The next morning, the baby awoke to the distant sounds of children playing, their laughter echoing faintly through the orphanage's worn walls. Soft light filtered through the window, casting long, shifting shadows across the unadorned room. It was plain, like all the others a small cot by the window, a simple dresser, and little else. But to the baby lying in the cot, the world felt vast, new, and full of mysteries.
He didn't cry. Instead, he stared up at the ceiling, his wide, curious eyes following the patterns of light and shadow as they danced above him. Quiet, observant, and unassuming, he waited but it wasn't long before the door creaked open. The old woman who had found him the night before stepped inside, her steps slow but purposeful. She made her way to the cot, her face softening as she gazed at the tiny figure wrapped in a blanket.
Gently she picked him up, cradling him with the care of someone who had done this a hundred times but still felt the weight of each new child's story.
Her fingers brushed the edge of the blanket as she adjusted it, noticing for the first time the faint embroidery stitched into the fabric. The delicate letters were worn but still readable. Her breath hitched as she traced them with her finger, reading the name stitched in elegant, deliberate thread.
"Aelric," she whispered aloud, the name carrying a quiet strength, a sense of meaning. Her lips curved into a bittersweet smile. "At least they cared enough to name you," she murmured, though the thought brought little comfort. She gently held the child closer, her expression clouding with something darker regret, perhaps, or was it fear.
She glanced at the small cot, then around the room, as if searching for answers or was it searching for someone. No one but herself knew the answer to that question, as She had grown up within the orphanage, and she knew all too well the future that awaited the children here. Her hands trembled slightly as she cradled Aelric, her heart heavy with the knowledge of what is to come.
"Poor child," she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. Her voice broke, barely audible. "You deserve better than this."
The old woman carried Aelric to the small chair by the window, settling into it with practiced ease. The sunlight streamed in, warming her face as she gently rocked him in her arms. Outside, the children's laughter continued, the muffled sound creating a fragile contrast to the heavy silence of the room.
Aelric's tiny fingers flexed, reaching out instinctively, grasping at the loose fabric of her sleeve. She let out a soft chuckle, her heart aching as she watched him.
"You're strong for one so small," she murmured, her voice a mix of wonder and sorrow. "Hold onto that. You'll need it here."
Her gaze drifted to the distant hills beyond the window, her thoughts far away. Though the orphanage offered shelter, it was no sanctuary. She knew all to well what happens to the children when they come of age. But Aelric didn't know any of that. Not yet. For now, he was just a baby, untouched by the weight of the world.
She rocked him gently, humming a tune under her breath. It was a lullaby from her own childhood, the words long forgotten but the melody etched into her memory. It seemed to calm him, his tiny body relaxed, his breathing steady.
A knock at the door startled her from her thoughts. The sound was light, hesitant. She turned, her grip instinctively tightening on the baby.
"Come in," she called softly.
The door opened, and a young girl stepped inside. Barefoot and freckled, she was no older than eight. Her brown hair was pulled back in a messy braid, and her dress was patched but clean. She hesitated in the doorway, her hands fidgeting.
"Miss Lora," the girl said, her voice small, "can I... can I see the new baby?"
The old woman Lora offered a weary smile. "Come closer, Clara. He doesn't bite."
The girl approached cautiously, her wide eyes fixed on Aelric. She stood on her toes to peer over the arm of the chair, her curiosity outweighing her nervousness.
"What's his name?" Clara asked, her voice a whisper.
"Aelric," Lora replied, her tone soft.
Clara's face lit up, a shy smile spreading across her lips. "He's so little," she said, as though marveling at the very idea.
"He is," Lora agreed, her voice heavy with meaning the child couldn't yet understand.
Clara reached out tentatively, her fingers brushing against the edge of Aelric's blanket. The baby stirred, letting out a small, sleepy sound, and Clara giggled, pulling her hand back as though she'd been caught.
"I'll take care of him," Clara declared suddenly, her voice filled with determination. "Like you take care of us."
Lora's smile faltered for a moment, but she quickly masked it with a nod. "That's very kind of you, Clara."
The girl lingered for a moment longer before scampering out of the room, her footsteps fading down the hall. Lora watched her go, the faint smile on her face steady until the door clicked shut.
As she turned back to Aelric, her mind replayed the brief moment when Clara had reached out, her small hand brushing against the blanket. It was then Lora had noticed it a faint, deliberate mark etched onto the girl's delicate skin.
Her breath caught in her throat. That mark it wasn't random. It was unmistakable, deliberate, and cruel. It was one she knew all too well.
Her gaze dropped to her own hands, trembling as they cradled the baby. Slowly, reluctantly, she pulled back the cuff of her sleeve. There it was, hidden beneath the worn fabric of her dress, the same mark, etched into her own skin.
Her fingers brushed the scar as memories she had buried long ago surged to the surface. She had been Clara's age once. She had sat in these same halls, played in these same rooms, and carried the same naive hope that maybe things would turn out differently for her.
But they hadn't. And they wouldn't for Clara. Or Aelric.
"No," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of distant children's laughter. "Not again."
She looked down at the baby in her arms, his tiny face calm and peaceful. Tears stung her eyes as she adjusted his blanket, her touch gentle but trembling. "Not you too," she said softly, the words carrying a quiet desperation.
Her gaze shifted to the window, the sunlight casting long shadows across the floor. The mark on her arm burned, not physically, but in her memory. It was a brand, a reminder of what this place truly was a place that smiled on the surface but carried horrors beneath.
Lora wiped her tears with the back of her hand, her resolve hardening. She didn't know how, but she would protect them. Both of them. No child deserved to carry that mark, to endure what she had endured.
Her fingers brushed Aelric's soft cheek as she whispered, "I'll find a way. I swear it."
Well, that wraps up this chapter. Some of you might have questions, like: What exactly is the orphanage hiding? What does the mysterious mark mean, and why do both the little girl and the old woman bear it? And most importantly, will any of them survive long enough to share their story?
All of those answers lie ahead. You'll just have to keep reading to find out.