The cold corridors of the Church remained as silent as ever. Stone walls stretched endlessly beneath flickering lanterns, their light casting long shadows that moved like echoes of secrets too old to name.
Snow fell lightly outside, dusting the chapel rooftops and cloaking the courtyard in white. It was early morning the kind of stillness where the world hasn't quite remembered to wake.
Inside the eastern corridor, the boys moved quietly with their buckets and cloths, scrubbing stone with sore hands and worn knees.
And at the center of it all was Elyom Aetherin.
Elyom's POV
I tried to work faster today.
Not because I was rushing.
But because I knew Kenny would be struggling again near the garden cistern, where the path was slippery and the buckets heavy.
If I could finish before he hurt himself, maybe I could carry the worst of it. Maybe I could keep him from earning more than just sore hands.
I dipped the cloth into the freezing water, squeezing it hard until my fingers stung, then scrubbed harder at the stone. The rhythm helped.
One stroke.
Two. Breathe.
Just one more section.
I looked up briefly eyes scanning the hallway. The others were still busy, their faces tired but calmer than they'd been in weeks. Even little Joren was quietly working beside Levi without bickering.
And behind them, from the shadows, I saw her.
She wasn't correcting anyone. She wasn't walking the halls with a switch like the others.
She was watching.
Me.
Again.
Not cruelly. Not like Father Vauren or the other Sisters who seemed to measure us with their eyes like sheep awaiting sacrifice.
Her expression was… different.
Torn.
And for a strange moment, I didn't feel afraid of it.
When chores neared their end, I approached Sister Catherine.
"Excuse me, Sister," I said quietly, careful not to sound too eager. "Is there a task today that requires gathering firewood? I finished early."
Her brows lifted slightly.
The other Sisters Sister Lira and Sister Brenna paused. They exchanged glances, curious.
I knew what they were thinking.
Why him?
Why was Elyom always given space to speak?
Why did Sister Catherine not respond with the usual bite?
Before anyone could question it aloud, she answered:
"The eastern woods are quiet today. A few of the outer branches have fallen in the last storm. If you believe you can carry them, you may go. Take Kenny with you if he's finished."
I nodded, grateful.
Behind me, I heard Sister Lira murmur under her breath as she walked away.
"She's too soft on that boy."
"I'll inform Father Vauren."
My stomach tightened but not from fear.
From awareness.
They were watching her now, too.
Not just me.
Sister Catherine's POV
I kept my eyes on Elyom and Kenny as they slipped beyond the gate wrapped in threadbare cloaks, boots barely thick enough for the frozen trail.
They had each other, though.
That was more than most children here could say.
I turned back toward the dormitory hall and let my expression harden.
This place had become too familiar with shadows.
Too skilled at cloaking cruelty in prayer and control in silence.
I used to believe we were here to bring structure to give lost children sanctuary and discipline. But Father Vauren had twisted that.
I'd seen enough.
And now, I would act.
My Plan Begins Tonight.
I returned to my chambers and unlocked the small drawer behind my desk. Inside, I kept a second prayer journal not the one I recited from during evening devotions. This one bore no scripture.
Only records.
My own observations.
My own doubts.
The moments when bruises didn't match chores.
When the younger boys flinched before morning prayers.
When Father Vauren emerged from the confession room with his robes stained and his eyes alight not from piety, but power.
I had not written names.
I had not spoken aloud.
Because I was afraid.
But not anymore.
I took out a new page and began recording today's events:
Elyom assigned to firewood without reprimand.
Sister Lira took notice.
Boys showing signs of social cohesion. Trust forming around Elyom.
*Father Vauren growing distant. More time in the study. Locked doors.
*Sister Brenna dismissed a child's injury as 'punishment from above.'
I closed the journal gently.
Tomorrow, I would ask the older boys to "assist" me with new chores. One would be sent to deliver a sealed letter to the Archdiocese in Murelle, the city where true oversight still held sway.
The Church would investigate… eventually.
But I couldn't wait that long.
I needed evidence.
Real proof.
Not suspicions.
And I would get it.
I already knew where the hidden records were kept. Father Vauren had made the mistake of trusting me once. He didn't know I had memorized his key pattern. He didn't know how long I'd been watching.
Not for God.
Not anymore.
But for them.
For Elyom.
For Kenny.
For every child still waking in fear, still praying not to be noticed.
That night, the boys returned from the forest cold, but smiling.
Kenny leaned against Elyom, giggling at something I couldn't hear.
Elyom looked up, eyes meeting mine briefly.
And for once I didn't look away.
Not with shame.
Not with distance.
But with resolve.
Let Father Vauren plan his next sermon.
Let the other Sisters whisper.
Let the church walls tremble when the truth finally comes to light.
I would see to it personally that this place would never harm another child again.
Not while I still breathed.
Not while hope still flickered in the snow.