Asvin stood silently beside the tall double doors, his hand resting on the brass handle but unmoving. His eyes were fixed on the narrow window beside him, its glass faintly fogged by the afternoon chill.
Outside, the front yard was bathed in gold, the sun casting long, playful shadows over the trimmed grass. His little sister, Rosin, darted between bushes and flower beds, a frustrated grin tugging at her lips. Terria and Sonia squealed with laughter as they evaded her clumsy but determined pursuit, the echo of their joy carrying faintly through the glass.
Asvin's lips lifted into a soft smile despite himself. For a moment, everything felt... normal.
But then, his gaze shifted—and the smile faltered.
There, chasing after the girls with a laugh of his own, was the boy. Matthew. A flicker of wind tousled his hair as he ran, his limbs still slightly awkward in motion, but his eyes were alive. Joyful.
Asvin's heart sank.
Just a few minutes ago, he'd spoken with his father. John had been clear—it's time to take the boy. Letting him stay longer would only deepen bonds that needed cutting. It was kinder this way, he had said. Quicker. Cleaner.
Asvin had nodded. Agreed, even.
But now, staring through the glass, watching Matthew stumble and laugh, his chest tightened with something he didn't know how to name. What was he supposed to do? Just walk out there, stop the game, and take the boy away in a cold carriage? Tear him from the Marlston sisters—the only family he had left? Rip him from Rosin, who'd found a rare smile in the boy's company? And most of all, rob Matthew himself… of the little he still had?
He couldn't. But he had to.
And so, Asvin remained by the door, motionless, staring through the small window as the boy laughed beneath the waning sun—trapped in the ache of duty and the weight of something heartbreakingly human.
...
Laughter rang out across the front yard as Matthew darted after the girls, arms stretched, a playful grin lighting up his face. The grass rustled under his feet, and the cool air carried the scent of nearby flowers—spring clinging to the edges of the waning afternoon.
Rosin shrieked, half a laugh, half a cry of frustration, as she zig-zagged through the yard. She wasn't fast enough, and she knew it—Matthew was closing in.
He was just about to tag her when—
"Gotcha—!"
A small blur rammed into his side.
"Oof—!"
Matthew stumbled, spinning off balance as Sonia giggled, her small hands still pressed to his ribs from the shove. He could've stopped her. Could've reached out and tagged her instead. But he didn't.
He let the act play out, tumbling into the grass dramatically, laughing as if she'd completely blindsided him. "You traitor!" he called after her, flopping on the ground with mock betrayal.
Rosin blinked, stunned she wasn't 'it,' and turned to see Sonia already sprinting ahead, waving her hands in victory. She hesitated, cheeks tinged pink, before muttering, "Thanks..." toward the younger girl.
Sonia flashed her a peace sign over her shoulder.
Terria, the quickest of the trio, was already far ahead, laughing loudly. "You guys are so bad at this!"
Matthew sat up, brushing his hands over the grass-stained knees of his pants, still smiling.
Then—
"Matthew!"
His head turned.
The name. Matthew. Not Matt. His smile dimmed just a little.
He knew that voice.
The game froze. Rosin, Sonia, and Terria all turned, their playful energy flickering out like a candle in the wind.
Asvin walked toward them from the estate, the wind catching his red jacket, his golden hair tousled and shining beneath the sky. His expression was calm. Serious. And his gaze was fixed only on the boy.
Matthew stood slowly.
His chest tightened.
He knew what this meant.
The game... was over.
Asvin stopped in front of the boy.
For a moment, the world was still.
Matthew stared up at him and saw it—hesitation. The young man's expression was composed, but his eyes gave it away. They flickered with conflict, uncertainty. As if he didn't know what to say… or didn't want to say it.
Before Matthew could open his mouth, Rosin beat him to it.
"Why'd you stop the game, hmm?" she snapped, arms crossed, irritation bubbling in her voice.
But Asvin's eyes shifted—cold and sharp—and landed on her. He didn't say a word.
Rosin flinched subtly. Her mouth clamped shut. She took a small step back.
Sonia and Terria stood silently now, close together, small fists clenched at their sides, the joy from earlier rapidly draining.
Matthew finally raised his head and looked Asvin directly in the eyes.
"What is it, Big Bro Vin?" he asked.
The nickname.
Asvin's chest tightened painfully.
Vin. He'd liked it at first. But now… it hurt hearing it.
He looked away briefly, then forced himself to meet the boy's gaze. "It's time," he said. "We… we have to go. To the orphanage."
Matthew didn't flinch. Didn't react dramatically.
He just... sighed.
Not out of frustration.
Not out of relief.
It was just a sound of quiet acceptance. The sigh of someone who knew this was coming.
The kind that made it worse.
Behind him, Rosin stiffened. She took a small step back, turning her head as if something had caught her eye. But nothing was there. She just didn't want them to see her expression.
Terria's lip trembled. Sonia's eyes welled up immediately.
Without a word, they both rushed forward and wrapped their arms around Matthew tightly—one on each side.
Matthew didn't move at first.
Then his arms slowly came up… and held them back.
His eyes stayed on Asvin the entire time.
And Asvin felt his heart sink.
He wished he hadn't come out here at all.
...
A few minutes later, the warm energy from earlier had faded into a soft, quiet tension.
At the estate gates, a red carriage stood waiting—its polished frame gleaming under the sinking sun. The horses snorted and shifted restlessly, reins in the hands of a tall man dressed in black and red. A member of House Cavias, one of the guards, doubling now as the driver. He stood still, like a statue, eyes fixed forward, giving the moment its solemn weight.
Asvin waited nearby, leaning against a pillar just beside the carriage path, arms crossed and jaw clenched.
Not a word from him.
Matthew was still near the entrance, crouched slightly to match Sonia and Terria's height. He ruffled their hair gently, one after the other.
"I'll be back," he said with a small smile. "So don't cry too much, alright?"
"You have to come back," Sonia sniffled, her face red.
Terria nodded fiercely. "We'll be waiting! You said it, so you better mean it!"
Matthew laughed softly and tapped both their foreheads with two fingers. "I said it, so I mean it."
Rosin stood a little behind the other two girls, her arms folded like always, head turned slightly as if trying to pretend she wasn't listening. But her eyes were on him—uncertain, quiet, maybe even a little bit lost.
Matthew turned toward her with that same gentle look. "I'll be expecting some real competition next time, Rosin. You better train."
She scoffed lightly, flicking her golden bangs from her face. "Tch. That's a given," she muttered.
But her eyes softened.
Matthew gave a small, almost unnoticeable nod, then turned.
Without another word, he stepped toward the carriage.
Asvin straightened.
It was time.
...
Asvin stepped in after Matthew and shut the carriage door behind him with a quiet but resolute click. The interior was dim, the only light coming from the setting sun slipping through the small windows. Neither of them spoke.
Outside, the carriage creaked forward, wheels crunching softly over the gravel path as it began to pull away from the grand Cavias estate.
The large, iron gates stood wide open, two guards stationed at either side, stoic and silent. Just behind them stood the three daughters of House Cavias.
Sonia and Terria clung to each other, tears falling freely down their cheeks, though neither of them sobbed aloud. Their tiny hands trembled, one holding the other, as they watched the red carriage roll farther and farther away.
Rosin stood beside them, her arms crossed like always. Her expression was unreadable—eyebrows drawn slightly, lips parted but silent. She didn't know what to feel. Sad? Angry? Empty?
She didn't move.
Didn't cry.
Just watched, until the red silhouette of the carriage dipped behind the slope at the far edge of the estate grounds and disappeared from view.
And with it… Matthew.
...
Inside the red carriage, the atmosphere was hushed—still.
The interior was surprisingly lavish for something meant to carry a child to an orphanage. Deep red velvet lined the seats and walls, embroidered with fine black thread tracing curling vines. Tucked into corners and along thin gold shelves were small arrangements of roses—red, black, and even a few golden ones that gleamed faintly in the dim light. Their scent was subtle but present, clinging to the air like memory.
On one bench sat Matthew, his small frame tucked into the far corner, his gaze cast toward the curtained window beside him. His hands were folded over his lap, unmoving. A faint reflection of the passing world shimmered in his eyes, but he didn't seem to be looking at anything.
Across from him, seated closer to the driver's side of the carriage, was Asvin. One leg crossed, elbow resting on the side armrest, jaw set but not tight. His eyes, however, occasionally flicked toward the boy in front of him, then away again, unable to settle. The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable—but it was heavy, like the air before a storm.
Neither spoke.
Not yet.
Asvin cleared his throat, the sudden sound cutting through the silence of the carriage.
"Matthew," he called, using the boy's full name.
Matthew raised his head, his eyes calm, waiting for Asvin to speak.
Asvin hesitated for a second. It wasn't like him to fumble for words, but something about this boy—this situation—made everything harder. Still, he pressed on.
"In Coupitia City," he began, voice even but a bit rough, "there's only one orphanage."
Matthew blinked, but didn't interrupt.
"It's owned by the Poblico Family," Asvin continued. "Biggest noble family in the kingdom. Or, at least, one of the richest. They run businesses, hospitals, academies—you name it. But here… they don't have any guards or staff overseeing the orphanage personally."
He leaned slightly forward, resting an arm on his knee.
"As for why," he added with a faint sigh, "that gets into… complicated topics."
Matthew tilted his head, faint curiosity stirring behind his gaze.
"But if I had to summarize it," Asvin went on, "it's because the Poblico aren't welcome in this part of the kingdom. Not really. Not with the other two big noble families around—ours, the Cavias… and the Charltons."
Matthew's eyes shifted a bit at the names.
"The Charltons have the Blue Lightning. One of the Kingdom's Pillars," Asvin said, his voice lowering slightly, more serious now. "Same as our family with the Fierce Lion. The King's Power, the Green Sage… they're all part of the Seventeen Pillars of Decartium. Families whose bloodlines and strength are officially recognized as the foundation of the realm."
He leaned back again and looked at the boy fully this time.
"So… yeah. You're going to a place owned by a powerful family. But in a place where that power doesn't mean as much. That's the kind of city Coupitia is."
He didn't say more than that—for now.
Matthew hesitated, his fingers tightening slightly on the edge of the seat. Then, after a short pause, he looked up and asked quietly, "Are the Poblicos the ones who have two Pillars among the Seventeen? The Rising Sun... and his son, the Yellow Sun? The one people say is the strongest Arts User in the kingdom—well, tied with the Green Sage?"
Asvin blinked, a little surprised by the question, then gave a slow nod.
"Yeah," he said. "That's them."
He shifted his gaze out the window for a moment, watching the trees blur past, then returned to the conversation.
"That's part of the reason why the Poblicos are considered the biggest noble family," he explained.
"Having two Pillars in the same bloodline is... unheard of. The Rising Sun himself is a monster, even now. And his son?" He shook his head slightly. "The Yellow Sun is terrifying. Nobody even knows how far his Arts can reach. They say he once burned a whole army to ash without stepping within a mile of the battlefield."
He paused a moment, then added, "But strength's only part of it."
Matthew waited silently.
"They're also the second richest family in the kingdom—just behind the Charltons. And more importantly… they dominate the political scene. The Rising Sun isn't just a warrior. He's also the closest advisor to the King. Some say if he ever wanted the throne, he could take it without a war."
A faint smirk tugged at Asvin's lips, though it didn't reach his eyes.
"Not that he would. The man's loyal. But the fact that people say it at all? Tells you everything you need to know."
Asvin let out a deep sigh, his gaze lowering.
"That orphanage…" he began, shifting the conversation back to where it started, "is one of the worst places to live in this entire kingdom. For an adult, even. Let alone a kid."
He saw Matthew shift slightly, his lips parting as if to ask something, but the boy hesitated. Asvin caught it instantly.
"You're wondering why it still exists," he said, his voice a little bitter. "Why no one's torn it down and built something better."
He leaned his head back against the wall of the carriage, eyes on the red and black roses above.
"My father—the Fierce Lion—wants nothing more than to do just that. He's been trying to get rid of that place for years. Planning to build a new orphanage, one that could actually be called a home."
He exhaled slowly. "But the Poblicos… they keep stepping in his way."
Matthew stayed silent, but his brows furrowed, his small hands curling slightly.
Asvin continued, "It's politics. The worst kind. My father could storm in and take every child out of there today if he really wanted to. But if he did… it'd be the same as declaring war on the Poblicos. And we can't afford that."
He looked across the carriage at the boy, his voice quieting. "Especially not when they're tied to the crown. When one of the King's most trusted men is the Rising Sun himself."
The tension in the air lingered for a moment before Asvin added with a tired shrug, "So for now… all we can do is send food and clothes when we can. Keep watch from afar. Make sure things don't get worse than they already are."
He looked down, jaw tightening slightly. "Even if it's not enough."
Asvin drew in another deep breath, steadying himself. When his eyes returned to Matthew, he caught the change—subtle, but clear. The boy's expression had darkened, his earlier calm now shadowed by something close to fear. Of course he'd be scared… They were on their way to that orphanage. Knowing all this, how could any child feel safe?
Asvin's heart ached again, but he straightened his back and forced a small smile.
"Hey," he said gently, voice softer than before. "Don't worry."
Matthew looked up, hesitant.
"They won't hurt you," Asvin continued. "Not a single hair on your head will be touched. I'll make sure of that—personally."
He gestured vaguely with one hand, a bit of that old Cavias confidence returning to his tone. "Sure, we can't control the whole orphanage. And no, we can't change it completely, at least not yet… But there are things we can do."
He then pointed at Matthew, his voice firm now, no longer gentle. "You —are not to be touched. That's the demand we'll make clear to them."
Asvin's expression grew colder, just for a moment, eyes narrowing. "And if anyone tries? If anyone so much as thinks about laying a hand on you… The Fierce Lion himself will be standing at their doorstep. And they know what that means."
He let the silence hang for a heartbeat, then his smile softened again. "You'll be safe, Matthew. I promise."
Matthew's lips trembled as he spoke, his voice cracking slightly under the weight of his fear.
"Y-you said… the Poblicos—"
But before he could finish, Asvin raised a hand and cut him off gently, but firmly.
"I know what I said," he interjected. "Yes, the entire orphanage is under the Poblicos. It's theirs. But if they harm you…"
Asvin leaned forward a little, his eyes locking onto Matthew's with a serious, unwavering gaze.
"…then the Fierce Lion will demand justice. And the Poblicos? They don't care about the workers there. Not really. If sacrificing a few nameless, low-level staff helps mend their relationship with the Cavias? Then so be it."
He leaned back slightly, arms crossing as his tone grew colder.
"So no—I'm not threatening the Poblicos. I'm threatening the ones who'll actually be around you. The workers. The caretakers. The ones who know they're nothing more than pawns in a much bigger game."
Asvin paused, letting that settle.
"They know it. We know it. And if they lay a finger on you… they'll be the ones who pay for it."
Then, softer, more reassuring, "You're not going in there unprotected, Matthew. You've got the Cavias name behind you—even if you don't carry it. That's not something they'll dare to challenge."
Matthew's shoulders eased ever so slightly at Asvin's words, the tension in his chest loosening as he let out a quiet, shaky sigh of relief. His breathing steadied, just a bit, as if the fear had stepped back—if only for a moment. Seeing that small change, Asvin allowed himself a faint smile. He still hated this—leaving the boy at that place—but at least he'd managed to calm him, even if only a little.
He opened his mouth to say something more—anything to stretch the moment—
But then, he felt it.
The carriage came to a slow, steady halt.
…the moment struck like a quiet thunder.
The world outside fell still, the clatter of wheels silenced, replaced by the distant murmurs of city life and the soft shuffling of horses adjusting their stance.
Asvin's heart sank with the weight of finality.
A quiet knock sounded—three firm taps against the carriage wall. Then, the small wooden hatch behind Asvin's seat creaked open.
"We're here," the driver announced, his voice even, betraying none of the tension filling the cabin.
Matthew didn't move.
His breath caught, just for a moment, then resumed—shallow, tight. The small comfort Asvin had offered was already fading, pushed aside by reality's cold hand.
Asvin turned his gaze toward the boy and saw it in his eyes—that quiet storm of fear and resignation. The boy was trying to be brave.
Trying not to cry.
Asvin almost wished he would. It might've made this easier.
Instead, Matthew just sat there, shoulders squared but trembling slightly, eyes fixed on the floor of the carriage. Asvin swallowed the lump in his throat, his fingers curling into his coat as he realized—
This was the part that hurt the most.
There were no more words to delay it.
Asvin turned away, unable to bear the weight in Matthew's gaze—or the silence between them. He reached for the carriage door, his hand trembling just slightly before he pushed it open. A cold breeze greeted him, sharper than it had any right to be. He stepped out, boots hitting the dirt with a dull thud, and said nothing. He didn't trust himself to speak.
He stood there, back to the carriage, fists clenched inside his red jacket's pockets, shoulders stiff.
A few seconds passed. Long enough for doubt to crawl up his spine.
Then, from behind, the quiet creak of movement.
Matthew emerged, one foot carefully placed on the step, then the other. He didn't say anything either. Just stepped down onto the ground, his frame small, but his posture upright—trying to look stronger than he felt.
Asvin still didn't turn. He couldn't.
Matthew glanced around, taking in the unfamiliar sights—rows of modest buildings to the side, a small market bustling with movement. Adults chatted as they picked out fruits or fabrics, a couple of low-ranked nobles passed by with bored expressions, flanked by quiet escorts. Life moved on here, unaware of the shift happening in his.
But when he turned his head toward the back of the carriage, everything else seemed to fade.
There it was—the orphanage.
A looming structure of dark wood, almost black against the pale sky. It wasn't rundown, but something about it felt cold. Lifeless. The wide front yard was neatly kept, green grass covering most of it, with a single tall tree near the center like a lone sentinel. A swing hung from one of its thick branches, swaying slightly in the breeze, though no one was sitting on it.
And beneath that tree stood a man.
Middle-aged, a little pudgy but not quite fat, with short brown hair combed back. His hands were politely clasped in front of him, and a wide smile stretched across his face.
But Matthew didn't smile back.
Even at seven, even with his heart pounding in his chest, he could feel it—something was wrong. That smile didn't reach the man's eyes. It was too still, too measured.
It wasn't real.
The man stepped forward, his boots crunching lightly against the gravel path as he made his way toward them. As he neared, he slowed slightly, then gave a shallow nod, his eyes flicking up—just for a moment—to meet Asvin's before lowering again.
"Young master of the Cavias Family," he greeted, voice a little too tight, a little too careful. The smile remained plastered to his face, but his tone gave him away. It wasn't reverence. It was fear. The kind that made a man sweat even in the cool breeze.
And how could he not fear? Standing before him was Asvin Cavias—heir to one of the two great noble houses in Coupitia City, son of the Fierce Lion himself. Here, in the city where the Cavias family ruled with quiet dominance, even their name carried weight sharp enough to draw blood.
Matthew lingered quietly at Asvin's side, small hands clenching the hem of his shirt. The man barely looked at him. Not with curiosity, nor concern. He was just another body, an afterthought in this transaction. All his focus—his smiles, his tone, his attention—was reserved for Asvin.
Asvin mirrored the man's fake smile with one of his own. It didn't reach his eyes either.
"Sir Robert," he said with polite distance, the words smooth but cold.
The man let out a chuckle, waving a hand modestly as if brushing away the title. "No need for honorifics, young master. I'm just a lowly worker at the orphanage, not anyone important."
The words were humble, but his eyes darted to Asvin's expression, watching for even the smallest sign of offense.
Asvin gave a small, formal nod before turning his head to glance at Matthew. The boy hadn't moved, still standing half behind Asvin's side, watching the exchange with quiet, wary eyes.
"This," Asvin said, motioning toward the boy, "is Matthew. He was orphaned just yesterday… by the Black Tower."
His voice was steady, but there was something raw buried beneath the calm—a sharpness to his words that made Robert's already stiff posture tighten further.
"So," Asvin continued, "you'll make sure he's taken care of. Properly."
Robert nodded at once. "Of course, of course, young master. We'll do our very best, rest assured—"
But Asvin cut him off by raising a hand. His tone shifted. Colder. Slower. More deliberate.
"Matthew is now part of the Cavias Estate. He will be visited once a week by someone from our household… and he will be allowed to visit us once a week as well."
He paused, letting that sink in before continuing.
"We will be checking on him personally. The Fierce Lion himself will check with the young boy."
At that, Robert paled slightly. His forced smile faltered.
"And if anything happens to him…" Asvin's voice dropped. He didn't finish the sentence.
But he didn't need to.
The silence that followed spoke volumes—heavier than any threat could.
Robert flinched, his eyes darting nervously to Matthew for a heartbeat before quickly returning to Asvin. He gave a deeper nod this time, his voice stumbling.
"Y-Yes, of course! You have my word, young master, we'll take care of the boy. No harm will come to him, not even discomfort, I assure you. He will be safe under our watch. Absolutely."
Asvin didn't say anything right away. He just stared at the man, the silence weighing down again.
He gave a curt nod, "Good."
Then he took a step forward, gaze sharpening as he repeated himself—this time, slower and firmer. "The young boy should feel like a king inside this orphanage, Robert. That's not a suggestion. No one—no one—should bully him. Not the other children. Not the adults. Not even in passing."
His voice turned just a touch colder again, the edge returning with every word.
"He's part of the Cavias Estate now. I'm sure… you understand what that means, right?"
Robert nodded rapidly, his mouth dry. "Y-Yes, absolutely, young master. Of course."
Asvin gave a small, approving smile—one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Good."
Then, as if remembering something important, he reached into his jacket. From an inner pocket, he pulled out a small black pouch tied with silver string. The moment it left the folds of his jacket, the soft clink of coins inside echoed lightly. Gold.
Robert's eyes widened, his throat bobbing in a thick gulp.
Asvin tossed the pouch lightly, then caught it again with ease before handing it out toward Robert.
"I want you to find an Arts User. Someone decent. Not one of those washed-up, bitter types.
Someone who can teach the boy properly."
He stepped forward, pressing the pouch into Robert's hand.
"I'll pay for the teacher personally."
Robert opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. The weight of the pouch in his hand said more than enough.
Asvin chuckled softly at the stunned expression. "Relax. Just don't get greedy."
He narrowed his eyes slightly. "I'll be checking with the Arts User you employ after the fact. If I find out you skimped on quality, or worse—kept the coin…"
He didn't need to finish. Robert's face was already paling.
Asvin let the moment hang for a breath, then added, more casually, "If there's any money left over, take one gold for yourself. The rest goes to Matthew. Consider it his pocket money."
He looked down at the boy and then back at Robert.
"And it better be kept safe."
Robert nodded quickly, a bit too quickly, clutching the pouch as if it might bite him. "O-Of course, young master! I'll do just as you asked, not a thing less!"
Asvin gave a sharp little smile and patted the man's shoulder—firm, but not unkind. "That's why I like you, Robert. You listen well."
Then he turned, crouching down to Matthew's level. His smile softened. "Don't worry, alright? I'll be back in three days. The girls too. We'll all come visit you, just like I promised."
Matthew's lips trembled slightly, and he swallowed hard, his voice a whisper. "Okay…"
"If anything happens—anything at all—you just tell me when I visit," Asvin continued, brushing a few strands of hair gently out of Matthew's face. "Don't let anyone scare you. Don't let anyone silence you. You've got the Fierce Lion behind you, after all. There's no reason to be afraid."
Matthew's eyes watered just a little, but he blinked quickly and nodded. "Okay…"
Then, more quietly, "Thank you for everything… big bro Vin. It means a lot to me, so… thank you."
Asvin's chest tightened painfully.
He wanted to say no, to pick the boy up and take him back to the estate, to promise he'd never have to step foot into a place like this. But he couldn't. Not with the way things stood.
This—this was the best he could do. For now.
So he smiled again, hiding the weight in his heart, and stood up slowly. "No need to thank me." He reached out and ruffled Matthew's hair gently.
"You just focus on staying strong, alright?"
Asvin cleared his throat, pushing back the emotions that threatened to surface. He turned to Robert, his tone composed but firm. "I'll be back in three days."
Robert gave a deep nod, still holding the pouch with both hands like it was sacred. "Yes, young master. We'll be ready."
Without another word, Asvin turned on his heel and started walking toward the red carriage, its vibrant color standing out like a rose among the gray tones of the orphanage yard. The wind tugged slightly at his red jacket, but he didn't stop.
Halfway there, he turned his head back.
Matthew was still standing in place, small and still beneath the shadow of the tall tree in the front yard. His hand lifted slowly, fingers fluttering in a soft wave.
He smiled.
A sad, crooked little smile that made Asvin's chest twist painfully.
But he smiled back—warm and steady—and raised a hand in return, holding the wave a moment longer than necessary.
Then he climbed into the carriage, shut the door behind him, and the horses stirred into motion. The red carriage rolled forward, leaving behind the orphanage, the yard, the tree, and a boy standing quietly in the breeze.
Robert coughed lightly, a forced and awkward sound, clearly meant to draw Matthew's attention back to him. When the boy looked over, Robert was already trying to smile—lips stretched too wide, eyes flicking nervously toward where the red carriage had just disappeared down the street. It wasn't the smile of someone trying to comfort a child. It was the smile of someone terrified of doing the wrong thing.
"Right, uh..." Robert cleared his throat again and motioned behind them. "Let's head inside, shall we? I'll show you to your room, walk you through how things work around here."
Matthew didn't respond right away. He only looked at the orphanage—the black wood building looming like a shadow behind them, its windows darkened as though watching in silence. Then, he gave a quiet nod and began walking after Robert, his small footsteps light against the stone path, the tall grass brushing at his ankles as he followed the man inside.
—End of Chapter.