Morning at the orphanage had grown quieter as the day moved forward.
In the courtyard outside, the elegant carriage of the Church waited.
Unlike the rough wagons that passed through the district each day, this one looked almost regal. The carriage body was polished white wood trimmed with silver edges, and along its doors was engraved the sacred symbol of the Almighty All-Father.
Two tall warhorses stood harnessed at the front, their dark coats brushed smooth and their bridles adorned with small silver medallions bearing the same holy sigil.
A knight of the Church stood beside the carriage in gleaming mail, his white cloak draped neatly over one shoulder. Another rider held the reins, waiting patiently.
Sister Elowen stepped out of the orphanage doorway.
Martha walked beside her, speaking quietly, while Captain Dorian Halborn followed a few steps behind.
The nun paused before entering the carriage and inclined her head toward the captain.
"Thank you for your cooperation, Captain."
Halborn returned the gesture with a respectful nod.
"The City Watch is always glad to assist the Church."
Elowen's gaze briefly drifted toward the orphanage windows.
For a moment, it seemed she was thinking of something else.
Then she stepped into the carriage.
The door closed.
The driver flicked the reins.
Hooves struck the cobblestones as the carriage rolled away, the Church knight mounting his horse and riding alongside it as escort.
Within moments, the elegant vehicle disappeared down the street.
Captain Halborn watched it leave.
Then he turned and walked back into the orphanage.
The dining hall was mostly empty now.
Arin, Tomas, and Lyra were still seated at the long wooden table.
When the captain entered, Tomas straightened slightly.
Halborn rested his hands on the table.
"There are a few things you three should know."
The children listened quietly.
"You escaped a very serious situation," he continued.
"This city has been dealing with kidnappers and child traffickers for years."
His expression hardened slightly.
"The men who captured you are not the first."
"And unfortunately, they will not be the last."
Lyra's hands tightened slightly on the table.
Halborn continued calmly.
"One of the traffickers was found dead in the warehouse."
His eyes moved between the three children.
"We assume that was the man you killed while escaping."
The room grew quiet.
After a moment, Halborn spoke again.
"You will not be charged."
His voice was firm.
"It was self-defense."
Tomas released a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.
The captain continued.
"The other one—the fat man you fought—broke during interrogation."
"He told us everything he knew."
Halborn folded his arms.
"The man leading that group is a mercenary."
"A former soldier."
"Trained."
"Dangerous."
"He goes by the name Varek Sorn."
Arin listened carefully.
Halborn continued.
"He runs a trafficking network in this region."
"The men you saw in the warehouse were his minions."
"Another accomplice escaped alongside him. It seems they must have caught wind of our approach."
Lyra frowned.
"They were selling children… to nobles."
Halborn nodded slowly.
"That is what the captured man claimed."
"But we still don't know which nobles were involved… or what they intended to do with the children."
His voice grew colder.
"That investigation is ongoing."
After a moment, the captain's tone softened slightly.
"But despite everything…"
He looked at the three of them.
"The City Watch recognizes what you did."
"You fought."
"You survived."
"And your information helped us dismantle a portion of this trafficking ring."
He reached into his coat.
Three small leather pouches landed softly on the table.
"One gold coin each."
Tomas blinked.
Lyra stared.
For children raised in an orphanage, a gold coin was a fortune.
Then Halborn placed something else on the table.
A small bronze badge.
It bore the crest of the Adventurer's Guild.
"This," he said, sliding it toward Lyra, "is a merit badge issued by the guild."
"With it, you may apply for an official adventurer's license once you are of age."
Lyra looked at the badge as if it were a dream.
For the first time since the nightmare in the warehouse—
A small smile appeared on her face.
Halborn then turned towards Arin.
"There is one more matter."
His gaze shifted briefly to the wooden rune launcher resting on the table.
"The device you created."
"I had it examined."
Arin straightened slightly.
Halborn continued.
"It caught the attention of someone important."
"A very respected individual."
"Someone with great knowledge of runes."
He paused.
"And that person has asked to meet you."
Arin frowned slightly.
"Who?"
Halborn gave a small smile.
"You'll meet him tomorrow."
Then he added calmly,
"I'll be bringing him here myself."
—————————
Captain Halborn gave the three of them a final nod.
Then he turned and walked out of the dining hall.
The door closed behind him.
For a moment, none of them moved.
Then Martha approached.
The tall caretaker stopped beside their table and gently placed her hand on Lyra's head, softly patting her hair.
The three children looked up at her.
Only now, with her standing so close, did they notice it.
Her eyes were swollen.
She had cried.
Probably the entire night.
For them.
Martha tried to smile.
"There will be no classes today," she said quietly.
"You three should rest."
Her hand lingered on Lyra's head for a moment longer.
Then she turned and walked away.
The hall fell silent again.
A few minutes later the three of them stepped outside.
The orphanage yard was lively again.
Younger children ran across the grass, shouting and chasing one another in games that had nothing to do with kidnappers, warehouses, or death.
Life had already returned to normal for them.
Arin, Tomas, and Lyra walked quietly toward the far edge of the yard.
A large tree stood there, its wide branches casting a long shade across the grass.
They sat beneath it.
Arin in the middle.
Without thinking, Tomas sat on one side of him.
Lyra sat on the other.
For a moment, none of them spoke.
The wind moved softly through the leaves above.
Then Arin broke the silence.
"We need to get stronger."
Both of them turned toward him.
"Much stronger."
His gaze remained fixed on the ground.
"The way I fought yesterday… I've never fought like that before."
He paused.
"I was desperate. Angry."
He clenched his left hand slightly.
"The speed I moved at… the way my body reacted when I fought their boss Varek Sorn…"
He shook his head faintly.
"It made me realize something."
"I'm capable of much more than I thought."
A quiet breath escaped him.
"Up until now I have just wasted my potential."
"And in the end he still broke me."
Neither Tomas nor Lyra interrupted.
They simply listened.
After a moment, Tomas spoke.
"At least you did something."
Silence followed.
Then Tomas lowered his head slightly.
"…Arin."
"…Lyra."
"I'm sorry."
Both of them looked at him.
"I was pathetic."
His voice carried quiet frustration.
"I couldn't even chant my spells properly."
"When he came close…"
Tomas clenched his jaw.
"I had nothing."
"He knocked me out like I was nothing."
Lyra looked down at her hands.
"At least you two fought," she said softly.
"I froze."
The wind rustled the grass.
"The memories came back."
"My home. The goblins. Everything."
Her voice trembled slightly.
"I always thought my magic made me better than the rest of you."
She gave a small, bitter smile.
"But when it mattered…"
"I had nothing except my spells."
"And when those failed…"
Her voice faded.
"…I was useless."
The three of them sat in silence.
Then Arin spoke again.
"That just proves something."
Both of them looked at him.
"We can't rely on only one thing."
"Magic is powerful."
"But if we can't fight when someone gets close…"
His eyes hardened slightly.
"…then we're just waiting to be killed."
He leaned back against the tree trunk.
"Sister Elowen said something earlier."
He lifted the dagger slightly.
"She said this artifact can also remove exhaustion and restore the body."
He looked at the blade thoughtfully.
"That means something. It felt as if she was giving me a hint."
A slow realization formed in his voice.
"I can train."
"Push my body until it breaks."
"And then recover."
Tomas blinked.
"That sounds insane."
Arin shrugged slightly.
"Maybe."
"But it also sounds like the fastest way to grow stronger."
Lyra studied him quietly.
Then she asked,
"How did you fight like that yesterday?"
Arin frowned slightly.
"I don't know."
"I wasn't thinking about anything."
He looked at both of them.
"I just knew one thing."
"I had to protect you two."
Tomas leaned back in the grass.
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"Maybe it's in your blood."
Arin glanced at him.
Tomas shrugged.
"Your father was a legend after all."
Arin didn't answer.
His gaze slowly dropped to the ground beneath his feet.
The dagger rested quietly in his hand.
And for a long moment—
None of them spoke.
————————
Night came quietly.
Long after the orphanage had fallen asleep, Arin's mind drifted into darkness.
And then—
He was somewhere else.
The Valcrest estate.
Or what remained of it.
The great hall stood broken and silent.
Tall windows had been shattered long ago, leaving jagged teeth of glass along the stone frames. Cold wind slipped through the ruined openings, carrying ash and dust that drifted slowly through the air.
The once-grand banners of the Valcrest house hung torn and blackened.
The long tables that once hosted feasts were overturned.
Shattered.
Broken armor lay scattered across the floor.
And among it—
Bodies.
Knights.
Dozens of them.
The fallen guardians of the house.
Their armor bore the crest of the Valcrest bloodline.
Arin walked slowly through the ruined hall.
His footsteps echoed softly against the cold stone.
At the far end of the chamber stood the throne.
A tall staircase of dark marble led upward toward it.
But the throne itself was empty.
Someone sat on the top step below it.
Waiting.
The figure's face was hidden in shadow.
Long dark hair fell across his brow.
One arm rested against his knee.
The other—
Was missing.
Blood dripped slowly down the stone steps.
Yet despite the injury, the man sat with unmistakable presence.
Royal.
Unbowed.
As Arin climbed the steps, the man slowly lifted his head.
Their eyes met.
Arin's breath caught.
His father.
Lord Kael Valcrest.
Even wounded… even half-shrouded in darkness… there was no mistaking him.
The man studied his son quietly.
Then his voice came.
Low.
Hoarse.
Heavy with exhaustion.
"…How long will you take, my son?"
The words echoed through the ruined hall.
Arin couldn't answer.
The wind outside howled through the broken windows.
Kael Valcrest's gaze sharpened.
"There is not much time."
His voice grew stronger.
"Wake up."
Arin stood frozen.
Then his father's voice thundered across the hall.
"WAKE UP."
Arin's eyes snapped open.
He was back in his room.
Moonlight slipped through the cracked window.
The gas lamp on the table had burned out sometime during the night.
The room was dark.
Silent.
Arin sat up slowly, his breathing uneven.
For several seconds he just stared at the darkness.
Then he whispered quietly to himself.
"…I understand."
He swung his legs off the bed.
————————
The orphanage yard was cold and silent.
It was still early.
Not even dawn.
Arin checked the old clock inside the hallway.
Four in the morning.
Perfect.
He carried a small lantern outside and hung it from one of the wooden veranda pillars overlooking the yard.
The dim light spread across the empty training ground.
Arin rolled his shoulders slowly.
"My old training isn't enough anymore."
His gaze drifted to the dagger hanging at his waist.
"…But now I have something special."
He walked to the storage shed and pushed the door open.
Inside were old tools, sacks, broken buckets, and discarded farming supplies.
Perfect.
He grabbed an empty sack.
A small shovel.
And rope.
For the next half hour he worked silently beneath the lantern light.
Digging.
Packing.
Filling the sack with soil.
More soil.
More weight.
By the time he finished, the sack weighed nearly forty kilograms.
Arin hoisted it onto his shoulders.
His legs bent.
Then he began.
Squats.
One.
Two.
Three.
The cold morning air filled his lungs.
Soon sweat began running down his back.
Then push-ups.
The heavy sack resting across his shoulders.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Hours passed.
The lantern dimmed.
The sky slowly began turning grey.
By the time dawn approached—
Arin collapsed onto the grass.
His body trembled violently.
Blood trickled from his nose.
Foam gathered at the corner of his mouth.
Every muscle screamed.
He had pushed too far.
Much too far.
Arin rolled onto his back.
The faint light of sunrise touched the sky above.
"…Good."
With shaking hands he pulled the dagger from his belt.
Sanctis Aquila.
The runes along the blade glowed faintly as he poured mana into it.
A neon-green light spread along the metal.
Clear water began forming along the blade's edge.
Drop.
Drop.
Drop.
A thin stream of holy water fell into his mouth.
Arin drank.
Warmth spread through his body instantly.
His broken muscles knit back together.
Fatigue vanished.
Pain disappeared.
Within moments—
His body was completely restored.
Arin sat up slowly.
"…This works better than I expected."
He wiped the blood from his nose and stood.
"If I keep this up…"
A small smile appeared.
"…I can forge the body I need."
He grabbed the lantern and walked back toward the orphanage.
The day had only just begun.
Captain Halborn returned to the orphanage shortly after breakfast.
But he wasn't alone.
Martha led them both into her office.
Arin waited inside.
The man standing beside the captain was… unusual.
Tall.
Nearly six feet.
Lean in a way that suggested discipline rather than age, his frame carried the quiet strength of a man who had trained hard—and perhaps still did.
He wore a long dark overcoat tailored from expensive fabric, its inner lining embroidered with thin strands of silver thread that caught the light whenever he moved.
Polished black boots.
Elegant gloves.
And in his right hand rested a beautifully crafted wooden cane, its curved handle capped with intricate goldwork.
But what drew attention first was his hair.
A thick mane of silver-white hair swept back from his forehead, long enough to brush his collar yet styled with effortless elegance. The color wasn't dull with age—it gleamed like polished steel under the light.
His beard was equally refined.
Full.
Perfectly trimmed.
Snow-white against his sharp features, framing a jawline that still carried unmistakable strength.
His eyes were a pale grey.
Not the faded grey of old age, but the cold, intelligent grey of storm clouds gathering on the horizon.
They watched everything.
Measured everything.
And behind them lingered a quiet amusement—as though the world itself was a puzzle he had already solved long ago.
There was no mistaking it.
This was a man who had grown older without losing his charm.
A noble.
A scholar.
And judging by the faint, mischievous curve of his smile—
Probably trouble.
Captain Halborn cleared his throat.
"Arin."
"This is the man I mentioned yesterday."
The stranger tipped his cane slightly in greeting.
His eyes studied Arin with bright curiosity.
Then he spoke.
"Well now."
His voice was smooth.
Amused.
"So you're the little genius who built a rune-powered launcher with broken ribs and half a pen of ink."
The man smiled wider.
"Interesting."
He rested both hands atop the golden handle of his cane.
"Very interesting."
Captain Halborn sighed.
"Arin… allow me to introduce Lord Sylvaris Theron."
"A master rune scholar."
"And one of the most brilliant minds in Valerion."
Sylvaris's grin widened.
"Oh please."
"Let's not frighten the boy with titles."
He tilted his head toward Arin.
"I'm simply the man who intends to ruin your peaceful life."
His eyes gleamed.
"With education."