William sat cross-legged beside the fire, the fire's orange light dancing across his pale face in long, quavering shadows. His white hair shone with a faint light in the fire's warmth, soft and almost insubstantial, while his eyes, bright red as the flame itself, gleamed with a strange, unreadable intensity. He stared into the fire, his face caught somewhere between longing and detachment, it would seem, his gaze drifting miles away deep into the heart of the fire.
The warmth - from the crackling wood - seemed to spill over his hands, held out toward the flames as if enjoying the rare comfort. Firelight played across the planes of his face, showing the faint hollowness of his cheeks, the sharp line of his jawline, and the stillness that hung over him like a quiet fog. He seldom blinked, transfixed by the twisting shapes in the flames as his mind wove some distant memories or perhaps dreams he'd never quite understood.
The night pressed in around him, cold and dark, yet he was enveloped in this circle of light and warmth, a small world carved out from the vastness. Now and again he'd plunge his hand into his pocket, running his thumb over the outline of something tiny and worn-a talisman, perhaps, or only a rock he'd taken up during one of his wordless walks. His fingers moved across it almost absent-mindedly, staring into the fire as his face finally relaxed for one instant, loosening toward openness by a margin of vulnerability.
It was as if, in that still spot beside the fire, he was something different from what the world took him for. For this one instant, he was just a boy, sitting alone by the fire, poised in a fragile peace, with only the sound of crackling wood and a soft whisper of wind to hear.
A woman's silhouette was seen in the orphanage doorway, through which spilled a faint golden light. She had stepped outside but for a moment to take in the cool night air, perhaps, or to check if a cat that sometimes lingered by the steps was there but something in the shadows by the garden wall caught her eye.
She could hardly make him out at first—a small, pale figure, hovering just beyond the reach of the light, like a ghost haunting the edges of her vision. She caught her breath as she looked closer, her eyes adjusting to the fire's light. There, at the boundary of the orphanage lawn, was a boy. The gleaming whiteness of his hair was astonishing, shimmering in the moonlight as if faintly luminous, and his red eyes, steady on hers without moving or winking, showed curiosity mingled with caution.
She stared, transfixed. Otherworldly, he was, almost ethereal the thing of some story or legend, as though he'd stepped right out of the past, or perhaps another world altogether. He did not move or stir at all, small in a sea of shadows in the garden, his hands sunk deep into the pockets of his worn coat, eyes fixed on hers with an intensity that belied his youth.
But despite the ominous stirring in her belly, the nun's heart softened. She lifted a hand- a soft, cautious invitation-and let her voice catch the night air with the delicacy of a sigh, lest she startle him.
"Is it that you are lost, child?" she asked softly.
But the boy merely cocked his head slightly to one side, weighing her words, as if he belonged to a language beyond her reach. And yet, there was something in his eyes—a flicker of longing, a glimmer of loneliness that struck her deep. She took a small step forward, her heart swollen with a mix of compassion and wonder, as though she were seeing not a child but an enigma, a secret she was meant to protect.
But before she could take another step, he turned, moving back into the shadows with a fluid, silent grace. And in a blink, he was gone, leaving her standing in the night, clutching her hands together, and wondering if she had just seen some kind of vision or if the weird, pale boy had been there at all. Dejected she left.
Though for some unknown reason, her heart longed for the little boy, she wished to protect him. A form of maternal love sprouted for the little boy in her heart. For the days that followed she would always check the same spot in hopes of seeing him again. Her hopes would always come blank with her never finding the boy only a dim flame.
William watched the woman with surprise he had made no use of his abilities yet she seemed to genuinely care for his wellbeing, each night she would leave the orphanage to look for him and each time he'd hover right above her escaping her view.
On seeing her unwavering persistence he decided to allow himself to be seen by the woman. The woman once again reached out for him steadily waiting for him to receive her arm, to her surprise William actually agreed stretching his little arm towards the woman.