Osric walked away from the farm without looking back.
The girl leaned fitfully against his chest, her small fingers curled into the front of his coat. The boy's hand was tight in his own—too tight. Not the grip of trust, but of restraint.
Tarin squeezed his hand again.
The smell lingered.
Blood carried far in winter air, and the boy reacted to it instinctively. His shoulders tensed, his breathing uneven. More than once, Osric felt him shift as if fighting the urge to open his eyes.
But Tarin didn't.
He already knew.
The screams had told him enough. The smell only confirmed it.
Tears ran silently down the boy's face, soaking into the sleeve of his coat. He didn't sob. Didn't speak. He just kept walking, head bowed, jaw clenched tight enough to hurt.
Osric felt his chest tighten.
The weight of the moment pressed in from a place he hadn't touched in years. Different faces. Different place. The same helplessness. The same quiet understanding that something could never be undone.
He pushed the memory down.
After several minutes, when the farm was far enough behind them that even the smell had thinned, Osric stopped.
"You can open your eyes now," he said quietly.
Tarin did so slowly, blinking against the pale winter light. The girl stirred, eyes fluttering open as Osric set her down gently.
He handed them a waterskin.
They drank greedily at first, then more carefully. Neither spoke.
They started toward the city together.
⸻
The front gate of Ashbrook came into view not long after.
One of the guards recognized Osric immediately. His gaze lingered on the bloodstained coat, then dropped to the two children.
"Who are they?" the guard asked.
Osric didn't slow.
"Survivors," he said flatly.
The guard hesitated, clearly weighing whether to ask more.
Osric placed twenty copper into his palm without breaking stride.
The guard looked at the coin, then away.
"Move along," he muttered.
They passed through.
⸻
The Adventurers' Guild was just as noisy as ever, but the sound dipped slightly as Osric entered.
Eyes followed him.
Not because of him alone—but because of the children.
Whispers stirred. Curious looks. Speculation.
Franklin was still absent.
Osric went straight to the desk, placed the proof of completion down, and waited. No embellishment. No story.
The clerk glanced at the blood, the torn parchment, then slid seventy copper across the counter.
Osric took it and left immediately.
He didn't trust the Guild enough to leave the children there.
He trusted the soldiers even less.
There was only one place left.
⸻
Osric turned his steps toward Lowbrook.
As they walked, he explained where they were going.
"It's an orphanage," he said simply. "I lived there once."
Tarin listened carefully and nodded.
"I understand," he said after a moment.
Sera didn't.
She suddenly broke down, small hands clutching at Osric's coat as she cried for her mother and father. The sound was raw and unfiltered, grief spilling out without restraint.
Osric froze for half a heartbeat—then knelt.
It took time.
Words didn't help much. Presence did. Tarin stayed close, whispering softly to his sister, steady and calm in a way no eleven-year-old should have to be.
Eventually, her cries dulled into quiet sobs.
They kept walking.
⸻
After ten minutes, the orphanage came into view.
A modest stone building behind a low fence.
Backmill Orphanage.
Close to the common district. Still within Lowbrook.
Osric opened the small gate and stepped inside.
A few caretakers looked up. Some eyes were wary. Others openly suspicious. Two faces, in particular, made his jaw tighten—memories best left untouched.
Then he saw her.
Florena.
She stood frozen for a heartbeat before recognition hit her face.
"Osric?"
Then she was moving—quickly, skirts gathered as she crossed the yard and pulled him into a tight embrace.
"What happened to you?" she demanded breathlessly. "Why didn't you visit once in six years? You've changed so much. Are you hurt? I heard rumors—terrible rumors—I didn't believe any of them—"
She stopped when she noticed the children.
Her expression softened instantly.
"Come inside," she said gently. "Tell me everything. Mother Greta will be very happy to see you."
Osric managed a small smile and nodded.
The children stayed close as they followed her in, silent, exhausted, and clinging to the fragile safety they'd been given.
And for the first time since leaving the farm, Osric allowed himself to hope that this part—at least—might end differently.