The rain poured relentlessly, each drop striking the cobblestone streets like a whisper of urgency. A woman ran through the storm, her breath ragged, her cloak soaked and clinging to her trembling form. Behind her, armored boots thundered against the ground. The guards were close. Too close.
She clutched something close to her chest, shielding it from the rain, from the world. The bundle in her arms was warm, fragile. Precious.
With a sharp turn, she darted behind a large stone pillar, pressing her back against its cold, wet surface. She dared not breathe. The guards' voices cut through the downpour.
"She went this way!"
"Keep looking! She can't have gone far!"
Their shadows flickered under the dim street lamps, their figures blurred by the storm. The woman remained still, praying to whatever gods might be listening. Moments passed. The clatter of boots faded into the distance.
She exhaled softly, turning her gaze downward. Nestled in her arms was a baby girl—tiny, delicate, innocent. Bright blue eyes blinked up at her, wide with curiosity, framed by wisps of damp blonde hair. The baby giggled, tiny fingers curling around the fabric of her mother's cloak.
The woman smiled despite the terror in her heart, brushing a thumb across the child's soft cheek.
"What am I going to do with you, little one?" she whispered.
Her eyes darted around the street, searching. Then, in the distance, through the curtain of rain, she saw it—a building. A tall, looming structure with iron gates and darkened windows. Above the entrance, a rusted plaque read: The House of the Unwanted.
She swallowed hard. Her grip on the baby tightened.
"This is the only way," she murmured, her voice breaking. "You won't have a life, or a family... but you'll be safe."
Pulling the tattered edges of her cloak around the infant, she shielded her as best she could from the cold. The rain was thick, unforgiving. The woman moved quickly, stepping through the mud toward the orphanage doors.
A large iron bell hung beside the entrance. With trembling hands, she placed the baby into a woven basket, wrapping her snugly in a faded cloth. The child cooed, oblivious to the weight of the moment.
The woman hesitated.
She leaned down, pressing one last kiss to the baby's forehead. The salt of her tears mixed with the rain.
Then, gripping the bell's rope, she pulled.
The deep chime echoed into the night.
Light flickered inside the building. Footsteps. A shadow moved behind the frosted windows.
The woman took a step back.
She turned and ran, disappearing into the storm, leaving only the faintest trace of her sorrow behind.
The heavy wooden door creaked open, its hinges groaning against the storm's fury. A woman, wrapped in a tattered shawl, peered out into the darkness. The glow of a single candle flickered behind her, casting long shadows across her worn face. Her tired eyes drifted downward—and there, at her feet, lay the bundled infant, barely stirring against the cold.
For a moment, she stared. Then, her expression hardened.
"Edward!" she called, voice sharp against the thunder. "We have another unwanted child!"
From deeper inside the orphanage, a man grumbled, his heavy footsteps approaching. The woman hesitated, scanning the empty street beyond the iron gate, but there was no sign of the one who had left the baby behind.
With a sigh, she bent down, gathering the small bundle in her arms. The child stirred but did not cry, her tiny hand peeking out from the frayed cloth.
Thunder rumbled as the woman stepped back inside, kicking the door shut behind her.
Beyond the orphanage, through the twisting alleyways of the rain-drenched city, the mother moved like a ghost. Hood drawn, body trembling, she slipped through the labyrinthine passages, avoiding torchlight and prying eyes. She had no home now—no refuge.
Her breath came shallow as she reached the outskirts of a ruined district, where the skeletal remains of burned buildings loomed against the stormy sky. Beneath the crumbling archway of what had once been a temple, a group of figures huddled beneath the shelter of a collapsed roof.
As she approached, heads turned.
A woman with a jagged scar across her cheek frowned. A burly man with a missing hand narrowed his eyes. But it was the old man who spoke first, stepping forward, his presence commanding despite the weight of years pressing against his bones.
His voice was quiet, yet firm.
"Where is the child?"
The mother hesitated, her soaked cloak clinging to her as she met his gaze.
"She's safe," she said, forcing strength into her voice.
The old man studied her, his expression unreadable. Then, he exhaled through his nose and gave a slow nod.
"Are you sure?"
She stiffened. "Yes."
A long pause.
"Good," the man finally said. "Then it is up to fate to guide her now."
The woman swallowed. Doubt gnawed at her. She had done what was necessary, what was best. Hadn't she?
"What if you were wrong?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
The old man's gaze did not waver.
"This was the only way."
The storm howled through the ruins, lightning carving jagged scars across the sky.
"I hope you're wrong," the woman murmured.
The old man said nothing. Only time would tell.
Seven years had passed since that stormy night. The orphanage, with its cracked walls and dimly lit halls, had become a home—though not always a kind one. The children who lived there were not bound by blood but by shared hardship, by whispered dreams of a better life beyond the iron gates.
Inside a small, cluttered corner of the attic, Nimara sat hunched over a rickety wooden table, her fingers delicately assembling the tiny gears of a small, mechanical creature. The parts were scavenged—bits of broken toys, discarded metal, and whatever scraps she could sneak past the orphanage caretakers. It wasn't much, but it was hers.
The robot was no bigger than her palm, its frame uneven, its movements stiff, but when she twisted the last screw into place, its tiny eyes flickered with life. A soft, whirring sound hummed from within as the creature twitched its legs, lifting itself from the table like a newborn taking its first breath.
A smile tugged at Nimara's lips.
"You're perfect," she whispered.
Before she could admire her work any further, a hand shot out from behind her and snatched the tiny creation away.
"Hey!" Nimara spun around, her heart lurching.
A boy with messy brown hair grinned as he held the robot up, turning it over in his hands. A group of children gathered behind him, their expressions amused, eager for entertainment.
"Look at this junk," the boy sneered. "Still wasting your time on these useless things, Nimara?"
"Give it back," she said, stepping forward.
The boy smirked. "And what if I don't? What are you gonna do about it?"
Nimara clenched her fists, but before she could act, Jace stepped between them.
"Just give it back," he said, his voice calm but firm.
The bully laughed. "Or what? You gonna cry about it?"
Without warning, he shoved Jace hard, sending him stumbling backward. The other kids snickered.
Then, in one cruel motion, the boy threw the robot to the ground. The delicate machine shattered into scattered parts, its tiny glowing eyes flickering out like a dying ember.
Nimara froze. A lump formed in her throat as she stared at the broken pieces.
Jace recovered quickly, anger flashing in his eyes. Without thinking, he lunged at the bully, shoving him back just as hard.
The laughter stopped.
The boy's grin twisted into a snarl as he balled his fists, ready to swing.
Then the air shifted.
A low, crackling hum filled the space, and a strange, violet glow pulsed from behind them. The children turned as a soft breeze stirred the dust in the attic.
Fearyn stood there, her hands outstretched, her expression calm but unyielding. The air around her shimmered as tiny motes of purple light danced between her fingers, weaving together like strands of unseen energy.
The bully took a step back, his face draining of color.
"What the hell—"
The energy swirled, pressing against him like an invisible force. His breath hitched, and for a fleeting moment, fear flickered in his eyes. Then, with a startled yelp, he turned and bolted, shoving past the other kids as he fled down the attic stairs.
The room fell silent.
Jace exhaled sharply. "That was... unexpected."
Fearyn lowered her hands, the violet glow fading. She knelt beside Nimara, who was still staring at the broken remains of her creation. Without a word, Fearyn reached out, her fingers grazing the shattered metal.
The air pulsed again.
The pieces of the robot twitched, then slowly lifted into the air. The broken parts realigned, gears clicking back into place. In mere moments, the little creature whirred to life once more, its tiny eyes reigniting with a soft, purple glow.
Nimara gasped.
"How did you do that?"
Fearyn blinked, her brow furrowing.
"I... I don't know."
Fearyn chuckled at Nimara's words, watching as she gently cradled the small robot in her hands. The dim candlelight flickered against the walls of the orphanage, casting their shadows long across the wooden floor.
Fearyn tilted her head, curiosity gleaming in her violet eyes. "Beeps, huh? That's a funny name."
Nimara nodded enthusiastically, wiping away the dirt from the small metallic frame. "Yeah, because he used to make these little noises before that jerk broke him." She frowned for a moment, then smiled again. "Thanks to you, he's working again."
Fearyn shrugged. "I just… did it. I don't really know how. It just happens sometimes."
Nimara's eyes widened. "That's so cool! I mean, none of us can do anything like that. Do you think you can do more?"
Fearyn hesitated, looking down at her hands. "I don't know. I never really tried. Most of the time, weird stuff happens when I get scared or mad."
Nimara grinned. "Then we should find out what else you can do! Maybe you can make more of my inventions come to life."
Fearyn laughed. "I don't know about that, but I guess we'll see."
For a moment, they just sat there, the rain tapping against the window. Nimara fidgeted with Beeps, making sure he was fully repaired, then looked back at Fearyn with an awkward smile.
"So… do you wanna be my friend?" she asked hesitantly. "I don't have many. Usually, I have to build mine."
Fearyn blinked, surprised by the honesty. Then she smiled and nodded. "Yeah. I'd like that."
Nimara's face lit up. "Really?"
"Yeah," Fearyn said. "You're pretty cool. And Beeps is cute."
The little robot let out a faint clicking noise, and Nimara laughed. "He says thanks."
Fearyn grinned. "I'm Fearyn, by the way."
Nimara gave a mock gasp. "What? You mean I almost became friends with a stranger?"
Fearyn playfully shoved her. "Shut up."
Nimara giggled and then held out her hand. "Nice to officially meet you, Fearyn. I'm Nimara."
Fearyn shook her hand, feeling warmth for the first time in a long time. Maybe this place wasn't all bad after all.
Just then, a voice interrupted them.
"You two always this loud, or is it just tonight?"
They both turned to see a boy leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. He had short, messy dark hair and sharp green eyes that glimmered with amusement.
Nimara smirked. "And who are you supposed to be?"
The boy stepped closer. "Jace."
Fearyn raised an eyebrow. "You spying on us or something?"
Jace shrugged. "I just heard you talking about magic and machines. Figured it was more interesting than listening to the others snore."
Nimara grinned. "Well, if you're so interested, maybe you should join us."
Jace glanced at Fearyn, then Nimara, then sighed. "Fine. But only because there's nothing better to do."
Nimara scoffed. "Oh wow, you sound so excited."
Fearyn smiled. "Well, welcome to… whatever this is."
Jace sat down beside them, his expression unreadable. "Yeah, whatever this is."
At that moment, another figure passed by the doorway. A boy, slightly older, carrying a wooden practice sword at his hip. He stopped and looked at them with mild curiosity before speaking.
"What are you all doing up this late?"
Fearyn looked at him. "Talking."
The boy studied them for a moment, then sighed. "Just don't get caught."
Nimara tilted her head. "And you are?"
He hesitated before answering. "Darian."
Jace smirked. "Well, Darian, you might as well sit down. Looks like we're making friends tonight."
Darian hesitated but eventually joined them, sitting at the edge of the group, arms crossed.
Fearyn smiled to herself. Maybe, just maybe, this place wouldn't be so lonely anymore.