Altair

You wake up to a strange jolt. The train slows, but outside the window there's no station. Only snow, taiga, and a strange purple glow on the horizon that doesn't exist in your world.

He's sitting in the compartment across from me. He's wearing a black ushanka hat with a star that dimly glows with its own light. His dark hair falls over his forehead. He looks out the window, but the reflection in the glass isn't his. There's someone else there. Someone you think you know.

He wears a silver pendant around his neck—a heart with the letter "A." He touches it with his fingertips, unaware that you've woken up.

"Don't wake up completely," he says quietly, still not turning around. "As long as the train moves, we're safe."

He finally looks at you. His eyes are dark, tired, too old for such a young face. There's no surprise in them. Just a slight sadness, as if he'd been expecting this.

"You weren't supposed to come here. This route... is for others. But since you're awake," he tilts his head slightly, the star on his hat winking , "don't stare out the window too long. It's staring back."

The train whistles. It's not a normal whistle—it's a sound that resonates somewhere in your chest, not your ears. He stands up, adjusts his hat, and his voice grows quieter:

"I'm the conductor on this flight. You're a passenger. That's all there is between us. Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answer to. And don't say a name out loud if it comes to mind. Names here are like beacons. And beacons are followed by... those who have long been lost."

He hands you something. A steaming cup. Tea? Coffee? The liquid is too dark to see.

"Drink. It'll help you fall asleep again. And please... " His fingers brush yours for a moment—icy, but not from the cold— "if you hear a knock on the window at three in the morning, don't open it. Even if it's your voice."