ive years had passed since Orion's birth. The small, helpless infant had grown into a lively and curious boy, full of energy and life. Now, at five, Orion was the picture of youthful enthusiasm, his bright eyes ever seeking new adventures and wonders. He ran wherever he went—through the narrow hallways of the estate, across the sprawling garden, and often up and down the stairs of the servants' quarters where he spent his days. His laughter, high-pitched and carefree, echoed through the small, modest space he called home.
Orion lived in the servants' quarters, tucked away at the edge of the estate, far from the grand chambers where his father, Duke Casimir Varnhart, resided. It was a humble place, with simple furniture and stone walls, but for Orion, it was his entire world. The quarters were modest, but to the boy, they were full of life. He played with the scraps of fabric his mother, Liora, would collect for him, chasing after moths and pretending to be a knight defending his kingdom.
Liora, though often weary from the weight of the estate's coldness and her own responsibilities, always made sure Orion's days were filled with warmth and love. In the quiet of the servants' quarters, she would sit by the small window, stitching or reading, while Orion ran around with an energy that only a five-year-old could possess. She adored him with all her heart, her love shining like a soft glow against the dark backdrop of their lives.
But, no matter how much Liora shielded Orion from the harshness of the world outside, the reality of his place in the Duke's estate always loomed in the background. The large, grand mansion—the home of his father, the mighty War Saint of the empire—was a world far removed from Orion's life. He never stepped into the grand halls, never shared the cold dinners of the Duke's table. He lived quietly, away from the attention of the family who looked at him as a stain on their lineage.
This did not bother Orion, not yet. To him, the estate was a grand castle of endless possibility. The servants' quarters, though humble, were filled with joy, and Liora made sure of that. She taught him everything she could, from letters and numbers to simple tales of knights and dragons.
One bright morning, as the first rays of sunlight filtered through the small window of their quarters, Orion's energy was in full force. He darted through the narrow hallways, his bare feet slapping against the cold stone floor as he raced after a small butterfly that had somehow found its way into the dim light of the building.
Liora, who had been sweeping the floor in the adjacent room, called out with a gentle laugh, "Orion, slow down! You'll trip over something if you don't watch where you're going!"
But Orion, full of energy and excitement, ignored her warning, his attention completely focused on the butterfly. He chased it through the small courtyard attached to the servants' quarters, its delicate wings fluttering just beyond his grasp. Liora, smiling as she watched from the doorway, shook her head fondly, but the warmth in her eyes was undeniable. This—this was her joy. Orion's innocent laughter, his brightness in the face of a world that had never been kind to him, filled her with both love and an aching sorrow.
But as Orion ran across the courtyard, something caught his eye. At the far end of the garden—near the hedge that separated the servants' quarters from the rest of the estate—there stood a figure. A boy, slightly older than Orion, with dark hair and a cold, distant expression. The boy stood motionless, his eyes fixed on Orion, though he had not made a move.
Orion paused in his pursuit, frowning at the strange boy. He had never seen him before. The older boy, perhaps around ten or eleven, didn't seem to belong to the servants' quarters. He was too tall, too dignified, for a life like this. Orion watched him for a moment, unsure of what to do. But before he could make up his mind, the boy approached.
"Why are you in my garden?" the older boy asked, his voice sharp and cold, like a blade cutting through the air.
Orion blinked up at him, confused. "I was chasing the butterfly," he said, his voice small but filled with sincerity.
The older boy's eyes narrowed as he looked down at Orion, his expression unreadable. "You shouldn't be here," he muttered, his tone carrying a faint trace of disdain. "This place is for people of higher status than you. You don't belong."
Orion's brow furrowed as he processed the words. "I don't belong here?" he repeated, not fully understanding the harshness in the boy's voice. He had never thought about it. He had always run through this garden, playing and laughing, and had never felt unwelcome.
The older boy said nothing more but took a step back, turning on his heel with a quick flick of his dark cloak. Without a glance back, he began to walk away, his boots crunching against the gravel path.
Orion stood there for a moment, staring at the boy's retreating form, his confusion growing. He didn't understand what had just happened, why the older boy had spoken to him with such coldness. He turned back to look at his mother, who had quietly watched the encounter from the doorway of their quarters. Liora offered him a soft, reassuring smile.
"Don't mind him, Orion," she said gently, her voice full of warmth. "Some people forget what it means to be kind."
Orion nodded, though his young mind was still puzzled by the encounter. He couldn't fathom why the boy had treated him so harshly. But in that moment, with his mother's comforting presence beside him, he pushed the strange meeting from his thoughts and returned to the joy of his butterfly chase, his laughter once again filling the quiet air.