Marta stood dazed, her weary eyes trying to process a luxury she hadn't seen even in her dreams. The marble pavements shimmered under the sunlight reflected from massive mirrors atop brass skyscrapers. Elegant airships, adorned with noble crests, glided through the sky like majestic white birds. Here, the gears and machines operated in absolute silence, as if afraid to scratch the peace of the masters.
Marta walked with her exhausted body, hiding her rough hands inside the sleeves of her cheap dress, which looked like a black ink stain amidst the vibrant colors of the passing gowns. She felt eyes following her—not in admiration, but as if she were a germ that had infected a pure body. Finally, she reached the "Blue Rose Brothel," a towering building with perfect synthetic trees that exhaled fragrance. Just as she was about to enter through the servants' entrance, she stopped abruptly.
The main door swung open, and a young man radiating elegance stepped out in his dark velvet jacket and perfectly groomed hair. He was toying with a ruby necklace, a cunning and satisfied smile on his face, as if he had just stolen the sun and tucked it into his pocket.
It was Dante.
He passed right by her, his luxury cologne filling her senses, whistling a soft tune as he headed for his private steam carriage. Marta felt a chill in her chest; this pampered youth had no idea that the "copper" he might toss as a tip to a servant was the price of her dignity last night. She swallowed her bitterness and entered the building to face her fate.
Behind his massive wardrobe in the palace, Dante pushed a hidden wooden panel to slide into his private realm: "The Workshop."
The place buzzed with frantic mechanical life; the ticking of thousands of interlocking gears on the walls sounded like the pulse of a massive metal heart. The scent of burnt oil and gunpowder filled the air, while dim, flickering lights emitted from glass tubes filled with green phosphorous liquid, staining the walls as if the room were underwater.
Dante sat on his metal chair, donning his magnifying goggles with multiple lenses that protruded from his forehead like the eyes of a brass insect. He was dismantling a delicate encrypted cylinder, his fingers moving with surgical precision between the tiny cogs. He pulled out the documents he had obtained from Eleanor and began analyzing the data.
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"Van Damme... the man who thinks he owns everything, yet doesn't possess even the taste to appreciate art," Dante muttered with disgust. His research had uncovered a filthy secret: Van Damme was the hidden financier of the "Owls" gang that was crushing the "Ravens" in the Under-city, responsible for the pools of blood there. But what truly moved Dante was the secret equipment reaching Van Damme from the talented engineers of the depths; Dante wanted those technologies for himself. He wanted to see with his own eyes what this corrupt noble was stealing from the minds of the poor.
Suddenly, one of the large gears near the ceiling vibrated, emitting a faint whistle. Dante’s body stiffened; this was his "Silent Alarm"—footsteps were approaching his room above.
Quickly, he killed the engines and pulled the lever to return the secret passage to its place. He leaped into his room, tossed his jacket onto the bed, and sat with chilling indifference, flipping through the pages of a "History of Art" book. The door burst open, and Ranti walked in.
She was wearing a silk gown, her blue eyes blazing with boredom and annoyance. "Oh, Dante... buried in your boring books as usual while the world outside is burning with schemes."
Dante looked up with a cold smile. "There is beauty in stillness, my dear Ranti. Not all of us have your energy for wasting time on salon gossip."
Ranti tilted her head, her tone sharpening. "Mother and Father are talking about 'selling' you to the Academy... or 'selling' me to some fat noble who owns coal mines. Are you really comfortable in this stillness?"
Dante closed the book calmly and stood before her with provocative coldness. "Marriage and mines... vocabulary for simple minds like our parents. As for me, my interests extend far beyond the walls of this palace."
Ranti’s eyes narrowed, and she caught a very faint scent clinging to his clothes... the smell of engine oil. She smiled slyly. "You smell strange, brother... like the blacksmith workshops in the Under-city. Have you started practicing 'ignoble' hobbies in secret?"
Dante chuckled softly and leaned into her ear, whispering: "Perhaps... but remember, Ranti, in a world like this, those who do not stain their hands with oil will eventually be consumed by the flames. Now, leave... I have 'art' to finish."
Inside the brothel, Marta felt lost amidst the golden engravings and the scent of roses. She looked at herself in a massive mirror: a tattered dress, dull hair despite her attempts to fix it all day. She looked like wreckage amidst the beauty.
"Are you Marta?" A melodic voice broke her train of thought. She turned to find Eleanor, with her towering height and deep blue hair. "Yes... my lady." Eleanor scrutinized her features. "Good. I heard about your beauty from my scouts below. With some adjustments, you will rival the others." She approached boldly, lifting Marta’s chest with her hand and added, "Over the next four days, you will be ready to please our clients."
Before she could respond, a tall man with blonde hair and cold blue eyes burst into the scene. He picked up Eleanor with one hand with arrogant ease and kissed her cheek while she giggled coquettishly. "Three! I want three girls today!" the man said hungrily. "Sir... you are devouring my girls!" Eleanor replied playfully. "None of them compare to you," he said, carrying her away from the noise.
Marta stood frozen. In the Under-city, work was cruelty and blows. Here, the slavery was covered in silk and fake laughter.
"The paths of survival and obsession have finally crossed. The contrast between Dante's smile and Marta's tears is just the beginning. What are your thoughts on this cold reality? I’d love to hear your impressions."