Outside, the sound of heavy hooves thundered against the cobblestones. It wasn't the clip-clop of normal horses. It was a heavy, rhythmic pounding that vibrated through the floorboards.
The heavy oak doors of the orphanage groaned.
Silence fell over the hall. Even the ghosts seemed to hold their breath.
The doors swung open.
The sunlight from outside was momentarily blocked by a towering figure. A man stepped across the threshold.
He wore a long military coat of midnight blue, adorned with silver aiguillettes that shimmered like captured moonlight. His boots were polished to a mirror shine, free of even a speck of dust despite the dirty road.
He was tall. Impossibly tall. And handsome, in a sharp, terrifying way. He had hair the color of raven feathers and eyes that looked like frozen amethysts.
He didn't look like a Saint. He didn't look like a savior.
He looked like a calamity dressed in silk.
Behind him, the daylight seemed to dim. But what caught Mira's attention wasn't his handsome face or his expensive clothes.
It was the silence.
The moment he stepped into the room, the wailing of the ghosts stopped. The headless maid vanished into the wall.
The starving spirit children scurried into the floorboards like frightened roaches. The overwhelming, constant noise of the dead that had plagued Mira for five years... was gone.
It was as if his very presence was so terrifying, so soaked in death and dominance, that even the afterlife gave him a wide berth.
For the first time in five years, Mira heard nothing but the beat of her own heart.
The Archduke surveyed the room, his gaze sweeping over the trembling children like a general inspecting a disappointing armory. His eyes were cold, bored, and utterly devoid of warmth.
"Is this them?" his voice rang out. It was a deep baritone, smooth as velvet but heavy as iron.
"Y-yes, Your Grace!" Mrs. Gable curtsied so low she nearly tipped over. "These are our finest angels! Clean, obedient, and full of light!"
The Archduke didn't even look at her. He took a step forward, his boots clicking on the floor. The children in the front row flinched.
He walked down the line, his gaze passing over the hopeful faces of the children. He didn't stop. He didn't smile.
He looked at them with the same interest one might show a row of cabbages.
He was going to leave. Mira could see it in the set of his jaw. He was bored. He found nothing of value here. He was going to turn around, walk out that door, and take the precious silence with him.
'No,' Mira thought, panic flaring in her chest. 'Don't you dare leave. You are my noise-canceling headphones.'
Her body moved before her adult mind could calculate the risk. It was the child's brain, the impulse, the need for comfort, the instinct to grab the shiny thing.
She broke the line.
Gasps echoed through the hall. Mrs. Gable turned purple.
Mira waddled out into the open space. She was tiny, barely reaching the Duke's thigh. She looked up at him, her neck craning back.
The Archduke stopped.
He looked down, his purple eyes narrowing slightly. A pressure, heavy and suffocating, descended on the room. This was the aura of a man who had leveled cities.
"And what is this?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave.
Mira didn't flinch. She couldn't. She was too busy enjoying the quiet.
She raised her arms up toward him, opening and closing her small hands in a grabbing motion. It was the universal sign of a toddler demanding to be held.
"Up," she demanded, her voice clear and bossy in the silent hall.
The knights standing guard at the door gripped their sword hilts. Mrs. Gable looked like she was having a stroke.
The Archduke stared at her. For a second, confusion cracked his stoic mask. He looked at the small, defiant creature demanding to be hoisted by one of the most dangerous men on the continent.
"Up?" he repeated, as if the word was foreign to him.
"Up," Mira insisted, stomping her foot slightly. She pointed a chubby finger at the empty air behind his left shoulder, where a particularly nasty poltergeist had been screaming just moments ago, now nowhere to be seen.
The Archduke's eyes widened a fraction. He glanced over his shoulder at the empty air, then back down at the girl.
A slow, terrifying smile spread across his face. It wasn't a kind smile. It was the smile of a predator that had just found a toy that didn't break when he touched it.
"Interesting," he murmured.
He bent down, sweeping her up in one fluid motion. He held her awkwardly, like she was a bomb that might explode, but he held her.
Mira immediately buried her face in the expensive wool of his coat. She took a deep breath. It smelled of cold steel, winter air, and old blood.
It smelled like peace.
"I'll take this one," the Archduke announced, turning on his heel.
"B-but Your Grace!" Mrs. Gable stammered. "That is Mira! She is... she is quiet, and odd kid, and..."
"I'll take this one," he repeated, his voice leaving no room for argument. He looked down at the small lump attached to his chest. "Pack her things."
As he carried her out of the orphanage, leaving the stunned silence behind, Mira closed her eyes and let out a contented sigh, drooling slightly on the uniform of the Dark Lord.
She had been caught by the whale. Now, she just had to make sure he didn't swallow her whole.
.
.
.
The carriage was not a vehicle; it was a moving fortress.
Constructed from black ironwood and reinforced with steel bands engraved with defensive runes, it sat on the cobblestone street like a beast of war taking a nap. The wheels were as tall as a man, rimmed with a strange, dark alloy that absorbed the shock of the uneven road.