The sky above stretched out in a sickly shade of green, casting an unnatural hue over the desolate road leading to the orphanage. Gone were the cheerful songs of birds; now, even the smallest sparrows cowered behind thick branches, as if nature itself sensed that safety had become a luxury. The air was thick with unease, and from the distance came the acrid sting of gunpowder, faint but persistent. Each echo of gunfire, muffled by the wind yet sharp enough to wound, carried the weight of a world unraveling, pressing down on the hearts of all who dared to listen.
Throughout the journey, the middle-aged woman behind the wheel spoke with tireless enthusiasm, boasting that her orphanage was the finest in all of Yeter El. Nobles, she claimed, practically lined up to adopt her foster children, all eager for the well-mannered, bright, and obedient youths that only Madam Aria could raise. She promised the best facilities, a comfortable life if the girl behaved. But the girl offered no more than a half-hearted nod, her gaze fixed on the blur of the passing trees. She was too tired to speak, too numb to care.
The girl lowered her gaze to her legs, now streaked with dried blood and dirt. It was a small miracle that she'd managed to reach Madam's carriage and climb in without collapsing. Now that her body had begun to ease, the sharp sting of reopened wounds made itself known, pulsing beneath her skin. She wasn't sure if she'd be able to step down from the carriage, let alone walk without faltering. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Madam's attire, a modest blue-violet dress cinched at the waist with a white lace apron. Bracelets of dyed pink seeds clinked softly on both her wrists. Her appearance was unassuming, almost plain, but the girl knew enough to recognize quality when she saw it. The fabric was expensive.
The journey passed more quickly than she expected, largely because Madam never stopped talking about her foster children. She spoke with the fondness of a proud mother and the pride of a curator showing off rare gems. When the girl finally asked, more out of politeness than genuine curiosity, who the smartest child was, Madam's face lit up.
"Ariadhna," she said without hesitation. "She was only six when she solved a mathematics problem most adults couldn't wrap their heads around."
Then came mention of Anez—a quiet boy who rarely left the library, his world revolving around astronomy books and star charts. Madam's voice softened when she spoke of him, like someone speaking of a fragile treasure kept behind glass.
"Sometimes Aria peeks at him from behind the bookshelf while Anez is buried in his books," Madam said with a chuckle. "When I catch her, she bolts and hides in the rose garden. Isn't that just precious?"
"She sounds like a sweet child."
"Of course! My children are the most adorable in the world." Madam paused, her eyes momentarily distant before lighting up again. "But the sweetest of them all is Anastasia, my youngest. You should hear her little voice when she asks for Luna Rossa. It's absolutely darling."
"Luna Rossa..?"
"A soft, crescent-shaped bread filled with apple slices soaked in rose syrup. Anastasia's favorite. If you want to be her friend, just bring one every morning. Ah, maybe that's why Aldhen is her favorite. He never forgets."
"I'll try to get close to her, ma'am."
"We're family now," Madam said, reaching over with a warm smile. "No need to be so formal."
"Yes, Madam."
Madam gave her a playful sigh. "You'll learn," she said, just as the carriage began to slow. "Well, here we are. Come on, let's get out!"
She drew a deep breath before stepping off the carriage. As expected, pain flared through her legs the moment she shifted her weight. Standing was agony, and walking felt almost cruel. But when she looked up, Madam was already waiting by the carriage with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. It was gentle, polite, even sweet—but something about it made the girl's skin prickle.
Her body begged to stay still, to collapse into the seat and close her eyes but the fear of what might happen if she disobeyed pushed her forward.
With a shaky breath, she reached for the edge of the door and tried to step down, holding on tightly. But her leg gave way. The world tilted, her vision blurred. She closed her eyes, bracing for the sharp kiss of the ground.
It never came.
An arm, swift, firm, and unfamiliar caught her just in time.
"Are you okay?"
It's a boy's voice not Madam Aria's.
When she opened her eyes, a sudden chill crawled up her spine, not just from the bite of the morning air, but from a pair of eyes that met hers. Cold, deep gray, sharp as glacial stone. They locked onto her with unnerving precision. That gaze didn't just meet hers; it saw through her, peeled back every quiet thought she'd tried to bury since her journey began.
For a moment, that blissful little moment, she forgot the sting in her legs. Forgot the shock of nearly collapsing. Forgot about that day.
She was frozen.
No.
She was captivated.
The boy stood close—so close that his face hovered just inches from hers. His lashes were long and dark, framing a pair of eyes sharp as a hawk's, yet strangely distant. His nose was straight with a soft, graceful curve, and though his jawline was already defined, it still held the faint roundness of a boy not yet grown.
His hair shimmered beneath the morning light, each strand catching the sun like threads of obsidian. Behind him, the pale green mist of early dawn had lifted, giving way to a sky washed in gentle blue, the kind that chases away the cold breath of night. In that sudden clarity, she finally can see every detail of his face.
Handsome boy, like a prince in fairytale. But it was his eyes that held her. Not because of their shape or color, but because of what they carried. A quiet grief lived behind them—quiet, but heavy. It wasn't loud or broken, just… constant. Like something long-held, something too familiar.
And in that single, lingering moment, she felt it. Not fully understand it, not completely know what it is, but enough to recognize it.
Pain. Loss.
Something she knew all too well.
For a moment, time seemed to stop. There was no sound but the rustling wind in the leaves and the thunder of her own heartbeat in her ears. The world narrowed to a single point—just her, and the boy with glacier-colored eyes.
"Aldhen, are you okay?"
Madam Aria's voice sliced through the stillness, snapping the moment like fragile glass. The boy—Aldhen—blinked as if waking from a trance, then gently tightened his grip on her arm, steadying her once more.
Madam's eyes narrowed, just briefly. Her smile never faltered, but her gaze flicked to where their arms touched. In the next breath, her attention shifted back to the girl.
"Are you hurt, dear? You should've said something if you were struggling to get down from the carriage. Come here, now," she said, stretching out a hand wrapped neatly in a white handkerchief, an elegant gesture, yet somehow firm, expectant. The tilt of her head and the subtle shift of her posture made it clear: the girl was to come to her, and step away from the boy.
Before the girl could respond, Aldhen spoke up. His voice was calm, almost too casual.
"It's alright, Madam. I just finished my morning run, I'm sweating, probably not the best person to be touching anyone. How about I take this child to the bathroom and help clean her wound?"