The silence that descended upon the orphanage hall was heavier than any shout, more crushing than any blow. It thrummed with a raw, primal terror. Orin stood amidst the overturned tables and scattered debris, the last vestige of Kokuha (Shatterpoint) still coursing through him. His entire body felt like shattered glass, every nerve ending screaming. His right arm, the one that had delivered the impossible blow to Grunt, vibrated with agonizing tremors. He fought to control his breathing, to keep the pain from showing on his face, a mask of cold stoicism that was more Ryo's than Orin's.
"Orin..." Joric's voice was a shaky whisper, filled with a mixture of terror and awe. He clutched his bruised side, staring at the unconscious form of Grunt, who lay amidst the splinters of a pillar. "You... you actually..." His words died, unable to articulate the impossible feat he had just witnessed.
Elara rushed forward, her small hands hovering, uncertain where to touch him. Her eyes, usually so bright, were wide with a fear Orin hadn't seen in them before. "Are you alright? You're shaking! What was that, Orin?"
Orin forced a shrug, ignoring the grinding protest of his shoulder. "Just... a trick. They weren't prepared." He looked at the fleeing forms of the remaining thugs, then at Gribble, who was slumped against a wall, face ashen, eyes fixed on Orin with a terror that surpassed even the fear of the Iron Grasp. Good. That's a lesson learned.
"A trick?" Joric scoffed, finding his voice. "You sent Boss Grunt through a pillar! You broke his iron club! That wasn't a trick, Orin! That was... impossible!" He stared at Orin with a mixture of disbelief and fervent admiration. "You really can fight, can't you? Like... like a hundred guards rolled into one!"
Elara, however, was more discerning. She reached out, her small fingers brushing against Orin's trembling hand. He flinched, not from her touch, but from the searing agony that shot up his arm. Her brow furrowed. "You're hurt. Badly. What did that... 'trick' do to you?"
"Nothing I can't handle," Orin retorted, pulling his hand away, his voice sharper than he intended. The pain was a bitter reminder of the Kokuha's cost. He needed rest, time to heal, something the orphanage rarely offered. He needed to hide the unconscious thugs, to minimize the chaos before Gribble could fully grasp the extent of the disaster.
Just then, the grand main doors of the orphanage, which had been left ajar in Gribble's terror-induced stupor, swung open with a soft thud.
A figure stood silhouetted against the streetlights, radiating an aura of quiet power and undeniable authority. She was tall, elegantly dressed, her presence cutting through the lingering tension like a honed blade. She was flanked by two impeccably uniformed guards, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords, their eyes scanning the scene with professional alertness. The woman herself carried herself with an imperious grace, every line of her posture speaking of influence.
"What is the meaning of this commotion?" Her voice was clear, resonant, and utterly composed, despite the disarray before her. It held the calm authority of someone accustomed to command.
Gribble practically fell to his knees, babbling. "Lady Seraphina! Oh, Lady Seraphina Valerius! It's—it's the Iron Grasp! They attacked! But... but one of the children... he fought them off!" His words were a frantic mix of fear and desperate exoneration.
Lady Seraphina Valerius's gaze, sharp and intelligent, swept over the chaos: the overturned furniture, the terrified orphans, the groaning thugs, and finally, it settled on Orin. Her eyes, a striking shade of deep violet, narrowed slightly as they took in his small, trembling frame, the unnatural poise in his posture, and the burning intensity in his grey eyes, so similar to her own brother, Emperor Valen Aerion. She saw the raw, almost cold, efficiency of the fight, the unorthodoxy of the defeated thugs' injuries, and the undeniable victory of a single child. She had heard whispers of unusual activity from her agents in the area, a slight disruption in the underworld that piqued her interest, but she had not expected this.
Her guards moved quickly, securing the still-groaning thugs. Lady Seraphina, however, ignored them. She took a slow, deliberate step closer to Orin, her gaze never leaving his. He met it unflinchingly, despite the searing pain in his arm and the profound weariness dragging at his bones.
"You," she stated, her voice quiet but firm. "You were the one who fought them?"
"Yes," Orin replied, his voice still a controlled rasp.
"You possess no evident Magi signature. No visible Aura fluctuation. Yet you defeated a gang known for its brutality and surprising resilience. And you did it with an efficiency I have rarely witnessed in even seasoned warriors." Her eyes lingered on his trembling right arm, then on the splintered pillar. A flicker of something unreadable crossed her face – recognition, perhaps, or a puzzle she couldn't quite solve. "Tell me your name, boy."
"Orin Aerion," he said, the surname feeling like a brand.
A tiny, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of Seraphina Valerius's lips. Aerion. The name, her brother's name, lingered in the air. An orphan with that name? And that... that efficiency. The puzzle deepened, an intriguing mystery in the rough alleys of Ventus.
"Orin Aerion," she repeated, her voice thoughtful. She turned, gesturing to her guards. "Secure this area. See that these men are properly dealt with. And Gribble," her voice hardened, "We will discuss the conditions of this orphanage in the morning." Gribble visibly wilted.
She turned back to Orin, her gaze softening, a calculated compassion in her violet eyes. "Orin Aerion. You have displayed extraordinary courage and capability. The Free Cities, and indeed, Aethelgard, have need of such talent. I am Lady Seraphina Valerius. I offer you a chance, young man. A new beginning. I will sponsor you to attend The Lumina Ascendant Institute. The finest academy in Solara. You will receive the training you clearly require, and a life far removed from this." She gestured dismissively at the dilapidated orphanage. "A life befitting your... potential."
Orin stared at her, the offer hanging in the air like a shimmering mirage. The Lumina Ascendant Institute. A place of learning, of power. A path to understanding the sealed magic, to unlocking the truths of this world. And a chance to secure his own future, a future where he wouldn't be helpless. But it meant leaving. Leaving Joric. Leaving Elara.
His gaze flickered to his companions, who stood wide-eyed, awestruck by the sudden turn of events. Joric's face was a mixture of joy and impending sadness. Elara's eyes, however, were already welling up, a silent plea in their depths.
This is a choice, Orin thought, the pragmatic assassin weighing the scales. A chance for survival. For them. If he could understand his sealed power, if he could rise, he could protect them from afar, ensure they never experienced the helplessness he knew. It was a cold calculation, but tempered by a strange, new warmth that fluttered deep in his chest—a feeling of connection he hadn't known Ryo capable of.
He took a deep breath, the pain in his arm a dull throb. "I accept, Lady Valerius."
The farewell was brief, as all orphanage goodbyes tended to be. Lady Seraphina's retinue waited patiently, their carriage gleaming under the morning sun, a stark contrast to the grimy orphanage entrance.
Joric gripped Orin's shoulder, his eyes wet. "You better not forget us, Orin! You hear me? I'm gonna train hard! Just like you taught me! I'm gonna be strong enough to punch Boss Grunt through a wall too!"
Elara said nothing, simply throwing her arms around Orin, burying her face in his shoulder. It was a rare, raw display of affection that startled him. He felt a fleeting warmth, a tightening in his own chest. He awkwardly patted her back. "Stay safe," he murmured, his voice softer than usual. "Keep practicing. Both of you."
He pulled away, his grey eyes meeting theirs. "Survive." It was his final, most profound command to them.
Then, he turned, his slender figure, still aching from Kokuha, climbing into the opulent carriage. As the doors closed and the carriage rolled away, carrying him through the bustling, wealthy districts of Ventus, Orin glanced back. The orphanage, a squalid collection of weathered brick and broken windows, faded into the distance. It was the last he would see of his old life.
He was Orin Aerion, a child of nobility, heading to the finest magical academy in Solara. But within him, the assassin Ryo remained, bound by a seal, yet sharper than any blade, his journey into a world of magic just beginning.