Orin turned around, walking away. Tor had clearly passed out, he wasn't sure where he was, but he knew it wasn't far from the orphanage, this was the same terrain.
He knew he was still in his backwater village.
"Let's get back to the orphanage first..."
Orin hurried away, taking the path that seemed to lead towards a wider space. However, getting back to the orphanage, he was not going to meet what he expected.
An hour later, Orin sighted the wooden gates of the orphanage and he hurried his steps forward. He felt like he had been gone for a while, the Matron would raise hell.
He glanced at his hand, seeing the black cloth tied around it. A faint dark thread pulsed within him, reminding him that he still hadn't expelled the dark qi from his body.
He suddenly remembered Old Han. "That old man would be of help."
Orin was going to see him today, as they already had a premeditated plan to meet at the forest, but first, he had to settle things at the orphanage before leaving. He trusted Scar to cover up for him.
The orphanage gates creaked noisily as Orin pushed the gates, his hoodie up. He didn't realize it, but he currently looked very spooky, and if he knew, he would have loved it, but not in this situation.
He needed a look like that, so he could get away from humans as quickly as possible, he needed them to avoid him. But in here, everyone already thought he was possessed, looking like a demon was going to do more harm than good. It really was.
Orin scanned the large compound, a look of surprise etched on his face.
The sun was still up, even though it was approaching evening. But still, the kids were all supposed to be out here, playing or doing one chore or the other.
But here, it was completely silent, the place seemed deserted, as if no one ever even lived here.
He looked around, finding the situation even more weird.
The silence in the orphanage compound hung thick, like the air before a storm. Orin's boots scuffed the dirt as he stepped past the creaky gate, his shadow stretching long under the sun. He squinted, hoodie still up, the black cloth on his hand tugging tight against his skin.
The dark qi inside of him throbbed quietly. He shook his head, muttering under his breath, "Gotta find Old Han soon. This mess isn't done."
A sharp clatter broke the quiet—wooden heels on stone. The matron burst out from the main building, her apron flapping as she clutched a broom like a weapon. She'd been halfway to sweeping something when her eyes landed on Orin.
Her face drained of color, mouth dropping open as if she'd seen a ghost—or worse. She stumbled back, one hand fumbling at her chest, the other trembling as it pointed at Orin.
"Demon!"
She shrieked, voice cracking high enough to wake the dead. "What—what are you doing here!?"
Orin froze, tilting his head. "Demon?" he said, voice low, almost amused. "That's a new one." He crossed his arms, staring her down.
For the last two years in this hellhole—beatings, starvation, insults—and she'd never pulled this card. She'd cursed him plenty, sure, but demons? He figured she'd scoff at that kind of talk, not scream it.
The Matron scrambled at her purse with shaky hands, yanking out a small keg. Salt spilled over the rim as she ripped it open, and with a wild swing, she hurled it at him. "Get out!" she bellowed, voice pitching into a frantic wail.
The grains scattered midair, dusting his hoodie like weak snow. "Leave! This is no place for a demon—go!"
Orin didn't budge, he just stood there as the salt hit him, a little bit painful.
"Seriously?" he muttered, half to himself. Her eyes were wide, darting like a cornered rat's, and her chest heaved under that stained apron. This wasn't her usual venom—something had snapped.
But before he could piece it together, she spun toward the shed, hollering over her shoulder. "Jem! Get out here—now! Tell the elders we've got a problem!"
A scrawny kid poked his head out, broom still in hand, blinking at the chaos. "Uh—yes, ma'am?" he stammered, then caught her glare and immediately lowered his head.
Orin frowned, it was even more serious than he imagined. The elders—sixth-step cultivators, every one of them. Old men with fists that could crack stone and qi that'd fry him before he could blink. He couldn't tangle with that—not yet.
He sighed, shoulders slumping, and turned to go. "You don't have to, I'll leave." He said, voice flat, his time at the orphanage had clearly come to an end.
"Stop!" The matron's shrill yell snapped through the air again. Orin paused, glancing back. She waved her arms like a mad conductor, and the shed door banged open again. Two of her junior enforcers stumbled out, dragging something between them. No, someone. Scar, half-conscious, his face a mess of purple bruises and swollen eyes, sagged in their grip. His shirt was torn, blood crusting at the corner of his mouth.
"Take him with you!" the matron spat, stepping back as if Scar might lunge at her. Her voice quivered, but her finger jabbed toward Orin like an accusation. "You demons stick together—get him out of my sight!"
Orin's jaw tightened, a flicker of heat rising in his chest. He strode over, moving towards the boys who flinched and dropped Scar like a hot coal. Scar hit the ground with a groan, one arm bracing himself as he looked up through puffy slits. "Boss…" he rasped, voice thick with pain. "I'm sorry… tried my best."
Orin crouched, flashing a quick, bright smile despite the ache in his own bones. "Yeah, you did," he said, voice steady. "Come on, you're not dying here."
He hooked an arm under Scar's shoulder, hauling him up. Scar wobbled, leaning hard against him, his breath ragged but alive. The matron shrank back further, clutching her apron like a shield, her eyes darting between them. Orin turned, guiding Scar toward the gate.
He paused as he got to the gate, his heart instantly welling up with mixed feelings. No matter what he had to say about them, this had been his home. Everything he knew, he learnt it under this roof. Even though all had changed the moment he failed to awaken a spirit vein two years ago, he had spent a larger number of years piling up happy memories.
No matter what, he was grateful.
Orin turned around, flashing a smile at the Matron.
"Thanks for everything!"
With that, he left.
The Matron stood still for a moment, watching as Orin walked out of ear shot, his figure fading. "Tep!" she barked at another kid—a wiry one with nervous hands. "Go—tell the elders, quick! Move it!" Tep nodded, scurrying off like a rabbit, disappearing down the path.
Then she spun to a third boy, this one hovering near the shed with a stick. "You follow them. Keep your distance, hear me? We need to know where they're slinking off to, so when the elders come, they can catch them both."
"Yes, ma'am!" the kid squeaked, gripping his stick like it'd save him. He darted forward, running out of the orphanage home, peeking out as Orin and Scar walked away, the gate creaking shut behind them.
Orin didn't look back. Scar's weight dragged at his side, but he kept moving, the dark qi pulsing faintly under his cloth. The matron's screams echoed in his head—demon, demon—and he snorted under his breath.
"Guess I'm scarier than I thought," he muttered. Scar coughed, a weak chuckle slipping out.
Orin braced himself for the challenges ahead, his eyes narrowing as the forest loomed ahead.
"Let them be. We're done with this place."