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Trailblazer - Lost Empire
墨書 Inktalez
In the deep autumn of London, the sky is shrouded in a thick haze, as if even the sky is lamenting something. The weak sunlight struggles to penetrate through the dense clouds, only faintly illuminating the city. Fine rain falls slowly from the sky, bringing a sense of dullness and oppression to the streets. The cold wind whistles and moans, like a lonely traveler wandering in the city. The pedestrians on the streets seem to be affected by the weather, hurrying along with blank expressions, covering themselves with heavy coats and scarves, as if seeking warmth from the indifferent weather.
Oman Walking in such weather, he feels like a lost traveler in a cold world. He wears a thin coat and sweater, but they seem to be of little use in the raging cold wind. Every gust of wind feels like countless ice needles piercing his skin, causing him to involuntarily tighten his body. He tightly grips the collar of his coat, as if to resist the invasion of the cold wind. His face is wrapped in a scarf, revealing only a pair of determined yet somewhat helpless eyes, reflecting this hazy world.
Oman's hat was occasionally blown askew by the wind, and each time he had to quickly adjust it back with his other hand, which was also holding an important bag. His steps seemed somewhat awkward, as he struggled to maintain balance while carefully treading on the slippery streets. His gaze swept over every tree and building along the roadside, as if searching for something or avoiding something. The rain continued to drip onto his clothes, making them heavier and each step more difficult.
The surrounding world seemed to blur in the rain, with distant buildings appearing faint in the mist and pedestrians' faces becoming indistinct. All of this added a touch of mystery and gloom to London. Oman's mood was also affected by this atmosphere, feeling like the protagonist in a novel, walking on an unknown and challenging path. He took a deep breath, trying to dispel the unease and cold in his heart, and continued to walk forward with determination.
Oman's lips trembled in the piercing cold wind, each shiver accompanied by a faint yet distinct sound, as if protesting the merciless cold. He tried to soothe his growing unease, muttering almost powerless complaints to himself, "Why is it so cold!" His voice quickly dissipated in the damp, cold air, as if swallowed by the silent city. As soon as the words fell, he gritted his teeth and continued to walk forward, each step seeming heavy and difficult. The neon lights on the street flickered in the rain, as if illuminating his lonely figure.
The surrounding neon lights flickered in the rain, casting mottled light and shadow, illuminating Oman's lonely figure. These lights cast long shadows on him, as if narrating his lonely journey. He occasionally raised the hand holding the important bag, trying to shake his sleeves to resist the invading cold. On the exposed pale skin of his cuff, an address was prominently written. Oman occasionally gazed down at the characters, his eyes flashing with confusion and urgency. He looked around, his gaze sweeping through every street corner and every alley, as if searching for a familiar sign, a clue that could guide him to his destination.
The streets of London appear particularly damp, cold, and gloomy on this night. Each street seems to hide countless secrets and mysteries, and every corner could be the entrance to a new maze. Oman's steps become increasingly hesitant, his heart filled with restlessness and unease. Whenever he tries to identify a street, only to find himself lost, he unconsciously curses under his breath, "Damn it! Where is this 'Guardians of Time Association'?" His voice drifts in the cold wind, carrying a hint of despair and helplessness.
The night in this city seems to possess a devouring power, swallowing Oman's voice, his urgency, and his confusion. He feels as if he has been abandoned by the city, wandering alone in endless fog. His mood grows increasingly restless, his mind filled with an urgent desire to find the "Guardians of Time Association," yet also shrouded in helplessness and confusion. Clutching his bag tightly, Oman continues to walk forward resolutely in this cold, damp London night.
When Oman reached the entrance of the alley, he decisively turned right into the narrow lane without hesitation. As he stepped into the alley, the piercing cold wind seemed to be blocked by the surrounding buildings, reducing the unpleasant chill. He felt a bit more relaxed, secretly relieved.
In the moment he entered the alley, Oman casually brushed his coat, shaking off the tiny water droplets and frosted ice on the fabric. The droplets and frost scattered as a result of his action, as if taking away some of the cold from his body. Looking ahead, he could vaguely see a house at the end of the dimly lit alley. The house appeared out of place compared to the surrounding buildings, exuding an ancient and mysterious atmosphere.
To his surprise, above the door of the house hung a sign with the words "Guardians of Time Association" carved in vintage font. A glint appeared in Oman's eyes, as if the clouds in his heart had been swept away in that moment. A mix of excitement and anxiety surged within him, causing him to quicken his pace and move forward.
As he approached the door of the house, his steps involuntarily slowed, and his eyes were filled with complex emotions. This was not just the beginning of a new job, but also the start of a new phase in his life. He took a deep breath, ready to step through the doors of the "Guardians of Time Association" and begin his new chapter.
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