The sound of rain drummed against the cobblestones as the wind carried whispers of chaos through the abandoned streets. A hooded figure moved swiftly through the darkness, cradling a small bundle against their chest. Thunder cracked, illuminating the ruins of a once-great village. Smoke still lingered in the air, a reminder of the devastation wrought by war.
The baby in the bundle let out a weak cry, muffled by the fabric that swaddled her. The figure paused, glancing down at the child. For a fleeting moment, there was hesitation in their eyes—fear, perhaps, or regret. But then the figure tightened their grip and pushed forward, their boots splashing through puddles as they approached a looming stone building.
The Imperial Orphanage for Wardens stood like a fortress against the storm, its tall iron gates adorned with the symbol of the empire: a phoenix rising from flames. Beyond the gates, flickering torchlight illuminated the stone path leading to the orphanage doors. The building itself was cold and imposing, its windows darkened, its walls scarred by time and neglect.
The hooded figure reached the gates and stopped, staring at the symbol for a long moment. Finally, with a trembling hand, they pulled a worn letter from their cloak and tucked it into the folds of the baby's blanket. The child whimpered again, her small fingers curling around the edge of the cloth.
"I'm sorry," the figure whispered, their voice breaking. "May the gods protect you."
Without another word, the figure placed the bundle at the foot of the gates and vanished into the night.
The baby's cries grew louder, carrying through the storm. Minutes passed before the gates creaked open, and a woman in a long black cloak stepped out. Her sharp features were illuminated by the lantern she held, and her cold blue eyes scanned the bundle with clinical detachment.
"A new one," she murmured, bending down to pick up the child. She found the letter tucked inside and skimmed it briefly before crumpling it and tossing it aside. "No name. Another unwanted soul for the empire."
The woman carried the baby inside, her footsteps echoing through the stone halls of the orphanage. The building was eerily quiet, save for the distant sound of rain and the occasional murmur of other children stirring in their sleep. The woman entered a small chamber lined with wooden cribs and placed the baby in one of them.
"You'll earn your place soon enough," she said, her voice devoid of warmth. "If you survive."
The baby's cries softened, and her eyes fluttered closed, lulled into uneasy sleep by the dim light and the sound of the rain.