The girl huddled in the hollow of a tree trunk, her soaked cloak clinging to her fragile frame like a second skin. The cold rain poured relentlessly, a sheet of grey slanting against the forest as if the sky itself were weeping on her behalf. Her teeth chattered with every breath, the chill of the air seeping into her very core. She tried to ignore it, tried to close her eyes and forget the world outside, but it was impossible. The weight of everything—the loss, the guilt, the despair—pressed down on her chest like a suffocating blanket.
Her stomach gave a soft growl, an unpleasant reminder of the hunger gnawing at her insides. She hugged her knees tighter, wishing for warmth, for food, for anything.
It was then that she noticed the little creature.
A drenched kitten, no bigger than her hand, wandered into her line of sight. It was shivering, its fur plastered to its tiny frame, and its wide, round eyes looked up at her with an almost pleading gaze. She stiffened, guilt washing over her like a tide. She thought of the Mithrilcrest Deer, the fawn's final breaths, and the pain and tragedy she had failed to stop. The memories were too raw, too heavy to bear.
The kitten meowed softly, taking a cautious step toward her. But the girl couldn't bring herself to reach out to it. She couldn't—she couldn't bring herself to care for another creature after all that had happened.
She tried to look away, but something in her stirred—a need to do something, anything right, to not let it suffer. She hesitated, then reached down slowly, her fingers trembling as she scooped the tiny feline into her arms. The kitten didn't resist, nestling into her arms, its small body quaking. She tried to warm it with the heat of her hands, but there was little she could do when her body was just as cold.
Suddenly, just as quickly as it had appeared, the kitten squirmed, its small paws pushing against her chest. Then it darted away from her. Startled, the girl followed, unsure why the feline felt the sudden urge to flee. It ran down the steep slope, its little legs struggling to keep up with its momentum as it rushed toward the moat that bordered the city.
"Wait!" the girl called out, her voice hoarse from the cold and her own desperation.
The kitten didn't stop. Instead, it dove straight into the water, disappearing beneath the murky surface. The girl didn't think—she reacted, rushing forward and plunging into the cold moat after it, her heart hammering in her chest. She had no idea why the kitten had led her here, but something urged her on, a whisper in her soul telling her she had to follow.
She scrambled to keep up with the tiny creature, gasping as the cold water seeped through her clothes. She nearly lost sight of the kitten when it submerged again, its sleek form cutting through the haze, moving quickly toward a dark entrance in the stone wall. Without hesitation, she dove after it, kicking her legs to propel herself forward. The shaft was narrow, and the water was dark and foreboding, but the kitten moved with purpose. She swam after it, her pulse pounding in her ears as she tried to keep up.
Moments later, they surfaced in a wide, underground passage. The water calmed, and she gasped for air, the soaked scarf clinging to her face. The tunnel was rough-hewn, the walls damp with moss, but the faintest light ahead beckoned her onward. She squinted, her eyes adjusting to the dim surroundings.
At the end of the passage that was supposedly a part of the city's irrigation system, or perhaps a hidden passageway constructed by refugees, she could see another opening—this one leading upward into a larger, more structured space. As she approached, the water began to recede, and soon she found herself stepping into a stone corridor that led into the city. The sounds of life filtered through the walls—voices, the clatter of carts, the distant hum of a thousand activities happening at once.
The kitten, ever quick, darted ahead of her, weaving effortlessly through the throng of people before vanishing into the crowd. The girl lingered in the shadows, frozen as the sun began to break free from the retreating storm clouds. Its golden rays spilled into the streets, illuminating the lively scene with a warm glow.
Her heart thundered in her chest as her wide eyes drank in the sight before her. It was unlike anything she had ever seen—a world vibrant and teeming with life, so far removed from the solitude of the forest and the misery of the rain-soaked hollow in the tree.
It was truly everything the wilderness was not—bright, bustling, and full of noise. Buildings rose around her, stone and wood twisting together in unfamiliar forms. The street was paved with cobblestones, and people hurried past, unaware of her presence.
But before she could take it all in, the sound of an approaching carriage broke through her thoughts. The horses' hooves clicked sharply against the cobblestone. The girl, still caught in the overwhelming newness of it all, quickly stepped aside to avoid being in its path.
She pressed herself against the wall, watching as the ornate carriage passed her by, the large wheels creaking under the weight. Its glass windows were tinted, and she could barely make out the silhouettes of the people inside. The driver gave her a brief glance as the horses passed, but his attention was quickly claimed by the road ahead.
The girl turned her gaze back to the city, the busy streets alive with possibility. It was a world she had never known, a world that had always seemed so distant. But now, it was right before her, and she couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope—a spark that maybe, just maybe, she could belong here.
With a deep breath, she began to step forward, allowing herself to be swallowed by the city's embrace.
***
In the dimly lit dining room of a weathered orphanage, a handful of small children sat in silence around an old wooden table. The air was heavy with unspoken despair as a weary nun quietly moved among them, her lips pressed into a thin line as she carefully poured water into their chipped cups.
The children gazed down at their plates with hollow eyes, their hearts sinking at the sight of the meager scraps. Even before the first bite, they knew it wouldn't be enough to ease the hunger that had become an unwelcome companion. Their thoughts wandered, imagining a miracle where their cups could be exchanged for something more filling. Yet, no matter how often they whispered prayers to Goddess Seraphina, her blessings felt as distant and unattainable as the stars.
"…I'm still hungry," one of the kids murmured after downing the last morsel on his plate.
"Me, too," a small girl added with a gloomy pout.
The nun, a young woman who seemed barely into her twenties, stood silently, watching with a heavy heart as discontent shadowed the faces of the children she had devoted her life to protecting. She had always done her best to meet their needs, yet lately, even the simplest task of providing enough food felt like an insurmountable battle, leaving her with a profound sense of helplessness.
"Th-The rain's finally lifted," she said, hoping to shift their focus and lift their spirits. "Why don't we step outside for some fresh air? We could even play your favorite games. Wouldn't that be fun?"
""Yay!""
"I want to play hide-and-seek!"
The children's faces lit up at the suggestion, their murmured excitement growing contagious, though a few—particularly the older ones with a larger appetite—remained less than enthused. With exaggerated sighs and half-hearted steps, they reluctantly shuffled toward the door, clearly unimpressed as they dragged their feet. But as soon as they stepped outside, the world seemed to transform before their eyes. The sunlight danced across dew-laden trees and grass, casting everything in a shimmering, golden glow. Any lingering reluctance melted away in an instant.
With a burst of enthusiasm, the children raced into the yard, their laughter spilling out like a melody. The girls busied themselves weaving wildflowers and collecting colorful leaves, while the boys scoured the underbrush, exclaiming triumphantly over insects that had yet to retreat into hibernation. The yard, once somber and quiet, now pulsed with life.
"Try to keep your clothes clean, alright?" the nun said with a gentle smile as she strolled toward the front gate.
The practiced cheerfulness faded from her lips as her gaze lingered on the crumbling orphanage that was her home, the place where she was bound to raise these children. As the weight of it all pressed down on her, a sigh of frustration escaped her before she could stifle it.
As she turned away, a glint of gold caught her eye—the unmistakable emblem of a noble house gleaming on the approaching carriage. Her heart skipped a beat as the vehicle approached with an air of undeniable authority, and a rush of urgency flooded her chest.
Before her mind could fully catch up, her body was already in motion. She darted toward the gate, her feet carrying her swiftly into the middle of the road. With a firm, unyielding expression, she stretched her arms out wide.
"What in the world—?" the coachman exclaimed, his voice thick with disbelief as he yanked the reins sharply.
"Neigh~!"
The horses reared, their heads jerking back as their hooves clattered against the cobblestones, bringing the carriage to a sudden, jarring stop.
First that blasted child in the cloak and now this! "What are you—crazy?" the coachman snapped, his anger boiling over. "Why in the world would you rush into the middle of the road like that?"
Ignoring the man's heated rant, the woman swiftly moved to the side of the carriage and knocked on the door. The tinted window slid down with a soft hiss, revealing the irritated expression of a man—overdressed and condescending—who served as the assistant to the kingdom's treasurer.
"Lord Aurelius," the nun greeted, her voice trembling as she sank into a deep bow. "I humbly beg your pardon for my unseemly conduct, but I urgently needed to speak with you."
"Sister Aeliana… what could be so urgent that you'd willingly put yourself in harm's way like this?"
The woman lifted her gaze humbly, her hands clasped beneath her chin in a quiet plea. "To manage the orphanage, the church has always relied on monthly donations from the kingdom, but it's been over three months now. I was simply wondering if there's been some sort of issue?"
The man glanced briefly at the mixed-race children playing in the yard before his expression soured, shifting from condescension to open disdain. "Ah, yes," he said, his tone dripping with false sympathy. "We did once do that, didn't we? Alas, Sister Aeliana, it is with a heavy heart that I inform you that, in light of the looming war, the kingdom can only allocate funds to the church Zepharion now. Given the magnitude of their operations, their need was deemed far greater than your own."
The man heaved a devious smile. "You understand, right?"
The woman's eyes quivered in dismay. Before she could even begin to gather her bearings to speak, the baron instructed the coachman to spur the horses forward, abandoning the nun to her troubled thoughts.