Denato stepped out of the bathroom in silence.
The white wooden door behind him closed softly with a muted click, its faint echo trailing down the empty corridor. The air outside felt a little cooler, and the faint scent of soap and warm water clung to his clothes, mixing with the dry smell of aged wood and the light dust that drifted in the morning air. From a tall, narrow window far at the end of the hall, a sliver of sunlight pierced through, scattering across the motes of dust floating lazily in the air like strands of gold. The orphanage was wrapped in a hush so deep that it almost felt sacred.
He looked around — four more doors lined the walls of the corridor, spaced evenly apart. His footsteps echoed faintly, each one striking the wooden floor like a slow pulse from the heart of the old building. The air carried a stillness that made every sound feel amplified, intimate.
He walked toward the door directly across from the bathroom. The door was simple but solid, painted in an off-white that had faded with age. Scratches and faint handprints marked its surface, ghostly reminders of years gone by. He reached out and touched the cold metal of the knob, trying to turn it gently. It didn't budge. The faint metallic click told him the door was locked from the inside.
He tilted his gaze upward. Above the door hung a small wooden plaque. Carved upon it were strange symbols — a language he couldn't read. Yet, by instinct, he recognized it as a name. The strokes were deliberate, curved, and elegant, giving the impression of ownership, of identity.
A quiet understanding dawned in him.
The reason the door didn't open was simple — someone lived there. It would be improper, perhaps even rude, to intrude on a private room. He let go of the knob, the lingering chill of the metal clinging to his fingertips.
Turning away, he stood still for a moment. The silence felt endless. No footsteps, no whispers. Only the faint creak of the building as it breathed with the morning wind. It felt as if the entire orphanage was still asleep, dreaming beneath the soft light of dawn.
He walked to the next door.
Even before he reached it, he could sense what lay beyond — a faint warmth and the subtle scent of cooked wood, the familiar trace of a kitchen. The door itself looked newer, better cared for than the last one. Its polished surface gleamed softly, reflecting the light that filtered through the window.
He turned the knob. This time, it turned smoothly, and the door opened with a quiet sigh.
A waft of clean air brushed past him — carrying the scent of water, metal, and a hint of something freshly washed. His footsteps echoed distinctly as he stepped onto the tiled floor, the sound sharper than the muffled thud of wood.
The room inside was spacious.
Warmer, too — perhaps from the heat that lingered from cooking earlier. The morning sunlight streamed through a large, spotless window, falling across the white tiles and scattering in soft reflections. Everything in this kitchen looked orderly, untouched yet recently used.
Plates, bowls, and cups of muted gray sat stacked neatly on a wooden rack. Their surfaces glimmered faintly, still dotted with tiny droplets of water that caught the sunlight and shimmered like morning dew.
Nearby, forks, spoons, knives, and chopsticks lay perfectly aligned in woven baskets. Each piece gleamed, spotless, freshly washed. The sight was oddly calming — a quiet testimony to care and discipline. It was as if this room had just finished its daily rhythm and was now resting in stillness.
Denato paused, noticing the chopsticks. For a brief moment, surprise flickered in his expression. He hadn't expected to find them here. But he dismissed the thought, continuing deeper into the room.
In the far corner stood an old wooden cupboard. The surface was scratched and chipped, yet sturdy. He reached out and opened it — only to find it empty. A faint, dry scent of old wood and dust drifted out. He wasn't surprised; he had expected this.
As he turned to explore further, his eyes caught movement.
There — at the far end of the kitchen, near the large window — a faint silhouette stood half in shadow. The morning light fell across her, outlining the shape of her shoulders and the soft flow of her hair.
It was a woman — middle-aged, with long brown hair cascading gently down her back, glinting gold where the sunlight touched. Her eyes, when they lifted, shone a calm, deep blue, cool as winter's water and quietly alive.
And in that instant, Denato recognized her immediately.
He knew exactly who she was…
The faint sound of Denato's breathing lingered in the air as he froze where he stood, staring at the woman before him. His eyes widened slightly, his body stiffening as the image of her came into focus. Sunlight filtered softly through the thin curtains of the kitchen window, casting a gentle glow across her long, chestnut-brown hair that flowed down to her mid-back. The strands shimmered like threads of gold beneath the light, and when she turned around, her clear blue eyes met his — warm, kind, and filled with a quiet tenderness that made his heartbeat falter for reasons he could not understand.
Denato recognized her instantly — Alenya Varinelle. The woman who cared for the children here, the caretaker who filled this silent orphanage with warmth and laughter. Every child adored her, trusted her. She was gentle, patient, and always smiling. Her presence alone could soften even the hardest of days. But for him, at this moment, that smile made his heart pound with unease.
He froze, uncertain what to do or say. His hands hung awkwardly at his sides, his mind a whirlpool of confusion. Deep inside, he was painfully aware that he — the person standing before her — was not truly the one she thought she saw. He wasn't Asfinne, the boy she cared for. He was Denato, a stranger, occupying a body that wasn't his.
Fear crept up his chest. He was terrified of doing something wrong — of speaking, moving, or even breathing in a way that betrayed his unfamiliarity with this life. What if she noticed something strange? What if she heard his accent, or sensed that his gaze wasn't that of the boy she knew? He swallowed hard and tried to still the trembling of his hands.
Then, Alenya smiled again. Her voice came soft and melodic, flowing like the sound of wind through open fields.
"Oh, Asfinne. You're awake?"
The gentle tone wrapped around him like a blanket, warm and almost nostalgic. Her words carried no suspicion, only relief and affection. Yet, when that name — Asfinne — reached his ears, it struck him deeply. That was who he was now. That was the name of the boy whose life he had somehow stepped into.
He blinked slowly, gathering himself, and answered in the calmest tone he could manage.
"Good morning, Miss Alenya."
The words escaped smoothly, though his heart was racing beneath the surface. He couldn't tell if he sounded like Asfinne — he had never heard the boy's voice before. All he could do was hope, silently, that it would be enough to pass.
Alenya tilted her head slightly, her expression soft but curious.
"You seem a little different today," she said, squinting playfully. "But perhaps that's just because you're up earlier than usual."
Her tone was gentle, yet her eyes shimmered with quiet observation. There was something sharp behind the kindness — the instinct of someone who noticed more than they said. Denato's stomach tightened. She could sense that something was off, even if she didn't understand what.
He lowered his gaze, trying to appear polite and reserved, the way he imagined a quiet, well-behaved boy like Asfinne might act.
"It looks like you're preparing breakfast, Miss Alenya," he said carefully. "I shouldn't disturb you."
He took a step back, hoping to end the conversation quickly. The less he spoke, the fewer mistakes he could make. But Alenya chuckled softly, her voice bright and easy.
"It's quite alright," she said. "I don't get the chance to talk with you often. Let's take this time to chat a bit, shall we?"
Her warmth disarmed him completely. There was no suspicion in her smile now — only genuine kindness. For a brief second, his chest tightened again, not with fear, but with something else. Something like... longing.
Alenya set down the knife and vegetables she had been holding and turned to face him again. Her hands brushed lightly against her apron as she leaned back against the counter.
"So, how was your day yesterday?" she asked. "How was class?"
Her question hit him like a sudden blow. Denato froze. His mind went blank.
Class? Yesterday?
He hadn't been here yesterday. He didn't even know what "yesterday" meant for this body. He had no idea what kind of lessons Asfinne attended, what subjects he studied, or even if he went to school at all. Panic surged within him.
If he answered wrong, she'd notice. She'd know something wasn't right.
He tried to think fast, his thoughts racing. Then, slowly, he forced a small, sheepish smile and rubbed the back of his neck.
"I... actually can't remember what I did yesterday," he said softly. "Maybe it's because I just woke up."
It was a weak excuse — but plausible enough. He prayed she would believe it.
For a moment, Alenya studied him quietly. Then her smile wavered, and a laugh — light and clear — escaped her lips.
"Well, that's not surprising!" she said cheerfully.
Her laughter filled the air like the ringing of silver bells, echoing off the clean kitchen walls. Denato blinked, confused but relieved.
She continued, still smiling brightly.
"You've been asleep for several days now, after all!"
Her words hit him like a wave of unexpected relief. The tension in his chest loosened. If he had truly been asleep for days, then of course he wouldn't remember yesterday. That meant he hadn't made a mistake — he had just been handed the perfect explanation.
He let out a small chuckle, letting his posture relax slightly.
"Ah, I see," he said, smiling faintly. "I must've been very tired then, to have slept so long."
Alenya nodded, her eyes warm and full of affection.
"Yes, you worried all of us," she said softly. "The other children kept asking when you would wake up."
Her words carried a gentle sincerity that made something stir within him. He looked at her — really looked at her — the way Denato seldom looked at anyone. Her hands moved gracefully as she turned back to the cutting board, the knife slicing through vegetables with practiced ease. The soft, rhythmic sound of metal against wood echoed faintly, blending with the low bubbling of a pot on the stove.
The air smelled faintly of herbs — thyme, basil, and something earthy that he couldn't quite name. Sunlight poured across the table, illuminating the worn wooden surface marked by small scratches and stains from years of use. The entire kitchen felt alive — not grand or luxurious, but lived-in, warm, and undeniably human.
For the first time since waking in this world, Denato felt the full weight of reality pressing down on him. This wasn't a dream. It wasn't an illusion. It was a living world, filled with people who laughed, worried, and cared for one another.
He stood silently for a moment, watching Alenya work, listening to the faint ticking of the wall clock. The sound of it — steady and rhythmic — felt grounding somehow.
He could see dust motes dancing lazily in the sunlight, glimmering like golden particles suspended in air. Everything felt too vivid to be imaginary.
A strange mix of emotions welled up within him — fear, confusion, but also warmth. The tenderness in Alenya's voice when she spoke of the other children… it wasn't meant for him, and yet, it reached him. It reminded him of something distant, something he couldn't quite name.
Maybe it was the feeling of being cared for. Or perhaps, the realization that even in a world not his own, there were people capable of kindness.
Alenya turned to glance at him again, a soft smile curving her lips.
"I'm glad you're awake," she said. "Everyone missed you."
The words were simple, yet they carried a weight that made his chest ache. He smiled faintly in return, though part of him felt a pang of guilt. The person they missed — the one they cared about — wasn't him.
Still, he nodded and answered quietly, "Thank you, Miss Alenya."
Her smile widened, gentle and proud, before she turned back to her work.
The kitchen filled once again with the comforting sounds of morning — the soft clatter of utensils, the bubbling of boiling water, and the subtle hum of wind passing through the half-open window. For the first time since he arrived, Denato felt something close to peace.
He watched her in silence, her movements graceful, deliberate. She moved like someone who had done this countless times — cutting vegetables, stirring broth, arranging utensils with quiet precision. It was ordinary, yet mesmerizing.
He realized then that this — this ordinary routine — was what made life here feel real. Not magic, not grand revelations, but the simple rhythm of people existing together.
The longer he stood there, the more the anxiety inside him softened. He could almost forget who he was. He could almost believe that he was Asfinne — a quiet boy, waking up after days of sleep, standing in a kitchen where sunlight painted the air gold.
For a fleeting moment, he even smiled genuinely.
Outside, faint voices of children echoed through the corridor — laughter, soft footsteps, and snippets of conversation. It reminded him again that this place was alive, filled with hearts and stories that went on even without him.
He didn't belong here. But for now, he would play the role. He would learn who Asfinne was, and he would live quietly until he could understand why fate had placed him here.
And as the morning light grew brighter, painting everything in a soft glow, Denato — now Asfinne — took a deep breath, letting the scent of breakfast and warmth fill his lungs.
For the first time since waking, he whispered silently to himself,
Maybe… I can survive here.