Nobody was coming.
Kael Voss had learned this in the cold that never left the orphanage walls, in the way the matrons' eyes slid past him like he was already a ghost. Seventeen years old. Two years in this place. Before that, somewhere else. Somewhere with warmth. Somewhere with a sun.
He could barely remember it.
The dormitory was dark except for the ash-light seeping through the cracked window. Pale and gray and wrong. Fifteen years since the sun died. Ten years since the Devils appeared and cast their spell and saved what was left of humanity. Two years since Kael had woken up in this body with memories that didn't belong to him.
Twenty-three children in narrow cots. Last month, twenty-four. The month before, twenty-six. The matrons never mentioned the missing. They just moved the cots closer.
From the next room, Sera coughed.
Wet. The kind that meant lungs filling with fluid. Eleven years old. Brown hair always greasy because the orphanage had no soap. Three days of coughing. Each night the pauses grew longer.
Kael pulled his thin blanket higher. Didn't help. Nothing helped.
Then he felt it.
A flicker behind his eyes. So faint he almost missed it. Not pain. Not dizziness. Just something there that shouldn't be. Like a finger brushing the inside of his skull and then gone.
He blinked hard. The feeling vanished.
A small hand grabbed his sleeve.
"You're just going to lie there, huh?"
Tomas. Eight years old. Eyes too big. Voice like dry paper.
Kael stared at the ceiling. Cracks in the plaster. The ash-light made them look like rivers on a map of nowhere.
"The healer hasn't come in six months," Kael said. "Medicine ran out three months before that. You want a plan? Give me one. I'll follow it."
Tomas's grip tightened, then let go.
"I hate you when you talk like that."
"I know."
"She's the only one who ever told me goodnight." Tomas's voice cracked. "The only one who checked if I'd eaten."
Kael turned his head. Tomas's eyes were wet. Not crying. Too angry to cry.
"She'll be dead by morning. I can sit there. Hold her hand. Won't change anything. They'll wrap her in gray cloth and carry her out like she was never here."
Tomas's face twisted. "I want you to act like you give a shit. Just once."
He turned his back.
Kael lay still. Sera coughed again. Wet. Wrong.
Then he got up.
Walked past Tomas's cot. Down the cold hallway. Into the girls' room.
Sera lay curled under a threadbare blanket. Lips blue. Chest barely moving. The room smelled of sickness and old straw.
He pulled up a stool and sat.
"I don't know if you can hear me." He adjusted her blanket where it had slipped. His hand rested on the cot's edge. Cold wood. "Tomas is angry. He thinks I don't care. Maybe he's right."
Sera didn't respond. Her breathing was shallow. Uneven.
He sat there until the gray hour before dawn.
The matrons found him slumped in the stool. Found Sera cold and still. Wrapped her in gray cloth. Carried her away.
No one spoke her name at breakfast.
---
That evening, Kael went to the kitchen.
The matrons' cupboard stood above the sink. He'd watched them lock it a hundred times. Tonight the lock was loose. Someone had been careless.
He opened it.
Bread that was soft. Honey. Cheese with wax still on it. Things the orphans never touched. Things meant to last the matrons through the week.
He took all of it.
In the hallway, a floorboard creaked. Kael pressed himself against the wall. Held his breath. The sound of footsteps passed. Faded toward the matrons' quarters.
His heart slammed against his ribs. He waited. Counted to sixty. Then moved.
Back in the dormitory, he woke Tomas first.
The boy's eyes were swollen. Face hard.
"What is this."
"Food. You idiot."
"Where."
"The matrons' cupboard."
Tomas stared. Then laughed. Bitter sound. Too old for eight.
"You've lost your mind."
"Probably."
"They'll beat you bloody."
"I know."
"And you're giving it to me anyway."
Kael pressed bread into Tomas's hands. "You asked me to give a shit. Now Eat."
Tomas ate. Kael moved through the dormitory. Woke the thin ones. The quiet ones. The ones who never complained because complaining didn't fill stomachs. He pressed food into their hands. Watched them eat like animals who'd forgotten what full meant.
No one thanked him. He didn't expect thanks.
When the food was gone, he lay on his cot. Hands shaking. Heart too fast. The matrons would find the empty cupboard. They would know.
He closed his eyes.
---
Morning. The matrons dragged him to the kitchen.
Leather strap. His back raw and bleeding. He didn't scream. Screaming was what they wanted.
They threw him back into the dormitory. He lay face down. Back a map of fire. Tomas sat beside him.
"Does it hurt."
"Like hell."
"Sorry?"
Kael thought about Sera's blue lips. Bread in Tomas's hands.
"Ask me tomorrow."
Tomas was quiet. Then reached out. Took Kael's hand. Fingers cold and small.
"You're stupid."
"I know."
"Don't die."
"I'll try."
---
That night, the flicker returned.
Stronger now. A pressure behind his eyes. Low and deep. Like something had been waiting in the dark since before the sun died.
He sat up. Dormitory silent. Tomas's hand slipped away in sleep.
The pressure built. Not sound. Not pain. Just presence. Ancient. Patient.
Ash-light from the window flickered. Once. Twice. Dimmed to something that wasn't light at all. Only the memory of light.
The walls stretched.
Bent.
The space between cots became a street he had never seen. Black stone. Impossible angles. Buildings that leaned wrong. Windows that watched.
At the end of that street, barely visible, something vast and wrong was turning toward him.
Kael closed his eyes.
When he opened them, the ceiling was gone. Above him, a sky with no stars. Below him, stone that had never felt sunlight. And somewhere in the distance, a bell began to toll.