response to the young one's appreciation, slowly approaching Alorian with a slightly hunched posture that hinted at decades of labor. "Young Master, all these accolades are but empty words if the initial invention had not been brought into existence. So, we are indebted to you and your forebears for that."

"You good, Benjamin?" a deep voice called out, none other than Brendant's, who suddenly appeared and approached the stunned Alorian. His steps were confident, the echo of leather boots on the cobblestone street filling the air.

The old man, Benjamin, stood there with an old smile on his face. He raised an eyebrow, feeling somewhat strange about their attire but then realizing their intention for wearing such apparel. He nodded and replied, "How about you, Turner?"

"Not much has changed," the man named Turner responded, his face somewhat obscured by a flat cap drawn low. He briefly glimpsed down at Alorian, checking on his condition. Then he looked up, his eyes focusing on old man Benjamin. "Except for the tasks."

"I can see that," the elder man replied, diverted by the square robot that stood frozen. The robot's surface was covered in a collection of gears, wires, and blinking lights. Benjamin pressed a button on the robot's side, setting it in motion. "Where are you headed?"

Alorian was once again amazed when the robot named Lite Incinerator flinched to life. Its uneventful eyes now turned to a shade of red, and steam started to emerge from the designed tailpipe.

What Alorian didn't anticipate at all was that the smoke produced didn't have a pungent odor but rather smelled like a delightful mix of roasted nuts and spices, like a street vendor's cart.

"The King has called me to escort him to the martial arts school," Brendant, for some reason, landed his left hand on Alorian's left shoulder. His leather gloves, finely crafted and embossed with complex patterns, exuded an air of control. "It seems he's about to do the trials."

"So it is," Benjamin nodded, his fingers deftly extracting a container from inside the robot's body. The storage held ashes from the incineration operation, and he examined it meticulously, ensuring that no remnants of unprocessed waste remained. "That tradition has been in place for a very long time, even before I was born."

"In that case, I pray for your success, Young Master," Benjamin said again, this time with a warmth in his voice that showed genuine care and concern while patting his hands together to clean the remaining dirt.

Alorian couldn't help but feel a deep sense of appreciation for the old man's kind words. He nodded, his gratitude obvious in his eyes, and then continued on his course.

They walked together through the crowded pathways, where the honking automobiles and the hum of engines created a cacophonous symphony of city life.

Amidst the metropolitan chaos, they reached a public locomotive station. The rails sliced through the road, creating a unique and somewhat chaotic cityscape. Commuters in various outfits and from different walks of life were lined up, patiently waiting for their turn to board the locomotive.

The station itself was a blend of architectural styles, a mix of traditional and steam-powered elements that hinted at the city's rich history.

Alorian let out a sigh of frustration, his impatience evident. He had chosen to withhold the convenience of the King's Train and instead embrace the unpredictability and shared experience of public transportation. It was a decision he had made with conviction, even if it meant enduring the occasional inconvenience of long queues and crowded trains.

As he stood there, he was surrounded by the buzz of individuals, the rumble of engines, and the rhythmic clatter of the locomotive's wheels. Alorian couldn't help but feel a sense of connection to his matters.

He watched as a young mother juggled a crying baby and her bags, a tired-looking laborer checked his watch anxiously, and a group of schoolchildren chitchatted lively about their day.

It was a stark contrast to the isolated luxury of the King's Train, where he would have been shielded from the everyday struggles and interactions of his people. Alorian knew that by choosing this path, he was not only fulfilling his desires but also achieving a deeper understanding of the kingdom he would lead one day.

Meanwhile, in a room where the feeble sunlight struggled to penetrate through, the sounds of sobs filled the air. The room was adorned with affluent furnishings, the embroidered curtains, and the plush carpet underfoot creating an atmosphere of both opulence and darkness. The scent of old leather furniture and a hint of incense lingered, contrasted with the tension in the room.

The blonde-haired woman, her once braided locks now disheveled, seemed helpless. Her skin, which had been as smooth and fair as milk, was now flushed with a reddish hue, marked by the harsh impact of the man's smacks on her cheeks. The strike echoed through the room with a sharp and stinging sound, mingling with her screams of distress.

"Please, honey!" the woman sobbed, her voice barely audible amid the serious, oppressive air. "This isn't right!"

"This is for our better future! This is for Erdant and Fiona!" the man yelled with a furious expression, his voice reverberating off the room's ornate walls. He stood in front of her while she sat on the edge of the bed. "Why won't you ever listen to me, huh!"

"It's because they are our relatives! I don't want to hurt my sister!" Maretta screamed and tried to defend herself.

The man's offense erupted as he slapped her again, so hard that it made the blonde-haired woman curl up in despair, her cries still echoing in the area in a messy condition.

Amidst it all, the man, Herich, huffed, completely furious. His red-drenched face shimmered in the dim light, and he stared at his wife without a hint of remorse. "Why won't you support me, knowing that Caeloria will soon be ours?"