A full week had passed since Father Corwin sent the letter to Larethin.

  Alaric knew better than to expect a quick reply. Letters moved slowly through the kingdom, slower then humans walking to Larethin themselves. Even if the message reached Larethin within a month, it could take another to be reviewed. Another still to receive a response. And the church’s evaluation exams were held only once a year.

  There’s a chance I’ll miss it entirely.

  The thought lingered like a dull ache understanding that the path forward would never be simple.

  Morning lessons ended as usual. Reading, arithmetic, scripture, and history. Alaric answered when called, listened when not, but his attention drifted more than usual. Every sound from outside the chapel made him glance toward the windows, half-expecting a messenger that would not come so soon.

  It was near midday when unfamiliar voices reached the orphanage.

  A group of hunters entered the chapel grounds, their cloaks dusty and armor marked with the scuffs of travel. Between them stood a very small girl, no older than five. She clung tightly to the back of one hunter’s leg, face buried against rough leather, shoulders shaking as she cried.

  Sister Elaine hurried forward at once, her expression softening the moment she saw the child. She crouched, speaking gently, coaxing the girl away from the hunter’s side. The girl resisted at first, then slowly allowed herself to be lifted.

  Father Corwin arrived moments later. The hunters bowed slightly and followed him toward his office.

  The orphanage stirred with curiosity.

  Children whispered and some stood on tiptoe. Others pressed their ears to the walls near the office door.

  Alaric found himself among them before he realized it.

  From inside, the voices were muted, but not entirely.

  “…found her in the forest,” one hunter said. “About twenty clicks north of town.”

  Elaine’s voice followed, tight with concern. “Alone?”

  “She says her uncle was with her,” the hunter replied. “Parents died some time ago. Road accident. Monster attack, from what we could gather.”

  A pause.

  “…he took her to the city to shop,” the hunter continued, more quietly. “Left her midway. Didn’t come back.”

  Silence stretched.

  Alaric felt something twist in his chest.

  Left her… in the forest.

  Even among the children listening, there was a shared understanding. No one spoke it aloud, but everyone knew. If the hunters had not found her, she would have died. Exposure, monsters, starvation. It did not matter which.

  That night, the orphanage was quieter than usual.

  The girl, Lia, had been given food, washed, and shown where she would sleep. Still, the weight of the day lingered. The other children settled slowly, whispers fading one by one until only breathing and the creak of the old building remained.

  Alaric lay beneath his blanket, eyes open, staring at the wooden ceiling.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Then he heard it.

  A soft sound at first, almost lost beneath the rustling of sheets. A shaky breath. Then another.

  Crying.

  Alaric pushed the blanket aside and lifted his head. Moonlight filtered faintly through the high windows. Across the room, near one of the smaller beds, Lia sat curled in on herself, hands pressed to her face as she tried and failed to stay quiet.

  He hesitated.

  What am I supposed to do…

  Still, his feet carried him forward.

  He crouched beside her bed, keeping his voice low. “Hey… are you alright?”

  She flinched at first, then looked up at him through tear-filled eyes. She did not answer. Her lips trembled, but no words came out.

  Alaric swallowed, unsure. He searched for something to say, something comforting. Instead, a memory surfaced without warning.

  Warm hands. A gentle voice.

  “Alaric,” his mother had said softly, sitting beside his bed. “You won’t sleep if you keep staring at the dark like it’s going to bite you.”

  “I don’t like it,” young Alaric had muttered. “It’s scary.”

  Marla had smiled, brushing his hair back. “Then we’ll give you something brighter than the dark.”

  “What?”

  She had leaned close, her voice turning gentle, almost melodic.

  “Close your eyes,” she said. “And listen.”

  The lullaby had followed. Simple, quiet. Nothing grand. Just warmth wrapped in sound.

  The memory faded, leaving his chest tight.

  He looked back at Lia.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked again, softer.

  She sniffed. “I… I’m scared.”

  “Of what?”

  “The dark,” she whispered. “And… I miss them.”

  Alaric nodded slowly. “My mom used to sing when I couldn’t sleep.”

  She looked at him, hopeful. “How?”

  “I’ll show you a trick,” he said. “Okay?”

  She hesitated, then nodded.

  He raised his hand slightly, careful not to draw attention. “Say this with me. Creo Ignis… Spark.”

  The mana responded gently. A tiny flame flickered to life at his fingertip, no larger than a candle’s glow.

  Lia gasped softly.

  “Try,” Alaric encouraged.

  She copied him, voice shaking. “C…Creo Ignis… Spark.”

  For a moment, nothing happened.

  Then, a faint spark appeared at her fingertip. Weak and flickering.

  Her eyes widened. “I did it.”

  Alaric smiled. “See? The dark isn’t so bad if you bring your own light.”

  She stared at the flame until her breathing slowed.

  After a moment, she looked up at him. “Can you… sing?”

  He froze.

  “…sing?”

  “You said your mom did,” Lia said. “Will you?”

  His throat tightened.

  “I’m not very good,” he said quietly.

  “I don’t care.”

  There was no room to refuse.

  Alaric sat beside her bed and began, his voice unsteady at first. The lullaby was incomplete, words half-remembered, melody cracked by emotion.

  Lia’s eyes slowly closed.

  Her breathing evened out.

  When he was sure she was asleep, Alaric stood and returned to his bed.

  The room felt heavier now.

  He lay down, staring at the ceiling again.

  I miss you…mother, father.

  I really do.

  Morning came with noise.

  Alaric barely had time to sit up before a small weight slammed into his back.

  “Alaric!”

  Lia clung to him like a shadow, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders.

  The other children stared.

  Rin burst out laughing. “Looks like you’ve been claimed.”

  Kellan raised an eyebrow. Mira watched quietly, a faint smile touching her lips.

  Alaric’s face burned. “S…stop, Lia.”

  She shook her head fiercely, holding tighter.

  Sister Elaine paused at the doorway, taking in the scene. After a moment, she smiled.

  And for the first time in days, the orphanage felt a little warmer.