Darkness.
Gilbert drifted in a place between sleep and waking, his breath slow, his body heavy… yet his mind was wide open to something else.
A world he had never seen unfolded before him.
The sky was smothered in a dull, oppressive gloom, casting an alien light over jagged black stone. The ground was split by countless thin ravines, twisting and weaving like scars across the earth. The air seemed heavy, carrying no wind, no warmth—only silence.
The scene shifted.
Now he was low to the ground, crawling. His body was not his own—it slithered and scraped forward like some pale worm. A wall of stone loomed ahead, the dark canyon swallowing everything except a sliver of blue sky above. He tilted his head upward toward it… and the light felt impossibly far away.
Another flash.
A blur of a woman's face—too blurred to recognize—her voice faint yet sharp enough to pierce his bones.
"Help…"
The vision broke again.
He was lying down, staring at a spotless white ceiling that looked far too polished and expensive to belong anywhere he knew. The edges of his sight dimmed as his eyes slowly closed… and through the haze came the sound.
A low, distant chanting.
At first it was barely a whisper, carried on an unseen wind. Then it grew, moving closer, pressing against his skull.
"Meer-bin Zharkamsa… meer-bin Zharkamsa…"
The visions came faster now. Black stone. Blue sky. The canyon. The woman. The ceiling. The chanting. All spinning together in an unbroken loop, pounding in his ears, crushing the edges of his thoughts.
"Meer-bin Zharkamsa… meer-bin Zharkamsa…"
He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.
Gilbert's eyes snapped open.
He gasped, sucking in air like a drowning man breaking the surface. His heart hammered, sweat chilling his back.
The room was quiet.
But the name still echoed inside his head.
The echo of that name still clung to his skull as Gilbert swung his legs over the side of the bed. He sat there for a moment, rubbing his face, trying to shake off the last threads of the nightmare.
It didn't help. The images were burned in his mind.
He sighed and pushed himself up, stepping into the hallway.
The corridor of the orphanage was alive with sound—laughter, chatter, the patter of running feet. The scent of freshly baked bread drifted faintly from the kitchen downstairs.
"Morning, Gilbert!" a boy called, darting past with a wooden sword in hand.
"Morning!" he replied, forcing a small smile.
More greetings followed from younger kids who waved at him from the side, some still in their nightclothes, others already in the middle of games. Gilbert returned each one, his hand automatically lifting in polite acknowledgment as he made his way toward the stairs.
The first floor was even louder. Children sat in little clusters, trading marbles, reading worn books, or simply chasing each other in a whirlwind of playful chaos. In the middle of it all stood Kael—his best friend since forever—commanding the crowd like a street performer.
"…and then, when the monster opened the door, do you know what it saw?" Kael's grin was all mischief. He paused for dramatic effect. "Me! And I punched it so hard it begged for mercy!"
The younger kids erupted in laughter, hanging onto his every word. Kael's hands moved wildly as he shifted from jokes to stories about their future.
"Yup, that's right! I'm going to be a soldier. And not just me—Gilbert too!" He jabbed a thumb in Gilbert's direction as he walked in.
One little girl's smile faltered. "You're… both coming back, right?" she asked, her voice barely above the noise.
Kael knelt, ruffling her hair with the same easy confidence he always had. "Of course. You think you can get rid of us that easily?"
She giggled, and the moment passed. The chaos resumed.
Gilbert slipped away toward the baby room, weaving through the crowd until he spotted Loria. She was cradling one of the younger toddlers, her gentle voice coaxing the baby into a fit of happy coos.
"Morning, Gilbert," she greeted warmly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"Morning, Loria," he replied. "Busy already?"
"As always." She smiled, then tilted her head. "You woke up late. Bad dream?"
"…Something like that."
Before he could explain, a familiar voice cut in.
"Well, well. The sleepy boy finally decided to grace us with his presence."
Dama, the matron of the orphanage, stood in the doorway. Her arms were crossed, but there was a faint smirk under her stern gaze.
"Sorry," Gilbert said quickly, scratching the back of his neck.
She waved it off with a shrug. "Never mind that. Your tasks for today are waiting outside. And don't think you're getting out of it just because you're leaving soon."
Gilbert chuckled weakly. "Wouldn't dream of it."
The rest of the morning passed in the usual rhythm of chores—though with Kael around, "usual" was a stretch.
First on the list: cleaning the orphanage's massive grass yard. The two of them worked side by side, raking leaves into neat mounds. Well, Gilbert raked. Kael mostly complained.
"You know, we could get this done in five minutes if I just—"
"Don't." Gilbert didn't even look up.
Too late.
With a lazy flick of his wrist, Kael summoned a gust of wind. The mound of dried leaves they had just finished gathering exploded into the air, scattering in a golden storm across the entire yard.
Gilbert just stared at him. "…You're helping me redo that."
Kael grinned sheepishly. "Worth a try?"
It took another half hour to fix the mess.
Next came the garden. Loria was already there, tending to the rows of herbs and flowers she'd grown with the same care she gave to the children. Gilbert knelt beside her, pulling water from the bucket with a simple wave of his hand. Thin streams floated in the air, spiraling toward the soil and soaking it evenly.
Loria glanced at him with a small smile. "Show-off."
"You're one to talk," he countered, nodding at the way the plants seemed to subtly lean toward her touch. The green stems brightened under her fingertips, the leaves smoothing as if breathing easier. Her plant magic was quiet but alive—every bit as graceful as she was.
From there, Gilbert tackled the smaller chores alone: repairing a broken chair leg, sweeping the hallways, hauling sacks of laundry to the line outside. The sun rolled across the sky, and the air shifted with the scents of lunch, then the slower warmth of afternoon.
By the time the last task was done, Gilbert paused at the doorway, looking over the familiar chaos of the orphanage. The laughter, the running feet, the smell of grass and baking bread—every detail settled into him like a memory he knew he'd carry for years.
Night came softly over the orphanage, the golden glow of lanterns spilling across the yard. Inside, the dining hall buzzed with the clatter of wooden spoons and the chatter of dozens of voices.
Three long tables stretched across the room, every seat filled. Gilbert sat with Loria to his left and Kael across from him, all three halfway through their bowls of stew. The air was thick with the scent of herbs and bread, and the steady rhythm of laughter made the place feel impossibly warm.
At the far end, Dama moved between tables, assisting the few staff who carried trays of steaming food. Her voice cut easily through the noise.
"Alright, everyone—quiet down for a moment."
The chatter faded, replaced by a ripple of curiosity.
"As most of you know," Dama began, her eyes sweeping over the tables, "tomorrow morning, Gilbert and Kael will be leaving us. They're old enough now to begin their life as young men under the flag of the military."
A few of the younger kids gasped. Others looked away, unsure how to feel. Some beamed with pride, while others frowned in silence.
Gilbert felt dozens of eyes shift toward him and Kael. Kael, of course, grinned and raised his spoon like a toast. "Don't worry—we'll make you proud!"
The room chuckled, tension easing—at least for most.
Gilbert's gaze drifted sideways, catching Loria's face just before she masked it. Her smile came too quickly, her eyes too bright. He knew her well enough to see the sadness behind it, but she looked away before he could say anything.
The rest of dinner passed with uneven emotions—a mix of celebration and the quiet weight of what tomorrow would bring.
Morning came bright and clear, sunlight spilling over the rooftops and painting the orphanage yard in gold. Gilbert and Kael stood near the gates, bags slung over their shoulders, every strap and buckle neatly in place.
The whole orphanage had gathered to see them off. Children filled the yard, some fidgeting, some whispering, others clinging to each other. A few of the staff stood alongside them, and at the center was Dama, her arms crossed, her usual sternness softened just enough for the occasion.
She stepped forward, her voice carrying over the crowd.
"Alright, boys. Your youth ends here. The military won't be merciful, so don't expect the world to be either."
Then she addressed them one by one.
First, Gilbert. "Watch over Kael's reckless behavior. Someone has to keep him from getting himself killed." Her eyes softened just slightly. "And Gilbert… I'm proud of you."
He nodded, the weight of her words settling in his chest.
Then she turned to Kael, her expression sharpening. "And you—don't waste time fooling around, keep your head down, and if I hear you've been causing trouble, I'll march over there myself and—"
"Alright, alright, I get it!" Kael grinned, raising his hands in mock surrender.
Dama exhaled slowly, clearly unconvinced.
She glanced toward Loria. "And you? Got anything to say to these two?"
Loria hesitated, then managed a small smile. "…Take care of yourselves, you guys." Without another word, she stepped back into the crowd.
The silence lasted about three seconds—until one of the gremlin boys in the back shouted, "Kael! You better come back quick, or Loria's gonna be married off while you're gone!"
Kael froze, eyes wide. "WHAT?!"
The kid bolted.
Kael gave chase, catching him in seconds and dragging him into a merciless knuckle-rub. "Say that again! Go on, I dare you!"
Gilbert laughed under his breath.
Dama just touched her forehead and shook her head. "See? This is exactly what I'm talking about…"
Finally, with goodbyes said and bags secured, the two young men stepped toward the open road. Behind them, the orphanage buzzed with voices calling their names and waving hands high in the air.
Gilbert and Kael waved back until the figures of their family blurred with the distance.
By the time the gates were out of sight, the orphanage was already a memory—one they would carry into whatever awaited them beyond the horizon.