After breakfast, Keyla waited.
She sat on the edge of the long wooden bench, legs swinging back and forth, eyes fixed on the palace tower clock visible through the window.
"Nine and a half," she whispered.
One of her older brothers chuckled.
"If you stare at it harder, maybe it'll move faster."
She grinned but said nothing.
When the tenth bell finally rang through the Kingdom, she shot up like an arrow.
"I'm off!"
"Walk properly!" Madam Neller called.
But Keyla was already halfway down the street.
---
She cleaned with purpose.
Not rushed.
Not careless.
Purposeful.
She swept beneath the weapon racks, reorganized iron blocks by weight and shape, separated ores according to quality. She even wiped the soot off the walls around the forge.
The blacksmith said nothing.
But his eyes followed her.
At midday he handed her bread and stew.
"You missed a spot," he said casually.
Her head snapped up.
"Where?"
He pointed behind the water barrel.
She ran to check.
Clean.
She looked back at him, narrowing her eyes.
"You're testing me."
He smirked.
"Maybe."
---
By the end of the second week, she had nothing left to clean.
The shop gleamed.
She sat on an overturned bucket, chin in her palms, watching him hammer a spearhead into shape.
Clang.
Clang.
Clang.
She sighed loudly.
He did not look up.
"You're breathing like an old woman."
"I'm bored," she declared.
"That sounds like a personal problem."
She frowned at him.
"You're very unhelpful for someone who pays so generously."
His hammer paused mid-air.
"Oh? So now I'm generous?"
She blinked.
"I didn't say that."
He resumed hammering.
But there was amusement in his eyes.
---
That evening in the kitchen, as steam rose from boiling potatoes, Keyla stood on her stool.
"Mama Nel?"
"Yes, little flame?"
Keyla tilted her head. "Why did you call me that?"
"Because you burn too brightly to ignore."
Keyla smiled faintly.
"Mama Nel… I'm bored at work."
Madam Neller stopped stirring.
"Bored?"
"There's nothing left to clean. I don't want to be a blacksmith. I want to be a soldier."
A few of the older children laughed from the doorway.
"A soldier? You're smaller than a sack of rice."
She turned sharply.
"I'll grow."
Madam Neller raised a hand to quiet them.
"What else do you love, Keyla?"
Keyla hesitated.
"Colors."
Madam Neller's eyes softened.
"When you were three, you painted the garden wall so beautifully the neighbors thought we hired an artist."
The children murmured in surprise.
"You never told us that," one said.
Madam Neller smiled.
"We had paint back then."
She turned back to Keyla.
"Use your savings. Buy materials. Even if the Kingdom forgot us… your gift hasn't forgotten you."
Keyla nodded.
"I'll start tomorrow."
---
The next day, she returned to the shop carrying a wooden board nearly her height.
The blacksmith raised an eyebrow.
"What madness is this?"
"I'm drawing you."
He almost dropped his hammer.
"You're what?"
"Don't move too much."
He snorted.
"You command me now?"
She dipped her brush in pigment.
"Only artistically."
---
The first few attempts were terrible.
She crumpled the papers, muttering to herself.
"You look like a potato."
He coughed to hide a laugh.
But then…
Her strokes changed.
Her hand steadied.
She captured the curve of his shoulders. The tension in his forearms. The intensity in his gaze. The sparks dancing against his skin.
At lunch, he approached silently.
When he saw it, something shifted inside him.
"This is… me."
"Yes."
"Not just my face."
"No."
Silence.
"I'll buy it."
She blinked. "For how much?"
"Two gold."
Her brush fell from her hand.
"Two…?"
"Yes."
She swallowed.
"Are you sure?"
He leaned closer.
"Child. Do you know what it feels like to be seen?"
She did not answer.
He placed two gold coins in her palm.
"Now run home before you faint."
---
When she laid the coins before Madam Neller, the room froze.
"Where did you get this?" one brother demanded.
"I painted."
"For who?"
"Mister Blacksmith."
They rushed to the shop.
Madam Neller bowed stiffly.
"Sir… forgive the intrusion. My daughter said—"
"I bought it," he interrupted calmly.
"For how much?"
"Two gold."
A sharp inhale.
He gestured inside.
"Come."
They entered.
When they saw the painting, silence swallowed them whole.
One of the older boys whispered,
"That's… alive."
Madam Neller pressed a hand to her mouth.
"It's worth more than two gold," the blacksmith said quietly.
They bowed repeatedly in gratitude.
---
Months passed.
Winter arrived, then departed.
Paintings covered the walls of the group home — markets, fields, siblings laughing, Madam Neller cooking, soldiers she imagined, even the palace tower.
Thirty gold coins.
Thirty.
And still the blacksmith bought every piece.
---
Then came the morning.
Before the sky lightened, the rumble of wheels shook the street.
Eight grand imperial chariots stopped before the gate.
Armed guards stood beside them.
Children huddled by the doorway.
"Are we in trouble?" one whispered.
Madam Neller straightened her shoulders and stepped forward.
The coachman bowed deeply.
"Madam Neller?"
"Yes."
He presented a scroll sealed with the Imperial Crest.
"By order of His Imperial Majesty."
Her hands trembled as she broke the seal.
She read aloud.
---
Imperial Decree
> To the Guardians of Our Fallen Heroes' Children,
This Emperor bows his head before you.
Five years ago, I entrusted officials with the sacred duty of ensuring that the children of our fallen soldiers would never know hunger, neglect, or abandonment.
I have since discovered that this trust was betrayed.
Funds meant for your homes were intercepted by corrupt hands. Reports were falsified. Inspections were neglected.
For this failure, I take full responsibility.
A ruler who does not see the suffering of his people has failed in his duty — and I will not be such a ruler.
Those responsible have been investigated, judged, and punished according to the laws of this Kingdom.
To you — the men and women who continued to care for these children despite hardship, despite silence, despite what must have felt like abandonment — this Emperor offers not merely compensation, but gratitude.
You did not turn away.
You did not harden your hearts.
You carried the burden alone when the Crown should have stood beside you.
For this, I am indebted.
Enclosed are five years of withheld provisions and funds, delivered in full.
Additionally, eight months of advance supplies are provided so no home may struggle again during inspection restructuring.
From this month forward, regular provisions shall arrive unfailingly.
If ever such injustice rises again, you are commanded — not requested — to petition directly to the Imperial Palace.
You are not forgotten.
You have never been unseen.
On behalf of the House of Aragon,
With humility,
Emperor Albeit Aragon
---
Madam Neller's voice broke before she finished.
Tears fell freely.
One of the older boys clenched his fists.
"He… apologized."
A girl whispered,
"He thanked us…"
The coachman bowed again.
"His Majesty ordered that all orphan guardians throughout the Kingdom receive identical decrees."
Madam Neller covered her mouth.
"All of them?"
"Yes, Madam."
The guards personally carried crates inside.
Flour. Rice. Salted meats. Blankets. Coins. Medicine.
As they worked, Madam Neller's mind drifted.
To the blacksmith.
To the dinner he once attended.
To the way his jaw tightened when he saw their cracked walls.
To how quiet he had been afterward.
Her heart stirred.
Could it be…
She looked toward the shop at the end of the street.
The forge chimney smoked gently.
And though she could not see him —
She felt gratitude deeper than words.