Keiran starts walking, a steady, unhurried pace. I fall into step beside him, trying to look like I belong, like I've been doing this my whole life. It's harder than it looks. Every shadow seems to watch, every glance feels like an accusation.
"So," I say, trying to sound casual. "What exactly is this place?"
Keiran glances at me sideways, his good eye assessing. "Ashwood Haven. That's what they call it. Orphanage, they say. More like a holding pen."
"Holding pen?" I echo, raising an eyebrow.
"For unwanted children. Or… children who have nowhere else to go." He pauses, his gaze sweeping over a group of younger orphans huddled together, picking at the dirt. "Mostly the former."
He continues, detailing the grim realities of Ashwood. Children are 'donated'–more like abandoned–by families who can't or won't care for them. Others are… acquired. He doesn't elaborate, but the implication is chilling.
"The Headmaster, Silas Thorne, runs the place with an iron fist," Keiran explains, his voice low. "He has connections. Important connections. People who don't ask questions."
Just as the weight of his words starts to settle, a harsh, metallic clang reverberates through the courtyard. A bell. Loud. Insistent.
"Lunch," Keiran announces, a flicker of resignation crossing his face. "Don't expect a feast."
My stomach churns, not from hunger, but from a growing sense of dread. I follow Keiran into a sprawling, cavernous hall. The "cafeteria" is a bleak, depressing space. Long, rough-hewn wooden tables stretch across the room, filled with rows of silent, listless children. The air is thick with a stale, greasy smell.
At the front of the hall, two burly guards are ladling out portions from massive, steaming cauldrons. The "food" looks… dubious. A grayish, watery stew with chunks of something unidentifiable floating in it. A slab of dark, crusty bread. It isn't appetizing. Not even close.
"They call it 'nourishment'," Keiran mutters, a wry smirk twisting his lips. "It's barely edible."
The orphans line up in a silent, orderly fashion, each holding out a chipped bowl. The guards shove the portions into the bowls without a word, their faces utterly devoid of emotion. No smiles. No kindness. Just cold, mechanical efficiency.
Keiran and I get in line, and I try not to gag at the sight of the stew. When my turn comes, the guard barely glances at me, just scoops a generous helping into my bowl and shoves it forward.
We find an empty table in the corner and sit down, the wooden benches cold and hard beneath us. I stare at the stew, pushing it around with my spoon. The smell alone is enough to make my stomach heave. I try a small bite, and my taste buds scream in protest. This isn't food. It's… sustenance. Barely enough to keep a person alive.
I nearly lose it, a wave of nausea washing over me. I can almost taste the… whatever that is. Anything but this.
Images flood my mind. Juicy burgers with crispy fries, golden onion rings, fluffy pancakes drenched in syrup. I yearn for the simple comforts of home, the flavors I took for granted.
"Honestly," I finally choke out, "I'd kill for a decent burger right now."
Keiran lets out a short, sharp laugh. "A burger? You sound like a pampered noble. What is a 'burger'?"
"Oh my god… you've never had a burger?" I ask, aghast. "It's… it's amazing. Ground beef, grilled to perfection, nestled in a soft bun with lettuce, tomato, cheese, pickles… and french fries. Crispy, salty, glorious french fries!"
He raises an eyebrow, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. "Sounds… excessive. All that richness. You're a strange one, Cael."
I roll my eyes. "You wouldn't understand. You've been deprived of all things good and beautiful!"
Before he can retort, a cluster of children approaches our table. They're a motley crew, ranging in age from eight to twelve. Hesitant at first, they glance at Keiran for approval before tentatively pulling up chairs.
"Um… hi," a small girl with tangled brown hair says shyly, clutching a worn-out doll. "I'm Elara."
A boy with a missing tooth and a smudge of dirt on his cheek speaks next. "I'm Ren. And this is Finn." He gestures to a lanky boy with watchful eyes.
"Nice to meet you all," I say, offering a small smile. I notice they're all looking at me with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. I'm new. An outsider.
"You're the new one, right?" Elara asks, her voice barely a whisper. "Keiran told us about you."
"Yeah, that's me. Cael."
"He doesn't talk about a lot of people," Finn adds, his voice flat.
"Well, Keiran's a man of few words," I reply, glancing at him. He shrugs, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.
The kids pick at their stew, mirroring my own lack of appetite. Elara pushes hers around in circles, while Ren seems to be actively trying not to make eye contact with the greyish mush. Finn just stares straight ahead, his expression unreadable.
"So," I say, trying to inject some lightness into the oppressive atmosphere, "does anyone actually… like it here?"
A beat of silence hangs in the air, thick and uncomfortable. Elara shakes her head, her pigtails swaying. "It's okay, I guess," she murmurs, but her voice lacks conviction. "It's better than the streets."
Ren snorts. "Better? They work us like dogs. Training all day, barely any food, and if you mess up… well, you don't want to mess up." He shivers, and I can see the fear flicker in his eyes.
"What happens if you mess up?" I ask quietly, regretting it as soon as the words leave my mouth. I don't want to scare them further, but I need to know.
Finn finally speaks up, his voice low and gravelly. "The cells. They take you to the cells. No one comes back the same."
My blood runs cold. Cells? What kind of orphanage has cells? This place is far more sinister than I initially thought. Each new piece of information layers onto the last, building a truly terrifying picture.
"How long have you all been here?"
"I've been here since I was five," Elara says, tracing patterns on the table with her finger. "I don't remember my parents."
"Seven years," Ren answers, his jaw tight. "Found me wandering in the forest. They said my family… disappeared."
Finn looks away. "Doesn't matter how long. It all feels the same."
Just then, a commotion erupts across the hall. A small boy, barely eight years old, is attempting to sneak an extra piece of bread. It's a pathetic attempt, really. But before he can even get away with it, a guard spots him.
The guard—a hulking brute with a scarred face—moves with terrifying speed. He grabs the boy by the scruff of his neck, slams him against the wall, and begins to unleash a torrent of abuse. The boy cries out, but his voice is lost in the din of the cafeteria. The guard doesn't just yell, though. He hits him. Hard.
Two other guards casually step in to hold the boy still while the first continues his assault. It's brutal and swift. The other orphans avert their eyes, pretending not to see.
I stare at the scene, a cold fury building within me. The boy is just trying to survive. Trying to fill an empty stomach. And for that, he's being punished. This isn't justice. It isn't discipline. It's cruelty. Pure and simple.
This place… this isn't an orphanage. It's a cage. And they're breaking spirits, not building them. I can't shake the feeling that everything about this place is wrong, fundamentally, deeply wrong. It reminds me of something I read, something from one of those novels. A breeding ground. A training facility. For what? What are they training these kids for?
The sight of that boy slammed against the wall… it sparked something in me. A cold, simmering rage. Not for the boy, not exactly. But for the principle of it. For the sheer, unadulterated injustice. It felt… wrong. Profoundly, inescapably wrong. This wasn't the life I was meant to lead. Not after getting a second chance, a do-over. Not after dreaming of magic and adventure.
I clench my fists under the table, nails digging into my palms. Part of me wants to jump up, to shout, to do something. But Keiran's earlier words echo in my ears. "Don't draw attention to yourself." It's sound advice. For now. Getting involved would only make things worse for everyone. Especially me.
I decide I need to focus. Escaping. That's the goal. Finding a way out of this hellhole. But how?
Lunch ends with a final, clattering scrape of chairs. The kids disperse, a silent, somber procession, and we're herded towards our assigned chores. A hulking guard, a man named Borin with a perpetually sneering expression, barks out orders.
"keiran you and the new kid are gonna be cleaning the top floor and don't think you two are gonna slack off. I'll be watching."
He throws a chipped bucket and a couple of rags at us, nearly hitting me in the face. I catch it with a grunt, glaring at Borin. He just laughs, a harsh, grating sound.
"What's this? Already gettin' attitude? You'll learn your place, boy. You all do."
Keiran just sighs, offering me a small, reassuring nod. The other orphans pointedly avoid making eye contact. They've seen this before. They know the score.
"Let's just get this over with," Keiran murmurs as we head towards the stairs. He's already resigned, already accepting of this miserable existence.
The top floor dorms are… depressing. Rows of narrow cots, covered with thin, grey blankets. Dust motes dance in the shafts of sunlight that manage to penetrate the grime-covered windows. The air is stale and musty, smelling of sweat and despair.
We start cleaning, sweeping the floors and wiping down the cots. The work is tedious, mind-numbing. I try to lose myself in thought, to conjure images of a better life. But the oppressive atmosphere of Ashwood Haven keeps dragging me back down.
"So," I say, breaking the silence. "Is there any way out of here? Any escape routes? Anyone who's tried and succeeded?"
Keiran pauses, leaning against a cot. He looks at me with a weary expression.
"No. There isn't. And plenty have tried. I did, a long time ago. So did others. We all got caught. Each time, the punishments get worse."
My hope shrinks a little. "What about tunnels? Secret passages? Anything?"
He shakes his head. "This place is built like a fortress. They've thought of everything. There's nowhere to go."
"But… there has to be something," I insist.
"That's what I used to think," Keiran says softly. "But I was young and naive. This isn't some story, Cael. This is real life. And in real life, sometimes there are no happy endings."
I fall silent, scrubbing furiously at a particularly stubborn patch of dirt. He's right, of course. It's easy to get caught up in fantasies, to expect life to follow the plotlines of my favorite novels. But this is different. This is real.
"How… how strong are the people who run this place?" I ask, cautiously.
Keiran's expression darkens. "Strong. Very strong. The lieutenants… they're all Awakened. Powerful ones. And Silas Thorne, the Head Enforcer… he's a C-rank, maybe even a B-rank Awakener. A practitioner."
"Awakened?" I ask, feigning ignorance. Even though I feel like I have a pretty good idea of what that means.
Keiran stares at me, his one good eye narrowing in disbelief. "You… you don't know what an Awakener is?"
I shrug, playing dumb. "No. Not really. It wasn't exactly covered in my… education." A lie, of course. It's just that my education was in anime and manga, not whatever passes for history here.
He looks at me like I've grown a second head. "Everyone knows what an Awakener is, Cael. It's… common sense. They're people who have unlocked something within themselves. Supernatural powers. Extraordinary abilities. They're basically superhumans."
Okay. So my novels weren't entirely wrong.
"Right, superhumans," I say, trying to sound casual. "So… what kind of powers?"
"All kinds," Keiran replies. "Elemental control, enhanced strength, healing abilities, telekinesis… It varies. It depends on their Gift."
"Gift?"
"Yeah, that's what they call it. The source of their power. Some people are born with them. Others awaken them through training or… extreme circumstances." He pauses, his gaze distant. "Thorne is rumored to manipulate shadows. One of the lieutenants can control plants. Another can summon fire."
It's a lot to take in. I've always been fascinated by magic, but to think it actually exists… It's exhilarating. And terrifying at the same time.
"Even if you somehow managed to get past them," Keiran continues, his voice grim. "You'd still have to survive the Dark Forest. It's teeming with beasts. High-ranking ones. Powerful creatures that would tear you apart in seconds. And without an awakening, you are helpless."
My heart sinks. The Dark Forest. I've heard whispers about it. A vast, untamed wilderness that surrounds Ashwood Haven, filled with monstrous creatures and forgotten ruins. A death trap for the unwary.
"So, what you're saying is," I say slowly. "There's absolutely no way out?"
Keiran doesn't answer. He just looks at me with that same weary, resigned expression. The silence stretches between us, heavy and suffocating.
"You'll get used to it," Keiran says, his voice devoid of any real comfort. "Everyone does. You'll find a rhythm. A way to make it… bearable."
He resumes scrubbing, his movements methodical and precise. It's a hollow promise, I realize.
I nod, a silent acknowledgment of his words. It feels like a surrender, though. A conceding of my own will.
My gaze drifts to the rough stone wall opposite me.
I stare at the rough stone wall, my mind churning. This place is a labyrinth of secrets and dangers. Escaping will be a long shot, but I have to try. I refuse to let my second chance at life be wasted here. The quest I need to focus on completing it."
The dust motes continue their silent dance in the weak sunlight, each one a tiny reminder of the decay that permeates Ashwood Haven. I scrub at the cot, my movements mechanical, my mind racing. Keiran's words echo in my head - no way out. But I refuse to accept that. There has to be something. Some loophole. Some weakness.
"Hey, Keiran," I say, forcing a casual tone. "What about the Head Enforcer's office? What's that like?"
He stops scrubbing, his good eye studying me with a hint of suspicion. "The Head Enforcer's office? Why do you ask?"
"Just curious," I reply, shrugging. "I mean, he runs the whole place, right? Must be a fancy setup."
"Fancy isn't the word for it," Keiran says, a wry smile touching his lips. "Fortified is more like it. No one goes near that place. No one is allowed near that place."
"Seriously? No one?"
"No one. It's off-limits to everyone. Even the lieutenants. It's guarded around the clock. Reinforced steel door. Magical wards. The whole nine yards. It's like his personal fortress within a fortress."
He pauses, then adds, "Rumor has it, the office is located at the very top of the west tower. But no one has actually seen it."
A strange feeling stirs within me. A flicker of excitement. A spark of… hope? If the Head Enforcer's office is as locked down as Keiran says, if it's truly a place of secrets and security… then it might be the one place where he's actually hiding something.
Information. Answers. Maybe a way out.
The thought takes root, blossoming into a firm resolve. If everything else is a dead end, then that office is my only option. It's a long shot, a dangerous gamble, but I have no other choice.
"I see," I say, trying to sound nonchalant. "So, it's pretty secure, huh?"
"Secure doesn't begin to cover it," Keiran replies, resuming his scrubbing. "You'd have a better chance of flying to the moon than breaking into Silas Thorne's office."
I continue cleaning, my mind already mapping out a plan. The office is in the west tower, he said. Guarded around the clock. Reinforced steel door. Magical wards.
The west tower is my target. Tonight.
I need to observe routines. Identify blind spots. Figure out how to bypass the guards. I'll need to be stealthy. It'll be risky. Very risky. But I'm not exactly unfamiliar with risky situations. After all, I did die once already. This is nothing compared to that. I think.
The thought steadies my nerves. A small, wry smile plays on my lips.
Keiran glances at me sideways, a curious expression on his face. "You're awfully quiet," he says. "Lost in thought?"
"Just thinking about… how to make this place a little more bearable," I reply smoothly. A half-truth. But it's enough to satisfy him.
He shrugs, turning his attention back to the cot. He doesn't need to know my plans.
The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of tedious chores and forced pleasantries. I try to gather information unobtrusively, asking Keiran about the tower, the guards, the layout of the orphanage. He doesn't offer much, but I manage to piece together a rough mental map.
As evening approaches, a familiar wave of dread washes over me. Dinner is another miserable affair, a watered-down gruel that barely qualifies as food. I force myself to eat a few spoonfuls, knowing I'll need the energy for what's to come.
After dinner, the orphans are herded back to the dorms. The guards patrol the halls, their faces grim and watchful. The atmosphere is thick with tension and fear.
I feign sleep, lying on my cot with my eyes closed, listening to the rhythmic breathing of the other orphans. The darkness is absolute, broken only by the occasional flicker of a torchlight outside the window.
Keiran is lying on the cot next to me, seemingly fast asleep. I can feel his presence, a quiet, reassuring weight in the darkness.
The hours crawl by. The guards' patrols become less frequent. The orphanage gradually falls silent.
Finally, when I'm almost certain everyone is asleep, I silently slide out of bed.
My heart hammers in my chest. This is it. Time to put my plan into action.
This is where it gets tricky. I take a deep breath, steeling my nerves. It's time to test how good I am at being invisible.
To be continued….