The crowd split in two—nobles lingering by the dais to make their choices, while commoners hurried back to their daily lives. The air still whispered deals floating like sparks in the breeze.
"Did you catch that boy with Steelborn Strength? Duke Varlen nearly jumped out of his seat."
"And that girl with Gale? The Marquess himself was leaning in to talk to his steward."
"It's a shame for the others... but even a modest gift can bring in some coin."
Lith absorbed it all from his spot at the back, his robe pulled tightly around him, trying to shrink away as if that could somehow erase what had just happened. The sigil on his chest still glimmered faintly—warm and alive—but to everyone else, it was just a useless flicker.
So, he kept his gaze fixed on the ground.
One by one, the nobles made their picks. The boy with Steelborn Strength was snatched up by House Damar before the dust had even settled, whisked away in skills and promises. The girl with the Gale affinity found herself surrounded by three different lords, all bickering over her future as if she were a precious gem up for auction.
Even some of the lesser orphans—those blessed with gifts of stone or ember—were approached, their faces lighting up as their lives changed in an instant.
But no noble hand ever reached out for Lith.
At the edge of the crowd, Toren stood among the onlookers, next to Father Aldric and Sister Seraphine. He had been there the whole time, arms crossed, his expression unreadable as the ceremony unfolded. His eyes were locked on Lith, and though he didn't say a word, the weight of his gaze felt heavier than all the gossip in the village combined.
By the time orphans made their way back to St. Ilyrion's Orphanage, the sun had already dipped below the spires, casting the streets in a warm orange glow. Some of the children raced ahead, grinning widely, their names already linked to noble families. Others whispered among themselves, wondering which patron might come to claim them.
But Lith remained quiet.
The heavy doors of the orphan creaked open, revealing the familiar scent of candle wax and incense that enveloped him—a mix of comfort and suffocation.
He quickly made his way back to the dormitory, where Mina was propped up among a pile of gold pillows. Her face lit up with joy as she spotted him, turning a lovely shade of pink.
"Lith!" She exclaimed, coughing as she clutched her chest. "You are back—tell me everything! What gift did you get? Was it common or something high? Maybe even divine?" Her eyes sparkled with excitement, as if the thought itself energised her.
Lith felt a tightness in his throat.
He managed a small, forced smile—just enough to hide the turmoil inside him. He sat on the edge of her bed, gently brushing a stray hair from her face.
"Common," he replied softly. "Just a common Gift."
Mina's eyes shone with delight. "Wow! See, I told you, Lith! You are not giftless! You are already strong now!"
But then another fit of coughing seized her, her small frame shaking, and Lith placed a gentle hand on her back until the spasm subsided.
"Shhh," he murmured. "That is enough. That is more than enough for me."
He forced another smile, even as his heart felt like it was being ripped apart with every word
The door creaked open again and Toren stepped in, his usual smile absent. His expression was serious, and his gaze shifting between them.
"Lith..." He started, but Mina interrupted him.
"Toren!" She called out, waving him over with all the enthusiasm her frail body could muster. "Lith has awakened a common gift! Isn't that incredible? Not failed, not giftless! That means he's strong, right? Right?"
Lith felt a knot twist in his stomach. He looked at Toren with pleading eyes, silently begging him. Don't tell her. Don't take away this hope.
Toren faltered, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find the right words. He glanced at Mina's bright eyes, her trembling hands clutching Lith's sleeve, and he felt his resolve crumble.
"Yes," Toren finally said, stepping forward with determination. "Lith's gift is strong. Stronger than most common ones I've seen. Healing, wasn't it? Almost divine—like the kind that Saintesses carry. Honestly, I thought the Luminara might just lift him straight to the heavens." Lith's eyes widened in shock. For a moment, he almost revealed the truth, urging Toren not to lie. But then he saw Mina take a quick breath, a look of pure wonder spreading across her face.
"Look, Lith? Toren even says that! Almost divine!"
Her joy was so delicate, so radiant, that Lith could only lower his head and smile again, even as tears threatened to spill from his eyes.
"Yes," he whispered. "Almost divine."
Mina laughed, a soft wheezing sound, and squeezed his hand tightly. "I knew it, I always knew you were special."
Lith pressed his lips together, swallowing the ache that rose in his throat. He couldn't shatter her hope. Not now. Never.
"Don't cry, Lith," Mina said suddenly, tilting her head. "Hm? Why are you crying? You are happy, aren't you?"
Lith blinked rapidly, forcing the tears back, and leaned down to kiss her forehead. "I'm not,", he said. "I'm just... Happy. Happy I got anything at all. Truly."
Mina coughed again, so Lith gently rubbed her back, trying to comfort her. "I...I'll need to head out soon, Mina," he added softly, the words heavy on his tongue. He turned to Toren, who stood silently at the foot of the bed, his expression unreadable. "Isn't that right, Toren? It's just a quick mission for me, and I'll be back before you even notice."
Toren's brow furrowed slightly, but he nodded slowly, understanding the unspoken request in Lith's tone. "Yes, a short mission. Nothing too risky."
Mina's eyes widened in surprise. "Mission? And you are leaving?"
Lith hesitated for a moment, then forced himself to speak steadily. "The Saintess... she needs me outside the village. But I promise, I won't be gone long. I'll be back before you know it."
Mina's expression fell, but she tightened her grip on his hand. "You'll come back, right? You have to."
"I will," Lith replied, his smile wavering but resolute. "I swear it "
---
The night, after the children had settled down and a peaceful silence enveloped the orphanage, Father Aldric and Sister Seraphine found themselves in the small study. The flickering candlelight cast tired shadows across the old priest's face as he carefully opened the sealed letter that had been delivered by a messenger just before dusk.
The wax bore the emblem of the High Preceptor himself.
Father Aldric's hands trembled as he read the contents, his lips pressing into a thin line. Once he finished, he set the parchment down with a heavy sigh.
"He must leave before dawn," he murmured. "The order is clear. I have no choice."
Sister Seraphine's brows knitted together, her eyes glistening with worry. "But Father, Lith is a kind boy. He cares for the little ones as if they were his own siblings. And Mina—what will happen to her? If he forced away, she will—"
"Enough." Aldric's voice cracked under the weight of his sorrow. "Do you think I don't understand? My heart aches, child. But this comes from the highest authority. To defy it would bring ruin upon us all."
The letter lay between them, its ink dark and final:
( Lith Solis, the boy, had to leave the orphanage and the village before dawn. His very existence posed a threat. This had to be done quietly. No word could escape these walls. This orders before the seal of the Sanctum, and ignoring it would be deemed heresy.)
The candle flickered, and for a brief moment, the room felt unbearably cold.
Lith lay awake, unable to find solace in sleep. He wandered through the chapel, the silence wrapping around him like a heavy cloak. The cool stone floor felt refreshing against his feet, while the statues of the saints loomed overhead, their eyes vacant and their marble lips forever sealed in Silent prayer.
He knelt before the altar, hands folded in desperation.
"Why me?" He whispered. "Why grant me this gift, only to burden me with it? Was my faith not strong enough? Did my prayers lack sincerity?"
His voice wavered, then broke into a harsh laugh. "But of course—you are just statues. What kind of answer do I expect? That you'll lean down and tell me I was destined to suffer? That healing is merely a cruel joke played by the gods for their entertainment?"
The sound bounced off the empty walls, sharp and hollow. He pressed his palms against his eyes, stifling another laugh that felt dangerously close to a sob.
"I should be grateful, right? At least I wasn't giftless. At least I received something. That's what I keep telling myself."
He fell quiet, his breath uneven, until he finally looked up at the flickering candles. His voice softened, trembling.
"Still... thank you. Even if it's in vain. Even if it costs me everything. Thank you for giving me sometime that made Mina smile."
His shoulders shook, but this time, no tears fell. He was too exhausted for that.
The chapel door creaked open.
"Lith."
Father Aldric's voice was heavy with sorrow.
Lith didn't turn immediately. He already knew what was coming. He took a deep breath, pressed his shaking hands together one last time, and whispered a final prayer.
"Even if I have to leave... please watch over her."
Then he rose slowly, turning to face the old priest, his fate already etched in the lines of Aldric's tired face.