An old woman alongside three children tend to a flower garden, grown behind an old, rustic building. The wrinkles in the corners of this woman's eyes and lips hint at a life spent with much cheer. Her glossy white hair, tied into a doughnut bun, still has streaks of grey in it. In a few years' time, those last few streaks will match the rest of the snow-white locks. The only things that remain unchanged, and will remain as such, are the frost-blue irises she has; a mark of favor from the goddess of knowledge.
Now, while this aged lady does tend the garden, she isn't dressed for the task at all. At least, not like how most people would. She wears a black blouse with a white collar-bib. The blouse itself extends into a long and loose pleated skirt, broken into two parts by a light blue sash that runs along her waist. Over her shoulders, she wears a hooded two-layered cloak, which was deep blue in color. The longer layer underneath is lighter and more faded, while the shorter layer on top is richer with a bit of gloss. Both of them have silver trim that glimmer in the sunlight.
Just as the old lady finishes up tending to her portion of the garden, a woman's voice calls to her from the backdoor of their orphanage. "Headmistress Ophelia!" the voice half-shouted. "There's people outside at the front door! You presence is needed." The children helping with the plants turned and craned their necks, but the headmistress tells them to keep at what they're doing with a simple gesture.
Answering the call, Ophelia rises to her feet from being knelt on the ground, hurriedly patting off the dirt that stuck onto her skirt. This left some stubborn stains clinging to the fabric, but such a silly thing wouldn't bother her. The headmistress hurried over to the young lady who waited at the open door. This girl wore similar garments to the headmistress, except her cloak didn't have the silver trim. She tucked her wavy, peach-colored hair behind her ears, her hazel eyes lingering over the humble flower garden for a moment.
"What's the matter, Amy?" Ophelia asked in her low, gentle voice.
Amy snapped back to awareness and answered. "It's one of the hunter crews," she says while leading the way to the front door. "They brought this child with them. The hunters say they found him lost and alone, in the forest past the river."
Visibly concerned and also intrigued, Ophelia hastened her stride and Amy followed suit. When the pair reached their destination, the headmistress was greeted by a most peculiar sight.
Waiting outside were two hunters from the main crew, as well the boy that they brought with them. The young lad was surrounded by the orphaned children, curiously looking him over from different angles. They made unfiltered queries and argued amongst themselves as the newcomer shrank himself between the two hunters.
The boy seemed to be around six to eight cycles old, and was wearing the strangest clothes. His garments were black and dark grey, which were unusual to find on clothes given to children. The Northlands' tribes were the only exception to this, which was odd. Reason being, while Ophelia's humble town of Nestlebrook was close to the region, the boy's clothes weren't designed to help with the cold. If anything, apart from the coloration, they looked like a western monk's robes, meant to let wind pass through to keep cool.
'Most strange,' Ophelia thought to herself.
The boy's clothes weren't the only thing unusual about him. For one, his facial features didn't resemble any ethnicity native to the continent of Triumph. The boy's hair was also the darkest that Ophelia had ever seen. In her mind, there was raven black, which was uncommon but not rare - then this boy's hair comes one step further, seeming to consume the light itself. Stranger still, his irises were an unnatural bright violet color. One more odd thing she noticed was that despite his attempts to hide, the boy's eyes seemed to hold a developed intellect that was unbefitting a child his age.
Lastly, there was the boy's aura. He didn't radiate an atmosphere similar to other children... there was this troubling sort of aura around him, and Ophelia could feel a deep insatiability for "something" emanating from it.
Despite her observations, the headmistress avoided pointing anything out. Doing so would be unwise and only stir unnecessary trouble. Besides, were it just Ophelia's aged mind playing tricks on her, she would be unrightfully putting an innocent child under undue stress. She elected to stay relatively on script for now to prevent those very things from happening.
Thinking quickly, Ophelia turned to Amy beside her. "Amelia, dear," she called for the girl's attention. The fact that the headmistress called her by her formal name indicated urgency. This was Amelia's cue to unquestioningly play along.
"Take this boy on a trip around town," Ophelia commanded. "Keep him company until I send for you; I must make arrangements for his stay, since our quarters are all full."
It seems like a lie, but it wasn't - the orphanage was, in fact, out of space. See, Nestlebrook was a tiny town, populated by only several hundred people. If we go by arbitrary categories, Nestlebrook would be a small village. As a result of this, there really isn't much funding for facilities such as Ophelia's.
All things considered though, their situation wasn't all too bad. Currently, the orphanage can comfortably house all twelve children of varying ages under her care. This didn't include her own quarters and Amelia's - the two of them stay in the relatively spacious attic.
And so, with everything verbally arranged, the hunters left the mysterious boy under the sister scholars' care. Ophelia went off to do her own thing, bidding the gathering of children to be good as she went. This left Amy to go about and deal with the job she's been given.
Before the younger sister scholar could leave with the strange boy, most of the younger orphans swarmed her. They pled to come along as they were filled with curiosity about this newcomer. Instinctively, Amy looked down to the subject of the children's interest. To her surprise, the boy shook his head while looking right into her eyes. The hunters had told her earlier that they weren't sure if the boy could understand the Common Tongue. Seeing the way he reacted, it seems like the boy actually can understand. Amy wondered to herself if he just couldn't speak.
Deciding to humor the child, Amy told the orphans that they couldn't come along right now, explaining that he didn't feel comfortable around them yet. There were some complaints, of course, but the children were mostly understanding.
For the sake of insurance, Amy gathered the older of the orphans - four of them, ages ranging from twelve to sixteen cycles - and instructed them to watch over the others until she or the headmistress came back. She assured them that she would send for some adults to help keep an eye on things. Having taken care of that, she could finally leave with this strange boy that had been thrust into her care.
- - - - - - -
Slate felt immense relief washing over him. This nun-looking woman read the situation and kept those kids away from him for the time being. It's not that he hated children - he just feared the chaos that would come from such a large swarm. They would completely shatter his mental tenacity, and after a while of being around them, he might just pass out where he stood.
There was always ⌈ Heartless ⌋, of course, but he didn't want to rely on it too much. Slate recognized the heavy risks posed by abusing that Skill, so he had the Program ensure that it would only consume negative emotions that became too strong. Not that it would work for what the gaggle of kids might do to him, anyway. This was because, unfortunately, boredom is the lack of emotion, and apathy is a juiced-up version of that. There would be nothing for ⌈ Heartless ⌋ to consume. It may work for any irritation that they might cause him, but the risk of immense mental fatigue was what Slate worried about the most.
Regardless, the sludge-boy truly did feel thankful for Amelia. He caught her name earlier, but she introduced herself to him as they walked anyway. He never did quite catch the name of the older, important-looking one, though. Looks like she was the one who owns, or at least runs the orphanage.
Right now, Amelia was making good on her orders, taking Slate on a walk around town. It was called Nestlebrook, he was told. The architecture was typical of what you'd find in a medieval-like high fantasy world. Tamped dirt roads, small houses and humble cottages, with roofs that were thatched or laid with tiles or shingles. Wagons passed by occasionally, being pulled by beasts of burden, and children darted around with wooden toys, some of them showing off to Slate as they passed.
One common quirk that Slate did notice about the buildings was that the fancier glass windows had a snowflake motif in their frames. Another one was that the tiles or shingles used for roofing were painted blue. The older ones looked grey because of weathering, but it was obvious that they would've been the same color when they were new.
Nothing else stood out to Slate in particular, all except for one thing. There was a lone tent sitting out to the side in an open area in the village, which made it stand out despite how small it was. He took a good long look at it, and Amelia picked up on his curiosity and led him closer. "That's the tent of a seer who decided to move into town one day," the sister scholar explained. "Would you like to have your fortune told?"
As the two neared the small tent, a small, hunched-over lady with a cane poked herself out of the opening flap. She took one look at Slate and said, "I don't like the look of your future, boy."
The sister scholar was surprised and visibly discomforted by this, but Slate was intrigued. He felt sorry for the girl, but he just had to know more, especially considering the very nature of his existence. The black-clad boy approached the seer quietly, who responded only with a silent and unblinking stare-down while rubbing her chin.
"Whatever do you mean?" Amelia ended up asking nervously as Slate and the seer kept staring each other down. "And didn't you need some sort of medium to guess fortunes...?"
The seer shut her eyes and shook her head slowly. "I never said I needed them to see into people's fates," she croaked slowly. "I only wanted them as keepsakes to remember people by. But back to this boy..." She looked Slate over as if studying him this time. After a few seconds, she nodded to herself, then shifted her beady eyes to Amelia. "I can usually see glimpses of a future if I focus on someone," the old seer begins to explain, "but this boy... I see nothing."
"And that means...?" Amelia prompted to continue.
"Either this boy doesn't have long to live..." she pauses dramatically before continuing. "Or something, external force or otherwise, is blocking my prying third eye."
Further intrigued by how the old crone worded that last part, Slate cocked his head curiously while studying her face.
"This is what I mean," the seer says as she leans closer to the curious boy. The skin on the center of her wrinkly forehead splits open like vertical eyelids. This reveals a deep blue gemstone whose inner clouding makes it look like an oversized pupil. If you look closely, it's actually part of her skull. Looking even closer, you could see a foggy image of her brain just behind it.
"I traded away many things for this blessing from the god of fates," she starts to ramble. Fortunately, the old woman catches herself. "Ah, but you don't want to hear me prattle on. I can only hope that whatever blocks my power isn't an early death... Even then, I'd caution you. This may either be your boon or bane, so tread carefully."
With her senses finally catching up to her, Amelia scoops up Slate's hand to start guiding him away. She admits to herself, her curiosity did get the better of her, but someone so young shouldn't be exposed to such things. Amelia endured the pang of guilt that rose in her chest, all while this boy stared up at her blankly while following, still holding onto her hand. 'This is what my absentminded curiosity does to people,' she thinks to herself.
In an effort to hopefully cheer up the poor boy, not only for his sake, but also her own sanity, Amelia thought to bring him to her favorite spot in the village.
"I know someplace we can go to relax for a bit. It must've been... an experience, hearing those things from the seer," she said with her voice trailing off towards the end. After saying that, Amelia could feel the boy's little hands squeezing her palm lightly, rubbing his thumbs over the back of her hand. Surprised, she looked down to find him staring intently into her eyes.
"Are you trying to tell me that it's okay?" she asked with a half-sad smile. Slate nodded in response, one hand letting go after seeing the woman shake her head in disbelief.
"You're so strange," Amelia mumbles under her breath. "Let's go, then," she says while tugging at the boy's hand. "There's this waterfall to the northwestern end of town. I think you'll love the view."
Slate let the sister scholar lead him through the dirt roads, passing houses and businesses until they came upon the river, which the village was founded next to. The two walked upstream, the housing becoming sparser the further they went.
"There it is," Amelia said with awe and familiarity in her voice. Slate could see now why the woman seemed to like this place so much, enough that she'd want to share it with a stranger. Granted, Slate appeared to be a kid, and there's also the fact that Amelia probably feels guilty for exposing said kid to a traumatic experience, but that's beside the point.
The place Slate was brough to was a low waterfall. It wasn't anything grand like say, Niagara or something like that. The waterfall had a series of drops from a high cliff, but the one at the bottom was its main charm.
This bottom drop was around a dozen meters in height, spanning three times that in width. The falling water collected in a basin that would flow into the rapids, slithering down toward and past Nestlebrook.
Around this basin was a wall of wide-crowned trees that beautifully framed the misty drop. Some of the older trees would even swoop down and back up, giving the place an otherworldly appearance. The sun shining down on the waterfall made it so you could see a rainbow from certain angles, and it even made the basin shimmer like a pot of jewels.
"Be careful now," Amelia warned. "It can be tempting to swim, but the current beneath the surface is strong. It could pull you away, so it would be better to admire it from solid ground."
For once, Slate actually felt quite grateful to be here. He'd been spiting his situation internally, the entity that sent him here even more so. Right now though, he knew it would be good for his sanity to just admire this small cut of paradise being presented to him.
Seeing Amelia sit down on a dry patch close to the water, Slate decided to plop himself down beside her. Moments later, he felt the fatigue of walking around town catching up to him. His body may not have suffered too much, but his mind wasn't used to such things. He would almost never leave the house in his previous life, and this was a consequence of that. Now, he felt especially relieved that the other kids weren't here, too.
Deciding to lean into the fact that right now, he is effectively baby, Slate let himself flop down sideways, falling into Amelia's lap. The woman unsurprisingly jerked in surprise, but seeing the boy adjusting his position after flopping made her chuckle a little. "Tired?" she asked while stroking his hair. Slate gave a simple nod, and Amelia just let it happen.
The pair spent a few minutes there, silently admiring the waterfall while the water crashed in the background, much like a pleasant version of television static. It was in these silent moments of rumination that something dawned on Amelia. 'It shouldn't be too late to ask,' she mentally reassured herself.
"Do you have a name?" the woman asked the boy lying in her lap. He simply nodded. "Could you tell me? I didn't think to ask earlier because I thought you couldn't speak..."
Slate hesitated to give his answer. He doesn't really know why. Part of the reason was because he didn't want to speak, but that's obviously not all of it.
"Maybe you don't like speaking?" Amelia wondered out loud. She felt the boy shudder slightly. The woman was about to apologize, but the child went and got up. Curious and a bit worried, Amelia didn't do anything as the boy stood beside her, cupping his hands around her ear to whisper.
"Slate," he said in a weak, shaky breath. He didn't mean for it to come out that way... it just did.
Amelia reached an arm around the boy to stroke his hair from behind. "Thank you for telling me," she said in a low whisper. She then guided Slate to sit on her lap, effectively cradling him in her arms. "I know that must've taken a lot out of you," she added while rubbing his back.
'Program,' Slate mentally called out to his assistant companion. 'Make sure ⌈ Heartless ⌋ doesn't target things like this...'
Those were his last thoughts before a comforting kind of darkness took him. For the first time in this world, as well as for a long while in his collective life, Slate fell asleep in comfort.
- - - - - - -
[A/N]: Heyo! Chapter 2's one week late, because... well I got sick! I won't share too much details, but it was bad enough that I couldn't get up from bed for long. I've also decided to make this bi-weekly since I'm trying to make chapters longer, considering this is an original work.
Okaythat'sit,bye!