The gold in my purse is an anchor. It could let me fly away, disappear to distant lands. Yet, it pulls me back to the past. The conversation with Roxis has stirred memories I had buried under layers of pain and survival. Before the sewers, before the barracks, there was another place. A place of shared hunger and rare warmth.
Saint-Mist Orphanage.
It's not in the capital. It's in Valdoria, a small rural region a day's ride south of Kryndal, known for its green hills and morning mists. It's where I was found. A baby abandoned on the doorstep, with no name, no past. The sisters named me Reinhardt. And the region's name became my own. Valdios. The son of Valdoria.
I spend a portion of my fortune to rent a horse and buy supplies. Not for myself. For them. Sacks of flour, dried vegetables, salted pork. Simple things that are a luxury for mouths that are always hungry. I also fill a small purse with silver coins. It is a debt I can never repay, but it is a start.
The journey clears my head. The Valdorian countryside is beautiful. It is a gentle, peaceful landscape, an absolute contrast to the brutality of my life. I feel like a wolf in sheep's clothing, crossing a meadow full of flowers.
I arrive at the orphanage at dusk. It is an old building of stone and wood, large and a little dilapidated, surrounded by a vegetable garden and an orchard. This is my childhood home. The place of my first torments.
When I knock on the heavy wooden door, it is Sister Elara who opens it. Not the Appraiser from the Black Market, but a gentle, round woman whose face is a network of benevolent wrinkles. She was the one who taught me to read.
Her eyes land on me, and for a second, she doesn't recognize me. I am no longer the thin, frightened boy they had to cast out. I am taller, broader in the shoulders. My face has lost its boyish roundness for harder angles. But then, her gaze catches my eyes, and she gasps.
"Reinhardt? By all the saints... is it you?"
"It's me, Sister Elara."
She pulls me into a hug, a warm embrace that smells of vegetable soup and fresh bread. The sensation is so foreign, so comforting, that I stiffen for a moment before letting myself relax into it.
"You're alive," she whispers, tears in her eyes. "We prayed so much."
My arrival is an event. Sister Agnes, the headmistress, a sterner but equally good woman, shakes my hand firmly. They are surprised to see me in such good health. They expected to find me dead in a ditch, or worse.
I offer them the provisions and the money. Their protests are weak. They know how precious every sack of flour is.
I tell them my story. Not the whole story, of course. I don't speak of Gluttony, nor of the men I killed, nor of the essences I devoured. I speak of the hard life of a laborer, of the luck that led me to a kind noblewoman, of the Guild's trial, of my new life as an adventurer. It is a sanitized version, a story of survival and courage that almost makes me believe in my own innocence.
The children of the orphanage, a new generation of curious faces, gather around me, listening to my tale as if it were a legend. I am living proof that one can escape this place, that there is a future beyond these walls.
"And Elian?" I finally ask, the name leaving my mouth with some difficulty.
Elian was my only friend. The only one who didn't fear me, even when my hunger became uncontrollable. He often shared his meager ration with me, an act of insane generosity in a place where every crumb counted.
Sister Agnes's face softens. "Elian left two years ago. Shortly after you did. He always believed in you, you know. Your departure gave him the strength to pursue his own dream."
"What dream?"
"To become a Knight."
The news surprises me. Elian was strong, stronger than me, but he was also gentle; he hated violence.
"He was accepted into the training program at the Kryndal barracks," Sister Agnes continues. "We heard from him a few months ago. His training is complete. He succeeded. And he is about to achieve his dearest dream."
My mind makes the connection to what Roxis told me. "The induction ceremony..."
"Yes," she says, smiling. "He will be made a Holy Knight. The King himself will be there to knight him. We are so proud of him. An orphan from Valdoria, a Holy Knight. It's a miracle."
Elian. My childhood friend. A Holy Knight. Our paths, which had parted in misery, are about to cross again, but on opposite sides of the social mountain. He, bathed in the light of honor and recognition. I, walking in the shadow of the power I have stolen and devoured.
"You should go see him," Sister Elara advises. "He would be so happy. He always asked about you, hoping you were doing well."
I spend the night at the orphanage, in my old dormitory. The beds are just as hard, the blankets just as thin. But sleep is deep. For the first time in years, I am not alone. I am surrounded by the benevolent ghosts of my past.
The next day, I thank the sisters. Their advice is simple, full of a wisdom that has nothing to do with combat strategies. "Be a good man, Reinhardt. Power is one thing, but kindness is another. Never lose the second while chasing the first."
I leave Valdoria, my heart both heavy and filled with a new resolve. The return to Kryndal is no longer driven by ambition, but by a need to reconnect with the past. To see Elian. To see if the friendship we shared could survive the radically different paths we have taken.
I arrive in Kryndal the day before the ceremony. The city is buzzing with excitement. Royal banners fly from the ramparts. The guard is on edge. The King is already in the capital.
I don't know how to approach Elian. A Holy Knight in-training is not someone you can just walk up to in the street. But I have to try.
I return to the barracks, my Bronze-rank plate serving as my pass. I ask an officer where I can find the aspirants awaiting their induction.
I am directed to the elite quarters, a section of the barracks I was never allowed to approach as a laborer.
I wait in an antechamber, feeling terribly out of place among the pages and squires in their livery. After a wait that feels like an eternity, a door opens.
A young man steps out. He is tall, broad-shouldered, with short-cropped blond hair. He wears an immaculate white tunic. His face is more mature, marked by years of training, but his eyes... his eyes are the same. A clear, honest blue.
It is Elian.
He sees me. His face cycles through a range of emotions: surprise, disbelief, and finally, pure, unadulterated joy.
"Reinhardt?"
"Hey, Elian."
He crosses the room in three long strides and pulls me into a powerful hug, nearly lifting me off the ground. A hug that reminds me of our childhood, when he would protect me from the other children.
"You're alive," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "You're really alive."
We pull apart. He looks me up and down, noticing my Guild plate, my dagger, the leather armor under my tunic. "An adventurer. And Bronze rank, no less." He shakes his head, an admiring smile on his face. "You were always a survivor."
"And you," I say, looking at his white tunic. "A Holy Knight. You made it."
"Looks like it," he says, almost shyly. "The ceremony is tomorrow."
We are two orphans, two brothers in misery, reunited on the threshold of our new lives. He in the light, I in the shadow. And yet, in this moment, there is no distance between us. Just the simple joy of finding a lost friend.
But behind his joy, I see a shadow in his eyes. A worry.
"Reinhardt," he says, his tone growing more serious. "I'm glad you're here. Truly. But you have to be careful. The barracks... the capital... things are tense right now."
"Because of the King's visit?"
"Not just that." He lowers his voice. "People are talking about you. The Hobgoblin story. Some admire you. Others... fear you. And some, like the Burix family, hate you. Caelan has been a shadow of his former self since his friends disappeared, and his father, Lord Tybalt Burix, holds you responsible. They have no proof, but they are looking for a way to destroy you."
My past will not let me go. It is a ghost that follows me, wherever I go.
"I'll be careful," I assure him.
"I hope so." He places a hand on my shoulder. "Tomorrow, after the ceremony, there will be a celebration. You should come. As a Bronze-ranked adventurer, you have the right to be there. We can talk more then. Like old times."
I nod, a strange feeling washing over me. Old times. A time of hunger and fear. And yet, a simpler time.
As I leave the barracks, a new resolve forms within me. I did not just come here to reconnect with my past. I came to protect it. Elian, Roxis, the sisters at the orphanage... they are the few lights in my shadowed life.
And I will devour anyone who threatens to extinguish those lights.