The morning sun climbed slowly over the worn town of Ravenwood, spreading a soft light over streets that had seen better days. Once, this place buzzed with life, but now the cracked cobblestones were covered in dust, and stubborn weeds pushed through the cracks. The wooden buildings leaned wearily, looking like tired old men, their paint peeling and roofs sagging under years of neglect.
A cold mist drifted through the narrow alleys, swirling around the small, run-down houses. The dim glow of lanterns spilled from the windows, casting flickering shadows on the ground. As the town began to wake, the distant sound of clinking metal and quiet voices filled the air, as if Ravenwood were stretching after a long, troubled sleep.
Near the town square, a group of workers huddled close to the old stone well, their breath visible in the chilly morning air. They rubbed their hands together for warmth, trying to shake off the cold that clung to them. "Another long day ahead, huh, Harold?" one of them grumbled, pulling a frayed scarf tighter around his neck.
Harold let out a tired chuckle, a sound rough and weary, like an old coat that had been worn through too many winters. His broad shoulders and calloused hands showed years of hard work, yet a gentle spark remained in his eyes, untouched by the hardships he faced. "If we don't get moving soon, you know how the boss feels about being late," he said, hefting a wooden crate onto his shoulder.
As the workers began to scatter, Harold lingered, his thoughts tangled with the rumors swirling around the empire. It was more than just gossip now—everyone had heard some version of the story. "Jack," Harold called quietly, lowering his voice and glancing around, "did you hear the latest about the prince?"
Jack's eyes darted around, his expression tense with caution. He stepped closer to Harold, speaking in a hushed tone. "Keep your voice down! Are you trying to get us both in trouble? The queen's already banned any talk of her son. Said he died in the last assassination attempt." His voice trembled with fear, and his eyes held a haunted look, as if he, like many others, had long given up hope for the empire's future.
Harold's face fell. "It's hard to believe... Things weren't always like this," he muttered, sadness creeping into his voice. The empire had once been a place of pride and strength, but now, like the cracked cobblestones of Ravenwood, it seemed to be breaking apart, piece by piece.
Inside the orphanage, Anya sat at a battered desk, staring at the numbers in the ledger before her. She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear, worry etched on her face. There was never enough money—no matter how she tried to stretch the funds, it felt like trying to cover a growing hole with a blanket that was far too small. "If we don't get more support from the baron soon, I don't know how we'll keep feeding all the children," she murmured, sighing deeply.
Just then, a sudden commotion broke out near the front of the orphanage, the sound of a baby's cry cutting through the quiet morning. Anya's heart jolted at the sound. She quickly set the ledger aside and hurried to the door, her steps quick despite the chill that bit at her skin.
Stepping outside, she spotted a small bundle lying at the base of the orphanage steps—a baby wrapped in a blanket, its tiny face scrunched up in distress. The child had a tuft of golden hair and bright blue eyes, glistening with tears. "Oh my, there's a baby here..." Anya breathed, her voice barely above a whisper as she knelt beside the little one.
Cradling the baby in her arms, she rocked gently to soothe his cries. As she held him close, his wails softened to quiet whimpers, and Anya's heart ached at the sight.
She had welcomed many children over the years, but this felt different—something about this child tugged at her heart in a way she hadn't felt before.
Tucked within the folds of the blanket, she found a letter and a small pouch with a few gold coins. There was also a pendant—simple and silver, engraved with a strange symbol. The letter was written in a hurried, shaky hand.
"His name is Kaito. Please, take care of him. I can't stay... but he deserves a better life than I can give him."
The words were few but heavy with sadness, as if the writer had been forced to make a painful choice. There was no mention of the parents or where the child had come from, only a desperate plea for someone to care for him. Anya felt a lump rise in her throat as she read the note. She looked down at the baby in her arms, who now gazed up at her with wide, curious eyes. She didn't know who had left him or why, but one thing was clear: she couldn't turn him away.
The other children and staff began to gather around, their voices a mix of concern and curiosity. Anya straightened, her voice steady yet kind. "It seems we have a new addition to our family. His name is Kaito. Let's make sure he feels at home," she said, looking down at the baby and then at the eager faces surrounding her.