Ah...
Another dream again...
These sugared flowers are wasted on me!
I really have to tell them — stop sending those. Just give them to the children instead. Why make us old folks eat candy anyway?
He groaned softly, still half-wrapped in sleep.
Oho... my knees will give out if that brat asks for another piggyback or horseback ride today.
I'll have to come up with a distraction — maybe a new game... Yes, yes, that should work.
He squinted, patting the bedside table with one hand.
Now where did I leave my glasses again...
Ah — there.
His fingers found them, and with a small sigh of relief, he slipped them on.
Much better.
The old man peered up at the wall clock.
6:35 a.m.
He had a little time before the breakfast bell.
With a grunt, he pushed himself upright and stood, a little shaky, in the middle of his room.
It was small, perfectly square — 11 by 11 feet — with a soft white glow that made the space feel weightless, almost imagined. It looked like something from a futuristic sci-fi film. The ceiling above him was a spiralling 3D design, elegant yet discreet, with a hidden source of light that gave the room its even, comforting glow.
One entire wall — to the left of his bed — was a giant window. Though the world beyond it shifted with simulated weather and skies, he never quite trusted what he saw. Still, it gave the illusion of openness in an otherwise enclosed world.
The room's entrance was positioned on the opposite end of the window, to the right of his bed and the bedside table. Beside the entrance, tucked neatly into the wall, was the compact door to his attached bathroom.
Next to it, a small laundry basket waited — placed precisely under the metal slot by the entrance. Every morning and evening, without fail, a fresh set of clothing appeared: neatly folded undergarments, a white tracksuit with a sewn-in name tag, and a clean towel. Used clothes were to be dropped into the basket and left outside for overnight laundering and reissue.
Routine. Order. Precision.
He grabbed his towel and the new uniform and made his way to the bathroom.
No time to waste — the breakfast bell would ring soon.
The old man stood patiently in front of his door, now clean and dressed.
At exactly 7:00 a.m., the edges of the metallic door lit up in a gentle green glow, and with a smooth hiss, the panels slid apart, vanishing silently into the walls like a door aboard a spaceship.
He stepped into the hallway and joined the quiet procession of residents making their way down to the common hall. Still in queue, each person retrieved a tray from the food counter, where the nuns, dressed in their pristine black uniforms, had already plated meals according to each individual's dietary plan.
Once served, the adults sought out their assigned children and made their way to their usual seats.
Some adults were paired with babies, others with toddlers. The adults were called Handlers and the children, their Charges.
The youngest were always the most demanding to take care of, and also the most rewarding. When a child "graduated" from Sion — the term used when they left the Sanctuary — their caretaker inherited all the privileges previously reserved for their young charge; sometimes leading to early retirement. From that day forward, they would be free of tantrums and piggyback rides, no longer bossed around by tiny tyrants. This was every handler's goal: to help their child grow and graduate, ideally with a smile.
This was life in the Sanctuary of Drifters, affectionately known as Sion.
Whenever a newcomer arrived, they first appeared inside the Cathedral — a vast prayer hall at the heart of the Sanctuary. There, the nuns would retrieve them, assign them new names, and pair them with a child to keep them occupied.
To receive privileges — such as meals, daily clothing, room upgrades, or special outings to the orchards, lakeside, or hilltop — one had to meet the needs and whims of their assigned child. It wasn't just a task; it was a test of patience, kindness, and discipline. Failing to meet expectations would lead to punishment — reduced privileges, harsher living conditions, and total disregard until a new child selects them or eventual reassignment once another child was available.
When the old man had first arrived three months ago, he was given three rules:
1. Take good care of the child assigned to you, or privileges will be revoked.
2. Always obtain permission before leaving Sion's main premises — even for the gardens or orchards.
3. If overwhelmed by troubling thoughts, consume a sugar flower immediately.
Little else was explained. He'd had to learn the rest by observing and speaking with others who'd been there longer.
He knew only this: the Sanctuary was a safe place for lost souls. A place calling for a symbiotic relationship between a handler and their charge. And if you obeyed the system, it would grant you peace. For most, that was enough. No one wanted anything more.
This is... phenomenal, the old man often thought when he had first arrived. Strange, but comforting.
"SKIT33! I was waiting for you."
He turned toward the voice, a smile already spreading across his face — until he saw the speaker.
There stood a very grumpy child, about three years old, her hair done in two tight ponytails tied with red ribbons decorated with cherry elements. She wore a bright red skirt-suit; the children always had better colours. Hers matched her ribbons and her attitude.
"CLOVE61," he sighed. "I came out as soon as they let me. You know we're not allowed to leave before the doors open. I can't walk through walls, you know!"
But she wasn't buying it.
"Let's play horse again after breakfast."
"Ahh… again?" SKIT33 groaned. "You're missing out on the good games! Let's play something else today, hmm? I'm old, you know. My knees are still sore from yesterday!"
She stared at him, thoughtful — scheming.
What's running through that little head of hers now? he wondered.
Cute, but cunning. Torturous in her innocence.
"Okay…" she said slowly, "then can you play the game that PUDDLE01 and NOOBI56 are playing? If not, I'll just ask for someone younger."
SKIT33 stiffened.
She saw his reaction and smirked.
She had him right where she wanted.
"I heard they're playing a new game … in the orchards," she continued, her voice sing-song sweet. "Something about planting trees. I heard it's super super fun. I want to play that."
She didn't look away as she spoke — her eyes locked on his, daring him to say no.
He glanced over toward PUDDLE01 and NOOBI56's table. The children were slightly older than CLOVE61, and their handlers, noticeably younger.
What kind of game is this now?
They ate quickly. The food was simple but satisfying.
SKIT33 had vegetable pork rib soup and two stuffed buns.
CLOVE61 had the same — plus a generous helping of pastries and fruit pies.
Children always had the privileges.
Outside the common hall stretched a large, meticulously trimmed lawn — roughly 200 meters long and as wide as a tennis court. After meals, it was open for strolls, sunbathing, or play.
Some children preferred the lawn. Others stayed indoors. CLOVE61 usually played here. But not today.
Today, she wanted the orchards.
It required permission — but for children, permission was often just a formality.
For adults, especially newer ones, it could be harder.
Still, the nuns granted access.
Six of them — three children and their handlers — walked out together.
Each adult was given a stroller to push their charge.
SKIT33 pitied himself and the others. His knees were already protesting.
The children chatted endlessly about food, games, and gossip.
The adults bonded in their quiet suffering.
"Hi, I'm DELTA24," said one, a man with a kind face and surprisingly dark hair for someone who looked at least 70. "When did you get here? I've been here about six weeks."
"Oh, you're new," said another. "I'm JOJO85. Been here a while — three years now."
He was tall, lean, with sun-kissed skin. He looked to be around 55, and carried himself with the calm of someone used to being admired.
SKIT33 smiled, adjusting his glasses.
"Nice to meet you both. I'm SKIT33. I've been here three months."
He chuckled dryly. "I suppose I look the oldest, huh?"
Indeed, compared to them, he felt like a shrivelled eggplant long forgotten in the back of a refrigerator. Bald on top, grey on the sides, bespectacled, and bent like an old cane.
"You had a rough time with your child?" JOJO85 asked, voice tinged with sympathy — but it landed cold.
SKIT33 nodded. "He was tough to please. Eventually replaced me with someone younger. If it weren't for CLOVE61, I might still be sleeping in the corridors."
"Aiishh…" DELTA24 muttered. "What was your punishment? You look like you aged twenty years in three months."
That stung.
"I was stripped of my room and food privileges. Had to scrape dirty dishes just to get by. The nuns chased me off if they caught me. Then, about five days ago, CLOVE61 found me looking miserable and decided to replace her old handler — a young woman who was nearly retired anyway. She gave her a generous bonus and took me instead."
He lowered his voice and added, with exaggerated weight, "She's got a kind heart, no doubt. But if only she'd consider my old bones and let me play indoor games now and then… it would make my stay a dream."
The others burst out laughing — half in shock that he dared say it, half in solidarity.
Somehow, they pitied themselves even more than him.
The orchard was massive — nearly the size of a golf course — with neat rows of fruit trees stretching in all directions. The air was thick with ripeness.
NOOBI56, the oldest child, around 7 among them, pointed to a low-hanging plum tree.
"We'll stop here," he said looking at PUDDLE01. "Rest up a little. We'll show CLOVE61 how to play the game once we pick some fruit."
PUDDLE01 and CLOVE61 followed, darting toward the tree. The plums were round and red, their taut skins glowing in the soft light. One bite would surely spill juice.
The children began snacking happily.
CLOVE61 returned with her skirt full of plums and — without a word — dropped them at SKIT33's feet.
Rude. But thoughtful.
He looked up at her, a retort forming on his tongue —
Instead, he reached out and patted her head.
He didn't know what came over him. But it felt right. The little girl was taken aback by his gesture, turned red and ran away.
She was indeed a lovable little gremlin.
They sat and ate together, sharing what they'd gathered. SKIT33 shared his gains with his new friends.
"So," SKIT33 said at last, turning to his new friends, "what exactly is this game?"
The other two handlers exchanged a look.
Their faces soured in unison.