The village of Vistali slept beneath a moon that gave no warmth.
Wind drifted through narrow streets, brushing against wooden shutters and swaying hanging lanterns that had long since burned out. The night carried a silence that felt almost sacred — the kind that swallowed secrets whole.
Through that silence, a woman moved.
Her face was hidden beneath a dark veil, the fabric fluttering faintly with each step she took. In her arms, wrapped tightly in soft cloth, were two newborn babies. Their breathing was gentle. Peaceful. Unaware.
She stopped before the old orphanage at the edge of the village.
The building stood tall but worn, its stone walls chipped by time and neglect. A wooden cross hung above the door, slightly tilted.
The woman knelt.
Very slowly, she placed the twins on the cold stone before the door. For a moment, she simply stared at them. Her fingers trembled as she brushed her hand against their tiny cheeks.
"I'm sorry…" she whispered.
Her voice was barely audible — softer than the wind.
She leaned down, pressing her forehead lightly against theirs, as though memorizing the warmth of their skin. Then she stood, hesitated… and knocked.
The sound echoed into the night.
The door creaked open moments later.
But the veiled woman was already gone.
No footsteps.
No presence.
No trace.
Only absence.
A young blonde-haired woman stepped outside, holding a lantern. The flickering light illuminated her tired eyes and pale expression.
She froze when she saw them.
"…Another batch, huh…" she muttered, disappointment lacing her tone.
She looked left. Then right.
Nothing.
The night offered no answers.
With a quiet sigh, she bent down and lifted the twins into her arms. They were warmer than the air around them.
"Unlucky little things…" she murmured before stepping back inside.
Inside, the orphanage smelled of old wood and candle wax. Rows of small beds lined the main sleeping hall. She gently laid the babies down on an empty mattress and tucked the cloth around them.
For a brief second… her expression softened.
Then it vanished.
She turned and walked down the hallway toward a larger wooden door. She knocked twice.
"Enter."
The voice inside was deep. Aged. Authoritative.
She stepped into the room.
An old man sat behind a heavy desk, draped in long church robes. His grey hair fell over sharp eyes that seemed incapable of warmth.
"Another batch just came in," she said politely.
"I see," he replied. "Names?"
"I didn't check."
The room grew colder.
"Then what is your use?" he said flatly.
Her fingers tightened slightly at her sides.
"…I apologize."
She bowed her head and walked out.
The door closed behind her with a dull thud.
As she walked down the corridor, her jaw clenched faintly.
If only I had power… she thought. If I did, I would've left this place… moved to the city… anywhere but here.
Her name was Elara.
And she hated how powerless she felt.
Six Years Later
Morning light crept through cracked windows.
Elara pushed open the sleeping hall doors.
"Wake up."
Groans filled the room.
"Can't you let us sleep?" one boy complained, rubbing his eyes.
"Yeah. It's not like we have anything to do," another added lazily.
"I was told to wake you up," Elara replied quietly. "So just comply."
The first boy smirked.
"Power rules this world. And you're the weakest among us."
The words struck deeper than she showed.
She said nothing.
Because it was true.
Without power, you were nothing.
She turned and left the room.
Outside, she sat beneath the large oak tree in the courtyard. The wind swept through the branches, sunlight flickering across her face as her blonde hair swayed gently.
"How long…" she murmured, staring at the ground. "How long do I have to go through this?"
"It's up to you."
Her head snapped up.
She looked around.
No one.
"Above you."
She tilted her head upward.
There, lying lazily across one of the thick branches, was a boy with long black hair that shimmered softly under the light. His features were delicate — almost too delicate — giving him an androgynous beauty that often confused people.
"Kael," she sighed. "I thought I told you to cut your hair."
He flipped down from the branch effortlessly, landing beside her with quiet grace.
"The more you say it," he replied with a teasing grin, "the less I want to."
She tried not to smile.
"I guess that's just how you are…"
He studied her face.
"You're having problems with those children again."
"You are also a child," she said gently.
"I guess so." He paused. "Do you really want to go to the city?"
Her eyes widened.
"How did you—"
"I… accidentally read your diary," he muttered.
She stood up immediately.
"You never change."
"Maybe," he said softly, watching her carefully. "When I'm talking to you."
She waved dismissively and began walking away.
But beneath her calm exterior, warmth crept into her cheeks.
How do I have feelings for a little boy…?
Under the tree, Kael leaned back, staring at the sky.
Birds drifted lazily above.
"So it's true…" he murmured quietly.
"She's my sister."
Six years ago.
Brought here together.
"I guess it should've been obvious," he said faintly. "We look alike."
His eyes closed.
But only for a moment.
A faint sound reached his ears.
Struggling.
He opened his eyes instantly.
Behind the orphanage.
Six boys surrounded a girl.
Her long black and red hair flowed down her back like spilled ink mixed with flame. Her eyes — sharp and crimson-tinted — held both fear and defiance.
Lyra.
"Such a beauty," one boy smirked. "And the head never mentioned her."
"Maybe he was saving her for himself," another laughed.
The group burst into cruel laughter.
"That old man—"
Their amusement grew louder.
Lyra's fingers trembled slightly at her sides.
"What do you plan on doing with me?" she asked quietly.
"Don't worry," one boy grinned. "We'll take care of you until you're ready."
A shadow fell across them.
Kael stepped forward and gently grabbed her wrist.
"Are you okay?" he asked softly.
She refused to look at him.
"Not really. And why are you here?"
"She doesn't want you here," one of the boys sneered. "She's coming with us."
He reached out.
His hand touched Kael's shoulder.
—
The world snapped.
The boy exploded.
Blood burst outward — but stopped midair, frozen inches from Kael and Lyra.
Silence fell.
Kael slowly turned his head.
His eyes glowed.
Cold.
Empty.
Inhuman.
"Don't touch me," he said quietly.
"Without my permission."
The remaining boys staggered back.
Lyra couldn't breathe.
Kael took a single step forward.
The air distorted.
And in the next instant—
They shattered.
Bodies. Blood. Bone.
Reduced to fragments of light.
Then erased.
As if they had never existed.
The courtyard fell silent.
The wind moved again.
Lyra stared at him, trembling.
"What… is going on?"
And for the first time—
Kael did not smile.