On the eleventh day of the eleventh month of the year of 2033, from the ashes of the old country — once known as Brazil, whose democratic system collapsed, giving origin to the Empire Tupania — was emerging the dawn of a new era. Caetvar, South — Before known as Minas Gerais — now was governed by the local noble, Count Caeté. Among hills and shadows, ancient memories echoed in silence, remembrance of a country that would cease to exist. Rose, imposing, the Blackthorn Orphanage, whose tall and dark walls were witnesses of times that no longer belonged to men. The air carried a subtle cold, almost as if the very time was contained inside there. The wind crossed the rusted metallic structure with a metallic whisper, and the dry leaves danced through the yard like silent specters.
A young would return from his last mission. At distance, the tall walls, surrounded by rusted metal, and the massive gate already was visible. His steps were precise, almost without sound, but echoed in the silence of the yard. The aged metallic plate announced the name of the institution: Blackthorn Orphanage. The smell of iron, damp wood and cold stone impregnated the air.
The silence was broken by voices that spread like sparks through the yard:
"They arrived! The Alpha group returned!"
The passage opened. Ereon advanced. Each step of his seemed to drag shadows with him. His presence carried the weight of death and discipline: clear skin marked by a somber glow, lifeless black eyes, short and disheveled hair like revolted feathers, and the katana attached to the back — Totsuka no Tsurugi, his inseparable sword. Different from the other orphans, dressed with simple black uniform, Ereon wore whole black set, tight, made for the night and silent war. Leather and tactical material highlighted muscles and guaranteed mobility. The hood covered part of the face, creating somber and anonymous presence. Jacket with geometric cuttings and robust stitches, padded reinforcements on chest and arms, personalized belt with sheaths for weapons. Legs with straps and strategic fittings. High top military boots, adjusted firmly with leather straps. Always ready. Always deadly.
The wind seemed to bend around him, and the temperature of the air fell perceptibly. The twenty children that followed him felt the tension like invisible fists squeezing the chest. In the looks and in each murmur it was impossible to ignore: he returned alone. How could it be possible? How many of ours already die every time they leave with the supervisor of the Alpha Group? And how someone of only thirteen years could nourish a thirst of blood so cruel? Why the director still keeps him here? Wouldn't it be better if he was dead? The murmurs ran through the yard, nervous, restless, as if the very air contained the fear.
The irregular stones reflected the light of the morning, and each shadow seemed to move with Ereon. Murmurs went through and disappeared like ghosts, but no one dared raise the voice. The silence was absolute, heavy, almost palpable.
To break the atmosphere, appeared Phoebrus, fourteen years. He radiated light. Golden wavy hair captured the sun, golden-brown eyes shone intensely. Skin lightly golden, harmonious traits, firm posture — natural leadership and charisma. Where Ereon brought death, Phoebrus radiated life.
All were surprised. Light and shadow side by side. Phoebrus opened the arms theatrically, exaggerated smile:
"Until that finally you arrived, Ereon! Do you know how I felt during these months? The bed seemed so empty… today we will spend the whole night cuddled, enjoying a flame of passion!"
The wind seemed to stop. Children and supervisors remain immobile. Ereon unchanged. Low and firm voice:
"Phoebrus, get out. I have a report to deliver."
Before Phoebrus could insist, firm steps resounded through the yard. An overwhelming presence fell over all. The director emerged from the shadow of an arch. Tall man, muscular body, discipline marked in each muscle. Dense and rebellious silver hair, short beard, gray-silver eyes penetrating like steel. Severe look swept children and supervisors, until fix on the two young:
"Can I know the reason of all this fuss?"
Phoebrus answered quickly, keeping the theatricality:
"Sir, only Ereon had returned from the Alpha Unit. To relieve the tension, I tried an embarrassing joke… all know that Ereon does not show emotions. I wanted to observe how he would react. We enter together in this orphanage; he is like a younger brother. Part of my objectives is to make with that he feel something…, but I admit that I failed."
The director cut with coldness:
"I heard he's a supervisor now. Then, Keep the behavior consistent with your position. We don't need feelings here. we need results. I don't want this to happen again."
"Supervisor of the Beta Unit and your subordinates, you were not sent on mission? Already forgot where you found yourselves, orphans?"
"No, sir. I finished the training and we will prepare ourselves to leave as soon as night falls."
The silence fell over the yard. Gray-silver eyes returned to Ereon. Finally:
"The reason?"
Ereon, cold, cutting:
"By the law of the orphanage, any orphan incapable of fulfilling a mission must be eliminated immediately, to avoid that our enemies have any information about the orphanage. Considering their incapacities, and according to the law, There was no alternative left but to eliminate them."
The silence fell like a blade. The twenty children that followed him stepped back, some stumbling on the stones of the yard, others squeezing the arms of each other. Their wide eyes reflected the dread they felt; remembered the scene that they had witnessed and how Ereon remained in absolutely indifferent way at taking the life of his companions without hesitation. Each word of his carried the coldness of an invisible blade, and the fear immobilized them, as if the very air around had become heavy and deadly.
The director, firm, insisted:
"Is that all?"
"I can report the details, sir. But this would delay your meeting with the Count. If it is not problem, I will make the complete report now."
To contain rumors and control the environment, the director decreed:
"Ereon, inside one week I will be back. I want the complete report. If it does not please me, you will have to bear with the consequences. Inform to the Supervisor of the Omega Unit that he will be responsible for the new orphans."
He adjusted the black blazer and withdrew with the companions. Gates closed. The somber climate occurs, as if a bloody fight could erupt at any moment.
Telvaris, leader of the Omega Unit, He advanced with firm steps, wielding a metallic scythe. Seemed to wait the departure of the director. Deep skin, long and black hair partially tied, golden eyes like incandescent blades.
"Give me a good reason for that only you have returned. Those who departed with you were my friends. If there is no plausible justification, according to the law of the strongest, you will not escape. Now tell me: from the Alpha group, why only you came back?"
Ereon ignored the threat. Walked towards the main door, reinforced, thick nails reminding ancient spikes.
Telvaris advanced. The scythe descended in deadly arc. Ereon drew the sword to meet it.
The confrontation would begin — if it was not an intervention. Phoebrus entered between them in swift movement. With bare hands, deflected both blades, pushing them to opposite sides. The impact echoed through the yard like a thunder.
"Enough!" his voice cut the air like a divine command. "If you dare lift this scythe against him again, Telvaris, remember: the supervisors only face each other when two equivalent forces confront. But if you insist, I myself will end your life."
The golden eyes of Phoebrus gleamed of authority, and his imposing presence made even Telvaris hesitate. He stepped back, astonished, while the crowd breathed relieved. Ereon sheathed his sword and proceeded with indifference his path until the dormitories.
Before leaving, the leader of the Omega Unit turned to Phoebrus:
"You have fourteen years. Do you think that you will manage to protect him forever? When he fails in the trial, before his body cools, I will kill him, so that he not feel alone."
A smile appeared in Phoebrus, accompanied of a echoing laugh:
"You are worried with me? If you managed to return, why I cannot? I am anxious for this day."
The bell rang three times. 13h00 — hour of the practical training.
"The spectacle ended! Arena now!" Phoebrus ordered in firm tone.
While Telvaris conducted the new orphans to the hall where dictated the rules, Phoebrus walked to the collective dormitories, with rows of iron bunk beds and numbered metallic lockers. The environment was cold, impersonal, disciplinarian, reinforcing standardization and order.
Phoebrus sighted Ereon in a corner, rummaging in a locker where only there were black and standardized uniforms, and noticing his recent scars, commented:
"New tattoos?"
Ereon turned in silence, without answering. But, in that instant, Phoebrus noticed a small mark that never had been seen before in the shape of black half-moon. His eyes froze for an instant, but, perceiving that he was being observed by the cold eyes of Ereon, he then sketched a smile:
"My proposal of a hot night still stands."
His laugh echoed through the dormitory, dissipating the tension.
"I heard that you asked to the director to participate in the mission in the County of Caeté."
It was brief, but Phoebrus noticed that the feature of Ereon changed when hearing the name Caeté. A silence took the room. Ereon only lay down, carrying in the look something somber, letting transpire something disturbing. There was a weight in his thoughts, as if the simple mention of that place had awakened something obscure. Before Phoebrus asked more, the corridor echoed the steps of the supervisors guiding the new orphans.
Before leaving, the golden eyes of Phoebrus found the amber eyes of a newly arrived boy — fire imprisoned in the wood. The future opened, Uncertain, but immutable.