Time slipped past Nathan in uneven ways. Some days dragged listlessly, heavy and slow. Others blurred together so quickly he barely noticed the shift from one week to the next. Exercising did help a little to take his mind of things but they always came back.
By now, he was ten years old. His hair had grown longer, the platinum locks and faint streaks of blood-red brushing against his golden eyes. And those eyes still flecked with purple seemed far too knowing for a boy of his size. He couldn't continue to exercise or train long, without proper nutrition so he toned it down quite a bit for now. People often looked at him twice, uneasy when looking into those eyes as if sensing something they couldn't name.
But for all his strange appearance, Nathan felt small. Smaller than ever.
His tenth birthday had been quiet, spent on a lonely park bench watching other kids chase each other and lick ice cream that melted from their cones. He smiled faintly at them, whispering into the night.
"…I made it to ten, Emma. Guess I'm tougher than I look."
There was no answer. But he wasn't truly alone. The System pulsed inside his thoughts, guiding him onward.
The guidance came not in words but in feelings, nudges, faint pulls, dreams of iron gates and red-brick walls. Sometimes he woke with the phantom sound of a baby crying, his heart pounding, his arms aching with the strange need to hold someone who wasn't there yet. He frowned when this happened since its been happening more often.
He followed those threads. From bus rides he didn't fully remember to miles walked on sore feet, he pushed forward. Each town felt closer, every corner sharper, until finally reaching Boston, Massachusetts.
The road was lined with oaks, their leaves crisping and falling in golden showers. Nathan's shoes crunched over them as he walked, the air crisp and cool. He didn't know why he'd turned down this road, only that the pull inside his chest had grown heavier, almost magnetic.
And then he saw it.
A red-bricked building rising behind black iron gates. Windows tall and old. The faint laughter of children carried by the wind.
Nathan's breath hitched, his hands curling against his sides before he stumbled closer. He wrapped his small fingers around the cold bars of the gate, his heart hammering.
"This is it…" he whispered, his voice trembling with awe. "Henry's here."
But he was wrong. Not yet.
Nathan lingered outside for days before he realized. The System confirmed it:
[Target Arrival: 1 month, 2 weeks.]
[Child yet unborn. Prepare yourself.]
The ache of anticipation nearly crushed him. Henry wasn't here yet. But he would be. Soon.
And Nathan wasn't going to waste a single day.
At first, he slept tucked under trees nearby, pretending he belonged. Sometimes he crept close enough to hear the chatter of children in the courtyard. Other times, he stared at the windows lit softly at night, imagining the life inside.
But just watching wasn't enough. He needed to be closer.
Nathan hadn't meant to be noticed. For days he lingered near the gates of the orphanage, drawn to the sound of children laughing and the sight of warm windows glowing at night. He told himself he was just watching, just waiting. But one afternoon, a caretaker spotted him his platinum and crimson hair tangled, clothes worn thin, his golden and purple eyes bright yet tired.
"Sweetheart… where are your parents?" the woman asked softly.
Nathan's throat tightened. The truth wasn't something she could ever understand. So he stayed silent, lowering his gaze. The caretaker's face softened, and before Nathan knew it, she was guiding him through the gates, murmuring comforts he couldn't quite believe.
Paperwork followed. Questions he dodged with quiet shrugs. He gave them only his name Nathan and date of birth. And just like that, the orphanage became his new world.
The orphanage smelled of polish, laundry soap, and warm meals. Its halls echoed with chatter, footsteps, the occasional tantrum. For the first time in months, Nathan had a bed that wasn't borrowed. A place where food came on a schedule, not from scraps or chance.
At first, he kept to himself, watching from the edges. But soon, the staff noticed his unusual calm. Unlike most children his age, Nathan didn't complain about chores. He offered to help with dishes, folded laundry without being asked, and never caused trouble.
Polite. Gentle. Mature.
The younger children began to follow him around Like he was an older brother that wanted attention from. They tugged at his hands, begged him to play, and somehow, he always found patience for them. He tied shoelaces, shared toys, soothed tears. At night, when a toddler cried, Nathan was often the one who slipped from his bed to comfort them until the staff arrived.
"He's such a sweet boy," the caretakers whispered. "Almost too grown up for his age."
And so, slowly, they gave him more trust.
The nursery was Nathan's favourite place from the staffs perspective not knowing he needed to be here once henry arrives to get close to him. Rows of small cribs stood ready, sunlight spilling through lace curtains. At first, the staff only let him tidy up folding blankets, stacking toys, sweeping the floor. But when they noticed how careful he was, how naturally he handled the smallest children, they began letting him help more.
Bottle feedings. Rocking babies to sleep. Singing soft lullabies he half-remembered from a life long past.
It was in those quiet moments that Nathan felt the ache in his chest ease. Caring for the little ones reminded him why he was here. Why he had endured so much already. It was practice, in a way. Preparing him for the bond that mattered most for now.
The System pulsed its reminder each time he lingered near the empty corner crib.
[Target Arrival: 1 month, 1 week.]
[Prepare yourself.]
Nathan would rest his hand on the smooth wood and whisper, "I'll be here, Henry. You won't be alone like me."
The staff soon learned they could rely on him more to help out.
When one of the toddlers scraped his knee, Nathan was already there with a tissue and soothing words.
When the older kids fought over toys, Nathan calmed them down before fists could fly.
When a baby cried in the dead of night, Nathan sat by their crib, humming softly until sleep returned.
The other children came to see him as something between an older brother and a quiet anchor. The staff began to treat him as a helper, not just another orphan. They praised his kindness, his maturity, and though they never said it aloud, they wondered how a boy so young carried himself like someone who had already lived through a hundred storms and was still by him self, well at least not now.
August crept in with heavy heat. The days blurred into a rhythm of chores, play, and nursery duty. Nathan found a strange peace in it. The loneliness still lingered, Emma's absence a wound that hadn't healed but he no longer drifted aimlessly.
He had a place. A role. A purpose.
And then, one morning, as sunlight spilled through the nursery window, the System stirred louder than before.
[Target Arrival: Imminent.]
[Infant Henry will arrive within 7 days.]
Nathan's fingers tightened on the crib rail. His chest burned with a mix of nerves and hope so fierce it nearly brought him to his knees.
It was almost time.