Mainchester's sky was gray, the sun sinking behind factory smoke. Whistles shrieked on the hour, answered by the coughs of people on the street. The stench of oil and coal pierced the nose, as if the city belonged only to machines and those who controlled them.
In the narrow alleys, people jostled past one another in shabby clothes and with weary steps. Coughs echoed, their eyes red from the pollution. Those who could not survive above ground ended up in the sewers, slowly marginalized and dying nameless.
On another side of the city, a group of children emerged from St. Nicholas Church. They were thin, yet their faces were etched with a hint of hope. The children were part of an educational program initiated by the Church of the God of Knowledge for the poor working class. The program prioritized letting children study at the nearest church, and even followers of other faiths were allowed to attend. This brought a breath of fresh air for those who wagered on education to change their fate. Among them was Arthur, a boy with black hair and blue eyes. He was a child from the St. Arianna Church Orphanage, an institution run by the followers of the Moon Goddess.
Arthur walked home with his fellow orphans, heading toward the orphanage in the city's west district.
"You were brilliant, Arthur, top scores for three weeks straight. You even answered every question from that insufferable history teacher," Abel said, straightforward as ever. He was a soft-spoken, blond-haired boy, Arthur's roommate at the orphanage.
"No, no, I just got lucky. It's only because Dina was adopted. She was my toughest rival in class, after all," Arthur replied, deflecting the praise with a faint smile.
"Come on, man. You're still not over Dina, are you? It makes sense, you two were so close. Last I saw, you were both outside the orphanage together late at night," came a playful tease from Denny, the brown-haired boy, the room's resident troublemaker, always ready to stir things up.
"Gods, how many times do I have to say it? By the Silver Moon, I had nothing special going on with Dina. If you want to tease me, go find a girl to date yourself," Arthur snorted. His friendship with Dina was close, but not in the way Denny thought.
"Damn right! Once I get a job, I'm going to date ten rich girls, ha-ha-ha!" Denny laughed so hard that spit flew from his mouth.
Arthur and Abel quickly stepped away to avoid the spray.
"Why'd you move away?" Denny asked, oblivious to his own disgusting habit.
"Before you date ten girls, you should learn to cover that filthy mouth of yours," Arthur retorted.
Abel let out a small laugh.
"Damn you both!" Denny cursed.
On the side of the road, a boy younger than them shouted, "Papers, get your latest news!"
Arthur stopped, reached into his trouser pocket, and pulled out two one-pound notes. "A bundle of papers, please," he said, approaching the boy.
"Thank you," the newsboy replied, handing over a rolled-up stack of newspapers.
Arthur took it, untied the string, and glanced at the front page. Curious, Abel and Denny leaned in to look. Two bold headlines immediately caught their eyes:
"Religious Factions Suspect Heretic Involvement in the Ratification of the Industrial Revolution Policy."
"Scandal! Capitalist Party Coalition Alleges Misuse of High-Tier Artifact Permit by the Dawnstar Church."
Arthur's brow furrowed. "Before they deal with heretics and artifacts, they should deal with the air pollution here," he commented sharply.
"Hah! Those rats in ties never listen to the protests outside the palace gates anyway," Denny said sarcastically.
"But... heretic involvement... isn't that terrifying?" Abel asked, his voice laced with worry.
Their conversation halted as a group of Dawnstar Church soldiers marched past. Arthur turned his head. The sound of their boots on the pavement broke the city's silence like a hammer striking a board.
"They've been patrolling more often lately," Abel said with concern. "Last night, I saw them as far as the alley behind the factory."
"Yeah, they're not acting normal. Their faces are so tense, like they're expecting a fight," Denny added, mimicking the soldiers' fierce expressions.
"At least they're not lazing around and wasting the people's taxes anymore," Arthur jeered. "But still, it's unnerving to see them walking around with faces like that, as if they're about to go to war with heretics."
Their talk died down, the word from the newspaper headline hanging in the air. To the city's inhabitants, "heretic" was a dreadful shadow, a name for cultists who performed bloody rituals and brought nightmares with every mention. Trying to shift the mood, Abel said, "Come on, don't be scary. We should hurry home. Remember, the Farm Landlord donated some of his harvest? Sister Nina is probably making a feast."
"You're right. Let's get home, quick!" Denny urged.
"Yeah. May the Goddess protect us. Praise the Silver Moon!" Arthur added, weaving that small hope into a shared prayer.
"Praise the Silver Moon!" Abel and Denny echoed in unison.
The light of dawn pierced through the dark clouds, illuminating the outskirts of the city's west district as the sky in the opposite direction began to darken. Arthur and his friends arrived at the St. Arianna Church Orphanage. The building, standing at the edge of a dense settlement, resembled a chapel. On its roof perched an ornament of a silver crescent with a sword piercing its center—the sign of the followers of the Moon Goddess. The orphanage was neither large nor luxurious, but it was enough to house the dozens of children who called it home.
As they entered, they were greeted by other children already busy preparing dinner.
"Whoa, look at our little brothers and sisters. So diligent all of a sudden," Denny teased.
"If you have time to mock us, Brother Denny, you have time to help us," one of the girls protested.
"Nah, no way. It's not my turn anyway," Denny retorted.
"Denny, you can't be like that. Sister Nina said that you, me, and Arthur, as the oldest, have to set a good example for the younger ones," Abel reminded him.
"Come on, the three of us are fourteen and most of them are twelve. It's not that big a difference," Denny protested.
"I'm with Abel," Arthur said, taking a side.
"Agh, fine, fine! We'll help with the food, but let's make it quick," Denny finally conceded.
All the children worked together, preparing the meal and setting the tables, carrying everything to the dining hall as a team.
Though life in the orphanage was modest and full of rules, the children were content. They were grateful to live in a place that was comfortable and safe. Rickety wooden tables and chairs were spread across the room. On them was a feast of food, a donation from the farm landlord. The children sat in neat rows, their eyes gleaming, nearly drooling. It was natural for them to overreact; they rarely enjoyed such a variety of dishes. Usually, boiled potatoes or hard bread was their daily fare.
Sister Nina, a woman of about forty, entered. She wore the traditional black-and-white habit of a nun, a pin of a silver crescent and sword fastened to her chest, identical to the ornament on the roof. She sat at the head of a long table, gazing at the hungry figures sitting so patiently. Sister Nina bowed her head, closed her eyes, and raised her hands to form a circle over her chest. The children automatically mimicked her gesture.
"By the grace of the All-Merciful Goddess, today we have been blessed with abundance. Praise be, and Praise the Silver Moon!" Sister Nina's voice was solemn.
"Praise the Silver Moon!" the children chorused.
"You may begin eating," Sister Nina said softly.
The children started taking food, eating with relish and joy. The atmosphere was warm as they gathered, ate, and chatted.
"It's so good to eat delicious food after so long," Arthur said happily.
"You're right. I'm so sick of that hard bread," Denny replied.
"Don't be disrespectful. We should be grateful for every blessing," Abel cut in, his eyes glistening with happy tears.
"Denny, you shouldn't speak like that in front of your younger siblings," Sister Nina reminded him gently.
Denny mumbled quietly, "Sorry." It was rare to hear him apologize.
Arthur smiled. Amid the cheerful noise, his thoughts drifted to Dina. "Sister, how is Dina doing now?" he asked, trying not to sound too concerned.
"Ooh, someone's missing her, is that it?" Denny teased, looking for trouble again.
His ploy worked. Instantly, the other children erupted in a clamor. Thanks to Denny's habit of spreading gossip, many of them mistakenly believed that Arthur and Dina were a couple.
"Ooooh...!" "Ahem!" "So the rumors are true!" "Why didn't you tell us?" "But I think Brother Abel would be a better match for the pretty Sister Dina," one child blurted out with blunt honesty.
"Heh, well... you're right," Arthur replied flatly. He looked down, his expression vacant.
"Wahahaha, our little prince is sad!" Denny's laugh exploded at his friend's expression, not noticing his own spit flying.
"Shut up!" Arthur snapped, annoyed. He turned his gaze back to Sister Nina, waiting for her answer.
"I'm also curious about Dina," Abel added, looking at the nun expectantly. "The family that adopted her seemed like nobles, didn't they?"
Sister Nina stared into the distance, as if searching for the right words. After a moment's pause, she answered quietly, "I dare not inquire too much. The family that adopted Dina is a noble one. They are the Duke's family."
The children gasped. They never imagined that one of their own would be adopted by a great noble family. The room instantly filled with a low roar of whispers. The children began to imagine the luxury: tender meat, soft beds, and servants. For some, the news kindled a dream of being adopted one day.
Arthur swallowed hard, a heavy feeling settling in his chest. So, I might never see Dina again.
Suddenly, Sister Nina raised her hand. The once-raucous room fell silent. Her face had become serious. "Children, listen. There are more patrols from the authorities today. After you finish eating, go straight back to your rooms. No one is to go out alone. For your own safety, you must look after one another."
"Did something happen, Sister?" Arthur asked.
"I do not know, but for your safety, I expect you to obey this order," Sister Nina warned.
"Yes, Sister!" the children replied in unison.
A sense of dread haunted Arthur. The warning clung to his chest. Something was wrong outside, a disquiet that writhed among the old stone buildings.
Night fell in the third-floor dormitory. The small lamps had been extinguished, and only a shroud of darkness covered the windows. Arthur lay on the bottom bunk, his eyes fixed on the wooden ceiling. From the bunks above, the sounds of rustling and quiet whispers flowed from bed to bed.
"Can't sleep, Arthur?" Abel asked from above.
"No," Arthur answered flatly.
"Are you scared?" Abel's voice was hesitant.
"A little. You too?" Arthur asked back.
"Yeah, I'm scared too," Abel admitted honestly.
"I'm not scared!" Denny interjected from his own bunk, though his voice trembled with feigned bravery.
"Your voice betrays you, Denny," Arthur said.
"No, it doesn't! I'm not scared!" Denny said in a panic.
The three of them shared a small laugh.
"Do you guys have any wishes for when you grow up?" Abel asked, trying to change the mood.
"I want to get out of this city, become a merchant, date lots of girls, and get rich," Denny answered bluntly.
"As for me, I want to get a decent job, live a quiet life, and build a small family of my own. Of course, you guys are my family too," Arthur said honestly.
"I want to be a teacher," Abel added.
"This slow-witted guy wants to be a teacher? Seriously?" Denny teased.
"I may be a slow thinker, but I'll keep studying to achieve it. What about you, Denny? What have you done to achieve your wishes?" Abel retorted.
Denny stammered, flustered. "Well... I... I'll pray to a shooting star! There's a legend that if you see a shooting star and make a wish, it'll come true."
Hearing the absurd answer, Arthur and Abel laughed again.
"Even if I don't know if we can achieve our wishes in the future," Arthur continued, "at least I want us to always be together, as a family."
"You're right. We are a family," Abel replied.
"Of course, we are," Denny chimed in.
As the clock tower chimed midnight, a sense of peace began to creep through the orphanage. Abel and Denny had fallen asleep, as if they would remain so forever. Arthur started to feel drowsy. Musing about the future, he glanced out the window.
Suddenly, he saw something unusual, something that had not been seen for a long time: a starry sky. An ocean of beautiful points of light hung high in the heavens, with a thick veil of clouds adorning its background.
Arthur jolted. He got up and approached the window, rubbing his eyes to make sure he wasn't seeing things. But the stars were gone. There was only a dark expanse of clouds with moonlight piercing through its gaps.
He hesitated for a moment. Stars hadn't been visible for years; the skies of Mainchester were perpetually choked with thick factory smoke.
Was that split-second view real? Am I hallucinating? Or is it just because I'm getting sleepy? Questions flooded his mind.
Yeah, I'm probably just hallucinating from sleepiness, he thought, clearing his mind before returning to bed. Strangely, the anomaly of the starry sky didn't disturb his sleep. Instead, he felt a sense of peace after seeing it. His eyes grew heavy, and he drifted into a peaceful slumber.
But that peace was paper-thin. In the distance, came the sound of heavy, booted footsteps, rhythmic and drawing closer.
In a room at the other end of the hall, Sister Nina was still awake, her sharp eyes watching the window. Reflected in their depths was a silver glint as she caught sight of dozens of shadows surrounding the orphanage.
Reaching for her rifle, she stared at the shadows besieging her home. In a short whisper, she begged the Moon Goddess for courage:
"Protect these children. Grant me the strength to face this night."
A scrap of cloth fluttered in the empty lot, a wheel track not from any factory cart. The night was silent, but the footsteps did not stop. There was an undeniable threat in the air. It was a night that, without Arthur knowing how or why, was about to open a door that would not be easily closed again.