1221-01-01
Shinido is a quiet port town on the eastern edge of Tobe. I have a lot of good memories here, for example. A few days ago, I turned seven. To be honest, it feels strange—surreal even. Life moves on, time passes, and yet it doesn't feel that way. From home to home, house to house, I've always been part of the same system. A hope for a better future. A hope that things might finally change.
Above me, the stars and the moon shine brightly, a breathtaking sight against the deep indigo sky. They remind me of an old tale—a story passed down in this household.
It's said that the Supreme Leader's descendants spent seven days creating the world. On the fourth day, they crafted the stars, the sky, and the sun—some of the most wondrous sights in existence. They claimed their power came from something unique, something that flowed through their bloodline. They called it Soul.
I want to reach for that power. I want to reach the stars.
"Utsho," a voice calls from inside.
"Coming!" I shout back.
I turn away from the night and step inside, descending the stairs of the home I've grown used to. The familiar rooms blur past me, each carrying echoes of memories I've made here.
At the bottom of the steps stands Ino. Her dark hair frames a face that mirrors my own, and her tired eyes glisten with emotion. She has cared for me for as long as I can remember, so long that the families I stayed with before her feel like faint shadows of a distant past.
The door is ajar, and I see a carriage waiting outside.
"Utsho," she says softly.
I smile, my voice quiet but steady. "I'll miss you too, Ino."
She was the only constant I had ever known.
"Where am I going this time?" I whispered into her arms, my voice trembling.
Ino hesitated, her grip on me tightening slightly before she answered. "An orphanage in Matagi."
"Matagi? I've never heard of Matagi."
"It's a small town in the heart of Tobe," she murmured softly. "You'll be safe there," she added under her breath.
I didn't respond, and the silence stretched between us. Ino must have felt my unease because she gently pulled away, looking me in the eyes. "I'll always be here for you, Utsho," she said, placing a bag in my hands.
The bag felt heavy—not just with belongings, but with meaning. Inside were clothes, a few small toys, and my favorite knight figurine. One of its eyes was missing, a casualty of my rough play. Ino had offered to fix it many times, but I always refused. It reminded me of myself in some strange way.
She had even packed some food, including her famous onigiri. The sight of them made me smile, a small comfort in this moment of uncertainty.
The time had come. I walked to the carriage parked outside, its condition as worn as the journey I was about to undertake. The wood was cracked. The wheels creaked loudly. The interior smelled of fish. As I climbed in, the carriage bounced slightly.
I turned back one last time. Ino stood in the doorway, tears glistening in her eyes. I waved, forcing myself to appear strong, even as my chest tightened. She waved back, her hand lingering in the air as the carriage began to move. Slowly, the familiar sight of her home faded into the distance, swallowed by the winding roads of Tobe.
The journey stretched on. The carriage rattled over patchwork roads, weaving through rolling grasslands and bustling villages. We passed cities that sparkled like diamonds, their grandeur in stark contrast to the smaller farming communities that dotted the countryside. At one point, we even rolled past Shikai, the grand capital. Its palace gleamed in the sunlight, a beacon of power and authority. It was where the Supreme Leader lived, a place of mystery and legend.
The hours dragged on, and I fell asleep. When I awoke, the carriage had stopped. I looked around but found no trace of the driver or his horses. Before me stood the gates of a massive orphanage, its name—Obi—etched in bold black letters above the entrance.
The orphanage itself was unremarkable at first glance. It looked like any other building in Tobe—clean, well-kept, and adorned in the traditional architectural style of the region. Its wooden beams were painted white and purple, the colors of Tobe and its Supreme Leader. The structure didn't stand out, nor did it feel imposing.
It was quiet. Peaceful, even. But as I stepped out of the carriage and gazed at the orphanage, I couldn't help but wonder: would this place truly be safe?
I stepped up to the massive door, its surface smooth and luminous like moonlight solidified into form. The material seemed to draw my hands toward it, an invisible pull I couldn't resist. With little effort, I pushed the giant doors open, their weight yielding surprisingly easily.
Dragging my bags behind me, I entered. The doors closed with a soft but final thud, sealing me inside.
The interior was even grander than I had imagined. To the left and right were rows of rooms, their doors hinting at bedrooms. In the center stood a circular desk, its polished wood gleaming under the light from overhead lanterns. Behind the desk, a pair of double doors, made of the same pale, moonlike material, stood imposingly. Flanking the doors were two staircases, one leading up and the other spiraling down into shadow.
The main hall has a small circular table. A middle-aged man sat at the desk. He didn't look up as I approached. His dark eyes, when he finally glanced my way, were deep and unreadable, like the void of space. His hair, short and neatly cut, was black as the night outside.
"Excuse me," I said, my voice tentative, trying to catch his attention.
He glanced up, bending slightly over the desk to look at me. After a moment, he scanned something on his papers, then met my gaze again.
"So, you're the new recruit," he said with a faint smile, setting his papers aside into a neat pile.
"Yeah, my name is—" I started, but he cut me off
"Leave your bags and follow me," he commanded, already getting out of his chair.
I did as told, setting my bag by the desk. He unlocked the double doors with a key from his belt, and they opened with a soft creak.
Inside, the room was vast, arranged with rows of desks. Seated at each were children, their faces quiet and unreadable. At the front of the room stood a tall, middle-aged woman. Her presence was imposing, her eyes dull and heavy with the weight of experience. The children sat silently, 28 in total, with two desks in the front row sitting conspicuously empty.
I followed the man into the room, my steps echoing faintly. The children turned their heads slightly, their eyes flicking toward me. Their gazes weren't unkind—some even seemed curious—but not a single one made a sound.
The man exchanged a few quiet words with the woman, both glancing at me and then back to the silent class. After a moment, the man left, locking the door behind him with the same key.
The classroom was enormous. The walls were decorated with maps of Tobe that I couldn't decipher, alongside paintings and trinkets—old toys and forgotten items coated in a thin layer of dust. They seemed more like relics than tools for learning. On the far right, another door led outside, its wooden frame worn but sturdy.
The silence was suffocating.
"Hi… my name is Utsuho," I blurted out, the words tumbling from my mouth. "It's nice to meet you all. I hope we get along."
The woman at the front gripped her side briefly, her expression unreadable.
"Sit down," she said curtly.
I nodded, sliding into one of the two open desks at the front. On the desk were some pens, paper, a few maps, and—oddly—a small knife.
Probably for apples, I thought, trying to dismiss the strange detail.
"Don't get complacent," she added cryptically, her tone sharp.
At once, the other kids bolted for the garden outside, moving like a pack of wild animals freed from their confines. I remained seated, confused by what was happening, until the woman approached me, her face softening ever so slightly.
"Enjoy today," she whispered, her voice barely audible, before walking away.
I followed the others outside. The garden stretched into a vast forest, its trees towering endlessly toward the sky. Nearby, a swing swayed gently in the breeze, and the kids scattered laughing, talking, and playing with one another.
I sat at the edge of the steps, watching them. None approached me. Maybe they don't trust me yet, I thought, fiddling with my hands to keep myself occupied.
Two of them caught my attention—a boy and a girl about my age. The boy had long black hair tied into a topknot, similar to mine. The girl had equally long hair with soft bangs that framed her face, her locks flowing down her back like silk. Both of them shared the same black eyes as the others, except for one girl—a clear anomaly among them. Her piercing blue eyes stood out starkly, and I noticed her talking with the pair before drifting back to another group.
The day passed slowly. The cold winter air nipped at my face as I remained on the steps, observing the others. The doors to the orphanage stayed open, as if inviting us back inside, but no one moved. We stayed in the garden as the sun began to set, the sky transforming into a brilliant orange glow.
One by one, my orphanage-mates returned indoors. I lingered near the familiar circular desk in the main hall, waiting for instruction. The man from earlier was there, his expression a mix of irritation and understanding.
"15, on the left," he said with a nod.
I walked down the dark hallway. When I reached the door labeled 15, I opened it to find a small, simple room. There are two beds, one on either side, and a modest desk between them. I assumed the bathroom must be on another floor
My bag had already been placed on one of the beds. I rummaged through it, searching for my knight figurine. When I finally found it—the knight's head had broken off.
I cried softly to myself as I held it in my hands.
I pulled the blanket over myself. My mind drifted to thoughts of my roommate.
I wonder who they'll be…
I waited, hoping someone would come—someone to talk to, someone to make this place feel less lonely. But that someone never came.