The cobblestone road leading to Emberlane Orphanage was as familiar to Kael as the calluses on his palms. Every step resonated with a mix of nostalgia and unease. The towering oaks lining the path had grown thicker over the years, their branches casting shadows that swayed with the breeze. Yet, the building at the end of the road—the place he once called home—seemed smaller, more fragile, than he remembered.
The orphanage gates were barely hanging on their hinges, rust corroding the metal. The cheerful chatter of children, once a constant, was nowhere to be heard. Weeds choked the garden beds, and the roof sagged precariously. The sight was a far cry from the bustling, if modest, haven it had been when Kael was a boy.
He adjusted the strap of the leather satchel slung over his shoulder. It felt heavier than it should have, though it carried only a few belongings. Maybe it was the weight of memories—of a life that had changed so much since he last stood here.
"Is this how far it's fallen?" Kael muttered under his breath, stepping through the gate.
The front door creaked open before he could knock, revealing a hunched figure wrapped in a faded shawl. Miss Arla. The matron who had once scolded him for sneaking extra bread from the kitchen, who had bandaged his scraped knees after countless misadventures. She looked older now, her silver hair thin and her face lined with worry.
"Kael?" she asked, squinting up at him as if he were a ghost.
"It's me, Miss Arla," Kael said, his voice softer than usual. He knelt slightly, lowering himself to her level.
Her frail hands reached out, brushing against his face before clasping his shoulders. "By the gods… it is you." Her voice wavered, a mixture of disbelief and relief. "I thought we'd never see you again."
Kael gave a rueful smile. "I didn't think I'd be back. But things change."
Arla's expression darkened, her hands tightening around him as if afraid he might vanish. "You came just in time. The orphanage…" Her voice broke. She gestured for him to enter. "You need to see for yourself."
Inside, the orphanage was even worse than the exterior. The once-warm common room was cold and lifeless, the fireplace empty. The wooden floor creaked under his boots, and the air smelled faintly of mildew. Kael's eyes swept across the room, landing on a handful of children sitting quietly in the corner. They looked up as he entered, their faces thin and wary.
"How bad is it?" Kael asked, his tone low as he followed Arla into her cramped office.
She sighed heavily, sinking into a worn chair. "Worse than you can imagine. Donations stopped coming in years ago. Most of the older children left to fend for themselves. And now, the landowner has decided to sell. If we can't pay the debt by the end of the month…"
"They'll tear it down," Kael finished, his fists clenching.
Arla nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I've tried everything, Kael. Begged for help, wrote to the nobles—no one cares about an old orphanage on the outskirts of nowhere."
Kael leaned against the wall, his jaw tight. He thought of the battles he'd fought, the kingdoms he'd saved, the monsters he'd slain. All that power, all that glory—and here was a fight he hadn't seen coming.
"I'll take care of it," Kael said firmly.
Arla blinked, her gaze snapping to him. "Kael, you've done enough in your life. You don't have to—"
"This place gave me a home when I had nothing," Kael interrupted. "If I can't save it, what was all that fighting for?"
She stared at him for a long moment, then nodded, her expression softening. "The children… they'll be lucky to have someone like you."
Kael pushed off the wall, straightening. "No luck about it. They'll get what they deserve—a chance. I'll make sure of it."
As he stepped out of the office, the children looked up at him again. Their eyes held the same fear he'd seen in countless battles, the kind born not of facing monsters but of losing everything they knew.
Kael clenched his fists. He wasn't a knight anymore, nor an adventurer. But he could still fight for what mattered.
...
Kael spent the next morning walking the grounds of the orphanage. What he saw filled him with a mix of anger and determination. The training yard where he'd once sparred with the other boys was now overgrown, its wooden dummies rotted and collapsing. The dining hall was barely functional, with cracked tables and a pitifully empty pantry. Even the dormitories were falling apart, beds too small for the older children and threadbare blankets offering little warmth.
He didn't miss the hollow looks in the children's eyes, nor the way they flinched whenever someone spoke too loudly. These weren't just orphans—they were survivors, clinging to what little they had.
"I've seen war-torn villages with better conditions," Kael muttered as he stood in the middle of the training yard. His voice was low, but the bitterness in his tone was clear.
"You think we haven't tried?" Miss Arla's voice came from behind him. She leaned against the doorway, her frail form framed by the broken wooden frame. "I know how bad it is, Kael. But there's only so much I can do with nothing."
Kael turned to her, his expression softening. "You've done more than most would have, Miss Arla. But this… it's not just an orphanage anymore."
She frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"
Kael looked back at the yard, his mind already forming a plan. "This place gave me my start. It gave me the strength to face a world that wanted nothing to do with me. And it can do the same for these kids—but not like this. It needs to be something more."
Miss Arla hesitated, then stepped closer. "Kael, I know your heart is in the right place. But dreams don't pay debts. The landowner—"
"Leave him to me." Kael's voice was calm, but there was steel in it. "I'll handle the debt. And once that's settled, we'll rebuild. Not just to save the orphanage, but to turn it into something greater. A sanctuary. A place where these kids—and any others who need it—can grow into more than survivors."
Arla's eyes widened. "You're talking about… an academy?"
Kael nodded. "Not like the fancy noble schools that care more about bloodlines than potential. This will be a place for people like us—those who've been cast aside. We'll teach them how to stand on their own, how to fight for what's right, how to make a difference in the world."
"You make it sound so simple," Arla said, though her voice held a spark of hope.
"It won't be," Kael admitted. "But I've fought dragons and demons. Building an academy? Can't be harder than that."
Arla chuckled weakly. "You always did dream big. But where will you even start? The debt is due in less than a month."
Kael glanced at her, then out toward the horizon. "First, I'll visit the landowner. He'll listen. And if he doesn't…" His lips curled into a faint smirk. "Well, I've been known to be persuasive."
Before Arla could respond, a commotion drew their attention. A loud crash came from the dining hall, followed by shouts.
"Now what?" Kael muttered, striding toward the noise.
Inside, two boys were grappling on the floor, their fists flying in clumsy, desperate punches. The older of the two, a burly teen with a mop of dark hair, had pinned the smaller one, who flailed wildly in an attempt to escape.
"Enough!" Kael's voice cut through the chaos like a blade.
Both boys froze, their eyes snapping to him. The smaller boy took the opportunity to wriggle free, scrambling to his feet.
"He started it!" the younger one shouted, pointing at his opponent. "He said I was weak!"
"And you are!" the older boy shot back, glaring. "You couldn't even lift the water barrel yesterday!"
Kael stepped between them, his towering presence silencing any further outbursts. "Names," he said, his voice calm but firm.
"Eren," the younger boy mumbled, avoiding Kael's gaze.
"Aiden," the older one said, crossing his arms. He met Kael's eyes defiantly, his jaw set.
Kael studied them both for a moment, then nodded. "Eren, fetch a bucket of water from the well. Aiden, you'll carry two barrels back to the storage shed."
"What?" Aiden protested. "Why should I—"
"Because I said so," Kael interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. "You're strong, Aiden. But strength without purpose is just noise. And Eren…" He turned to the younger boy. "You want to prove him wrong? Show him you're not weak by doing what needs to be done."
Eren hesitated, then nodded slowly.
Kael folded his arms, watching as the two boys left, still grumbling under their breath but too wary to defy him.
"That was… different," Miss Arla said from behind him.
Kael smirked. "If they're going to fight, they might as well learn to fight for something. They'll thank me later. Or not. Either way, they'll be better for it."
Arla shook her head, but there was a glimmer of admiration in her smile.
Kael glanced out the window, his thoughts already turning to the task ahead. The landowner, the debt, the children—each was a challenge in its own right.
But Kael had never backed down from a challenge before. And he wasn't about to start now.