A young child huddled next to his sister, his frail, malnourished arms wrapped around her, hoping they would be safe. The slight rocking of the ship from the waves, the soft breathing of thousands of people crammed together in this small vessel, and the overwhelming sense of fear permeated the air.
"Sister, we'll be fine, right?" His voice was barely above a whisper, filled with silent dread.
"Of course, we'll be fine. We'll get to NQSC, and then I'll make you a breakfast that you'll never forget." Her voice was a little louder, trying to sound encouraging, though beneath it, fear lingered—fear of the unknown and fear of the future.
He was about to respond when the alarms began blaring. Everyone fell silent as the engines shut off. The alarms ceased, replaced by an eerie silence that felt all-consuming.
The only sounds left were the breathing of those around them and the quiet sobs of others. No one dared to speak or even make a noise.
After what felt like an eternity, the signal was finally given for the ship to resume its journey. A collective sigh of relief swept through the refugees. Soon, they would reach the other continent. Maybe they could forget the nightmare that had consumed the Americas.
As murmurs of conversation began to return, the young child hesitantly asked, "Sister, do you think the Immortal Flame is going to protect us?"
His sister didn't answer. Instead, she looked at him with sympathy before gazing off toward the darkened hall of the ship.
****
A couple of months later, words were faintly scribbled on the wall of a back alley, the handwriting shaky and barely legible, as if written using a rock. "These months have passed by so fast. My sister and I arrived at NQSC safely, thank the gods. We've been placed in an orphanage. The headmistress told us that a family is debating whether to adopt us. I don't remember much about our parents. Hopefully, the new family will be nice."
…
A young child with shoulder-length black hair, malnourished, frail arms, and pale white skin lay on his bed, staring up at the concrete ceiling, which was cast in shadow. His golden eyes, sharp and piercing, reflected his thoughts.
With a small stretch, his joints cracked slightly. He turned to the bed beside his, barely a meter away, and poked his sister's cheek in an attempt to wake her. She didn't stir.
He stared at her face for a few seconds, then sat down next to her bed, listening to the rhythmic sound of her soft breathing—the breathing of the one who was supposed to protect him.
'She'll protect me, right? She promised… right?'
He tried to push the thought away, but it lingered in the back of his mind. Closing his eyes, he focused on the sounds around him. The quiet, distant noises formed a soft requiem, lulling him into sleep. His head grew heavy, and eventually, he rested it on his sister's bed, drifting off on the cold floor.
Was it morning? Or night?
He couldn't tell anymore. There were no windows in this room.
Slowly, he got up, stretching. His gaze drifted to his sister—she was still asleep. She had been sleeping a lot lately…
His stomach rumbled. With a soft sigh, he made his way to the door, reaching for the knob and pulling it open. As he wandered into the hallway, he saw other children like him, scattered about.
Eventually, he found his way to the cafeteria—a large room with about fifteen cafeteria tables, each too big for the small children sitting at them. He climbed onto a seat, his legs dangling as he swung them back and forth. Breakfast should be served soon.
His golden eyes wandered around the room. There was only one window here, a large one, positioned far from where he sat. Through it, he could see the outskirts bathed in bright sunlight.
Despite everything, he considered himself lucky to have made it into an orphanage—even if it was on the outskirts.
A feminine voice rang out from behind him, sounding only slightly older than him. "Little brat, why are you sitting there?"
Turning around, he saw an eight-year-old girl, Evelyn.
"Oh, I'm sorry. D-Do you want me to move?" His voice was laced with silent fear, but also something else—something she couldn't quite place.
"No, just move over a little so I can sit."
He immediately complied, scooting over to make room for her.
Minutes passed, yet breakfast still hadn't arrived. That was odd—it should have been here by now.
…
*****
I'm probably not going to write another chapter, but I enjoyed this. If I get support or interest, I might continue. Who knows? Only the future can tell.