December 12, 1903, late afternoon
The sky was a thick gray blanket, heavy with clouds that seemed to sag under some invisible weight. The sun had nearly disappeared, leaving a dim light that made shadows stretch long across the narrow cobblestone street. A boy of twelve stood silently before the tall, iron gates of St. Helena's Orphanage. His name was Abraham. His black hair clung damply to his forehead, eyes storm-gray and tired, carrying the weariness of too many nights spent wandering, working, and surviving on scraps in the cruel streets of the city. His shoulders were slumped slightly, but the grip on the small hand beside him was firm.
That small hand belonged to Aaric, only six, with vivid green eyes that seemed almost too bright for the dimness around them. He clutched Abraham's fingers tightly, tiny knuckles white with tension, and his small frame shivered—not from the cold alone, but from the fear of an unknown future, and from the weight of realizing that the brother he loved so dearly might not return.
They stood silently for a long moment, the distant sound of a horse-drawn carriage on cobblestones echoing faintly through the still air. Abraham bent slightly, brushing a damp strand of hair from Aaric's forehead. "From now on," he said softly, trying to force warmth into his voice, "this will be your home. You'll be safe here."
Aaric's lips quivered, and his voice barely rose above a whisper. "But… you're not staying?"
Abraham's chest tightened. His gray eyes softened as he looked at the small face upturned to him, eyes glistening. "I… I can't, little one. I have to work… I'll beg, I'll do anything. One day, I'll come back for you. I swear it. But you… you must be strong here. You must try hard and make something of yourself. Do you understand?"
Aaric nodded, though fear and confusion danced in his eyes. Then his gaze shifted toward a black car parked a little distance from the gate. The vehicle was imposing, sleek, and unusual for the narrow street, its dark surface gleaming slightly even in the dim light. Inside, a man reclined in the driver's seat, a cigarette balanced between his fingers. Smoke spiraled lazily from his lips, curling upward like a dark, mischievous spirit. Beside him, another man held a faintly glowing vape, exhaling thick clouds while letting out a low, amused chuckle. They seemed almost unreal, a strange contrast to the world of orphanages and cobblestone streets around them.
"Who are those people?" Aaric asked softly, clutching Abraham's sleeve, voice laced with curiosity and a hint of fear.
"They're… good people," Abraham replied gently, keeping his tone calm, though his heart ached. "I'll stay with them for now. They'll help me work. Maybe… one day, we'll both have a home again. But you… you must be strong here. You must try hard. Promise me."
Aaric nodded, his eyes darting between the black car, the looming gates of the orphanage, and his brother. The green of his eyes seemed almost to glow against the dull gray of the late afternoon. "I'll try," he whispered.
Just then, the great gates of the orphanage creaked open with a sound that made the boys flinch. A woman stepped out, holding a brass lantern whose warm glow cut softly through the dim light. She was middle-aged, her face kind and soft, framed with faint streaks of gray, her eyes gentle but sharp, as if they could see the worry and sorrow in the hearts of those who stood before her.
"Oh my, children… how can I help you?" she said, her voice gentle and warm. "Have you lost your way?"
Abraham straightened slightly, trying to hide the tightness in his chest. "No, ma'am. Our parents… they're dead. I'm working somewhere now, but… I can't earn enough for both of us. Please… take my brother in your care. He's a good boy—he's kind, and he'll try hard. He just… he needs a home."
The woman's eyes softened immediately. She knelt to Aaric's level, letting the lantern glow across his pale, damp face. "And your name, little one?"
"Aaric," the boy whispered, his gaze flickering toward Abraham for courage.
"Such a beautiful name," she said, smiling. "You'll be safe here, I promise. Come, I'll show you your new friends." She lifted him gently, letting his small body rest against her shoulder, and carried him through the gates. Inside, the courtyard opened wide, dotted with children of all ages. Some peeked from behind pillars, others were playing quietly despite the dim light, their laughter and whispers blending into a strange, comforting symphony.
Abraham bent down, resting his forehead lightly against Aaric's. "Try hard here, okay? So that when I come back… I'll find you strong, and you'll make me proud."
Aaric nodded, though tears threatened to fall, glancing at the courtyard and the unfamiliar children.
Abraham turned toward the black car. The cigarette man leaned back lazily, ash flicking out the window. "Done playing the good brother?" he said, voice low and amused, smoke drifting in lazy spirals. His companion tapped the glowing vape, laughing softly as if the world itself were a game.
Abraham didn't answer. He opened the car door silently and slipped into the leather seat. The engine rumbled to life, breaking the quiet of the late afternoon. Then, as if on cue, the sky seemed to sigh, and the first drops of rain fell, striking the cobblestones with a soft, steady patter. Soon, the drizzle became heavier, rain sliding down the edges of the orphanage gate and soaking the courtyard where Aaric now stood, lantern light reflecting off his wide green eyes.
The car rolled slowly down the street, Abraham's gray eyes flicking once more toward the orphanage, toward his brother, before focusing on the road ahead. Behind him, the cigarette man exhaled a lazy swirl of smoke and chuckled. "Let's see how long he lasts," he said to his companion, who puffed a cloud of vapor and smirked.
Aaric stood in the courtyard, drenched slightly by the rain that had started only after Abraham left. His tiny body shivered, not entirely from the cold, but from a sense of loss he could not yet name. He clutched the lantern close, eyes searching the street for a figure that would not return, trying to hold onto the hope that somewhere, his brother was keeping the promise he had made.
The children in the courtyard glanced curiously at the newcomer, but none came closer immediately. The sounds of rain and distant laughter filled the air. Aaric's heart ached, yet deep inside, a small ember of determination sparked: he would be strong. He would try, just as Abraham had told him. One day, he would make his brother proud.