Matthew didn't know how to feel about his current situation. There were too many emotions tangled up inside him, like threads pulling in different directions. The memory of his parents' final words still echoed in his ears, drowned in the flames of yesterday—the flames brought by the Black Tower. He could still smell the burning wood. Still hear the chaos.
And yet, not even a full day later, he'd woken up to a peaceful morning in the Cavias Estate, surrounded by warmth, comfort, and the laughter of girls playing tag. It had felt like a dream—soft, fleeting, not meant to last.
Then came the goodbye.
The kind that makes your chest tighten and your throat burn, even though no tears fall. That moment of watching Asvin disappear inside the carriage while wearing that brave smile… that hurt more than anything else.
Add to that the whispers from the girls earlier, the hurried warnings about the orphanage—how it wasn't a place for someone like him, how the kids fought and stole, and how the adults turned a blind eye. And now here he was, following a man with a smile faker than the ones painted on dolls, a man who didn't care about him, only feared the name Cavias.
It was too much.
So Matthew shook his head, trying to clear it. He couldn't afford to feel everything now. His heart was heavy, but he needed to move forward. He had to stay strong.
He repeated it in his mind. Stay strong. Stay strong. Stay strong.
With a deep breath, he steadied his shoulders—squared, even if still small and thin—and followed Robert through the tall black doors of the orphanage.
The moment they stepped inside, a wave of cool air and musty wood hit him. The entry hall was dimly lit, long and narrow, with wooden floors that creaked under their steps. Voices echoed faintly from somewhere deeper inside—children laughing, arguing, doors slamming.
Robert's pace was steady, and he didn't look back as he spoke in a practiced tone, "I'll take you to the dormitory first, then show you where we keep the supplies and common areas. Meals are served three times a day, but don't expect anything fancy."
Matthew nodded, silent, eyes scanning every corner. He was already trying to memorize the layout, the exits, the shadows. Instinctively.
He wasn't sure how long he'd be here.
But however long it was—he'd survive it.
He had to.
...
Robert glanced down at the boy walking beside him and frowned slightly. Matthew was trying to put on a brave face—head held up, back straight—but it was clear as daylight he wasn't alright. His small fists clenched every so often, and his eyes... they looked like they were staring at something that wasn't even there.
Robert sighed internally. Kid's a mess. No surprise, really. But if I push him now, he might break... and if he breaks, he'll talk. And if he talks, that Cavias brat'll show up breathing fire down my neck.
He rubbed his thumb against the edge of his palm, remembering the weight of that gold coin he'd already been given. Just one, and it felt heavier than all his week's work combined.
One coin already… Imagine how many more I could get if this boy keeps wagging his tail like a happy pup. Just gotta play it right. Make the boy smile, give him a decent bed, pretend I care… and maybe the heir'll toss me more. Enough to buy some land. Maybe even leave this dump.
A real smile tugged at Robert's lips—not for Matthew, but for the possibilities gold opened. Maybe this was his golden chance.
He cleared his throat and slowed his steps, speaking with a voice a shade softer than before. "Hey, uh… maybe before we walk around and all that, you'd like to take a bath first? Wash up, freshen your head. Then I can show you where everything is."
He turned to Matthew with what he hoped passed as a kind smile. "No rush. Take your time. You've been through a lot."
Matthew blinked up at him, hesitant, then nodded once. He didn't say anything, but Robert didn't need him to. He was already making plans.
Yeah… play this smart, and I might just turn this brat into my golden ticket.
...
Matthew wasn't a hundred percent sure why Robert had suddenly offered a bath right after mentioning a tour of the orphanage—it felt out of place, and yet... he accepted. Not just because it might've caused problems if he refused, but because, truth be told, he needed one.
Not to wash away dirt or dust. But to breathe. To feel a little lighter.
His body was clean enough, but his heart… his chest felt like it was carrying stones.
He walked quietly beside Robert through the wide hallway of the orphanage, noticing how the wooden floors creaked underfoot, how the walls were stained in the corners, and how some doors were slightly chipped at the edges.
He was only seven years old. Seven. And already, he'd lost everything.
Many grown-ups would've broken down by now, curled into themselves, and cried, screamed, begged for help. He hadn't. Not yet. He didn't know how long he could hold it together, but he was trying. That was all he could do.
So, strange as the offer was, Matthew felt a quiet thanks toward Robert. Whether the man had meant it out of kindness or something else, it didn't matter. The result was the same. A moment to pause. A moment to gather himself.
As they reached the area where the baths were located—a surprisingly well-maintained space in contrast to the rest of the building—Robert turned to him.
"I'll bring you some clean clothes," the man said, pointing toward a small dressing room just off to the side. "I'll leave them there. Once you're done, just come find me by the entrance, alright?"
Matthew nodded, his voice still caught somewhere in the tight space between his ribs.
Robert studied him for a moment longer, then added, "You know how to wash yourself, right? Or… do you need help?"
Matthew shook his head lightly. "I can do it."
Robert gave him a short nod, muttered something like "Alright then," and turned on his heel, walking away with footsteps that quickly faded down the hall.
Matthew stood still for a second longer. Then, with a soft breath, he pushed the door open and stepped into the warmth of the bathhouse.
He started to undress slowly as he stepped into one of the many small bathing rooms within the orphanage's bathhouse. From the echo of silence around him, it seemed the place was empty—quiet, save for the soft dripping of water from unseen corners and the gentle hum of the air.
After closing the wooden door behind him, he looked around the room. It was simple but clean. A stack of folded towels rested on a stone shelf to one side—meant to be used after the bath, or to wrap oneself in before heading to the dressing room next door.
At the far corner of the room sat a low marble basin, above it was a Hanafia as called in the tongue of the East, the traditional spot used to gather water, referred to as a Faucet in other places.
It was first made in the Continent of Pantos, which was why most people still called it a Hanafia.
Beside the basin were two small glowing crystals—one a pale blue, the other a deep red.
Matthew stared at them for a moment. He'd seen these before, back in his village. Nearly every household had at least one now.
They were simple Art Crystals—imbued with elemental energy. The red one heated the water. The blue one cooled it.
They were inventions of the Great Empire's Researchers—tools of convenience, made accessible even to the common folk. While nobles had fancier, embedded versions, even modest homes nowadays had standalone crystals like these.
Matthew had heard of the man who created them—Rogers Tialock, the one many referred to as The Brain of Science. He'd designed the original prototypes about forty years ago, but only in the last decade had they become widespread. Once improvements had been made, they were everywhere—used in kitchens, baths, and countless other parts of daily life.
Matthew crouched by the basin and pressed the red crystal lightly. The water shimmered as heat flowed into it, sending a warm steam into the room. He felt its warmth touch his cheeks.
He undressed the rest of the way, folded his clothes neatly to the side, and stepped into the basin.
The water felt like a gentle embrace. Not of comfort. But of silence.
And silence, for now, was what he needed.
...
Time passed quickly, and before he even realized it, Matthew was already wrapped in soft towels, the steam from the bath trailing behind him as he made his way into the dressing room.
He hadn't expected it, but that bath had helped more than he thought it would. No, it didn't erase the pain. His parents were still gone. His village was still gone. But… something inside him had quieted.
It was like a storm had been raging in his chest—and now, it had slowed to a drizzle. Still wet. Still heavy. But bearable.
He breathed out a long, steady sigh as he found the clothes Robert had mentioned, folded neatly on a bench in the dressing area. They were plain—a light brown shirt and slightly darker pants, nothing fancy. But they were clean, and they fit him well enough.
He got dressed quickly, tugging the shirt down and brushing his damp hair back with his fingers. Then, once ready, he made his way out of the dressing area and into the orphanage's main hallway.
The air here was different—cooler, with distant noises echoing faintly off the stone walls. Laughter, footsteps, doors creaking, something dropping and being yelled at. It was a world entirely separate from the warm calm of the bath.
As he walked toward the entrance like Robert had instructed, he began to notice the other children.
Some were close to his age—seven or eight, maybe nine. But others were older. A lot older. Fourteen, maybe fifteen.
They were taller, broader, and as they passed by, they didn't smile or say a word. Some stared. Some didn't bother looking. But none of them felt… welcoming.
In fact, they felt downright unfriendly.
Matthew's steps slowed for a moment. His fingers curled slightly by his side. He felt a twinge of fear crawl up his spine, cold and sharp.
But then—He stopped himself.
Why should he be afraid?
He wasn't just some random kid anymore. He was part of the Cavias Estate. Big bro Vin had said so.
And beyond that—he knew the Arts.
He wasn't a master, no. But he could make a Fireball Art. He could feel the energy when he called for it. He'd practiced it many times before.
That kind of thing? That could scare off a grown man.
So what about some tall kids?
His back straightened slightly as the thought settled in his chest. He wasn't going to start fights. But he wasn't going to be afraid either.
Not anymore.
...
Before long, Matthew reached the entrance, where Robert was standing just like he said he would. The middle-aged man turned as he heard the boy's approaching footsteps and greeted him with a smile. It wasn't warm—not like Asvin's. It was practiced, polite, and just enough to pass as genuine.
"Feeling better?" he asked.
Matthew nodded. "Yeah… I do." And it wasn't a lie. He truly did feel a little better.
"Thanks," he added, and even he was surprised by how sincere it sounded.
Robert blinked at the unexpected gratitude, then chuckled lightly. "It's nothing," he said, brushing it off as he turned to begin the tour.
They started walking through the wide halls of the orphanage, and Robert, to his credit, did give Matthew a thorough introduction. He showed him the common rooms, the dining hall, the sleeping quarters, and the dusty old library tucked in the back that apparently no one really used anymore.
But more importantly—Robert spoke to the other kids along the way.
"Everyone, this is Matthew," he announced in each room, his voice firm but casual. "He's new here, so make sure he's treated well, alright?"
Matthew noticed it.
It wasn't kindness in Robert's tone. It was a warning.
His words were framed like gentle reminders to be decent. But to the kids—especially the older ones—it sounded like a veiled threat. As if to say: Don't mess with him. He's under someone's protection.
Matthew didn't miss how some of the kids' eyes flicked to him, then to Robert, then quickly away. They understood.
And while the way Robert did it might not have been heartfelt or noble, Matthew appreciated it nonetheless.
At least, for now, he could breathe easier.
...
After a while, they reached a small room tucked away near the end of one of the quieter halls. It was empty, but clean and well-kept. The walls were plain, the furniture simple—a bed, a small desk, a shelf, and a single window that let in the fading light of the afternoon. It wasn't fancy, not by any means, but compared to the other rooms Matthew had seen as they walked through the orphanage, this one felt… nice. Nicer.
Robert stepped inside first, gesturing toward the space. "This'll be your room," he said, his tone calm and matter-of-fact. "You'll have it all to yourself. Unless…" He glanced back at Matthew. "Unless you'd prefer to have company. We can arrange for another kid to bunk in with you. Some find it easier that way."
Matthew didn't say anything right away, so Robert waved a hand dismissively. "No need to decide now. Take your time. For now, just relax. Dinner's in about an hour, and I'll come get you when it's ready."
He turned to leave, then paused at the doorway and added, "Oh—and if you want something to pass the time, you can grab a book from the library. Just take what you like. I was surprised, really. Not many kids your age can read and write as well as you can."
There was a hint of genuine curiosity in his voice, but it was quickly hidden behind his usual polite mask.
With that, he offered another brief smile, then left Matthew alone in the room, the sound of his fading footsteps echoing down the hall.
Matthew looked around his room, wide-eyed, still a little surprised he got the whole place to himself. A soft breeze slipped through the slightly cracked window, brushing against the curtains as if trying to welcome him.
He let out a light chuckle, remembering Asvin's words to Robert—how he told the man to treat him like a king. "Guess he really meant that," Matthew murmured to himself.
He could still see the look on Robert's face, the way the man straightened up like a soldier receiving orders from a general. The Cavias name clearly carried weight, enough to make someone like Robert straighten his act in fear of the consequences.
It made sense, though. The Cavias weren't just any noble family—they had the Fierce Lion, one of the 17 Pillars in Decartium. That alone would've been enough to silence most opposition. But they also commanded the third strongest private military force in the kingdom. Only 300 in number, but what they lacked in size, they made up for in brutal, unmatched quality. Third strongest overall, but first when it came to striking fear. And loyalty.
Matthew sat on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers along the frame. He wasn't used to comfort—not like this. It felt... strange. Not bad, just strange.
But one thing was certain—as long as the Cavias name was backing him, no one here would dare try anything.
Still, a part of him couldn't help but wonder... how long would that last?
He shook his head lightly, brushing away the lingering doubts. Not now, he told himself. Don't think about the what-ifs. Not yet.
Instead, he shifted his thoughts toward the future—his own uncertain, wide-open future. What did it hold for someone like him? A seven-year-old boy with no family, no home, and one single Fireball Art to his name?
He sighed. Truth be told, he had expected to be left alone, forced to struggle through learning Arts on his own. And he wasn't even sure he could do that. Sure, he could shorten the time it took to perform his Fireball, and he was getting better at sensing and using the One Power, but beyond that? He couldn't learn new Arts. Not without help.
He needed a teacher.
But teachers cost money. Money he didn't have.
And then there was Asvin.
Just thinking about it sent a strange warmth through his chest. That golden-haired heir of the Cavias family had gone out of his way—again. He hadn't just saved his life, or taken care of the Marlston sisters, or made sure Robert didn't treat him poorly. He went and paid for a teacher. For him.
Matthew clenched his fists softly, a fire—not from the One Power, but from something deeper—burning inside his chest. Asvin… he thought. You're not just some noble passing by. You're more like... like an older brother.
He vowed, right there and then, that he would repay the young man for everything. For the ride from the ruins of his life to this new beginning. For the promise of a teacher. For treating him like he mattered.
Even if he wasn't adopted into the Cavias family, even if his last name wasn't Cavias... he owed them more than he could ever say. They had shown him kindness. Real kindness. The kind that burned a permanent place in your heart.
Who would've thought a farmer's son like him would be standing in the care of the family of a legend? The family of the Fierce Lion.
And yet... here he was.
As he thought about the Cavias family and started getting excited at the idea of having an Arts User teacher, a soft knock echoed from the door of his room. It was closed at the moment, and he hadn't expected any visitors—especially not so soon after arriving. Before he could rise from his bed or even fully process the sound, the door swung open with a bit more force than necessary, slamming against the wall with a muted thud.
Five figures stepped into the room.
Matthew's heart skipped a beat. His body stiffened as he sat up straighter, eyes narrowing as he instinctively studied the strangers who had just barged in. Four of them were boys, ranging from about ten years old to maybe fourteen or fifteen at most. Their postures were loose but aggressive, casual but ready—kids used to picking fights and backing each other up.
But it was the fifth one who caught his full attention. The one standing at the front, clearly the leader despite being a girl. She couldn't have been older than twelve, but she walked with a kind of confidence that made her seem taller than she was. Her short, choppy blonde hair reminded him of his own, but that was where the similarities ended. She had freckles dotting her cheeks and a scar running down the left side of her face—an old wound, healed but unmistakable.
There was something about her—about the way she stood, the way she stared directly at him without blinking—that made it hard to breathe for a moment. She wasn't smiling. She wasn't frowning either. She was just... watching him, like she was trying to decide something important.
He didn't know what word to use to describe her.
But savage seemed the most fitting.
Not in the cruel sense. No, this girl looked like someone who had fought tooth and nail for everything she had. Someone who knew pain. Someone who probably liked knowing that others feared her just a little.
He stayed quiet. Watching. Waiting. His body was still, but his mind raced, the words of Robert earlier echoing in his thoughts.
"You're not to bully him. Treat him kindly."
Right now, Matthew wasn't sure if that warning had reached these five… or if they were the very reason Robert said it at all.
Matthew stayed silent.
He didn't know what to say, or if he was even supposed to say anything. So, he simply watched them, especially the girl at the front. The boys behind her looked as unfriendly as anyone could possibly look—arms crossed, shoulders squared, faces blank but clearly itching for trouble. But none of them moved. None of them spoke.
The silence lingered for a while, long enough to feel unnatural.
Finally, the girl took a step forward. Her lips curled into a faint, amused smile, not kind—more like the type someone wore when they found a stray animal trying to bare its teeth. She tilted her head slightly and said, "You're not scared, huh?"
Her voice was calm, almost curious, like she hadn't expected that reaction. "Not bad," she added, then narrowed her eyes slightly. "You must be a noble or something, right? Coming in a fancy carriage and all."
Matthew's heart skipped. They knew.
They had seen him. They must've been there when he arrived earlier. Maybe they had seen Asvin too, though from her tone and the way she spoke, it didn't seem like they recognized him. That was… probably a bad thing. Maybe.
Still, he kept his voice steady as he replied, "I'm Matthew."
Then, without missing a beat, he added, "And you are?"
The girl chuckled. "I'm Max," she said with an exaggerated tone. "And I'm here to show you what's waiting for you in here…"
She paused, smile sharpening.
"In the orphanage."
Matthew felt a jolt of fear run through his chest when Max took another step forward.
Her tone, her smile, her confidence—it all screamed trouble.
Without thinking much, he raised his voice slightly. "Don't come any closer."
She paused, mid-step, then chuckled. "Oh? And why should I listen to you?" she asked, eyes gleaming with mischief. "You gonna stop me or something?"
Her words were mocking, light—but there was an edge beneath them, the kind that made his skin crawl. The other boys behind her shifted slightly, clearly enjoying the moment.
Matthew didn't reply. Instead, he took a deep breath, steadying his nerves.
Then, silently, he started pulling in the One Power. The blue threads—faint and ever-shifting—began to swirl around him, invisible to all but him. It was slow, focused, something he still had trouble doing under pressure, but he couldn't back down now.
Max tilted her head. "What are you doing?" she asked, her smile faltering for the first time.
He didn't answer.
The energy pooled in his hands, the heat beginning to rise.
Then—spark.
A small flame came to life in front of him, hovering just above his palm. Not a massive fire, but unmistakable. Alive. Controlled.
He stepped back slightly, letting the flame grow just a bit more.
The boys behind Max gasped quietly, instinctively stepping away. Even Max herself froze.
"Fire…?" she whispered.
She blinked, and for a moment, her mind couldn't register what she was seeing. That small, burning flame—it wasn't just a trick or illusion. It was real.
He knew Arts.
And that realization hit her harder than anything she expected.
Matthew let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, the warmth of the fire in his palm calming his nerves and fueling his resolve. Seeing Max stop was more than a small victory—it was a statement. He wasn't just some helpless kid tossed into an orphanage.
He fed the flame more One Power, letting it grow a bit larger, just enough to make the heat in the room rise slightly. Not enough to burn—but enough to warn.
"I'm serious," he said, his voice steady despite the slight tremble he still couldn't shake. "Don't come any closer… unless you want to burn."
The words hung heavy in the air.
Max said nothing. Her sharp eyes flickered between Matthew and the fire in his hand.
But one of the boys behind her—tall for his age, maybe twelve like her—took a step back and hissed, "Max… maybe we should just leave this guy alone. I mean, he came in a carriage, right? Probably has noble ties or something. And he knows freaking Arts!"
His voice cracked slightly with panic. It was clear he wasn't used to dealing with people who could conjure fire out of thin air.
Max remained silent. But her face had changed—not scared exactly, but cautious. Calculating.
The other boys said nothing, but they shifted nervously behind her, clearly agreeing with their friend.
Matthew didn't move, didn't flinch. He stared Max down with something close to defiance—maybe not the raw, fearless kind, but it was the beginning of something. Something new. For the first time in what felt like forever, he didn't feel powerless.
He felt… in control.
He felt like he had a weapon against the world.
This, he realized, was the power of Arts. This was why people sought them. Why they mattered so much. Because no matter your age, no matter where you came from, if you had the ability to control the One Power… you could fight back. You could stand.
Fighters? They needed time. Age. Strength. Most didn't peak until their twenties, maybe thirties. By their forties, they were fading. And after that?
Done.
Sure, there were exceptions. Legends. Like the Smiling Monster—still a fighter to be feared, even pushing sixty. But he was a freak of nature.
Matthew? He wasn't aiming to be a freak of nature. He just wanted to protect himself.
And right now, with a single fireball glowing in his hand, he felt like he finally could.
—End of Chapter.