A Smile for the Orphanage

The Badania estate stretched out before him like an entire world, vast and endless in its quiet beauty. Its corridors curving gracefully, as if sculpted by magic rather than hand. But the house was no labyrinth. It felt like something waiting to be discovered instead.

He rounded another bend in the hall and stopped.

The room he entered stretched impossibly wide, its far wall completely missing. In its place: a garden of silver trees glowing under the midafternoon sky, a breeze moving through vines and leaves like soft fingers. Beyond it all, the two pale moons hung low, vast and watchful.

Kade stopped in his tracks. His jaw went slack.

“I…” he breathed. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“You like it,” came Akalis’s voice.

He turned. She was seated near the entrance, her fingers wrapped around a thin glass of pale liquid. Her eyes flicked briefly to his new clothing, but she didn’t comment on it.

“I love it,” he said honestly. “It’s like a dream.”

“Sit,” she said.

He did, perching on the edge of the chaise, trying not to wrinkle anything. His fingers kept tugging at the embroidery.

Akalis set her glass down with a faint clink, her gaze never leaving him.

“We’ll need to begin the bloodline registration soon,” she said. Her voice was calm, but carried the weight of something inevitable. “The records must be sealed before the Lunar Triad reviews your case. That means coming with me… back to the orphanage. We’ll prepare everything there.”

Her eyes lingered on his features, as if committing them to memory, or searching for something.

“Does it trouble you, going back?” she asked softly.

Kade’s lips curved, an easy smile. “Not at all.”

For a heartbeat, he thought he saw relief ease her posture, her shoulders loosening as though some invisible chain had slackened. She lifted the drink, poured some in another glass, and then said, “Good, then. You’ll have a chance to say goodbye to your friends.”

Kade blinked down at the glass she handed him, the strange liquid shifting in colors that didn’t belong to any fruit he knew. He tasted it, the faint spice amidst the sweetness surprising him.

“I don’t think I have any friends,” he said, almost apologetically.

Akalis raised a brow, tilting her head. “Why not?”

He rolled the glass between his palms, watching the light catch in its surface. His voice came quietly.

“It’s just that I don’t remember much. I recall a few small details, here and there. And when something hurts… the magic helps me forget.”

Her expression faltered. Just for a moment. A shadow flickered through her eyes, though he couldn’t tell if it was disapproval, or pity, or something else. He thought forgetting was good, he knew it was good. Yet to her, the words seemed wrong.

Kade frowned, uncertain, wishing he understood what she saw when she looked at him.

But Akalis said nothing. She only closed the book that lay across her lap, set it neatly aside, and rose in one smooth motion. Her silken sleeves whispered against each other as she moved toward the doorway.

“We should go, then,” she said, her tone cool again, hiding whatever it was she had just revealed.

Kade set his glass aside, standing quickly to follow.

****

The carriage dropped them at the gate.

The orphanage stood pristine beyond it, carved from the same pale stone as the gate itself. Sunlight washed over its white walls, giving the building an almost holy glow. Kade blinked, startled. He had expected something small and crumbling, gray with age and sorrow. Instead, the garden was alive with blooming flowers that swayed gently in the breeze. At its center stood a statue of Mother Moon, her stone face lifted reverently toward the sky.

Children scattered across the yard, their laughter ringing through the air. Boys young enough to still stumble as they ran chased each other through the grass, their shrieks bright with joy.

Inside, however, the house was modest. The walls were plain and nearly bare, without the velvet drapery and intricate embroidery that filled the Badania estate. Kade sat waiting in the hallway, given no instructions beyond stay put while a servant vanished to collect his belongings. Akalis had slipped away through one of the orphanage’s doors, following another servant, swallowed by the white walls.

Time stretched. He stared at the plain wall opposite him, counting the cracks in its surface. The children’s laughter outside grew louder, mingled now with the heavier sounds of work: thuds, footsteps, the flap of wet fabric against wood.

Boredom pressed him forward.

Kade drifted toward the yard. The flowers were brighter here, deep yellow, their petals trembling in the breeze. Among them, near the laundry lines strung across the grass, older boys around his age worked: one tall and spindly, hands deftly pinning sheets to dry; another shorter and broad across the shoulders, carrying baskets back and forth. Beside them lingered a much smaller boy, no more than eight, watching rather than playing.

****

Berin’s hands were sore from the weight of the laundry baskets, but he worked without complaint. The lines needed filling before the sun dropped, and Ashur worked faster if Berin kept pace. Rayel hovered nearby, small and quiet as always. That was fine. Berin preferred him close, where he could keep an eye on him.

The yard rang with the wild laughter of the younger boys, high and carefree. Once, Berin had loved that sound. Back when he was small himself, when he and Ashur and Silis had been inseparable. Back when Silis was loud and reckless, but theirs.

Now the laughter only made Berin’s shoulders tense.

Because Silis had stepped into the yard again.

Berin’s grip tightened on the wicker handles. Silks, embroidery, the shine of boots that had never seen dirt, he looked like everything he’d once bragged about becoming. The son of a Marked. Better than the rest of us. That was all Silis had talked about in the end, until even play turned to fights and words to bruises. Until Rayel’s arm had hung limp, broken, because Silis had “proved” himself.

And now here he was, dressed like a lordling, wearing that soft smile as though nothing had ever happened.

Berin’s stomach twisted.

Rayel saw him too. The boy stiffened, then shrank back until he pressed into Ashur’s side. Fear flickered in his wide eyes.

Ashur noticed. His head snapped up, his gaze narrowing.

“Hello,” Silis said. His voice was warm and gentle. Like a trick.

Berin let a laugh cut through the moment, brittle and sharp. “Where’d you get clothes like that?”

Silis blinked down at himself, as if only just noticing the embroidery. The performance was polished but false without a doubt. He’d always been a good liar.

Rayel’s small voice cracked the air. “He came with a Marked. From the city.”

Berin felt his stomach sink. The lie had come true. Silis had found someone powerful. And worse, they’d chosen him.

Ashur’s mutter was dark. “So it’s true.”

Silis lifted his hands like he was harmless. “I was only… just looking. I wanted to…”

“Save it,” Berin spat, heat rushing to his face. He didn’t want to hear another excuse. He’d heard them all before. “You’ve got someone to take you now. Good. Once you’re gone, we can leave when it’s our turn. And the little ones won’t have to worry about you anymore.”

That hit. Silis bristled. His voice cracked. “What? I wouldn’t… I would never harm a child…”

Berin’s laugh was harsh. He jabbed a finger toward Rayel, whose arm was bound up in its cloth sling. “You already did.”

Silis froze. That false surprise spread across his face again, wide-eyed, pale. Berin’s lip curled. He knew that look. Silis had worn it a hundred times before, every time he got caught, every time he wanted pity instead of blame. It was another trick. Always another trick.

Ashur finished the last of the sheets, his mouth tight, and led Rayel away. The small boy’s fearful eyes never left Silis until the door swallowed him inside.

Berin shifted the basket on his hip, gave Silis one last glare. Let him stand there in his finery and shock, pretending innocence. They knew better.

But then… Silis’s voice came, soft.

“I’m sorry.”

Berin froze. Just for a moment.

The way he said it, quiet, almost broken, wasn’t the Silis who had swaggered through fights, who had bragged about bloodlines and power. For a heartbeat, Berin saw the boy from years ago. The one who used to climb trees with them, laugh so loud the whole yard echoed, swear he’d never leave them behind.

For a heartbeat, Berin wanted to believe him.

But then he looked again. At the fancy clothes, the fine boots, the wide eyes that always seemed to plead innocence after harm was already done.

No. It was another trick. It had to be.

The shuffle of soft slippers broke the moment. Berin turned.

Ababo.

Small, ancient, eyes sharp as ever. She didn’t look at Berin. Her gaze went straight to Silis.

“They’ve got your things ready,” she said, voice dry as paper.

Berin adjusted the basket and walked away. If the Marked wanted Silis, they could have him. Let him bask in all the importance he’d ever craved.

The rest of them would finally be free of him.

****

Kade followed the old woman in silence, his steps dragging, the echoes of the boys’ words still burning in his ears. Every part of him felt hollow, emptied by the sudden knowledge that the person whose body he wore had been cruel, feared, despised. The apology he had offered, so instinctive, so real, had only earned him more suspicion.

Ababo, that was what the other boys called her, walked ahead of him with surprising steadiness for her age, her short frame wrapped in a plain gray dress. Though he tried not to look, he couldn’t shake the sense that her eyes flicked toward him more often than not, studying him with quiet intensity.

She led him back to the front hallway and pressed a small leather bag into his hands.
“Your things,” she said.

Kade nodded his head in thanks, subdued, and sat where he had been waiting before. The hallway was plain, the silence heavy. He loosened the ties of the bag and pulled the contents into his lap.

Two sets of clothes, brown tunics, coarse trousers, the same as every boy outside had worn. A few worn books, their spines cracked. And then, something that made him pause.

A figurine. Pale green clay, cool and weighty, the size of his hand. He lifted it gently, letting the bag slide forgotten to the floor. It looked like a weasel, but its body was scaled, its muzzle long, two fangs jutting sharp from its upper jaw. The work was intricate, the tiny scales sculpted with care.

As he turned it in his hand, the figure shifted. The stance changed, no longer upright, but frozen mid-run, its body stretched as if chasing something unseen. Kade startled, eyes widening. But then, for the first time since this morning, his lips curved into a genuine smile.

A toy, he guessed. Some kind of flickering magic. He ran a thumb across the ridged back, marveling at it.

He looked up, noticing Ababo still watching him from where she stood. “Thank you,” he said softly.

Her expression remained unreadable, but her words came measured, slow. “You look as though you haven’t seen your Skael before.” A faint purse of her lips. “I always thought it a distasteful choice for a flickering toy. But I’m glad you still enjoy it.”

The figurine flickered again, curling up in his palms, tiny scaled body folded as though asleep. Kade laughed under his breath.

“Is it a real animal?” he asked.

The old woman tilted her head, her eyes sharp on him. “Weren’t you the one regaling the other boys with stories about Skaels, Silis?”

Kade smiled faintly and shrugged, as if the question were light. Inside, though, he recoiled. Silis. That was the name they gave him. The boy he used to be.

She went on, her voice cool, almost instructive. “Skael are parasite animals. They feed on magic. Drawn to sorcerers’ blood.” For the first time, her mouth twitched into something like a smile. “Which means you should be careful now, I suppose.”

“Are they deadly?” Kade leaned in, curiosity breaking through his unease. “Where do they live? I haven’t seen one yet.”

Her eyebrows lifted, deep lines furrowing her forehead. Then, as though the thought followed naturally, her tone hardened. “Where did you disappear the other night? I went to fetch Marked Orsel because your fever was worsening. When I returned, you were gone. Do you understand? We searched the house and the grounds for you. Half the night, wasted. I don’t care how you came to Marked Akalis, you made us all run ourselves ragged.”

Kade blinked at her, words caught in his throat. He was gathering scraps, fragments of a past he didn’t share. His truth, that he had woken in the market with no memory of Silis’s sins, couldn’t be spoken. Maybe ever.

“Sorry,” he whispered finally, lifting his eyes to her with a sad smile. He had no better answer.

For the first time, her sharp gaze softened.

Ababo’s voice broke the silence, dry but deliberate.
“You sound calmer. Smiling again, after just one night with the Badanias. Were you so miserable here?”

Kade’s head snapped up. The question caught him off guard. Her eyes held no malice, but the words carried weight. To her, perhaps, his smile was a judgment that life here had been unbearable.

He stumbled for an answer. “All the other boys seemed happy,” he said at last. “The younger ones especially.”

Her snort was sharp, cutting through the thin excuse. She looked at him as though she could see straight through the words.
“Well,” she said, “I am glad to see that you could be tactful when you wish.”

Then her mouth softened into something gentler. A rare smile tugged at her lips.
“I hope you find your happiness, Silis.”

She turned, her small frame moving down the hall, and left him with the flickering Skael curled in his hand.

Kade stared after her.

His magic had been quiet this whole visit, sullen, subdued, like him. But as his gaze lingered on the figurine, a yearning rose in him. He willed himself to remember. Anything. A fragment, a thread that could help him understand who Silis had been.

The figurine shifted again, fangs flashing, a frozen leap etched into its clay form.

And then the warmth came.

It swelled inside him, filling his chest, crawling down his arms until his palms burned with it. His breath hitched as his vision shimmered, blue light bleeding into the edges, then rushing inward until everything else dissolved beneath its glow.

For the briefest instant before it consumed him whole, he thought he heard the Skael’s hiss.

Then there was nothing but blue.