The morning the collars came off, the mansion turned into pure bedlam.
Children sprinted through corridors screaming with joy.
Some tackled each other in tear-soaked hugs.
Others stood in the garden, fingers tracing bare necks like they were afraid the iron would reappear any second.
Ray stood on the front steps, arms folded, full helmet gleaming in the sun.
He looked half-asleep and secretly proud.
When the noise finally dropped a notch, he clapped once.
The metallic sound cut through everything.
"Listen up."
Fifty-three faces turned to him.
"Collars are gone.
You're free.
Stay or leave — your choice.
Leave and I give you traveling money plus papers so no one collars you again.
Stay and you train, eat three squares, live here.
No more orders.
Just don't burn the place down."
A dozen voices shouted at once:
"We're staying!"
"Forever!"
"Can we pick our own rooms now?"
"Teacher Ray, will you still read bedtime stories?"
The corner of Ray's mouth twitched under the helmet — the closest thing to a smile anyone ever saw.
"Good.
Then tomorrow the real suffering starts.
Bitter potion at dawn.
You'll hate me by breakfast."
Groans mixed with laughter.
Later, when the sun was high and the garden rang with happy shouting, the girl found him on the roof.
He sat on the edge, legs dangling, helmet still firmly in place, visor reflecting the sky.
She climbed the ladder slowly and sat two meters away.
Silence stretched, comfortable and strange.
Finally she asked:
"Why hide your name?"
Ray's voice came muffled through the helm.
"Long story.
Bad people want me dead.
Worse people want me married.
Some want both.
Easier when nobody knows who's inside the tin can."
He tilted the helmet toward her.
"You still don't remember yours?"
She shook her head.
Ray leaned back on his gauntlets.
"Want one?
Small nod.
He was quiet a long time.
Wind moved the leaves below like green waves.
Minutes passed.
Then:
"Eve."
She tasted it.
"…Eve? Why Eve?" She quizzed.
"Just a name I thought was good." The armor guy replied.
"Lame." She shot back. "If you don't like it, change it to whatever."/ However, there is another reason I picked it. He said.
Long pause.
"Yeah.
It's short.
Clean.
Like evening — when the world finally shuts up and you can breathe.
Fits the way you watch everything."
Something warm bloomed behind her ribs — tiny, unfamiliar, but real.
She looked at the horizon.
"Why do all this?"
Ray shrugged, armor clanking.
"Selfish reasons.
Slavery is stupid.
Watching you lot turn from ghosts back into kids is… weirdly addictive.
Like leveling side characters and realizing you actually care if they live."
He paused, softer.
"Also… someone once dragged me out of a hole when I thought dying was easier.
Figured I'd return the favor.
Karma's annoying, but it keeps score."
Eve hugged her knees.
"…Thank you."
"Don't.
You'll jinx it.
Tomorrow I'm force-feeding you the bitterest potion on the continent.
You'll curse my name by lunch."
Eve's lips curved — the tiniest, real smile anyone had ever seen from her.
"I'll survive."
Ray let out a short, surprised huff that echoed inside the helmet.
"That's the spirit."
They sat until the sun painted everything gold.
Below, children's voices rose and fell.
Someone shouted:
"Eve! Come play tag!"
She flinched at the sound of her own name.
Ray nudged her boot with his.
"Go on.
They're waiting."
Eve looked at him, then at the garden full of laughing kids who no longer wore iron.
She stood.
Took one step toward the ladder.
Stopped.
Turned back.
Voice steady for the first time.
"…Ray."
The helmet tilted.
"Yeah?"
"That's your real name, right?"
A long pause.
Then a soft chuckle.
"…Yeah."
She nodded once, committing it to memory like the most important spell in the world.
Then descended.
Halfway down she paused.
Looked up.
The helmet glinted in the sunset.
"Ray."
"Still here."
"…Tomorrow I'll drink the potion."
The helmet nodded once.
"I'll hold you to that."
Eve dropped into the garden.
The kids swarmed her, tugging her hands, shouting her new name like it had always been hers.
She let them pull her into the game.
And for the first time in years, she laughed — quiet, rusty, but undeniably alive.
On the roof, Ray watched the gray girl disappear under a pile of happy children.
He leaned back, gauntlets behind his head, visor pointed at the sky.
Fifty-four kids.
One suicidal healer.
One mansion that suddenly felt too small and too loud and exactly right.
He muttered inside the helmet:
"…Guess I'm stuck with them."
A long, contented breath.
"Totally worth it."
The sun sank.
Windows lit up one by one.
Somewhere below, a girl named Eve learned that tomorrow didn't have to mean pain.
It could just mean another day with people who wanted her alive.
With a name that finally felt like home.
And with a grumpy tin-can idiot who pretended not to care, but stayed on the roof until every light was on — just to make sure no one had nightmares alone.
The night was gentle.
And hope, for the first time, didn't feel like a lie.
It felt like a beginning.