The sky was already painted with dusk when Arian stepped through the creaky front gates of the orphanage. The worn wood of the old building stood stubborn against the wind, as if refusing to yield to time. The air was crisp, hinting at coming rain, and the cracked stones of the path were still warm from the afternoon sun.
Arian exhaled slowly, his breath carrying the weight of another long day. His arms ached from hauling crates at the inn, and his lower back throbbed from standing for hours. The scent of soot and stew drifted faintly from the windows, mingling with the earthy scent of the oncoming storm.
The moment he opened the front door, warmth spilled into his bones—not from the sputtering fireplace, but from the laughter that filled the home.
"Big Brother Arian!" a chorus of small voices cried out.
Tyler barrelled into him with a flying leap, and Arian instinctively caught the boy under the arms, lifting him as though his muscles weren't already screaming. Tanya followed just behind, quieter, one hand balled in the hem of her tunic, the other reaching out to tug her brother's sleeve.
"Tyler, slow down!" Tanya whispered, eyes wide. "You'll make him drop you!"
"I'm fast like a shadow cat!" Tyler grinned toothily.
Arian chuckled, ruffling his seaweed-blue hair. "You're heavy like a sack of potatoes, that's what you are."
"Am not!"
"Are too. I carried one just like you this morning."
From the corner, Kigiri stood leaning against the wall, arms folded. His yellow eyes flicked toward Arian with practiced calm. "Thallen and Hollow didn't come home."
Arian's smile faltered. "Still at work?"
Kigiri shrugged. "Maybe. Hollow's lord might've kept her late again. She didn't say anything this morning."
"I'll check on them tomorrow. Might stop by the manor before my shift."
Kigiri gave a nod, lips pressed tight in that way that said he was worried but trying not to show it. The thirteen-year-old had been training too hard lately—trying too hard. But Arian understood. He'd been that boy once too.
Just then, Lyra appeared at his side. Her blonde ponytail swayed with each determined step, and her blue eyes were sharp, all business.
"There's a new kid," she announced, grabbing the edge of his sleeve.
"A new kid?" Arian echoed, brows arching.
She nodded. "Boy. Looks twelve. Sister Mary found him today. He's in the boys' room, hasn't spoken a word."
Arian sighed, rubbing his neck. Another child. Another mouth to feed. Another life to carry. The pantry was already looking bleak.
He looked down at Lyra, whose expression hadn't softened.
"You're not too thrilled either, huh?"
She crossed her arms. "I don't trust him."
"He's just a kid."
"He stares," she said, lowering her voice. "Doesn't blink. Like Nocturne but... worse."
"Not sure that's possible," Arian murmured. Then, sighing, he forced a grin. "Well. I guess I'll just have to work a bit harder, huh?"
"You already work too hard."
"I'm sixteen. It's my job."
Lyra opened her mouth to argue but shut it, eyes trailing after him as he made for the boys' room.
---
The hallway creaked beneath Arian's feet. The boys' sleeping quarters were quiet, dim with the last slant of sun filtering through a cracked window. Beds lined the walls—some neat, others tangled from recent play.
On one of the far bunks sat a boy, knees drawn to his chest. His black hair curled slightly, dusty from travel. He glanced up as Arian approached.
Red eyes. Not sickly or bloodshot—just… red. Unnaturally so.
Arian faltered. The boy's expression didn't change. No anger, just weariness. Familiar weariness.
"Hey," Arian said, voice soft. "I'm Arian. I help out around here."
No response.
"You hungry? Stew's on. You don't have to talk, but you should eat before it's cold."
Still nothing. But those red eyes lingered on him longer this time.
"I'll leave you be for now," Arian murmured.
---
The scent of stew filled the cramped kitchen. Steam curled from the pot Sister Mary stirred over the fire. She didn't turn as Arian entered.
"He's here," she said.
He nodded. "Not a word. Just stared. Red eyes."
Mary finally turned. Her eyes were tired but kind. "Found him behind the church. Sat there for a week. Rain, sun, didn't matter. Wouldn't speak. But he ate when I brought food. Today, he followed me inside."
Arian leaned against the wall. "We're already at the edge, Mary."
"I know. But I couldn't leave him."
He gave her a tired smile. "Of course not."
---
Dinner was served as the storm rolled in. Rain lashed the windows, wind howled through the gaps in the walls, but inside the orphanage, the children gathered like stars in the dark.
Lucius methodically counted the spoons. "We're short two again. Nocturne, check Dahlia's pockets."
"I didn't take them!" Dahlia squeaked, hugging her sweater.
"She's not lying," Nocturne said evenly, already inspecting the area. "They're under the table."
Demi sang a soft tune under her breath, calming the younger children. Aracha sat beside her, elbows on the table, eyes darting.
Arian scanned the room. The new boy sat stiffly at the far end, unmoving. His hands were on his lap, eyes cautious.
Arian sat beside him. "Still not hungry?"
A glance, then nothing.
"You don't have to talk. Just try to stay warm."
Lyra marched over, arms crossed. "He's being rude. Won't say a thing. Won't even look at us."
"He's new, Lyra."
"He's weird."
"You bit someone your first week."
"I was hungry!"
Children giggled. Even Phineas cracked a smile. The tension eased, though the red-eyed boy remained silent.
---
Later that evening, the living room glowed with flickering firelight. The fireplace struggled, but the warmth was enough. Cushions were scattered, blankets shared. The children sat in a half-circle, eyes bright.
"Story night!" Calista chirped, spinning in place before collapsing next to Marri and Calypso.
"Tell the one with the three relics again!" Kigiri called.
"No," Lucius said. "We had that last week. Let him talk about monsters."
"Monsters again?" Tanya whispered, curling into Tyler.
Arian stepped to the front, arms crossed. "Alright. Tonight… the story of the founders of the Watchguard."
The room hushed. Even the red-eyed boy leaned forward, ever so slightly.
"There were three of them," Arian said. "A knight, a nun, and a mage. All alone. All broken. But all brave."
"Did they fight devils?" Demi asked.
"Oh, yes. The worst kinds. Devils that fed on fear, that laughed at hope. They ruined homes and turned people cruel."
"How did they stop them?" Calypso asked, voice dreamy.
"The knight had a sword that could never break. The nun had faith so strong, it repelled darkness. And the mage—he understood the devils. He could see through their lies, and because of that… he knew how to destroy them."
Rain tapped gently against the old windows of the orphanage, a steady rhythm that dulled the noise of the world outside. The fire in the hearth burned low, casting flickering golden light across the children's eager faces. Arian stood in front of them, arms loosely crossed, his eyes calm but sharp, watching as each child nestled into their place—blankets drawn close, socks damp from the cold floor, cheeks pink from the temperature drop.
He glanced toward the new boy, seated at the edge of the group. The boy's red eyes, dim under his unkempt bangs, flickered toward the fire but didn't meet anyone else's gaze.
That was enough.
Arian took a breath and smiled.
"Tonight," he began, voice soft but resonant, "I'll tell you the story of how the Watchguard was born. Of three people—one who lost faith in nobility, one who held onto faith when all was lost, and one who walked alone in shadow."
The room fell into hushed silence.