Simon and John returned, the walk back feeling longer than usual. The heavy grocery bags bit into Simon's palms, but his mind was elsewhere. He kept thinking about the man's words: Chosen. Beyond anything you've ever seen.
As they approached the iron gates of the orphanage, the building looked grayer and more forbidding than ever. Mr. Grabby was standing by the entrance, checking his pocket watch with a scowl. He didn't like it when the "help" took too long.
"You're late," he grumbled as they reached the steps. "Get those to the kitchen. And Simon... don't go disappearing. Come to my office. There is someone who wants to see you."
"To see me?" Simon asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"Yes. Follow me," he barked.
Simon was completely confused. He glanced at John, who took the bags toward the kitchen, and then turned to follow Mr. Grabby's heavy, rhythmic footsteps. His heart began to hammer—a loud, frantic thud-thud-thud that he could hear echoing in his own ears. A spark of wild hope flared up in his chest. Is it finally happening? Is someone here to adopt me?
As they walked down the dim, narrow hallway toward the office, the air seemed to grow thicker, colder. Simon wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers, trying to steady his breathing. He imagined a kind couple waiting behind the door, ready to give him the home he had dreamed of. Mr. Grabby reached the heavy oak door of his office. He didn't knock. He simply turned the brass handle and stepped aside, gesturing for Simon to enter.
"He's here," Mr. Grabby said.
Simon stepped into the room. But instead of a smiling couple, he saw a single figure sitting in the high-backed velvet chair. The man was dressed in a suit that looked more expensive than the entire orphanage, and his eyes—sharp and silver like moonlight were fixed directly on Simon.
"It was quite a task finding you, young man," the man said.
Simon stared at him, unable to look away. The man's jet-black hair was pulled back and tied with meticulous precision; not a single stray strand dared to defy its place. But it was his skin that truly caught Simon's attention, it wasn't just pale; it was a startling, paper-white, as if he were a figure cut out of a pristine sheet of parchment and placed into the dingy reality of the office.
"Do you... do you know me?" Simon managed to ask, his voice small.
"Um, you could say that," the man replied. He offered a smile—a smile so unexpectedly warm and genuine that it momentarily stunned Simon into silence. It wasn't the cold, professional smile of a lawyer or the forced kindness of a potential adopter. It felt real. The man then turned his gaze toward the priest.
"Sir, would you mind leaving us alone for a moment?"
Though Mr. Grabby clearly felt slighted at being dismissed from his own office, the man's polite request was undeniable. Without a word of protest, he stood and exited, leaving Simon alone with the pale stranger.
As soon as Mr. Grabby left, the man stood up from his chair and approached Simon. He stared so intently that Simon began to feel a prickle of discomfort. Yet, deep within the man's eyes, Simon sensed something unexpected: a flicker of... fear?
"You... you look so much like your father," the man whispered.
Simon's eyes widened. Father? The word felt heavy and foreign in his mind.
"Father? I... I have a father?"
"Of course," the man replied with a playful tilt of his head. "How else do you think you were born?"
Simon looked down, a flush of embarrassment warming his cheeks. He slowly lifted his gaze again, his heart racing.
"Then... where is he? Where is my father?"
The question seemed to catch the man off guard. He hesitated, searching for the right words. "You will find that out soon enough..."
The cryptic answer left Simon more confused than before. The man then reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled something out: a small scroll of paper, rolled tightly and secured with a neat, hemp string.
"This is your school admission letter."
"Huh? Admission letter? What do you mean?"
"It means you'll be starting school very soon. I'll tell Mr Grabby to bring you to the docks on the appointed date. Until then, Mr. Blackburn."
Simon stared at the scroll in his hand. Hearing that name 'Blackburn' made him snap his head up.
"Blackburn?"
"Yes," the man said firmly as he walked toward the door. "Your family name... Blackburn."
With that, he stepped past Simon, opened the door, and disappeared into the hallway, leaving Simon standing alone in the silence of the office.
After the man left, Simon stood alone, gripping the scroll tightly in his fist. Inside his mind, the name "Blackburn" continued to echo like a distant thunder. It felt foreign, yet at the same time, something deep within his blood seemed to stir, as if waking from a long slumber. His fingers trembled as he touched the hemp string of the scroll. Was this the key to his escape from this cold, dark orphanage? Or was it the beginning of a danger he couldn't yet imagine?
Simon stood frozen in the center of the office, his heart hammering against his ribs. Through the heavy oak door, he could hear the muffled exchange between the stranger and Mr. Grabby. The man was giving firm instructions: Simon was to be at the docks by the 29th, ready to board a specific ship.
Simon held his breath, expecting Mr. Grabby to bark a refusal or demand a payment, but to his utter shock, the old man simply agreed. The compliance was eerie—Mr. Grabby didn't agree to anything without a fight. A moment later, the footsteps receded, the front door creaked open and shut, and the mysterious paper-white man was gone.
Mr. Grabby pushed the office door open, his shadow falling long and jagged across the floorboards. He looked Simon up and down, from his messy curls to his worn-out shoes, with a look of pure bewilderment and faint disgust.
"I have no idea what the Gods see in a boy like you to choose you for such a thing," he muttered, his voice raspy. "Go... get to your room."
Simon didn't wait for a second command. He turned and bolted up the creaky wooden stairs, the grocery bags forgotten, the chores ignored for the first time in years. He reached the tiny, cramped attic space he shared with three other boys. Since it was still early, the room was empty. He sat on the edge of his lumpy mattress, the springs groaning beneath him. The room smelled of old dust and damp wool, but Simon didn't notice. His entire world was narrowed down to the small, heavy scroll in his hand.
He slowly began to untie the hemp string, feeling its rough, coarse texture against the tips of his fingers. As the knot loosened and he unrolled the parchment, a faint, delicate scent of lotus blossoms wafted from the paper. The words inside were written with a deep, obsidian ink in elegant, precise calligraphy. At the very top of the scroll, a black willow tree was stamped as a crest, with the word WILLOWGATE etched boldly beneath it. It was clearly the school's official seal.
Taking a deep breath, Simon began to read the words slowly:
OFFICIAL ADMISSION: WILLOWGATE ACADEMY
Student Name: Simon Blackburn
This document is delivered by the grace and sanction of the Gods.
Dear Mr. Blackburn,
Welcome to Willowgate Academy. By divine will, you have been Chosen. Consequently, Willowgate Academy has officially recorded your name within our halls of enrollment. We urge you to review the following directives with the utmost care.
You are hereby commanded to report to the Comet Docks no later than 9:00 AM on the 29th of August. You must locate the vessel named The Lady Morotha Tulip. Be advised: The Lady Morotha Tulip departs precisely at the strike of nine; she waits for no soul. Time and tide are indifferent to the delays of man, and we expect you to honor this schedule with the utmost gravity. Furthermore, please ensure you carry sufficient local currency for your initial requirements. Upon arrival at Mr. Kolavanti Island, you will be required to exchange your funds for Sevan Glass Discs. All necessary scholastic supplies listed below can be procured on the island using this currency. For your accounting purposes, the exchange rate is fixed at One Sevan Glass Disc to Ten Dollars ($10). Please calculate your holdings accordingly to ensure you are adequately prepared.
It is with profound anticipation that we welcome you into our student body.
The Willowgate Academy Collective
After reading the letter to the end, Simon blinked rapidly, his mind spinning. Although he was twelve years old, Mr. Grabby had only taught him enough literacy to handle basic chores and instructions; as a result, some of the formal phrasing in the letter left him utterly bewildered. It felt less like a school admission and more like a high-stakes summons from the Gods themselves.
When Simon moved his eyes down to the required supplies list, he found nothing particularly out of the ordinary—just the typical items any student would need.
The real problem, however, was the money. He stared at the exchange rate, trying to calculate how many British Pounds would equal ten dollars. He knew with a sinking heart that he wouldn't have nearly enough. As an orphan, he didn't even have a single penny to his name, let alone enough for "Glass Discs."
He sighed, realizing that even getting a few coins from Mr. Grabby would be a miracle. Simon knew he couldn't just sit around and hope for a handout, so he began rummaging through his meager belongings, searching for any clothes in decent condition. He thought that if he could find something to sell at a second-hand shop, he might at least make enough for his schoolbooks.
However, as he pulled each item from his small wooden crate, his heart sank. Every shirt was frayed at the collar, and every pair of trousers was thin at the knees and faded from years of rough washing. They were all hand-me-downs, worn to the point of exhaustion. There wasn't a single thread among them that someone would pay money for. Frustrated and stuck, he could only scratch his head in silence, wondering how a "Chosen" boy was supposed to travel to a magical academy with empty pockets.
Just as he was staring at his tattered clothes, the door creaked open, and Simon jumped in surprise. Mr. Grabby stood there, scowling at the mess of worn-out laundry scattered across the floor. He rolled his eyes and shook his head in annoyance before tossing a small leather pouch toward Simon.
Simon caught it mid-air. He quickly pulled the drawstring and peeked inside, his eyes widening at the sight of several pound notes and heavy coins. He looked up at Mr. Grabby in utter disbelief.
"Don't look at me like that," Mr. Grabby barked.
"The pigeon left it. I have no intention of providing you with a single penny of my own. Giving you a roof over your head and food in your belly was already more than enough responsibility."
"The pigeon?" Simon whispered, completely confused.
Mr. Grabby didn't bother to explain. He simply turned on his heel, stepped out of the room, and slammed the door shut behind him. Simon stood there for a long moment, staring at the money in his hands. A small, relieved smile tugged at his lips. Everything was going to be okay now.