"It is the glory of God to conceal a matter, and the glory of kings to search it out."
Seren's voice echoed through the dim attic. He stood on a worn crate, candlelight flickering against his small frame. Below him, children huddled in tattered blankets, their wide eyes fixed on him.
"God veils the truth so only the worthy may find it," he continued. "We are His seekers. Though small now, one day we will be mighty."
A murmur ran through the group.
"Mighty like the Lexarchs?" a boy whispered.
"Or the kings in old stories?" another chimed in.
Seren smiled. "Mightier."
Gasps filled the attic.
"For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when the perfect comes, the partial will pass away."
"We do not know everything now," Seren explained, spreading his arms as if embracing the unseen. "But one day, all will be revealed. The struggles of today, the hunger in our bellies, the cruelty of those who keep us here—none of it will matter, because when the time is right, we shall rise beyond it."
A hush fell.
"But how will we know when it's time?" a girl asked.
"The light will guide us."
"The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it."
Seren's voice softened. "So do not fear. The darkness may press against us, but the light endures."
"Amen," the children whispered, then louder, "Amen!"
Small hands clapped. A few of the older ones leaned in, whispering among themselves.
"Seren, does that mean we'll leave here someday?"
"Of course," Seren said gently. "We are meant for greater things."
"Like a castle?"
Seren chuckled, about to answer—
BANG. BANG. BANG.
"Enough playing around! Time for bed!"
Madam Beth's shrill voice cut through the warmth of the moment.
Groans followed as the children shuffled toward the attic ladder, their world of wonder shattered by reality.
"Why does she always ruin everything?"
"Maybe she's afraid of the light," a boy whispered with a grin.
Seren smiled, watching them go. Three remained behind—Rosy, Nike, and Samir. His closest friends.
Rosy folded her arms. "Mightier than kings, huh?"
Seren smirked. "Would you rather be a servant?"
Nike scoffed. "Not a chance."
Samir tugged his tunic. "I just hope we don't get split up."
Seren studied his friend's hopeful face.
"Of course." He smiled. "We'll always be together."
And for the first time that night, he spoke a perfect, beautiful lie.
...
Madam Beth extinguished the last candle, plunging the room into darkness. "Not a sound from any of you, or you'll regret it in the morning." Her voice was sharp and impatient. The door creaked as she pulled it shut, leaving behind only the faint sound of children shifting in their blankets.
Seren lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. His body was still, but his mind was anything but.
Seven years.
It had been seven years since he was sent to this world.
He closed his eyes, and his thoughts drifted—to a time before this life, to a truth hidden deep within his soul.
His mind pulled him backward, past the orphanage, past the crying of hungry children, past the filthy walls that imprisoned them.
Back to the void.
A vast, endless expanse stretched before him, untouched by light or time. In that emptiness, he had stood before God. He could not remember why he was there, he just knew that in his first life, he had done something terrible, beyond forgiveness—so great that it had shattered his very soul.
In his last moments, he had begged God to save him.
And in 'His' mercy, God gave him a choice.
A quiet life of penance to repent, or sacrifice yourself for a greater cause—a mission. Seren did not hesitate and made his choice.
"You will bring an end to a world that has strayed too far," God decreed.
He was to become an executioner of a foreign world.
Seren exhaled.
His eyes flickered open, the wooden ceiling above him blurred by the lingering haze of memory.
He vaguely remembered a presence that had stood before him in the void just before he arrived here.
An Angel, its radiant form pulsing like a dying star. Seren had never seen its true face—only the blinding light that surrounded it.
"Seren," the Angel had spoken, its voice both reverent and sorrowful. "Do you not resent 'Him' for this burden?"
Seren did not hesitate. "No. I exist for His will alone. I will not question what He chooses to hide from me."
The Angel's glow softened, its approval radiating through the void.
"Then descend! Harbinger! And fulfill your purpose!"
The world had ripped open before him, and his shattered soul was cast downward—
"Psst! Psst!"
Seren's thoughts were interrupted by a soft whisper. He turned to see Rosy, her wide smile gleaming in the moonlight. Her messy hair framed her freckled face as she leaned closer, her eyes brimming with curiosity.
"Hey, Seren," she murmured, trying to keep her voice low. "Why'd you suddenly start preaching to us about a being called God? There's nothing like that in the children's books we have."
Seren's lips curved into a small smile. "I had some knowledge about this stuff before I came to the orphanage,"
Rosy's brow furrowed slightly. "Knowledge? You're acting like some old man with secrets, you know."
Seren chuckled. "Stories like these give the children something to hold on to. When you don't have parents, sometimes it's nice to believe there's still someone watching over you."
"Whatever," Rosy muttered.
Seren smirked. "Now go to sleep before you start asking even more questions."
"Hmph." Rosy stuck out her tongue playfully but obediently laid back down, pulling her thin blanket up to her chin.
Seren watched her for a moment before his gaze drifted back to the ceiling.
Seven years. Seven years in this world, and it still felt like the beginning of something much darker.
...
Morning light spilled through the grimy windows of the mess hall. Spoons clinked, plates scraped, and children hunched over their meager breakfast. At the head of the table, Madam Beth sipped from a chipped cup, her eyes cold.
Seren sat near the end, flanked by Rosy, Nike, and Samir.
"You know," Nike said, grinning as he stuffed porridge into his mouth, "we should become bandits when we grow up. Food, treasure, and no Madam Beth yelling at us."
Rosy snorted. "You'd get caught on the first day."
"Who'd even listen to you?" Seren added. "You can't get Samir to share his bread."
Samir clutched his crust protectively. "It's mine!"
Seren chuckled, drawing a few glances from nearby children. "If you all became bandits, you'd starve within a week. None of you know how to hunt or cook."
Nike grinned. "Then what do you suggest?"
"Something better," Seren mused. "Something where we don't have to steal or fight to survive."
Rosy's eyes brightened. "Like Lexarchs? They can go wherever they want! And they have enough food to never eat this sludge again."
Nike puffed his chest. "If we become Lexarchs, I'll make sure we all get our own rooms—soft beds, too!"
"And no one to boss us around!" Rosy added.
Samir's voice was hopeful. "Do you think we'll get picked?"
Before Seren could answer, Madam Beth rose from her seat.
"Attention!" she barked. "All children aged seven and older will have their aptitude checked today. Finish your meals quickly."
The hall fell silent. Beth's gaze lingered before she turned, her footsteps echoing as she left.
…
The moment the door shut, the room erupted.
"What's an aptitude check?" a younger boy asked.
"It's to see if we can become Lexarchs!" a girl whispered excitedly. "If we pass, we get adopted and never come back!"
"Two kids from House Five were picked last year," another child added. "They got new clothes, and I heard they eat meat every day!"
Nike's eyes lit up. "Imagine never coming back here!"
Rosy was more cautious. "But what if we don't get picked? What happens then?"
The chatter grew louder—some children buzzing with excitement, others murmuring anxiously.
Samir leaned closer to Seren. "Do you think we have a chance?"
Seren offered a calm smile. "Let's just do our best. If any of us become Lexarchs, let's promise to help each other."
The three nodded, determination flickering in their eyes.
"We'll get out of here together," Rosy declared.
For a brief moment, the air was filled with innocent hope.
…
"Well, that was a disaster."
Rosy stormed out of the examination hall, kicking a loose pebble. "Why the hell are they asking me these stupid random questions?! Like who cares how many major Lexarch Families exist? It's not like I'd ever join one anyway!"
Nike smirked. "So… what'd you answer?"
"Fourteen."
Samir blinked. "There's only three."
"Exactly! That's what I'm saying! Who cares?"
Seren leaned against the wall, chuckling. "You're acting like they'd ever take you anyway."
Rosy shot him a glare. "Shut up."
Before anyone could respond, a sharp voice called from inside.
"Next!"
Nike patted Seren's back. "Looks like it's your turn."
Rosy sighed dramatically. "Welp, don't embarrass yourself like I did."
Seren smiled, stepping forward.
There's nothing to worry about.
God placed him in this world with a purpose. He wouldn't have given him a body that wasn't even capable of becoming a Lexarch.
With that, he entered the room.
…
Inside the room, the stone walls were dimly lit by a single chandelier. At the center, a large, smooth black rock sat.
Behind the rock, there was a long table with ten adults observing him with varying expressions—some bored, others indifferent. Madam Beth sat at the far end, her sharp gaze locked on him.
But one man stood out.
Seated in the center was an old man, silver-haired with a kind, fatherly warmth in his features. The orphanage leader. The one with the highest authority here.
And also… a Lexarch.
"Come, child," the old man said gently. "Take a seat."
Seren obeyed.
Madam Beth's voice was sharp. "Answer truthfully. This is an opportunity that won't come again."
The old man chuckled. "Beth, you're scaring the poor child."
His warm eyes met Seren's. "Relax. Just answer as you feel."
Seren nodded. "I understand, sir."
The questioning began.
"What is your name?"
"How old are you?"
"Do you enjoy living in the orphanage?"
Seren's answers were polite but vague.
Then—
"If given the choice, would you serve a powerful family or live freely?"
Seren tilted his head. "Depends on the circumstances."
The old man's expression remained unreadable.
Then his kind eyes sharpened.
"Let me tell you a story, child."
His voice was soft, yet heavy with intent.
"A great famine once spread across the land, leaving villages in ruin. A starving man wandered beyond the hills, beyond the rivers, looking for food until he found something impossible—a tree standing alone in a wasteland. Its branches were filled with golden fruit, enough to feed his entire village."
The old man's fingers traced the rim of his cup.
"But as he reached for the fruit, he noticed something carved into the trunk—a warning left by those before him. Take, and your village will thrive—but a great misfortune will follow you. Leave it, and your people will suffer, but the world will remain unchanged."
A silence settled.
The old man smiled faintly. "So, Seren… what would you do? Would you take the fruit and save the village, knowing you alone would bear the price?"
The room was still.
Seren's crimson eyes remained calm. He let the question linger, as if weighing the dilemma.
Then—he answered.
"I wouldn't take the fruit."
A shift rippled through the room.
Some adults exchanged mildly displeased glances. A few leaned back, interest fading into something colder.
The old man, however, remained silent.
Seren continued, "I'd return to the village and tell them about the tree. Let them decide whether to take the fruit. And if they do, I'd ask for my fair share as a reward for finding it."
A heavier silence.
One adult furrowed his brows. Another let out a quiet breath—whether amusement or surprise, Seren couldn't tell.
Madam Beth's glare deepened.
Then—unexpectedly, the old man laughed.
"Hahaha. A selfish answer." His gaze lingered on Seren, studying him.
Then, he nodded.
"That will be all."
The warmth returned to his voice. "Alright, Seren. The hard part is over. Now, the aptitude test."
…
Seren stood before the large black stone.
He expected something—a glow, a hum of energy, a pulse of warmth.
He placed his hand on it.
…Nothing.
No light. No reaction.
The room was silent.
Seren frowned internally but kept his expression neutral.
The old man simply smiled. "That will be all, Seren. The results will be announced later."
Seren bowed slightly and turned toward the door.
His mind remained calm.
He wasn't worried about his body not having the aptitude.
God wouldn't fail him.
And if something was wrong—
He would find a way to fix it.
…
Seren stepped out of the examination hall, the afternoon sun warming his face. The air outside felt lighter than the suffocating atmosphere inside.
His friends rushed toward him.
"How'd it go?" Nike asked eagerly.
"They asked some questions, then had me touch the stone," Seren replied.
Rosy snorted. "Yeah, the stone's a joke. Felt like any other rock."
Nike frowned. "No glowing? No magic?"
"Nothing," Rosy said. "It's supposed to be special, right?"
Seren hummed in thought.
"Well, we won't know until tomorrow," Nike stretched. "Might as well do something while we wait."
Samir perked up. "Let's play ball! The tests will take forever."
The group grinned, racing to the yard.
…
The sun dipped low, streaking the sky in red and orange. Shadows stretched across the courtyard, a cool breeze carrying distant chatter.
"Go long!" Nike shouted, kicking the ball.
Rosy chased after it while Seren stood by, watching with mild amusement as Samir lined up his turn.
Then—
Thud!
Samir kicked too hard. The ball sailed over the eastern wall of the orphanage.
"Damn it!" Nike groaned.
They stared in silence, watching the ball go.
"Well," Rosy muttered, crossing her arms. "That's gone forever."
Before they could act, the front doors creaked open.
Madam Beth stepped outside, scowl in place.
"All children, return to your houses! The results will be announced tomorrow!"
The yard fell silent.
As Beth disappeared, the children groaned, muttering as they left.
Nike nudged Seren. "What about the ball?"
Samir shifted guiltily. "I didn't mean to kick it that hard."
Rosy sighed. "We'll have to get a new one. No way we're getting that back."
Seren shook his head. "I'll get it."
His friends gaped.
"Are you crazy?" Rosy hissed. "That's the orphanage side! If Beth catches you—"
"She won't," Seren said simply.
Nike frowned. "Still, it's risky."
Seren nodded. "I'll be fine."
"Just don't get caught," Rosy muttered, following the others inside.
Seren watched them leave, then turned toward the building.
Time to move.
…
He moved silently through the shadows.
The orphanage was massive—a network of walkways and buildings. The eastern section, where the ball had landed, was off-limits, where Beth and the keepers spent most of their time.
Seren had been here before. He knew where the blind spots were.
He ducked behind crates as two caretakers passed, deep in conversation.
"A merchant is coming next week."
"Another? The last batch should've been enough."
"Not for the rich. You'd be surprised what they'll pay."
Seren ignored their words, slipping further into the shadows.
Finally, he spotted the ball near a stack of old barrels.
He bent down, reaching—
Then, voices.
Seren froze.
Muffled murmurs came from a nearby open window.
Slowly, he pressed against the wall, inching closer.
Through the slightly open door, he saw them.
The old man and Madam Beth.
Inside the dimly lit room, the old man sat comfortably in his chair, his fingers lazily tapping against the wooden table. The candlelight flickered, casting long shadows across his wrinkled face.
Madam Beth stood near the shelves, flipping through a stack of papers, her expression as sour as ever.
"The merchant from the East sent word," the old man said idly, tapping a finger against the table. "Says the last batch wasn't worth what he paid."
Madam Beth scoffed. "That bastard always complains. What, were they not obedient enough? Too scrawny?"
"Something like that," the old man mused. "Apparently, one of the girls tried to run on the second night. Had to be put down."
Madam Beth let out a sharp snort of amusement. "Didn't even last two days? Weak little thing."
"That's what I told him," the old man chuckled, shaking his head. "But you know how these people are. They want perfect, quiet little dolls that won't cause trouble."
'What…?'
Seren's brows furrowed.
'What are they talking about?'
Madam Beth rolled her eyes. "Then he shouldn't be buying starving brats from an orphanage."
The old man waved a dismissive hand. "Doesn't matter. He's still filling our pockets."
He reached for his cup of tea, taking a slow sip, his tone calm, almost lazy. "And the selections?"
Madam Beth nodded. "Finalized. Some will be sold as house servants, others as slaves… and the rest for different purposes."
She flipped another page. "The wealthiest families from our client list also made their requests for this year. The ones with Law Beasts need food for their creatures. They like feeding them fresh meat—says it strengthens the beasts."
The old man chuckled. "Filthy animals. More expensive to keep than an entire household of servants."
Seren's breath froze.
'Slaves? Food?'
His body locked up, his mind racing to process what he had just heard.
'No. That can't be right.'
'This is an orphanage. A place for abandoned children… right?'
His stomach twisted. He swallowed hard, feeling something tighten in his chest.
And then—
"What about the ones with aptitude?" Madam Beth asked.
The old man placed his cup down, tapping the table again.
"The boy, Seren, was quite interesting."
Seren's heart skipped a beat.
"I even had my doubts," the old man continued, "but it turns out he does have the aptitude to become a Lexarch."
A slow, quiet exhale of relief slipped from Seren's lips.
'So they won't sell me like the others…'
But before the feeling could settle—
"It's a shame," the old man added, swirling the tea in his cup lazily. "I liked the kid."
Seren stiffened.
The old man clicked his tongue, as if remembering something. "That foreign priest is still looking, by the way."
Madam Beth looked up. "The one paying absurd amounts?"
The old man nodded. "The same. He's been searching for a very… specific child."
He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin. "Crimson eyes. Seven years old. High aptitude. Foreign blood. Strange mannerisms." A quiet chuckle escaped him. "Sound familiar?"
Madam Beth raised an eyebrow. "That does match the Seren kid."
Seren's skin prickled.
'A priest… tried to adopt me?'
"Exactly." The old man let out a long sigh. "The priest was so eager he tried to take him last year. Came all the way out here, demanding an adoption on the spot."
Madam Beth scoffed. "What kind of priest tries to snatch up a child like that?"
"A desperate one." The old man tapped his fingers idly against the table. "I had to tell him we don't allow adoptions under seven. He didn't like that much."
Madam Beth rolled her eyes. "Maybe he's just here to spread his faith or something."
The old man let out a quiet snort. "In this wasteland? We don't even worship any god here. No temples, no shrines, nothing. He had no reason to come to a place like this."
His fingers drummed against the wooden surface. "Still… if he's willing to pay, I don't mind selling the boy to him. Religious nuts or not, money is money."
'So he's selling me in the end…'
Seren's fists clenched, nails digging into his palms.
The old man exhaled, shaking his head. "But the man's persistence is irritating. He even poked around in our business, threatening to spill everything to the Three Major Families if we didn't sell him Seren."
Madam Beth's lips thinned. "He had the guts to threaten us?"
The old man's smile turned cold. "He did. And yet, here we are. Guess he wasn't as righteous as he claimed to be."
He sighed again, stretching his arms. "Either way, it doesn't matter. I'll sell the boy to the priest in a few days."
Seren's breath was steady—but inside, something had changed.
The old man's words had confirmed everything.
This place wasn't an orphanage.
It was a cattle farm.
He and the others weren't children.
They were livestock, waiting to be sold.
Seren slowly stepped back from the door.
Then—
Laughter.
Low, quiet, dark.
"So that's how it is…" he murmured, his crimson eyes glinting in the candlelight.
A serious look settled on his face as his laughter faded.
'So the boring life is finally over. It's finally beginning'
His gaze darkened.
'And it seems like the religions of this world are aware of me.'
This was unexpected. He had thought he would be able to move in the shadows for a while longer.
'I didn't think my identity would be revealed so soon…'
Seren's jaw tightened slightly.
'I was sent here to fulfill my mission under the command of a foreign God. It only makes sense that the Gods of this world would want to erase me before I could act.'
But… this situation wasn't entirely bad.
'If they truly knew everything about me, I would have been killed long ago.'
For now, he was still safe.
Seren exhaled, his thoughts sharpening.
Right now, he was powerless. A child with nothing—no allies, no resources, no strength to stand on his own.
That would have to change.
But first—
'I should think about how to escape from this cattle farm.'
A cold glint shone in his crimson eyes as he turned his gaze back toward the old man and Madam Beth, still deep in discussion.
Their voices were muffled, their laughter low and casual.
They still believed they were in control.
Seren's lips curled slightly.
Not for long.