It was another new day, and the children at the orphanage were up before dawn.
Breakfast consisted of dry bread and a bowl of oatmeal—sweetened, surprisingly, with a bit of sugar. The children finished their meals quietly and wiped down the dining tables with cloth rags. Thus concluded the morning routine.
Next came manual labor. Tasks like laundry, farming, or sewing buttons weren't always available, so on these relatively "idle" days, the orphanage organized mass clean-ups. Mowing the lawn, raking leaves, washing windows, sweeping, mopping—you name it. With such a large facility and over two hundred children, there was always work to be done.
Today was supposed to be one of those days, but something was different. The headmistress had gathered everyone in the courtyard and, before that, had them change into clean, tidy clothes. The sharp-eyed among them had even noticed two large buses parked outside the orphanage gates, though no one was quite sure what they were for.
"Children, today is a very special day," the headmistress announced, pausing just long enough to pique everyone's curiosity.
"Today, our great Empire of Dazilet celebrates its one hundred and seventieth birthday—and we've been honored with an invitation to join the grand celebration in the city center!"
Her speech was delivered with fervent enthusiasm, though many of the children remained unmoved. Some of the older kids had participated in official state celebrations before. They were the first to stir with excitement, but even then, they kept their enthusiasm in check—making a scene in front of the headmistress was never a good idea, not when a beating might follow.
"But," she added, her face darkening with an almost predictable shift, "if anyone dares step out of line during the event…"
She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't have to. The threat lingered heavy in the air.
"It won't just be the whip this time."
Her fierce gaze swept across the children, making those who met her eyes flinch and quickly look away. Eventually, under the supervision of the staff, the children boarded the buses and set off for the city center.
...
The buses rumbled down the city streets, flanked by mismatched buildings and scattered pedestrians.
Orphanage children rarely ventured out. Even the most mundane urban scenery struck them as new and wondrous. Alice found herself joining the others in gawking out the windows—after living at the orphanage for so long, being back in the city gave her a strange, almost forgotten sense of familiarity.
"Look over there!"
As they approached the city center, the streets grew livelier, lined with shops and elegant apartment blocks. Alice couldn't help but draw Arcia's attention to a candy store where someone in a large, light-brown bear costume stood outside waving and wobbling around to amuse passing children.
Perhaps it was the holiday. The streets were far more crowded than usual. Vendors lined the sidewalks selling miniature Dazilet flags.
Even when Alice tapped Arcia's arm, the girl didn't react much. But Alice noticed she at least glanced out the window.
Since she'd started talking to Arcia, Alice had gradually realized the quiet girl seemed perpetually wrapped in sorrow—as if her soul had been swallowed by some dark abyss. Words bounced off her like stones tossed into a bottomless pit. Nothing seemed to reach her. Even the whippings from staff stirred no reaction. Some children had even begun to admire her for being "unafraid of pain."
Alice couldn't imagine what horrors the girl must've lived through to become like this. In all her life, she'd never met anyone like Arcia.
"Give me your hand."
Of course, Alice knew Arcia wouldn't respond. So instead, she took Arcia's hand herself, placing something in her palm before curling her fingers around it tightly—almost secretively.
"I stole it from the headmistress's office. It's really sweet."
It was a candy wrapped in orange foil, the brand name printed in fancy script. Alice had taken only two—one she'd eaten immediately, the other she'd saved for this. She'd had her eye on them from the moment she was summoned to the office. Temptation had finally won.
But really, if you asked her, the orphanage had stolen far more from them than she'd ever taken in return. Alice was simply reclaiming a piece of what was hers.
Arcia remained unresponsive, as expected.
Alice didn't know why she was so drawn to such a strange girl. Maybe it was because she'd taken care of younger siblings before—maybe the sight of Arcia being bullied had stirred something protective in her. Either way, Alice had begun to think of herself as the girl's "big sister," whether Arcia realized it or not.
...
The buses came to a stop near the city's main avenue.
The bustling commercial street had been cleared. In its place stood an enormous crowd, far larger than usual. The road was decorated with flowers and foliage, but Dazilet's flags were the most prominent feature—one on every lamppost, many more in the hands of the spectators.
Because they were wards of the state, the orphanage children were assigned a spot across from the grandstands, where government officials, nobles, and other prominent figures would be seated.
For many children, this was their first time seeing such a spectacle. They stood dumbfounded. Of course, that awe might've been cut in half had they known they'd be standing there for hours.
Still, anything was better than scrubbing laundry.
The grandstands gradually filled with dignitaries, nobility, and corporate elites. From Alice's vantage point, she could see them mingling, shaking hands, smiling politely. Journalists flitted through the crowd snapping photos and filming footage.
Alice lost interest quickly. Aside from their fancier clothes, they didn't seem any more interesting than anyone else.
Then, finally, the first parade float appeared on the wide road.
This float depicted Dazilet's legendary first monarch, the "Builder" Rulf. On a replica city wall, a man dressed in rudimentary chainmail held a short double-edged sword, standing proud and gazing into the distance. Behind him stood warriors bearing different tribal insignias—chieftains who'd followed Rulf during the great migration. Behind the float marched foot soldiers with shields and swords, alongside peasants carrying tools.
The second float was much grander. It featured a sprawling mountain range, part of which even extended onto the ground as props. Beneath the mountains, two armies clashed. The scene escalated until a man in a crimson cloak appeared atop the peak, driving a massive sword into the ground. This triggered a dramatic landslide that buried the enemy forces.
That was the tale of King Radiz, whose westward campaign brought the mountain tribes under imperial rule. The landslide was an exaggerated representation of his tactical use of rockfalls.
The third float returned to a more peaceful scene. A long banquet table with guests of many different cultures sat in celebration. At the center, a crowned man rose and raised his golden goblet to the crowd; the others followed suit and drank together.
This was King Sigines forming an alliance with southern tribes to resist the invading Kingdom of Chaniga. Those same tribes would later become part of Dazilet.
Floats four, five, and six depicted the kingdom's golden era under wise rulers, showcasing achievements in economy, culture, and military prowess. Those were times of steady progress, when even war could not shake the empire's foundations.
But floats seven and eight marked a darker chapter. A prosperous city burned. Soldiers looted and pillaged. The ruling nobility had grown decadent and complacent. Enemies crushed Dazilet's armies. The old king was beheaded in his own capital. The kingdom teetered on the edge of ruin.
Then came the old king's son—soon to be King Lindehant—who marched from the borders with his forces, driving out the invaders and ushering in an age of rebirth from the ashes.
The remaining dozen floats chronicled that turbulent era: civil wars, invasions, uprisings—until a middle-aged man appeared holding a book. His reforms reshaped the kingdom and the entire southern continent. That was when the name "Dazilet" was truly born.
Next came smoke-belching chimneys and towering factories. Workers bustled in steel and soot. Traditional farming was replaced by machinery. On the battlefield, guns pierced once-trusted plate armor. Marching heavy infantry fell one by one to rifle fire. Cannons and machine guns changed the face of war. Castles crumbled under bombardment before their defenders even realized what was happening. Infantry fell in droves, never even glimpsing the enemy.
Dazilet's expansion reached its peak. Saen and his strategists plotted their campaigns over maps, their supremacy turning war into a mere game. The empire grew ever larger.
"Vrrrrm—"
Suddenly, several planes flew low over the street, trailing colorful smoke. A rain of confetti fluttered from above. The crowd erupted in cheers and applause. Even the grandstand attendees rose in ovation. The orphanage children followed suit, mimicking the movements of a designated instructor as they'd been told.
"Hey—what's wrong?"
Alice noticed Arcia trembling again, just like before. She rushed to steady the girl before she collapsed.
The sudden disturbance was easy to spot in such a neatly ordered crowd. A staff member quickly approached.
"What are you doing?!"
Her voice was sharp with anger—even the sight of Arcia's shaking body didn't soften her expression.
"She… she's sick…"
Alice had no better answer.
"Stand up and clap! Don't meddle in what doesn't concern you!"
She shoved Alice aside and tried to drag Arcia away. But Alice lunged back and held her tightly.
"Do you even understand what you're doing?!"
The woman was livid, her shrill voice drawing attention. A disruption like this during such an event could easily spiral into a scandal—and she couldn't afford to be blamed.
"Can't you see? She's scared!"
Alice felt the girl trembling in her arms, and finally understood the look in her eyes: sorrow, helplessness, fear. This was the real Arcia, hidden beneath that cold and vacant exterior. A shattered little girl.
"Let go!"
The staff member tried to pull Alice away but hesitated, wary of the watchful eyes from the grandstand.
"What's going on here?"
A tall, thin man in a suit approached. He was part of the security detail, dispatched by his superiors after spotting the disturbance.
"N-nothing, sir…" the staff woman said awkwardly.
"Looks like the kid's just had too much standing. Probably feeling faint…"
She gave a half-apologetic smile, but the man didn't seem particularly interested in her excuses.
"Got it. Bring her over. I'll take her to the medics."
In anticipation of any emergencies among high-ranking guests, medical support had been stationed nearby. Arcia and Alice were escorted away, accompanied by the staff member, Negka.
"Hmm… doesn't seem like anything serious…"
The uniformed army doctor examined Arcia under his assistant's aid. She was still trembling, but no clear symptoms emerged.
"Some soldiers returning from the frontlines show similar reactions… but this girl…"
Learning Arcia had no relevant medical history, the doctor grew perplexed. He'd served on the front and seen cases of "battle fatigue"—what some called shell shock. Arcia's symptoms were somewhat different, but the trembling seemed psychosomatic.
"This isn't a disease. I can't treat it."
He removed his stethoscope and set it on the table. His words left some in the room confused, so he explained:
"In summary, she just needs rest. As for a cure… I've never seen a case quite like hers."
"All right. Alice, I'll take you both back to the bus to rest. You'll be in charge of looking after her."
Negka made a swift decision. This outcome was ideal—no illness, just fatigue. It meant no real trouble.
"No problem," Alice said, nodding.
As they left the medical tent, the security officer carried Arcia gently in his arms. Alice noticed her left hand was clenched tightly around something.