Kiran
His face was soaked in rainwater, and the laughter of his peers rang in his ears. When the puddle settled before him, it reflected the light of a sun pushing through storm clouds. What mixed his tears with the tears of the sky was not the pain of falling, nor the mockery around him, but the reflection of his father's hair and eyes.
Kiran rose from the ground and wiped some of the mud clinging to his clothes. He then met Oliver's gaze, whose features carried a smile that appeared only when he felt proud. And he was never proud except when humiliating someone else.
Three years, and he still hadn't learned. His legs moved without orders, and his fist acted before his mind. It connected with Oliver's jaw in a ringing blow, turning laughter into the excited anticipation of the bloody fight they expected.
Oliver was a brute, arrogant, and relentless. Weakness was never one of his traits. He never claimed anything he wouldn't bleed for. He sprang up in seconds and rammed his forehead into Kiran's chest like a bull, throwing him onto his back. He said mockingly, "Don't try something bigger than you, Kiran."
Kiran muttered, "Arrogant bastard."
Oliver stomped the ground, then looked around. No staff. No sign of the hag. Kiran had no choice but to fight now and groan later.
He lunged forward and threw a right hook toward Oliver's face, but Oliver bent aside and the punch sliced nothing but air.
Oliver answered with a direct blow to Kiran's stomach. It knocked the breath out of him and drove him to his knees. Kiran grabbed a handful of mud, threw it into Oliver's face, and while Oliver wiped it away, Kiran slapped him hard enough to echo across the yard.
Stunned at himself, Kiran froze. He didn't continue the attack. The moment he saw Oliver's furious eyes, he regretted fighting and braced for what was coming. Oliver shoved him hard, and Kiran staggered back several steps. Oliver raised his right fist. Nothing stood between that fist and Kiran's face except... Liam.
Kiran heard the impact but didn't see it. Liam's back slammed into Kiran's chest, and the two of them crashed to the ground tangled together.
Liam groaned and cursed, twisting in Kiran's arms from the pain. Then he drove his elbow into Kiran's stomach. Kiran cried out and jabbed him back in retaliation. Liam laughed through the pain and said, "You could've just yelled 'enough.'"
Still writhing, Liam added, "I'm not good at using my brain... I'm only good at saving."
Their small scuffle was cut short by a voice that made everyone freeze. "What is happening here?"
The voice came from the stone staircase near the orphanage gate. Silence fell immediately. No one answered the headmistress.
She was a bent old woman with white hair and a face lined with age. She smiled and said, "I'm waiting for an answer."
But Kiran saw what the others didn't. Her smile wasn't natural. It was the painted smile of a doll, drawn on rather than born from kindness or warmth. No one dared speak. When the children began whispering, she struck the ground with her cane, and silence returned.
A calm, emotionless voice rose from the opposite side. Nora said, "Oliver knocked Kiran down and mocked him. Kiran attacked him. Liam stepped in and took the hit. That's all that happened."
Kiran exhaled in relief. Nora had told the truth. He wouldn't be punished. But the hag's expression was not relief. It was the expression of someone who heard the story and simply didn't care.
She said only, "Kiran. Follow me."
Kiran sighed. Liam whispered, "See you tomorrow... I think."
Kiran followed her through the wet stone corridor and into the main hall. They walked through familiar hallways, yet he felt as if he were seeing them for the first time. The façade of the orphanage was marble, but inside, the walls were pale, the doors peeling, and the floors cracked.
They reached a long corridor untouched by sunlight, where no sound traveled. Six rooms faced each other on both sides. Kiran had slept in those rooms more than he ever slept in his own.
But he didn't look toward his usual room. His gaze went to the iron door at the end of the corridor, wrapped in chains and secured with a heavy lock. In three years and countless visits to the "Silence Room," he had never seen that door open.
A thin hand, bony and frail, gripped his shoulder harshly, demanding his attention. He looked up into the hag's eyes. "Every time you enter this room, you come back more chaotic. Why?"
Kiran pulled away from her grip. "Maybe... because I'm punished for things I don't deserve."
She smiled coldly. "Or maybe because you hate what you see in the mirror."
Kiran's eyes widened. He swallowed. "What? Of course I don't like what I see. Who wants to stare at their face all day? I'm nothing like Oliver."
The hag grumbled and opened the door. When Kiran looked inside, a mirror greeted him from the opposite wall. He quickly looked away.
"I said you hate it," she told him. "Not that you don't love it. There's a difference."
Her hand settled on his shoulder again. With forced warmth, she kissed his forehead, then looked into his eyes. "I placed these mirrors here for your own good. Look at them and think about obedience. That is the point. To see your guilty self and correct it." Then she pushed him inside.
He stumbled in and turned toward the door. His voice cracked. "Ma'am... I'm sorry!"
She answered only by closing the door. Mirrors hung on it. He growled at the spiteful hag, "Even the door?"
He struck the mirror. It cracked. Pain shot through his knuckles. He clenched his teeth and looked at his bloodied hand. Then he focused on the fractured reflection before him.
The same eyes. The same hair. His mother's killer staring back at him through broken glass, just as broken as their bond.
He shut his eyes, sat down, pulled his knees to his chest, and buried his face in his arms. And he muttered, "To hell with you, hag... to hell with me... and to hell with you, Dad,"