A week had passed since James and Sam had formed their bond. In that short time, Sam had dragged him into more trouble than James had encountered in the last five years. But strangely, James didn’t mind. He was beginning to feel something he hadn’t in a long time—purpose.

  The orphanage was still a place of uncertainty, where survival took priority over everything else. Food was rationed, the guards were unpredictable, and no one truly felt safe. But James had to admit—Sam made the days a little easier.

  Which was why, when James saw Sam bump into a soldier carrying a small, reinforced case, he immediately knew something bad was about to happen.

  The soldier was a tall, broad man with a thick beard, his uniform slightly disheveled, suggesting he had been on duty for too long. His fingers were wrapped tightly around the handle of the case, his knuckles white. Whatever was inside, he was holding it like his life depended on it.

  When Sam, stretching lazily with his arms behind his head, took an unintentional step backward, James barely had time to react.

  The moment Sam’s shoulder hit the soldier’s chest, the man staggered slightly. It wasn’t a hard impact, but it was enough.

  The case slipped.

  It hit the ground with a dull clunk.

  The metal rattled as a faint, eerie glow seeped through the cracks. A small vial rolled out, stopping just near Sam’s foot.

  A second of silence.

  Then, the soldier’s face twisted in rage.

  "You little shit!"

  Before Sam could even turn around to apologize, the soldier’s fist slammed into his stomach.

  Sam let out a choked gasp, doubling over as all the air was forced from his lungs. His legs buckled, and he nearly collapsed, barely catching himself on one knee.

  James froze, his mind struggling to catch up with what just happened. But when he saw the soldier raise his fist again, something inside him snapped.

  He lunged forward, grabbing the soldier’s wrist. "He didn’t mean—"

  The soldier's backhand came fast.

  Pain exploded in James' face as he was sent sprawling onto the dirt-covered ground. His vision blurred. His ears rang. His jaw throbbed, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth.

  The soldier grabbed Sam by his collar, lifting him like a ragdoll.

  "You brats don’t understand how dangerous this stuff is!" he snarled, shaking Sam like a misbehaving dog. "Do you know how much this is worth?! Do you even know what this is?!"

  Sam struggled, coughing violently, but the soldier’s grip was like iron.

  James, pushing himself up with trembling arms, felt his anger boil over.

  The soldier threw Sam down and delivered a brutal kick to his ribs.

  Sam let out a strangled grunt, curling up in pain.

  James saw red.

  He forced himself up, fists clenching so tightly his nails dug into his palms. His heart pounded in his chest, a roar of fury echoing in his ears.

  But before he could throw himself at the soldier again—

  They appeared.

  Two girls, always seen together like sisters, had been sitting near the entrance of the dining hall when they saw the commotion. One of them had always been the more outspoken of the two, while the other followed with an intense but quiet determination.

  The moment the soldier’s fist connected with James, they shared a single glance—then ran.

  Not toward the fight. Not toward the guards.

  But toward the people.

  They sprinted through the crowded orphanage, calling out to anyone who would listen. "The soldiers are beating up James and Sam!" Their voices were urgent, desperate, loud.

  People stirred. Heads turned.

  And slowly, like a ripple spreading through water, the crowd began to move.

  Meanwhile, at the other end of the orphanage, a boy who could be mistaken for an adult had been sharpening a makeshift knife near the storage area. He had always been large for his age, his broad shoulders and quiet demeanor making him seem years older than he actually was.

  When he turned and saw Sam being kicked to the ground, something dark crossed his face.

  He didn’t hesitate.

  He turned and ran straight for the barracks.

  The guards were unpredictable. Sometimes they helped, sometimes they ignored problems. But this—this was different. This wasn’t a simple scuffle between kids.

  This was one of their own abusing his power.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  As he reached the barracks, his voice boomed. "The guards need to come. Now."

  The few guards lounging around looked up in confusion, but when they saw the expression on his face, they moved.

  Back in the courtyard, James forced himself upright just as the soldier reached for Sam again.

  But this time, he hesitated.

  A crowd had gathered.

  The sisters had done their job well—too well.

  A ring of individuals now surrounded them, their faces ranging from concern to outrage. Some whispered among themselves. Others simply stared, their gazes filled with quiet fury.

  "Tch." The soldier cursed under his breath, his grip loosening. He took a step back, realizing he had made a mistake.

  Then, before he could react—

  The guards arrived.

  Their presence alone was enough. The bearded soldier stiffened, his face twisting in frustration.

  A moment later, A boy with glasses appeared.

  Unlike the others, he wasn’t running.

  He was walking.

  Calm. Collected. And right behind him

  The warden.

  A tall, gaunt man with deep-set eyes and an expression that never wavered. His gaze swept over the scene—James bleeding, Sam on the ground, the soldier standing over them, the gathered crowd.

  He didn’t speak immediately.

  Instead, he let the silence stretch.

  The tension was suffocating.

  Then, his voice came—low, firm, commanding.

  "Explain."

  The soldier opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked around, as if searching for an excuse. But the weight of the warden’s stare, combined with the sheer number of witnesses, left him with nothing to say.

  The warden’s expression didn’t change.

  Then, slowly, he turned to James and Sam.

  James forced himself to stand straighter, even as his jaw ached.

  Sam, still clutching his ribs, let out a weak chuckle. "So, uh… not my best moment."

  The tension cracked. A few people in the crowd let out quiet chuckles. Even the guards looked a little less stiff.

  The warden sighed.

  Then, finally, he spoke.

  "Take him to the barracks," he ordered the guards, nodding toward the bearded soldier. "We will discuss this later."

  The soldier’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue. He knew better.

  As he was led away, the warden turned back to the boys.

  He looked at James, then at Sam.

  "You two," he said, his voice firm. "My office. Now."

  James exhaled, his fists finally unclenching.

  Sam groaned. "I hate meetings."

  James sighed. "Shut up, Sam."

  But as they followed the warden, James couldn't help but glance back at the people who had stepped up for them.

  The two sisters, still standing together. The broad-shouldered boy, arms crossed. The boy with glasses, adjusting his frames. The silent crowd that had refused to look away.

  Something had changed.

  And James knew, deep down—

  This was only the beginning.

  By the next morning, the entire camp was buzzing with whispers.

  Some people muttered about Sam’s recklessness, shaking their heads in disapproval. Others were furious about the soldier’s actions, claiming it was an abuse of power. But the ones who had been there—the ones who had seen it firsthand—knew the truth.

  It wasn’t about who was right or wrong.

  It was about power.

  And power always came from above.

  James sat outside the Warden’s office, his back stiff, his fists clenched. His ears strained to catch the conversation behind the heavy wooden door, but the walls were thick, muffling most of the words. He could hear Sam’s voice, tense but steady. The Warden’s voice, however, was calm. Cold. Final.

  Then, the voices became clearer.

  “Do you understand what you’ve done?” The Warden’s voice was sharp but devoid of anger, as if he were stating a fact rather than reprimanding someone.

  Sam’s voice came next, laced with irritation. “It was an accident.”

  Then, the low scrape of a chair against the floor as the Warden leaned forward.

  “An accident?” His voice was measured, patient—but there was an underlying weight to it. “Tell me, how much do you think that vial was worth?”

  Sam hesitated, his breath hitching slightly. “I don’t know… a lot?”

  “A lot?” The Warden exhaled, as if he had expected this answer. “That ‘accident’ of yours could have cost this camp upwards of one million dollars.”

  The room fell silent again.

  James' hands tightened into fists. One million?

  Sam scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. There’s no way one little vial is worth that much.”

  The Warden didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. “That ‘little vial’ wasn’t just some random liquid, boy.”

  A pause.

  “It was Void Serum.”

  James’ breath caught in his throat.

  Even he knew what that meant.

  It had already been made public built from rumors of what exactly a precious rare liquid that countries could go to war for.

  Void Serum was one of the most valuable substances in existence. It wasn’t just expensive—it was a miracle in liquid form. Some said it was the key to unlocking true power. Others said it was a resource so rare that only the highest-ranking officials were allowed to touch it.

  One thing was certain—it wasn’t something an orphan was allowed to spill.

  Sam was silent.

  The Warden continued. “The soldier who hit you—do you understand why he reacted the way he did now?”

  Sam shifted in his seat. His voice was quieter this time. “...Yeah.”

  “No,” the Warden corrected, “you don’t.”

  A faint rustling sound—perhaps the Warden shifting some papers on his desk. Then, his voice came again, even colder than before.

  “The people above me—the ones who actually make the decisions in this camp—aren’t going to care about ‘accidents.’ They’re not going to care that you’re just a kid, or that you didn’t mean it.”

  His words were like blades, cutting away any sense of innocence.

  “What they will see,” the Warden continued, “is an orphan who almost cost them millions. And do you know what happens when people like you cost them money?”

  Another silence.

  James’ heart pounded in his chest. What is he going to do to Sam?

  The Warden sighed, the faintest trace of frustration slipping into his voice.

  “If it were up to the higher-ups, you wouldn’t even be here right now.”

  Sam tensed.

  “They’d have had you executed on the spot.”

  James stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the wooden floor. His breathing was heavy, his chest tight. Executed?

  No. No, that couldn't be right.

  Sam was just a kid. They were just kids.

  But deep down, James knew—the world they lived in didn’t care about that.

  Inside the office, the Warden continued speaking. “The only reason you’re alive is because I convinced them you were just a stupid kid who didn’t know any better.”

  Sam exhaled sharply. “Then… what happens now?”

  The Warden leaned back in his chair. His next words were devoid of emotion.

  “You will be placed in solitary confinement until further notice.”

  Sam sucked in a breath.

  James froze.

  “Your meals will be reduced— once per day, and only below standard rations. Enough to keep you alive, but nothing more.”

  James felt his anger rise. This was punishment. It was cruel, calculated—designed to break a person without killing them outright.

  Sam didn’t respond immediately. But when he did, his voice held no anger—only resignation.

  “How long?”

  “That depends.” The Warden’s voice was unreadable. “Until I deem it necessary.”

  James felt something snap inside him. He moved toward the door, hand outstretched—ready to kick it open, to do something—

  But then he stopped.

  The door opened.

  Sam stepped out, his wrists already cuffed.

  Their eyes met.

  James expected anger, defiance—some kind of fight left in him.

  But there was nothing.

  Just quiet acceptance.

  James' hands trembled at his sides. “Sam…”

  Sam gave him a weak grin. “Guess I screwed up, huh?”

  Before James could say anything, two guards grabbed Sam’s arms and led him away.

  James watched him go, helpless.

  Then, the Warden spoke.

  His voice was calm but firm.

  “You should learn from this.”

  James turned, his eyes burning with emotion.

  The Warden met his gaze, unflinching. “In this world, mistakes are rarely forgiven.”

  James didn’t reply.

  He just stood there.

  Watching.

  Understanding.

  And hating every second of it.