The next morning came quietly.
Zeke woke up earlier than usual. His body felt lighter, but still not completely fine.
At least the world did not spin when he sat up. He counted that as a win.
Training was forbidden.
Sis Mari had made that clear the night before. No running. No meditation. No nothing. He hadn't argued. For once, he knew better.
So instead, he helped with the chores.
He picked up a bucket and a broom and started working. Slowly at first. Scrubbing, sweeping, carrying water. Nothing straining.
It was strange, he was expecting someone to interrupt him, tell him to rest.
No one stopped him.
A few kids hovered nearby, watching him as if they were waiting for something to happen, or because they simply felt guilty. Either way those looks didn't linger for long as they soon returned to their usual chatter.
That alone felt strange. How things could shift in a heartbeat.
Zeke caught himself stealing glances toward Neil more than once.
Neil was doing the same.
At some point their eyes met. They held for a second too long. Neither smiled. Neither looked away immediately.
Zeke gave a small nod.
Neil returned it.
That was all.
No apologies. No explanations. No long speeches about guilt or fear. They both understood what that nod meant.
Julie's routine barely changed.
She still trained every morning, still pushed herself until sweat soaked through her clothes. She still helped in the kitchen afterward, still worked until her arms ached. Her approach had always been different from Zeke's. Slower. Steadier. She did not rush. She did not force. She improved bit by bit, and it suited her.
The orphanage itself felt quieter than usual for a couple of days. But the kids adapted quickly. Soon laughter and chatter rang across the orphanage the same as ever.
Life continued.
After ten days, Zeke was cleared to train again.
Ten days had not been enough for him to lose real progress, but it was enough to halt it. He felt a slight weakness in his muscles, slight sluggishness in his moves. It was not a big deal but it was there.
So he trained. Carefully this time.
No rushing. No forcing. No pushing past limits anymore. He focused on building his stamina and body.
He hesitated to test his essence, but he did it anyway. Gently, testing how much he could push it.
It responded faintly, the same way it always had. He was relieved nothing was damaged.
The next day he repeated the same training, but one thing was different this time.
Neil joined him.
He couldn't do much with his arm, all he could do was to run, and to Zeke, even without pushing himself, Neil felt painfully slow.
Neil was bent forward, hands on his knees, breath tearing out of him as Zeke passed for the second time. "This essence is cheating, turn it off." Neil muttered.
"Sounds like a skill issue," Zeke said.
Neil couldn't find a retort to that so he just laughed. It was the first genuine laugh Zeke heard from him since that day.
Day by day, others joined.
At first they were just watching the trio train, laughing at how much Neil was lagging behind, but they soon started copying their movements, running and even meditating.
Some of them claimed they felt something when they did.
"I think my essence moved," one of them said proudly.
"It's just your stomach," another replied.
They all laughed.
Slowly, the training became part of the orphanage routine.
Laughter followed them every morning.
For a while, it gave everyone something to look forward to.
As days passed, it became clear that Zeke and Julie were improving faster than the others. It was a pace inconceivable by normal standards.
And it made one thing painfully clear.
They would not stay in the orphanage for long.
Once they turned fifteen they will be joining the academy. It was not a thought anyone could voice aloud but everyone had.
That knowledge sat heavy on everyone especially Zeke and Julie. It was exciting. Terrifying. Bittersweet all at once.
The future was ahead of them. A future without the place they called home.
Sis Mari had noticed.
Of course she had. She always did.
One evening, when the yard was quieter and most of the kids were busy inside, she called Zeke and Julie over. No warning. No buildup.
"Have you decided yet?"
Neither of them answered.
Julie shifted her weight. Zeke kept his eyes on the dirt. The answer felt wrong no matter which way he tried to shape it. Going to the academy meant leaving. Leaving felt like turning his back on the one person who had picked him up when he had nothing.
Silence dragged on.
The lack of response was all the answer Sis Mari needed.
She clicked her tongue.
"That bad, huh."
She exhaled slowly, then looked straight at them. "When you turn fifteen, I'm kicking you out."
Zeke looked up.
"You'll go to the academy," she continued. "You'll train. You'll get strong. And if you don't, that's your problem. I'm not running a retirement home."
It wasn't gentle. But it wasn't cruel either.
Zeke felt like a heavy burden had been lifted off his chest. It felt liberating.
Julie stepped forward first and hugged her. It was awkward and sudden, then Zeke followed a second later, arms stiff, unsure where to put them.
"Thank you sis," Julie said.
"We'll make you proud," Zeke added, quieter.
Sis Mari rested a hand on each of their heads. "Of course you will make it," she said. "I was the one who raised you after all."
Time never stopped for anyone, it always kept moving forward.
And so did everyone in the orphanage.
The wounds that was once open didn't heal in one go, but they closed with time.
Training continued. Days stacked onto each other. The orphanage stayed alive. Each one was chasing their own path.
And slowly, without anyone saying it out loud, time pulled them forward.