Fragile Shard 5. Faceless Station.
The station had stood in the middle of the Faceless Wasteland for several centuries. This vast brick building, adorned with cobwebs of stained glass inserts, was erected in the heart of nearly endless scorched wastelands, which harbored an eerie, alien growth that instilled fear in the feral man-beast tribes. Throughout its existence, the station expanded and accumulated an incredible number of outbuildings, morphing into a complex structure that resembled a city within a single edifice.
Many railway tracks stretched to the Faceless Station from all corners of the world; some remained active, while most were abandoned and obscured by layers of ash and sand. Among the surviving routes, only three were still in regular operation: the Marine line from the United Eastern Republic, which traversed the Inland Ocean on an embankment; the Lunar line from the Light Kingdom; and, most notably, the Underground Path that led directly from the enigmatic Lost World itself.
No one remembered why the station’s founders chose this strange location in the midst of the desolate wasteland. There used to be a city here, but not a single structure remained in its surroundings. Nevertheless, over time, the station itself became a vital trading hub, attracting Rogue Traders, criminal syndicates, and even powerful states. Here, one could trade anything and everything: from rare fabrics, spices, and aircraft to illicit drugs, weapons, and exotic concubines.
Train seventeen fraction forty-five finally arrived on the Underground track, albeit delayed by three weeks. Such delays had become common lately — the tracks were old, lined with wooden sleepers that crumbled into dust in the tunnels, and no one was there to maintain them. Consequently, the train progressed at a sluggish pace, often necessitating on-the-spot repairs along its journey. However, three weeks was an absolute record, and Karl’s nerves had been stretched thin during the agonizing wait for the seventeenth train.
In any case, the train arrived at the station. A colossal carriage, equipped with powerful LED lights that pierced the eternal darkness of the Underground Path, rumbled and steamed its way forward. Maneuvering between the supporting columns of the station’s roof, the train gradually came to a halt. Karl strolled along the granite platform towards the train, his hands tucked in his vest pockets.
Upon hearing about the arrival of the long-awaited train, he raced into the main hall with breakneck speed, covering considerable ground in a short time — from the upper tiers of the new districts, where he rented a modest room, to the lowest main level. Not only were the station’s inhabitants generally averse to physical exertion, but the black breathing mask that covered his entire face also resulted in a cacophony of squeaks and wheezes, making breathing challenging. However, the mask served as protection from the incredibly polluted air of the environment.
Pushing his bowler hat back slightly, Karl thoughtfully tapped his palm on the titanium hull of the passing carriage. A guttural roar emanated from within, and the car seemed to wobble from vigorous impacts from the inside. “Ah, they’re delivering the underground guards to us,” a thought briefly crossed his mind, only to be discarded immediately. That wasn’t what occupied his thoughts at this moment. Instead, his mind revolved around this: inside one of the train’s carriages lay his goods — an acquisition so valuable that, at best, he’d be fed to the underground guards if they discovered it. At worst, he’d be exiled beyond the station walls, forced to walk on foot without a mask. Karl had little idea of what to do with it, but when his regular supplier from the Lost World informed him of this finding through a secure channel, he couldn’t resist and said, “Take it.” Selling such a thing was nearly impossible. Not because there wouldn’t be a buyer — quite the opposite; but because being the sole possessor of such wealth was a dream come true. Owning it was already bliss, but unlocking its potential meant venturing into an entirely new realm.
As the train came to a halt, the massive carriage doors slid open with a drawn-out whistle, releasing the passengers. By this time, other meeting parties had already begun to converge — mostly merchants, but there were also a few menacing gangsters among them. Knowing he was running late, Karl found the right carriage almost instantly, just before the usual station commotion erupted. The third wagon — the only one from which no crowd of passengers emerged. Stealthily glancing around, Karl slipped into the darkness of the immense carriage.
The lighting in the station’s main hall was dim, so his eyes quickly adjusted to the twilight within the train. From the inside, the carriage appeared as a lengthy three-story corridor, with narrow passageways along the sides and numerous compartment doors. In the central space, bulky cargo items like five-meter shimmering mushrooms or underground worm skins were stacked. Carl sought compartment number one thousand one hundred thirty and located it with ease. Standing before the door, he took a deep breath through his nostrils, closed his eyes, and raised his hand to knock. Then, he knocked three times. The door instantly swung open, and a long tentacle extended from behind it, beckoning Karl into the pitch-black compartment. It inspected him from head to toe. Then, a gas lamp flickered to life, emitting a feeble flame.
“Why have you come, little man?” hissed Oktosapiens, passenger compass number one hundred and thirty. “Do you seek the item?”
Carl nervously nodded in response.
“Give me the money,” the seller continued with a stifled hiss.
Oktosapiens’ slimy, octopus-like body on human legs trembled and swayed like revolting jelly, filling the compartment with an unbearable, dank stench. One of the tentacles reached out to the visitor, trembling demandingly — as if to say, hurry up, don’t dawdle. Carl reached into the inside pocket of his vest, feeling for a small soft bag — containing almost all his savings. Also, there was a rare commodity that held special value in the Lost World — star powder. He sighed and placed the bag into the outstretched limb, which swiftly withdrew it into the octosapiens’ skin sac. At the same time, a pair of other tentacles rustled at the far end of the compartment, rummaging through a pile of fabrics and bags. Finally, the wriggling limbs retrieved a metal box, handing it to Carl.
“Get out of here as fast as you can, brave little man,” Oktosapiens had warned.
Carl didn’t need to be told twice. With a short nod, he rushed headlong out of the gloomy compartment and out of the dark carriage. Amidst the buzzing crowd of unrecognizable faces, he forced himself to walk at a slower pace so as not to draw attention. However, as soon as he emerged from the main hall onto the half-empty staircase, he broke into a sprint, leaping over the steps, and didn’t stop until he slammed the door of his closet shut.
Leaning back against the cold metal of the door, he slid down to the floor, holding the box tightly in his arms, and wept softly. He remained in that position for a very long time. Eventually, he wiped away his tears and slowly opened the box.
It was in there. Small, fragile, possibly the only one of its kind in the entire world — a red, trembling, living heart encased in a glass sphere. And alongside it, a scalpel.
With trembling hands, Carl took the scalpel from the box. He slowly unbuttoned his vest, revealing his pale chest. Gently, he used the scalpel to trace an even circle just below his chest on the left side and tore off the skin. In the empty space under his ribs, he delicately inserted the heart. He feared it might stop beating, but to his relief, he heard the sound: Knock-knock. Knock-knock. Knock-knock.
Now, everything would change, just like in the old children’s fairy tales where everyone possessed hearts. And this constant knock-knock would restore meaning to everything.
Overwhelmed with happiness, he cried again. Then, he began to feel a transformation — a profound change that would affect everything… Forever.
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“Fragile Shards: Whispers of Transience” is an evocative anthology that spans 15 years of the author’s writing journey. From mystical adventures to dark introspections, these tales traverse vivid landscapes, offering a captivating glimpse into the ever-changing tapestry of human emotions and perceptions. Each story is a unique shard, reflecting the complexity of life’s experiences and the resilience of hope.