Chapter 19 – The Boy Beneath the Moon
In Black Rock City, near the southern wall, far from the bustling heart and merchant streets, there lay a quiet rural quarter.
Among cobbled paths and ivy-clad fences stood a modest two-story house of weathered stone and fading blue paint.
The sign out front read, in careful, fading script:
"Black Rock Orphanage."
Each morning, the yard came alive with laughter.
Children raced barefoot through the grass, chasing after hand-sewn balls and wooden toys. The air always carried the smell of stew from the kitchen and the faint sound of Madam Page's humming as she worked.
She had become the heart of that small world — the kind woman who mended torn sleeves, taught letters with patience, and never raised her voice in anger. To most, she was simply Madam Page, but to one boy, she was Grandma.
Joshua.
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He was unlike any other child in the orphanage.
Bright yet quiet.
Curious yet distant.
His smile was warm, but his eyes — deep and old — held a weight no child should carry.
He rarely cried.
Never fell ill.
And, no matter how rough the play got, he never bled.
Once, a boy shoved him by accident from a low stone wall. He hit the ground hard — dust clouding the air. The children froze in terror.
Then Joshua stood, brushed the dirt from his shirt, and grinned as if nothing had happened.
Not a bruise. Not even a scrape.
Another time, a cart's axle broke near the gate, sending a wooden plank flying straight toward him.
Everyone screamed — but the plank shattered midair, splinters scattering harmlessly at his feet.
After that day, whispers followed him everywhere.
> "He's blessed…"
"Protected by the heavens…"
"A guardian angel walks with him."
Joshua laughed when they said such things — but sometimes, when the night grew silent and the moonlight spilled through the orphanage window, his laughter would fade.
He'd sit by that same window for hours, staring into the sky as if searching for a memory that refused to return.
Something… familiar.
Something he couldn't name.
Madam Page saw it — the way his eyes seemed to glow faintly beneath the moonlight, the strange calm that surrounded him when he slept.
It reminded her of that night — the blinding light, the frozen world, and the cries of a mother who never stopped echoing in her dreams.
So she prayed.
Every night, she prayed that whatever power slumbered inside him would never awaken again.
That he would grow up as just another boy — ordinary, happy, safe.
But ever thing changed one faithful afternoon.
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