輕小說

第一章，向北者

大陆南部，约克王国，亚马尔行省，伦纳德市，普莱恩街。

一间小屋内，瑞克正在缓慢地收拾着行李，他似乎要远行至某处，事实上也的确如此，伦纳德市是一个繁荣的城市，作为一座繁荣的城市，这里最不缺的就是劳动力，本土劳动力或者一些从外面来到这里的劳动力，因为工作要求太高，不得不远走他乡，可是，繁荣的城市总不缺好的名声，一批又一批的人出走，但是一批又一批的人却在往这赶来，人们并不相信这座城市的底层生活差，他们只认为是那一批又一批离开的失败者们自己没用罢了，而瑞克正是这一批又一批的离开者之一，约克王国位于大陆的南部，亚马尔行省位于王国的中部，伦纳德市是这个行省的首府，如果往南前进的话，那里是科特行省，虽然那里内卷并不强烈，但是生活条件极差，反正瑞克是忍受不了，那样的话，就只能去王都和亚马尔行省其他城市或者史密斯行省了，王都那边的内卷更夸张，而且那边的政治氛围极其紧张，瑞克反正是不可能去的，在王都那边，如果在空中抛10块板砖，其中可能会砸到一位王室成员，三个二级政府官员，一个一级政府官员，以及5个平民，在王都那个可能你不小心撞到一个人都是一个政府官员的地方，没点人情世故的技巧，在王都简直就如同羊入狼群一样被动，瑞克有一定的相关技巧，但不多，所以很有自知之明的决定，不前往王都，那么他该前往哪里寻生计？整个亚马尔行省的劳动力内卷都极其严重，所以在这个行省呆着也不可能，南部的科特行省生活条件差，那也不可能，只能向北前往史密斯行省了。

第二章，列车

瑞克拖着那只磨损得露出内衬的旧旅行箱，靴子踩在伦纳德中央车站那被无数脚步磨得光滑可鉴的石质地板上，发出空洞的回响，空气中弥漫着煤灰、机油和人群拥挤在一起特有的温热汗味，巨大的拱形玻璃穹顶将冬日里本就吝啬的阳光滤成了惨淡的灰白色，投射在高耸的铸铁柱梁和那些行色匆匆、如同工蚁般穿梭的人影上；他穿过喧闹得如同集市般的人群，那些高声叫嚷着目的地的搬运夫、依依惜别抹着眼泪的情侣、以及一脸倦容夹着公文包的职员们，构成了这座钢铁巨兽腹内永不停歇的背景噪音，他循着悬挂在粗大铁链上的指示牌——“北向：史密斯行省专列”——找到了属于他的站台，那列被称为“北境寒风号”的钢铁长龙正静静卧在轨道上，庞大的蒸汽机车头如同沉默的巨兽，粗大的烟囱里偶尔逸散出几缕试探性的白烟，深绿色的车厢在站台昏黄的煤气灯光下显得庄重而冰冷，车厢连接处包裹着厚厚的防寒帆布，上面凝结着一层薄薄的冰霜；二等舱的入口处排着不算长的队伍，穿着藏青色制服、帽檐压得一丝不苟的列车员正一丝不苟地检查着车票，他那张被寒风吹得发红的脸庞上没有任何多余的表情，仿佛只是这庞大运输机器上一个精准运行的齿轮；轮到瑞克时，他递上那张用几枚宝贵的银币换来的硬质车票，上面清晰地印着“伦纳德至史密斯行省首府斯诺登，二等座”，列车员用戴着白手套的手指捏着票，目光在票面和瑞克脸上快速扫视了一下，伴随着一声短促而清脆的金属打孔声，车票被还了回来，留下一个规整的小圆孔，“祝您旅途顺利，先生，您的车厢在七号，请往前走。” 列车员的声音平板无波，瑞克点了点头，低声回了句“谢谢”，便拎起箱子，踏上了那冰冷的、带着防滑纹路的金属踏板，走进了二等车厢略显狭窄的过道，一股混合着皮革、陈旧布料和消毒水味道的温暖气息扑面而来，暂时驱散了站台上的寒意。

第三章，车上

七号车厢内部比瑞克预想的要宽敞一些，但也仅仅是相对而言；两排面对面的深绿色绒布座椅被过道隔开，每个座位上方都有一盏小巧的黄铜壁灯，散发着柔和但不算明亮的光线，车窗宽大，但此刻被厚厚的双层玻璃和凝结的水汽模糊了外面的景象，车厢连接处隐约传来有节奏的金属撞击声和蒸汽管道低沉的嘶鸣；瑞克找到了自己的位置——靠窗的一个座位，这让他感到一丝满意，至少能看看风景，哪怕现在什么也看不清；他将箱子费力地塞进头顶的行李架，那架子发出不堪重负的吱呀声，引得对面座位上一位正用钩针编织着什么的老太太抬眼瞥了他一下，眼神里带着一丝不易察觉的审视；瑞克脱下那件还算厚实但已显陈旧的外套，叠好放在身旁，然后坐了下来，椅垫比他想象的要硬，但还算干净；列车似乎还在等待最后一批乘客或者调度指令，并没有开动的迹象；车厢里人不多，除了对面的老太太，斜前方坐着一位抱着熟睡孩子的年轻母亲，正疲惫地望着窗外模糊的光影，过道另一侧则是一位穿着粗呢外套、膝上摊开一本厚书的先生，眉头紧锁，似乎沉浸在文字的世界里；时间在等待中缓慢流淌，只有老太太手中钩针轻微的碰撞声和远处隐约的汽笛声打破沉寂；终于，一声悠长而浑厚的汽笛撕裂了站台的喧嚣，紧接着，脚下的地板传来一阵清晰的震动，并逐渐加强，伴随着“哐当”一声金属咬合的巨响，整个车厢猛地向前一挫，又缓缓平稳下来，窗外站台的景物开始缓慢地、继而坚定地向后滑去，越来越快；旅程开始了。瑞克将头靠在冰冷的玻璃窗上，感受着车轮碾过铁轨接缝时传来的规律震动，这单调的韵律竟意外地带来一丝疲惫后的放松。在晚餐时间，瑞克循着指示牌找到了位于列车中部的餐车；这里比二等车厢明亮许多，铺着白桌布的小方桌排列整齐，空气中飘散着廉价咖啡、烤面包和某种炖肉的混合气味；他点了一份今日特价的腌鲱鱼配黑面包和一杯淡啤酒，独自坐在角落的小桌旁，安静地吃着；餐车里的人稍多，交谈声也嘈杂些，大多是些关于行情的议论、旅途的抱怨或是家乡的琐事，瑞克只是默默地听着，偶尔抬眼看看窗外飞驰而过的、被暮色笼罩的荒凉田野和远处模糊的山丘轮廓；味道谈不上好，鲱鱼咸得发齁，面包粗糙得有些割嗓子，啤酒也淡如水，但这已经是旅途中难得的慰藉。填饱肚子后，他回到自己的座位，在列车有节奏的摇晃和昏暗的灯光下，倦意如潮水般涌来，他裹紧外套，头抵着冰冷的车窗，意识渐渐沉入了昏暗之中。

第四章，077站

不知过了多久，一阵剧烈的晃动和尖锐刺耳的金属摩擦声将瑞克从并不安稳的睡梦中惊醒；窗外一片漆黑，只有几盏孤零零的、光线昏黄的站台灯在黑暗中勾勒出一个简陋站台的轮廓；列车广播里传来一个带着浓重鼻音、不甚清晰的男声：“……077号补给站，停车二十分钟……补给燃料及淡水……乘客可短暂下车活动，但请勿远离站台……注意保管随身物品……” 车厢里顿时响起一阵轻微的骚动和抱怨声，不少人揉着眼睛坐直了身体；瑞克也感到一阵尿意，他活动了一下僵硬的脖子和肩膀，随着几个同样睡眼惺忪的乘客一起站起身，向车厢连接处的盥洗室走去；解决完个人问题，他决定下车透透气，冰冷的空气或许能驱散残留的睡意；他裹紧外套，踏下踏板，一股凛冽得如同刀割般的寒气瞬间穿透衣物，让他打了个激灵，彻底清醒过来；077站台简陋得超乎想象，只有一条低矮的砖石站房，窗户里透出一点微弱的光，站台上覆盖着厚厚的积雪，在昏黄的灯光下泛着冰冷的白光；几个穿着臃肿皮毛大衣、戴着厚厚皮帽的身影在站台边缘摆起了小摊，售卖着一些粗糙但实用的东西：用厚实毛毡做的保温水壶套、粗线编织的厚袜子、硬邦邦的肉干、还有散发着刺鼻气味的劣质烟草；瑞克跺着脚取暖，走到一个售卖袜子的摊子前，摊主是个脸冻得通红、胡子上结满白霜的中年男人，他缩着脖子，只露出一双警惕而疲惫的眼睛；瑞克看中了一双看起来最厚实的灰色羊毛袜，“这个多少钱？”他问道，声音在寒冷的空气中显得有些发闷；摊主伸出戴着破旧皮手套的手，比划了一个数字，声音沙哑：“三枚铜板，先生。” 价格还算公道；瑞克摸出几枚冰冷的铜币递过去，摊主迅速接过，塞进怀里，同时把袜子塞给瑞克，整个过程快得几乎没有交流；瑞克拿着袜子，又看了看旁边摊子上黑乎乎、散发着可疑气味的肉干，最终还是没敢尝试；他站在站台上，呼出的气息瞬间凝结成白雾，抬头望向天空，深邃的墨蓝色天幕上，星辰从未如此清晰明亮，仿佛冰冷的钻石撒落在天鹅绒上，巨大而璀璨，低垂得似乎触手可及，带着一种远离尘嚣的、令人屏息的壮美和孤寂；远处是无边无际的、被白雪覆盖的黑暗荒原，只有列车粗重的喘息声证明着人类文明的微弱存在。很快，站台工作人员吹响了刺耳的哨子，催促乘客上车。瑞克最后看了一眼那辽阔得令人心悸的星空，转身快步踏上了冰冷的金属踏板。车厢门关闭，将刺骨的寒风隔绝在外。列车再次发出沉重的轰鸣，缓缓启动，将孤零零的077站台和那几盏昏黄的灯光，连同那片令人震撼的星空，一起抛入了身后无边的黑暗之中。

第五章，风景

随着列车持续向北深入，窗外的风景也在悄然发生着变化，如同褪色的画卷被一层层刷上更加冷峻的色调；曾经偶尔还能瞥见的、点缀在荒原上的稀疏村落彻底消失了，取而代之的是无边无际、连绵起伏的白色荒原，积雪覆盖了一切，只剩下枯瘦扭曲的黑色枝桠从雪地里顽强地探出，如同大地伸向天空的绝望手指；天空呈现出一种恒定不变的铅灰色，低低地压着，仿佛随时会塌陷下来，将这片白色荒野彻底吞噬；白昼变得极其短暂而吝啬，仿佛只是漫长黑夜中一次短暂的喘息，光线永远是灰蒙蒙的，缺乏生机；列车大部分时间都在一片单调得令人窒息的白色世界中穿行，车轮碾过铁轨的声音在空旷中显得格外响亮和孤独；偶尔，会看到一些令人费解的景象：比如一大片森林，所有的树木都呈现出一种诡异的、完全一致的倾倒方向，像是被某种无法想象的巨力瞬间扫过；或者是在一片平坦的雪原中央，突兀地矗立着几根巨大、扭曲的金属残骸，锈迹斑斑，半埋在积雪里，看不出原本的用途，像是某种史前巨兽的冰冷骸骨；瑞克长时间地坐在窗边，凝视着外面这片寂静得可怕的世界；有时他会看到远处地平线上，有微弱的光带在铅灰色的天幕下无声地舞动，那是极光吗？他从未亲眼见过，只在书本上读到过描述，但那光芒如此清冷、变幻莫测，带着一种不属于人间的神秘感，让他看得有些出神，心中莫名地升起一丝渺小感和对这个未知北境的敬畏；更多的时候，窗外只有雪和天空，分不清界限，列车就像一叶孤舟，在凝固的白色海洋中孤独航行；这种宏大而单调的风景，初看令人震撼，但看得久了，竟生出一种奇异的平静，仿佛所有的焦虑和南方的烦恼，都被这无垠的白色冻结、稀释，变得微不足道了。他开始理解那些关于北方的只言片语——这里需要的不是繁华和喧嚣，而是纯粹的坚韧和沉默地承受。

第六章，同伴

列车在另一个编号为“044”的小站短暂停靠时，发生了一点小意外，也为这单调的旅程增添了一点人味；站台比077站更小更破败，只有孤零零的一间木屋，积雪几乎要淹没它的门槛；乘客们照例下车活动僵硬的身体，在站台边缘几个同样简陋的摊子前逡巡；瑞克正站在一个卖热饮的小摊前，打算买一杯据说能驱寒的、味道刺鼻的草药茶暖手；就在他付钱的时候，眼角的余光瞥见一个穿着单薄、冻得瑟瑟发抖的年轻人，正被两个同样乘客打扮、但眼神不善的大汉堵在站台角落的阴影里，似乎在低声争执什么，其中一人还用力推搡了那年轻人一把；瑞克皱了下眉，他不想惹麻烦，尤其是在这种荒僻之地，但看着那年轻人惊慌又无助的眼神，他想起自己在伦纳德街头也曾有过类似的狼狈；他深吸了一口冰冷的空气，端着那杯滚烫的草药茶，装作不经意地朝那个方向走了几步，然后“不小心”脚下一滑，手中的热茶脱手飞出，不偏不倚地泼在了离他最近的那个大汉的裤腿上！“噢！我的老天！真是万分抱歉，先生！” 瑞克立刻用伦纳德市学来的那种夸张的礼貌语气叫了起来，声音大到足够吸引附近几个乘客的注意，“这该死的冰面！您没烫伤吧？我真是太笨拙了！请务必接受我的歉意！” 他一边说着，一边手忙脚乱地试图掏出手帕，虽然那点布根本擦不掉什么；被泼到的大汉猝不及防，烫得嗷了一声，怒骂着跳开，低头去拍打裤腿；另一个大汉也被这突如其来的变故弄得一愣，警惕地看向瑞克和周围投来的目光；那个被堵住的年轻人趁机挣脱出来，迅速跑到了人群这边。两个大汉见事不可为，狠狠地瞪了瑞克和那年轻人一眼，嘴里骂骂咧咧地快速走开了，消失在站台另一侧。“谢…谢谢您，先生！” 年轻人跑到瑞克身边，惊魂未定，脸色冻得发青，说话都带着颤音，“我叫卡尔…卡尔·弗罗斯特…他们…他们想抢我的怀表，那是我父亲留下的唯一东西了……” 他紧紧捂着胸口的口袋。瑞克摆摆手，示意他不用在意，“举手之劳，卡尔。我叫瑞克。在这种地方，谨慎点总没错。你也是去史密斯？” 卡尔用力点点头，眼睛里带着一种混合着后怕和希望的亮光：“是的，先生！听说斯诺登那边新建的矿场需要很多工人，给的工钱还不错！南方…南方实在待不下去了。”“叫我瑞克就行，” 瑞克看着这个和自己境遇相似的年轻人，感到一丝同病相怜，“正好，旅途漫长，多个伴儿说话也好。” 列车即将启动的哨音响起，两人随着人流匆匆返回车厢。卡尔的位置就在瑞克隔壁的隔间，接下来的旅程，两人自然而然地坐到了一起。卡尔是个健谈的小伙子，来自更南边一个饱受虫害的小农场，他的经历比瑞克更窘迫，言语间充满了对北方新生活的憧憬，虽然有些天真，但那份朴素的希望也多少感染了瑞克。他们分享着各自带的干粮，卡尔带的黑面包硬得像石头，瑞克分了他一点肉干，谈论着南方的生活不易，猜测着北方可能遇到的困难。卡尔对瑞克在伦纳德市的经历充满了好奇，瑞克则被卡尔描述的南方农场生活逗乐了几次。在这片似乎被世界遗忘的寒冷旅途中，两个同样背井离乡、寻找生路的年轻人，因为一次小小的意外相助，成为了彼此暂时的依靠。瑞克觉得，至少抵达史密斯的时候，不再是孤身一人了。这让他心里踏实了一点。

第七章，抵达

当列车广播里终于传来“前方即将抵达终点站——斯诺登中央车站”的通知时，车厢里压抑已久的、混合着疲惫和期盼的骚动终于爆发了；人们纷纷起身，开始从行李架上取下自己的箱子和包裹，过道里瞬间挤满了人，充斥着各种声音：孩子不耐烦的哭闹、大人焦急的催促、行李箱的拖拽声和碰撞声；窗外不再是单调的白色荒野，开始出现了零星的、覆盖着厚厚积雪的低矮房屋，烟囱里冒着黑烟，然后是成片成片、规划得如同棋盘格般整齐划一的、高耸着巨大烟囱的厂房轮廓，粗大的管道像蟒蛇一样在建筑间缠绕延伸，空气中弥漫的煤烟味透过紧闭的车窗缝隙渗透进来，比伦纳德市更加浓烈刺鼻；铁路线变得复杂起来，纵横交错的轨道上停放着更多的货车车厢，上面喷涂着各种矿业公司的巨大标志；巨大的吊臂在灰蒙蒙的天空背景下缓缓移动，发出低沉的轰鸣；这是一个完全被工业力量塑造的城市，冰冷、坚硬、效率至上，空气中都仿佛飘散着铁锈和煤渣的味道；列车速度明显慢了下来，最终伴随着一阵悠长的汽笛和金属摩擦的尖啸，平稳地滑入了斯诺登中央车站那巨大无朋的钢铁穹顶之下；站台比伦纳德市的更加宏伟，也更加冰冷，高耸的钢铁支架支撑着巨大的玻璃顶棚，但玻璃上积满了厚厚的煤灰，让透进来的光线显得浑浊不堪；站台上人潮汹涌，穿着厚重工装、戴着鸭舌帽的工人们行色匆匆，穿着体面、夹着公文包的职员们则显得更加从容，还有不少像瑞克和卡尔这样，带着简单行李、脸上混杂着迷茫和希冀的新来者；蒸汽机车头嘶吼着排出最后一大股白汽，如同巨兽疲惫的叹息。“我们到了，卡尔。”瑞克提起自己的箱子，看着窗外这片陌生、坚硬、充满力量感但也显得格外冷漠的景象，深吸了一口气，那空气中浓重的工业气息让他有些不适，但也带着一种新开始的刺激感。“是的，瑞克先生…我们到了。”卡尔的声音里充满了激动，也带着一丝不易察觉的紧张，他紧紧抓着自己那个瘪瘪的行李袋，指节有些发白。车厢门打开，更加喧嚣的声浪和冰冷的空气瞬间涌入。瑞克和卡尔随着人流，踏上了斯诺登冰冷坚硬的水泥站台。脚下是坚实的土地，但前方，却是完全未知的世界。

Chapter 1: Northbound

In the southern part of the continent, in the Kingdom of York, within the Yamal Province, on Plain Street in the city of Leonard.

Inside a small room, Rick was slowly packing his luggage. He seemed to be heading somefar away, and indeed he was. Leonard was a prosperous city. As a prosperous city, what it least lacked was labor – local labor or labor arriving elsewhere. Unable to endure the excessively demanding work requirements, many were forced to leave for distant lands. Yet, prosperous cities never lack a good reputation. Batch after batch of people departed, but batch after batch also arrived. People simply didn't believe the city's lower strata had a poor life; they thought only that the batches of leavers were useless failures. Rick was one of these batches of leavers.

The Kingdom of York was located in the southern part of the continent. Yamal Province lay in the central part of the kingdom. Leonard City was the capital of this province. If one headed south, that was Cort Province. Although competition there wasn't as fierce, the living conditions were extremely poor. Rick certainly couldn't tolerate that. So, that only left going to the royal capital, other cities in Yamal Province, or Smith Province. The competition in the royal capital was even more exaggerated, and the political atmosphere there was incredibly tense. Rick absolutely couldn't go there. In the royal capital, if you threw ten bricks into the air, they might hit one royal family member, three secondary government officials, one primary government official, and five commoners. In a place you might accidentally bump into a government official, lacking social graces was like being a sheep among wolves. Rick had some relevant skills, but not many. So, with clear self-awareness, he decided against heading to the royal capital.

Where, then, should he go to seek a livelihood? The labor competition throughout Yamal Province was extremely fierce, so staying in this province was also impossible. The southern Cort Province had poor living conditions – also impossible. That left only heading north, to Smith Province.

Chapter 2: The Train

Rick dragged his worn-out suitcase, its lining showing through, as his boots echoed hollowly on the polished stone floor of Leonard Central Station, smoothed by countless footsteps. The air hung thick with coal dust, engine oil, and the warm, dense scent of crowded humanity. The vast arched glass dome filtered the already stingy winter sunlight into a pallid gray, casting it onto the towering cast-iron pillars and the figures scurrying past like worker ants. He pushed through the clamorous, marketplace-like throng – porters shouting destinations, couples tearfully parting, weary clerks clutching briefcases – all forming the ceaseless background noise within the belly of this steel beast.

Following signs hanging thick chains – "Northbound: Smith Province Express" – he found his platform. The train, known as the "Northwind," lay quietly on the tracks. Its massive steam locomotive resembled a silent giant beast, its thick chimney occasionally releasing tentative puffs of white smoke. The deep green carriages looked solemn and cold under the platform's dim yellow gaslights. Thick canvas weatherproofing, covered in a thin layer of frost, wrapped the couplings.

A short queue formed at the second-class entrance. A conductor in a navy-blue uniform, his cap brim impeccably straight, meticulously checked tickets. His face, reddened by the cold wind, held no extra expression, as if he were merely a precisely functioning cog in this vast transport machine. When it was Rick's turn, he handed over the stiff ticket purchased with precious silver coins, clearly printed: "Leonard to Snowdon, Smith Province Capital, Second Class." The conductor, fingers in white gloves, pinched the ticket, his eyes flicking rapidly between it and Rick's face. With a short, crisp snick of a punch, the ticket was returned, bearing a neat round hole.

"Have a pleasant journey, sir. Your carriage is number seven, straight ahead," the conductor said flatly. Rick nodded, murmured "Thank you," hoisted his case, and stepped onto the cold, ribbed metal footplate, entering the slightly narrow corridor of the second-class carriage. A wave of warm air, smelling of leather, old fabric, and disinfectant, washed over him, momentarily dispelling the platform's chill.

Chapter 3: Onboard

The interior of carriage seven was slightly more spacious than Rick had anticipated, but only relatively so. Two rows of deep green plush seats faced each other, divided by the aisle. A small brass wall lamp above each seat cast a soft, not particularly bright light. The windows were large, but now obscured by thick double panes and condensation. A rhythmic metallic clanking and the low hiss of steam pipes came faintly the couplings.

Rick found his seat – by the window. This pleased him slightly; at least he could look at the scenery, even if it was currently invisible. He heaved his case into the overhead rack, which groaned protestingly, drawing a glance an elderly woman opposite him who was crocheting something. Her eyes held a trace of imperceptible scrutiny. Rick took off his reasonably thick but worn coat, folded it, placed it beside him, and sat down. The seat cushion was harder than expected but clean.

The train seemed to be waiting for the final passengers or a dispatch signal; there was no sign of movement. The carriage wasn't crowded. Besides the elderly woman opposite, a young mother holding a sleeping child sat diagonally ahead, gazing wearily at the blurred light outside. Across the aisle, a man in a tweed coat sat with a thick book open on his lap, frowning deeply, seemingly absorbed in the text. Time crawled in the waiting silence, broken only by the faint click of the old woman's crochet hook and distant whistles.

Finally, a long, resonant whistle tore through the platform's clamor. Immediately after, a distinct vibration rose through the floor, growing stronger. With a loud, metallic CLUNK of coupling, the entire carriage jolted forward, then settled into a smooth glide. Outside, the platform scenery began to slide backward, slowly at first, then with increasing determination. Faster and faster. The journey had begun.

Rick leaned his head against the cold glass window, feeling the rhythmic thump of the wheels crossing rail joints. This monotonous beat brought an unexpected sense of relaxation after exhaustion.

At dinnertime, Rick followed the signs to the dining car in the middle of the train. It was much brighter than the second-class carriage. Small, white-clothed tables were neatly arranged. The air smelled of cheap coffee, toast, and some kind of stew. He ordered the daily special: salted herring with black bread and a glass of thin beer. He sat alone at a corner table, eating quietly. The dining car was busier and noisier, filled mostly with talk of business prospects, travel complaints, or hometown gossip. Rick just listened silently, occasionally glancing out at the bleak fields streaking past in the twilight and the blurred outlines of distant hills.

The food wasn't good. The herring was saltier than seawater, the bread coarse enough to scratch the throat, the beer watery. But it was a rare comfort on the journey. After filling his stomach, he returned to his seat. Lulled by the train's rhythmic sway and the dim light, fatigue washed over him like a tide. He pulled his coat tighter, rested his head against the cold window, and his consciousness gradually sank into the gloom.

Chapter 4: Station 077

An indeterminate time later, a violent jolt and a screech of metal tore Rick an uneasy sleep. Outside was pitch black, save for a few lonely, dim yellow station lamps outlining the shape of a crude platform. The train's PA crackled with a thick-nosed, indistinct male voice: "...Station 077... twenty-minute stop... refueling and water replenishment... passengers may briefly disembark... do not stray far... secure belongings..."

A low murmur of complaint rippled through the carriage. Many people rubbed their eyes and sat up. Rick felt the need to relieve himself. He stretched his stiff neck and shoulders and joined a few other bleary-eyed passengers heading for the washroom at the carriage end. After taking care of business, he decided to step outside for air; the cold might dispel the lingering sleepiness.

He pulled his coat tight and stepped down onto the platform. A knife-sharp, piercing cold instantly penetrated his clothes, making him shudder and jolting him fully awake. Station 077 was more rudimentary than he could have imagined: just a low brick building with a faint light in its window. The platform was covered in thick snow, glowing coldly white under the dim lamps. A few figures, bundled in bulky fur coats and thick fur hats, had set up stalls at the platform's edge, selling rough but practical goods: thick felt covers for thermoses, coarse-knit heavy socks, rock-hard jerky, and pungent, low-grade tobacco.

Rick stamped his feet for warmth and approached a stall selling socks. The vendor, a middle-aged man with a face red cold and a beard crusted white with frost, hunched his shoulders, revealing only watchful, weary eyes. Rick picked out a pair of thick-looking gray wool socks. "How much?" he asked, his voice muffled in the frigid air. The vendor held up gloved fingers, ragged at the seams, indicating a number. "Three copper pennies, sir," he rasped. The price was fair. Rick fished out a few cold coppers. The vendor snatched them, stuffed them into his coat, and thrust the socks at Rick – the transaction almost devoid of words. Holding the socks, Rick eyed the suspicious-looking, dark jerky on the next stall, emitting a questionable odor, but ultimately didn't dare try it.

He stood on the platform, his breath instantly forming white plumes. He looked up at the sky. On the deep indigo expanse, stars shone with unprecedented clarity and brilliance, like cold diamonds scattered on velvet, vast and dazzling, hanging so low they seemed within reach. It held a breathtaking, desolate grandeur, far removed the world. In the distance lay the boundless, snow-covered dark wilderness. Only the train's heavy breathing testified to the faint presence of human civilization.

Soon, a station worker blew a sharp whistle, urging passengers back onboard. Rick took one last look at the heart-stoppingly vast starscape, then turned and quickly stepped onto the cold metal footplate. The carriage door closed, shutting out the biting wind. The train let out another heavy groan and slowly started, leaving the lonely Station 077, its few dim lamps, and that awe-inspiring sky, behind in the endless dark.

Chapter 5: The Landscape

As the train pushed deeper north, the scenery outside the window subtly transformed, like a faded painting overlaid with increasingly austere hues. The sparse villages that had occasionally dotted the wilderness vanished entirely. In their place stretched an endless, rolling expanse of white nothingness. Snow smothered everything. Only gaunt, twisted black branches protruded stubbornly the drifts, like the earth's desperate fingers clawing at the sky. The sky held an unchanging leaden gray, pressing low as if it might collapse at any moment and swallow the white wilderness whole.

Daylight became miserly and fleeting, a mere gasp in the long night. The light was perpetually murky, devoid of vitality. The train spent most of its time traversing a monotonous, suffocating white world. The sound of wheels on tracks echoed loudly and alone in the emptiness.

Occasionally, perplexing sights appeared: a vast forest all the trees leaned in an eerie, uniform direction, as if swept by an unimaginable force. Or, in the middle of a flat snowfield, stood several enormous, twisted metal remnants, rusted and half-buried in snow, their original purpose unguessable – like the cold bones of some prehistoric beast.

Rick sat by the window for long stretches, gazing at this terrifyingly silent world. Sometimes, far on the horizon, faint ribbons of light danced silently beneath the leaden sky. Was that the aurora? He'd never seen it, only read descriptions. But the light was so cold, so elusive, carrying an otherworldly mystique that held him transfixed. A strange sense of insignificance and reverence for this unknown north welled up within him.

More often, outside was only snow and sky, indistinguishable. The train felt like a lone boat sailing a frozen white ocean. This vast, monotonous landscape was initially awe-inspiring, but prolonged exposure brought a peculiar calm. It was as if all the anxieties and troubles of the south were frozen, diluted, rendered insignificant by this boundless white. He began to understand the fragments he'd heard about the North: it demanded not prosperity and noise, but pure resilience and silent endurance.

Chapter 6: A Companion

A small accident occurred when the train made a brief stop at another small station, numbered "044." It added a touch of humanity to the monotonous journey. The platform was smaller and more dilapidated than Station 077 – just a solitary wooden hut almost buried by snowdrifts. Passengers disembarked as usual to stretch stiff limbs, milling around a few equally crude stalls at the platform's edge.

Rick stood before a stall selling hot drinks, about to buy a cup of pungent-smelling herbal tea rumored to ward off the cold. As he paid, his peripheral vision caught a young man in thin clothing, shivering violently, being cornered in the shadows at the platform's end by two men dressed like passengers but with unfriendly eyes. They seemed to be arguing in low voices; one shoved the young man roughly.

Rick frowned. He didn't want trouble, especially not out here. But seeing the young man's panicked, helpless eyes reminded him of his own past humiliations on Leonard's streets. He took a deep breath of icy air, picked up his cup of scalding tea, and walked casually towards them. Then, he "accidentally" slipped, sending the hot liquid flying straight onto the nearest thug's trouser leg!

"Oh! Good heavens! My deepest apologies, sir!" Rick immediately cried out in the exaggeratedly polite tone he'd learned in Leonard, loud enough to draw the attention of nearby passengers. "This damned ice! You're not burned, are you? I'm so clumsy! Please, you must accept my apology!" He babbled, fumbling for a handkerchief, though the scrap of cloth wouldn't help much. The splashed thug yelped in surprise and pain, jumping back with a curse to slap at his leg. His companion was also thrown off guard, looking warily at Rick and the gathering stares. The trapped young man seized the moment, broke free, and darted towards the small crowd.

Seeing the situation was lost, the two thugs glared venomously at Rick and the young man, muttered curses, and quickly walked away, disappearing around the other side of the platform.

"Th-thank you, sir!" The young man gasped, running up to Rick, his face blue with cold and fright, voice trembling. "I'm Karl... Karl Frost... They... they wanted my pocket watch... it's the only thing left my father..." He clutched his chest pocket tightly.

Rick waved dismissively. "Think nothing of it, Karl. I'm Rick. Caution never hurts out here. You heading to Smith too?" Karl nodded vigorously, eyes shining with a mix of lingering fear and hope. "Yes, sir! Heard the new mines near Snowdon need lots of workers! Pay's decent! The South... the South was just impossible."

"Call me Rick," Rick said, feeling a pang of kinship with this young man sharing his plight. "Well, it's a long journey. Good to have someone to talk to." The train's departure whistle sounded. They hurried back to the carriage with the flow of passengers.

Karl's seat was in the next compartment. Naturally, they sat together for the remainder of the journey. Karl was a talkative lad, a small farm further south, ravaged by pests. His experiences were more desperate than Rick's, his speech filled with naive but earnest hope for a new life in the North, which somewhat lifted Rick's spirits. They shared their meager provisions – Karl's rock-hard black bread, Rick's jerky. They talked about the hardships of the South, speculated on the difficulties they might face in the North. Karl was intensely curious about Rick's life in Leonard; Rick found himself amused several times by Karl's descriptions of southern farm life.

In this frigid journey through a seemingly forgotten world, two young men, both exiled home seeking survival, became each other's temporary anchor because of a small act of intervention. Rick felt that at least he wouldn't arrive in Smith utterly alone. It gave him a little more solid ground beneath his feet.

Chapter 7: Arrival

When the train's PA finally announced, "Approaching final destination – Snowdon Central Station," the pent-up restlessness in the carriage, a mix of exhaustion and anticipation, erupted. People surged to their feet, pulling bags and bundles the overhead racks. The aisle instantly choked with bodies, filled with the cacophony of impatient children crying, anxious adults urging, and luggage scraping and bumping.

Outside the window, the monotonous white wilderness gave way to sporadic, snow-buried low houses with smoking chimneys. Then came clusters of buildings – rows upon rows of towering factories with massive smokestacks, laid out in rigid, chessboard-like grids. Thick pipes snaked like pythons between structures. The smell of coal smoke, stronger and more acrid than Leonard's, seeped through the sealed window cracks. The rail lines grew complex; more freight cars emblazoned with huge mining company logos sat on crisscrossing tracks. Giant crane arms moved slowly against the gray sky, emitting low rumbles. This was a city utterly shaped by industrial might – cold, hard, efficiency-driven. The very air seemed to carry the taste of rust and coal dust.

The train slowed markedly. Finally, with a long whistle and a shriek of metal, it slid smoothly beneath the immense steel canopy of Snowdon Central Station. The platform was grander than Leonard's, yet colder. Towering steel girders supported a vast glass roof, but the panes were thick with grime, turning the filtered light murky. The platform teemed: workers in heavy overalls and flat caps rushed purposefully; better-dressed clerks with briefcases moved more deliberately; and many newcomers, like Rick and Karl, clutching simple luggage, faces a mix of bewilderment and hope. The steam locomotive vented one last massive plume of white steam, like the weary sigh of a giant beast.

"We're here, Karl," Rick said, lifting his case, looking out at this strange, hard, powerful, yet profoundly indifferent landscape. He took a deep breath; the heavy industrial air was uncomfortable, yet carried a thrill of new beginnings.

"Yes, Mr. Rick... we're here," Karl's voice was thick with excitement and a barely concealed tension. He clutched his thin duffel bag, knuckles white.

The carriage door opened. A fresh wave of noise and icy air rushed in. Rick and Karl stepped off with the tide of people, onto Snowdon's cold, hard cement platform. Their feet were on solid ground. But ahead lay a world utterly unknown.