Truth

The mansion doors opened.

It was dark inside. Only a dim chandelier above illuminated the grand hall. But long shadows reaching from statues gave ominous vibes. There was no one else around except me and the nun.

"Come along now," she nudged me. "The doctor is still awake."

"A-Are there other kids?" I said.

"Hmmm? Why yes. But those that sleep here in the mansion are Miss Amila's favorites. The others . . ."

She continued nudging me through the halls with her hand, not wanting me to escape. We entered a dark library lit by candles and a small fireplace. Tables and shelves were all pristine, all picturesque like a room fit for royalty. Nothing felt out of place except a knight's hollow armor whose helmet seemed to turn when I walked past.

Creepy. "Why are we here?" I asked the nun.

No reply. We'd stopped in front of a bookshelf stocked with exquisite works. English and Japanese lettering gleamed bright even in faint light.

The nun's wrinkly hand plucked out a red book. As soon as she did, I heard a bang and mechanical gears turning. The shelf started sliding aside to reveal a dark passageway down flights of stairs.

"Go," she ordered me.

With a gulp, I began descending downwards. Everything was dark. Everything was cramped. Everything was stone. Every step made it feel like I was entering a dungeon I'd never escape from.

The nun behind me carried a small candle. "You're too slow, boy."

"S-Sorry . . ."

We reached the bottom after traveling several floors underground. Ahead, a long, stone corridor that traveled farther than light could reach intimidated me. But now the nun wasn't nudging me, she was shoving me to move forward.

A door along the walls appeared. The nun knocked before letting us both inside.

It was a room—small, dark—furnished with only a bed, a metal cabinet, and a man wearing a lab coat seated at his desk.

"Pardon us, doctor," the nun said. "There's a new child here."

"Oh?" he turned towards me, surprised. "I thought we'd nabbed most of the homeless kids in Dos Noches by now."

"Some always slip under the rug."

"Very well. Leave us."

The nun bowed her head then closed the door behind her.

Everything happened in a flash. The doctor ordered me to strip off all my clothes, before he examined each inch of my child body. He'd squeeze and pinch parts of me more than necessary, jotting in his notepad after each test.

"Wh-Why are you doing this to me?" I said as he rammed a finger in my mouth.

"Medical checkup. And we need to make sure you won't be a problem."

What's that bed in the corner for then? But I shivered the thought away.

The doctor stuck his notepad in the desk and pulled out a sapphire crystal. Blue glows illuminated the room as he rubbed his cold crystal all over me.

"Hmmm . . ." he said. "No surprises here. How about we—"

Two loud knocks pounded on the door. It startled both of us.

Huh? Is that nun back? But when the door swung open, someone different stomped inside.

A muscular woman. Her dark skin crawling with veins showed through the tatters of her nun outfit. Biceps thicker than most men's I'd seen bulged as if they had a mind of their own. And her hardened knuckles looked toned enough to crush steel.

"Ah, Warden," the doctor said. "Did you hear about this new kid?"

She didn't reply. Instead, gray flames billowing from her head stretched outwards, each tendril shifting like Medusa hair. They sensed my confusion and panic.

Wh-What? I thought. Those silver flames! That's just like the flaming hair the priest had that saved Trixie! Is this some rare race of people? Or magic? Are they even human?

The buff Warden cracked and flexed her neck, before lumbering towards me.

"This child," she said, "is suspicious."

"You thought so too?" the doctor replied. "Yeah. It's odd we'd find another kid at this stage. But a nun vouched for him. And he passed my alchemy tests."

"Your crystals didn't get a reaction?"

"No, I just rubbed them all over him. Tests showed he's either an NPC or a native-born person since his magical circuits are weak. So he shouldn't pose any threat."

"I see." She craned down to get a better look at me. "Scrawny kid."

"P-Please . . ." I said. "I'm so hungry."

"Get used to it. You'll earn your food around here."

"E-Earn?"

Ignored. All she did was reach into the steel cabinet and tossed me clothes. "Put those on. That'll be your new uniform."

"Huh?" The brown, cotton rags in my hands looked like prisoner clothes at best, slave's at worst. They were marked with stains, smelled of urine, and made my skin itchy just handling them.

"Hey, hey," the doctor at his seat said. "You really should feed him something. Who knows when he last ate."

"Too bad. Dinner time has passed." She sent me one last glare while I hastily slipped into the rags.

I felt violated. Exposed. Putting on their clothes made me feel branded, worse than being naked. But I knew the worst was yet to come.

"Let's go," Warden said. She held the door open for me while I waddled outside.

The dampness, and stink, of our tunnel grew stronger as we wandered deeper in. I had to hold my nose while rats scurried by our feet, until I heard the sound of rushing water.

Flickering lightbulbs illuminated a larger tunnel filled with noxious sludge. I couldn't tell if it smelled more like chemicals or shit. But it was obvious we'd entered the Dos Noches sewers that I'd been researching.

"Keep walking." Warden shoved my back.

"Okay . . ."

A narrow pathway along the side gave us just enough space to walk without falling in the water. Warden was right behind me, blocking any chance of escape. Her grunts rang each time I slowed, yelling at me to move faster.

"Turn here," she said.

Another stretch of tunnel screeched with the sound of machinery. We paced past doorways that previewed children working inside dangerous sweatshops. Machines and gears spurned and churned, deafening me even from here.

I could do nothing except look away and keep walking. I'm sorry. Give me time. I'll save you all from here if it's the last thing I do.

Soon we reached another entryway locked behind prison bars. Warden jingled some keys then opened the gate.

"Come," she ordered.

The dark chamber welcomed us inside. With help from glowflies on the ceiling, my eyes adjusted and spotted dozens of bunk beds full of children. Malnourished, dirty, wounded, whimpering—not a single face had any soul left in it.

"Wh-Who are these kids?" I said, trying to play dumb.

"They're all your new coworkers. From tomorrow onwards, you'll be a proud operator working various machinery, mostly cotton mills. Devoting your sweat—your body—for the benefit of Miss Amila will be your life."

"Huh? But I thought this was an orphanage?"

She just smiled at me; her crooked lips couldn't even hint at kindness. "This is an orphanage. If you do not work, you do not eat. And if you still do not work, you get whipped. Am I clear?"

How is something this cruel allowed? Without another choice, I could only nod in response.

"Good answer. Let me go find your friend now."

Warden stepped ahead and peered into each bunk bed. Kids squirmed back as she looked everyone dead in the eye, her flaming silver hairs billowing. Agitation appeared when she couldn't find them.

"Wendy!" Warden yelled out. "Get over here!"

"Y-Yes, ma'am!"

I heard someone stumbling out from bed and shambling over. Through the darkness, a young blonde girl limped into sight. She wore dirty denim overalls with one of the shoulder buckles missing. And she had what looked like a bruise around her neck.

Hmmm? Who's that? My eyes narrowed on that familiar girl.

"Meet your new student, Wendy." Warden introduced us. "You're both about the same age. But what's your name again, kid?"

"Aiza—I'm Aihara," I said.

"Alright. Wendy will show you the ropes tomorrow. I expect nothing less than perfection, so teach him well."

"Of course, ma'am." Wendy gave the slightest bow that made her flinch from pain.

There was nothing else to say. A key twisted in the lock to our jail cell as Warden departed back out to the sewers. Meanwhile, all us children were left imprisoned, wallowing in our misery.

Wendy sighed. "Let's sleep. Tomorrow is a fourteen-hour shift."

"Wait, fourteen-hours? We're just kids!"

"Don't yell. Guards will come." She slid under the blankets of a spare bed and gestured for me to join her. "We'll sleep in this bed tonight. You don't have a bed yet."

"E-Eh?" Is saying 'no' something a kid would say? I gotta maintain my child persona even around other kids. Risking one of them getting suspicious and reporting me isn't an option. "Um, I can just sleep on the floor, or something."

"There's mice and bugs down there. Do whatever. Please just let me sleep . . ."

"Oh." I hadn't realized I was keeping her awake. My sight adjusted to darkness enough to see the permanent bags under her eyes. She was covered in grime, and smelled of oil. But even under all that muck, she still reminded me of someone I couldn't remember.

Not wanting to frustrate, I slipped under the bed covers beside Wendy, her face too close for comfort. She'd since fallen asleep and was breathing peacefully.

Though now, it'd become an entire chamber of children whose only moments of happiness were in their dreams. Toiling away at the machines and then sleeping in sewers was our life now.

Tomorrow would just start everything again.

That was the truth of this world: that Amila the Hero was no hero. She'd started a country-wide system of sweatshops under the guise of orphanages. It gave free labor that flooded the market with cheap goods other manufacturers couldn't compete with. The result was profits, money, everlasting wealth that went towards opening more orphanages—an evergreen cycle sponsored by the church itself.

Nuri had confirmed everything. And even if we couldn't usurp the church, we'd at least bring to light Amila's crimes no matter the cost.

Our plan to destroy her had already begun.