The sky had not yet shifted from black to gray when Elyom stepped into the cold morning air, clutching a dull hatchet in one hand and a small rope in the other. The silence of the church behind him felt heavier than usual.
Still, the moment the gate creaked shut behind him, he exhaled quiet, cautious, free.
The path to the edge of the forest was long and crooked. Shadows hung thick between the skeletal trees, their twisted branches clawing at the sky like the fingers of something long buried.
Elyom moved quickly, hoping not to encounter any wild animals.
He reassured himself with one simple thought:If the forest were truly dangerous, Father Vauren wouldn't have sent him.
But this was not a forest made for hymns.
And yet… it beckoned.
The deeper he walked, the more the air changed. The biting cold softened. The scent of damp moss and pine sap thickened. The mist curled at his ankles like a greeting. The trees swayed not from wind, but as if watching him.
At the edge of a small clearing, he began gathering fallen branches. Snapping them. Binding them. Working quickly, breathless, his fingers stinging from the chill.
And thenHe felt it.
A pull.A whisper.Not from behind him.From deeper in.
"You don't belong with them."
"You are not theirs."
He froze. One hand on a half-rotten log.
The voice wasn't Father Vauren's.
It wasn't his own.
It was something older. Sadder. Softer.
The trees groaned above him.
The mist at his feet coiled toward the forest's heart.
His eyes followed an unseen path lit now with golden morning light, as though the forest had bloomed just for him.
"Come home…"
His foot stepped forward.Once.Twice.
Then stopped.
"Not yet," he whispered aloud.
"Not today."
Kenny's face flashed in his mind.The other boys, too.
Children he had to save before the darkness consumed them.
Before their hearts became twisted with revenge.Before all kindness, care, and love were leeched away.
He can't give up on them just like his mother didn't gave up on him.
And the forest… stilled.
The presence faded.
Not in anger.
Not in sorrow.
But in patience.
"Then go," the voice murmured,
"But remember where you belong."
Elyom turned back, bundle in hand.
The church's cold had already reached for him, clawing at his skin and spine.
But for a few fleeting minutes…He had remembered warmth.A warmth he hadn't felt since his mother passed away.
And what he wouldn't giveTo feel it again.
The morning passed in silence and routine.
Elyom returned, deposited the firewood by the kitchen, and retrieved his next assignment: scrubbing the lower chapel floors.
By now, he knew the rhythm.
The stiffness of the bristles.
The burn in his knees.
As he worked, he noticed Kenny across the hall, struggling to drag a water bucket nearly half his size. His arms shook with effort.
Without a word, Elyom crossed the room and took the handle.
Kenny didn't protest.
Together, they carried it to the washroom.
They worked like that often now Elyom lifting, Kenny rinsing. Quiet. Efficient. Balanced.
Sneaking from the prying eyes of sister Catherine.
"You didn't have to help," Kenny mumbled once, without meeting his eyes.
"I know," Elyom said with a small smile.
"That's why I did."
Later, as they passed the kitchen, Sister Catherine glanced at them without scowling.
Maybe she was just tired.
Or maybe…She had begun to notice the change.
Even if she didn't understand it.
That night, the dormitory creaked with tired bodies settling beneath scratchy blankets. The air was thick with silence.
But Kenny sat up, hugging his knees to his chest.
"Elyom," he whispered. "Can you… tell me something? A story?"
Elyom turned to him, voice soft. "My mother used to tell me a lot of stories."
Kenny nodded. "Just… something warm. I miss warm."
With begging eyes and pleading tone
So Elyom closed his eyes.And began.
"There was once a little star who lived too close to the dark sky.
Every night, the dark whispered,
'You don't shine enough. You don't matter.'
So the star began to shrink. Smaller. Sadder. Colder.
Until one day, a lost bird flew too far, too long, and couldn't find its way home.
The only light it could see… was the little star.
And though small, the star lit the way.
Just enough.
Just barely.
That night, the bird sang a song just for the star.
And for the first time in a long time… the star glowed a little brighter."
Kenny's breathing slowed.
The tension left his shoulders.
But Elyom noticed something else.
Stillness.
Not the oppressive silence that clung to these walls like rot.
But a silence that listened.
A few boys eyes closed clung to the sound of his voice like a blanket.
Others, pretending to sleep, stared quietly at the ceiling, unmoving.
When the story ended, no one clapped.No one said thank you.
Elyom didn't needed that
But for the first time since Elyom had arrived…The room didn't feel cold.
And in their dreams that nightNo one was alone.
Elyom lay awake long after Kenny had drifted into sleep beside him.
He hoped foolishly that deep slumber might bring his mother's voice.Her warmth.Her lullabies.
But what came… was not warmth.
It was a vision.
A dark vision.
His mother young, joyful standing at the altar, hand in hand with his father. Faces radiant. Hopeful. Full of dreams.
Then came the child.
Then came the cracks.
The laughter faded.
The home withered.
Her smile eroded beneath exhaustion and grief.
And for the first time in any dream
She turned away from his cries.
Her voice, once his shelter, now joined in cruelty with his father's.
And then… she looked at him.
"If only you hadn't been born…""Cursed child."
Elyom jolted awake, gasping.
Drenched in sweat.Shaking.
The dormitory was dark. Silent.
But the echo remained.
And one thought roared louder than the dream itself:
Was it true?