The sun had risen higher by the time Pell stepped out of the orphanage. He paused just past the gate, sending one final look over his shoulder.

Elara stood in the doorway, arms folded loosely, her braid drifting slightly in the wind.

"No one's come around lately, right?" he asked.

Her expression didn't shift. "No," she replied, voice smooth as polished wood. "Not since those two troublemakers you ran off last month."

Pell snorted. "Good. Probably taught'em a good enough lesson to not mess around here again."

"Yeah" she said, managing a small smile. "Thanks for that. They were making things uncomfortable around here."

He grunted, hitching the now-lighter sack over his shoulder. "Keep the hearth warm and keep those little gremlins out of the pantry. I'll be back next week. Maybe earlier if the rain holds off. Should have some other things to bring by then."

"You always say that."

"And I always mean it," he said, already walking.

Elara watched him disappear down the path, his figure shrinking smaller with each step, the rhythm of his stride uneven but strong. Weathered, but unshaken. Once he vanished behind the bend, she lingered for a moment longer before quietly closing the door.

Her fingers stayed pressed to the handle a second too long.

The entry hall was empty. Sunlight filtered through the crooked panes, turning dust motes into drifting stars. The laughter of the children was gone; they were all playing much deeper inside. For a moment, all was still and peaceful.

Then a memory returned.

Just the day before, that very same handle had creaked open beneath her hand, and in its place—not Pell, but a man she'd have given anything not to see.

The memory struck like a blade drawn from its sheath. Quick, sharp, deadly—all hidden from view.

22 hours ago - Elm's Orphanage

Elara stood in the main office, her fingers laced tight before her, knuckles white. Across from her, in the center of the room, stood Amberdean Hainesworth—noble of the township, dressed in dark-plum colored robes that shimmered faintly in the dim light. His smile was that of a man too used to smiling while twisting a knife into a dying animal.

One of his guards waited by the door, silent and motionless in lacquered plate armor. He did nothing but stand still, however, his mere presence adding tension to the atmosphere. Elara had no guards; she was an orphanage director.

"Lovely place you keep," Amberdean said, strolling slowly across the wood floor. His gloved hand trailed the edge of a bookshelf, disturbing a fine coat of dust. "Though… a bit frayed around the edges. Wouldn't you agree?"

"It's a place for children," Elara said coolly. "Not a nobleman's estate. Not everything needs to be fancy."

"Ah, but even stables are cleaned before guests arrive." He turned toward her, smile thin.

Her jaw tightened. "Why are you here, Amberdean?"

His brows lifted, as if wounded by her tone. "Why, to discuss our arrangement, of course. You haven't missed a payment yet—commendable, really—but you're only just meeting the minimums. And the interest, Elara… oh, the interest is a patient beast, but a growing one."

"I've told you. I'll repay what's owed."

"And I believe you." He took another step closer. "But I've been thinking. This place is under strain. The roof leaks, the food is thin, the halls grow colder every winter. Children should not live in scarcity. Wouldn't it be better… to let a few go?"

Elara's spine straightened. "Go where?"

"To better homes," Amberdean said, voice soft, almost warm. "To those who can afford to raise them properly. They wouldn't suffer. In fact, some would flourish. If you simply let me arrange the relocation, it could ease your burden. Ease your debt, save on funds and resources. "

Her voice sharpened. "You mean sell them."

Amberdean's smile never faltered. "Such an ugly word. I prefer to think of it as a reallocation of resources. Think, Elara. Half your problems solved… in exchange for just a few unfortunate mouths. A worthy trade, isn't it? The needs of the many—"

"No," she snapped.

He stopped.

Elara's hands were trembling now, but she held her ground. "As long as I breathe, I won't hand over a single child. You want your money? You'll get it. But don't come here looking to take what isn't yours."

Amberdean exhaled slowly, as if releasing some minor irritation. "Very well. But remember—your contract is still in effect. Four years remain. If you cannot repay at least half the funds by then—depending on my mood… I'll have to raise taxes here, to convince you," he gestured lazily toward her, "the longer you wait, the worse and more debt you'll accrue. It'll get to where you'll have nothing to pay with. At least… not with coin. Just sign a new contract with me. New forms of payment. I'll even reduce half the loan debt."

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"You can keep your mood and your contract," she spat. "Now get out."

The guard shifted as Amberdean turned with a flourish, walking toward the door. "You're spirited, Elara. I'll give you that. Your mother would be proud. Though, pride doesn't pay debts."

As he reached the doorway, he paused—and smiled to himself.

"Four years, dear girl," he murmured. "Four years until your life turns into an endless cycle of dues. Not even that pathetic man will be able to protect you and your children at that point."

Amberdean and his guard left. Elara was left alone, sitting in the room. Her fists were clenched, and her expression conflicted. She was lost in thought, the warning by Amberdean lingering in her mind.

A few minutes after Amberdean's leave, the door to the office opened once more.

Elara glanced up.

"Still in one piece, I see," came the familiar voice of Gaius as he stepped inside, ducking slightly under the frame. His cloak was damp from the morning mist, and his boots left a faint trail on the wooden floor. The scent of leather, tobacco, and damp grass clung to him.

He closed the door with a soft click, then looked toward her without a trace of humor.

"You shouldn't be talking to him alone."

"I didn't exactly invite him," Elara said, voice low.

"I figured," Gaius replied, pulling out one of the old chairs and dropping into it with a grunt. "Passed him on the way up the hill. His guard gave me a real stink-eye, too. Not sure what his problem is."

She didn't laugh.

Gaius tilted his head, watching her. "So? What did he want this time?"

Elara hesitated. Her fingers loosened slightly, but she still kept them laced together. "He says… he'll raise taxes again if I don't start giving something more. He wants children, Gaius. Wants me to hand them over—just a few. He probably wants to sell them off."

Gaius' jaw worked slightly, his expression tightening like old leather pulled taut. "He said that outright?"

"Not in so many words. But yes. At least, that was probably his intention."

He leaned back in the chair, brow furrowed. "You know this'll keep getting worse. He's laying the bricks slow, but he's already building the noose for you and this place to hang from."

"I know."

"Does Pell know?"

Elara stiffened at that. "No. It's not his burden to know."

Gaius gave a dry laugh, sharp and humorless. "Could've fooled me. The man's been breaking his back for years just to keep this place fed. Grows half your meals. Delivers firewood. Keeps the wolves off your porch—literally and otherwise. You think he's not already carrying a burden for everything?"

"He does enough," she whispered. "More than he should. Really. Pell means well, but he's still… Pell. Going against Amberdean is like going against the king. There's no merit or opportunity to beat him. Amberdean just… lives in a world above us."

"Pell's not stupid," Gaius said. "Mostly, at least. He might not look it, but there's sharp iron under all that rust. Clever and crafty. Man's got a head for reading trouble. Although awkward, he gets crap done all around here, conventional or unconventional."

She stood, suddenly, too quickly. "I won't ask him," she said. "He's done everything he can. I won't ask him to do more. Telling him what Amberdean plans to do, just means he's going to try and confront him. It'll get Pell imprisoned, or worse, even killed. I just… I just have to pretend like everything's okay."

Silence stretched between them.

"This isn't about pride," Gaius said. "Or mercy. It's about survival. Amberdean's not just probing. He's counting down. You saw it in his eyes, didn't you? Doing nothing right now just means you'll fall prey eventually."

Elara didn't answer.

"I'm just saying," he said, standing with a grunt. "You wait too long—there won't be a choice left to make. You'll lose this place, and you'll lose the children with it. And the only one smiling at the end will be that bastard noble."

He moved toward the door.

"Think on it," he said. "Before there's nothing left to think about."

And then he was gone.

Elara remained alone in the office.

The light through the windows had changed. The dust motes were thicker now, the warmth fading behind slowly gathering clouds. She glanced outside.

"Looks like it's about to rain," she murmured.

She walked to the hearth, but didn't light it. She stood there in the quiet instead, her hands trembling slightly at her sides.

She didn't cry. Not yet.

But her breath came slow. And sharp. Like someone holding it in, just to keep the walls from crumbling too soon.

Elara moved across the office to a narrow cabinet tucked beside the shelf. Its door stuck slightly from age and humidity, but with a firm tug, it gave way. Inside, past a few folded linens and a cracked ledger book, lay a small, cloth-wrapped bundle.

She reached for it slowly.

Unwrapping the linen—careful not to tear the worn fabric, she revealed a brooch the size of her palm. Its surface was etched with delicate filigree patterns, framing a central gem that shimmered faintly, even in the dull light. A pale violet stone, cloudy at the edges, yet alive at its heart, almost like it pulsed with a breath of its own.

She pressed her fingers lightly to the center, just like she used to when she was a child.

The gem lit up, soft and dim—but it lit. A glow that was powered by mana.

Her throat tightened.

Her mother, Melly, had given it to her on her fifteenth birthday, back when the orphanage was still bustling with joy and Melly's laugh filled the halls like birdsong. She had said it came from her own youth, a gift once passed down from someone important.

"Someday," Melly had whispered, cupping Elara's small hands around it, "this will be worth more than silver. If the day ever comes where you truly love someone. Give this to them. It is a relic of prosperity and hope."

Elara exhaled shakily, closing her fingers around the brooch.

That day would probably never come now. Instead, it would serve another purpose.

There was a merchant convoy due to pass through the town again in a few months, stopping briefly on their way east. One trader, an older man from the Glassward House had appraised rare heirlooms before from travelers that had coincidentally rested in town at their arrival. If he came—if she could just get a fair look from him… the brooch might sell for enough. Maybe not the whole debt, but enough to buy time. Enough to keep Amberdean at bay.

Maybe.

She hated the thought of parting with it. It was the last thing her mother gave her that still felt like her. The way it lit up from her touch, the smooth edges worn from years of safekeeping. It was her mother's last remnant—her warmth, her pride, captured in a keepsake Elara wasn't ready to lose.

But she wasn't ready to lose the children either.

If it came down to it, there would be no choice. The livelihood of the children mattered more than a precious memory.

With a sigh, she wrapped the brooch back in its cloth and returned it to the cabinet, tucking it deep beneath the linens where no child's curious fingers might find it. Then she shut the door gently and leaned against it, hands resting flat against the worn wood.

"Just a little longer," she whispered.

A breeze brushed the windowpanes, rattling the old glass in its frame. Somewhere deeper in the orphanage, a child squealed in delight, and another shouted a name in protest. Life went on, blissfully unaware of what pressed in from outside.

Elara straightened and turned back toward the hall.

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