Chapter 1 – The Darkness
"Ahhhh! My head is spinning..." Frank groaned, his voice thick with the weight of the alcohol still lingering in his system. His vision blurred as he struggled to sit upright on the barstool.
The bartender, Alger, stood above him with a scowl, his arms crossed in frustration. "Wake up. Your order is here," he snapped, slamming a glass of water down in front of Frank.
Frank squinted up at him, his face pale and drawn. "Thanks," he muttered, trying to focus on the glass before him.
Alger didn't give him a moment to recover. "When will you pay your debt? You've been drinking here for months, and you still haven't paid a single coin," he barked, his voice rising.
Frank's eyes barely registered the irritation in the bartender's tone as he looked at the cold water in front of him. His mind was too fogged to respond properly, but he managed to mumble, "I'll get to it, alright?"
Alger wasn't satisfied with the answer. "You two have been freeloading here for long enough," he said, looking at Frank's friend, Victor, who sat across the bar, nursing his own beer. "I don't think either of you has a way to pay your debts. Sixteen years old and both of you, orphans." His voice dripped with judgment, though there was an edge of something softer beneath the harsh words.
Victor's lips curled into a half-smile, but there was little humor in his eyes. "Then why do you keep giving us drinks?" he asked, his gaze fixed on the frothy beer in his hand. "You're not doing this out of kindness, are you?"
Alger's scowl deepened. "It's not kindness," he said, his voice colder now. "I'm not doing this because I expect you to pay me back. I'm doing it because I know what it's like to be where you two are. I grew up in that same orphanage."
Frank's brow furrowed. "You never told us that," he said, his voice tinged with surprise.
Alger met Frank's eyes, his expression unreadable. "It's not something I like to talk about. But don't mistake me for a saint." He turned away, grabbing a dirty glass to wash.
Victor didn't look up from his drink, but his voice was sharp. "You took care of us, and you've helped us for years. But if you're looking for some kind of repayment from us, don't bother. We don't have anything to give."
There was a long pause, heavy with unsaid words. Then, Alger's voice broke the silence, low but firm. "I don't expect repayment from you. I only wish things had turned out differently... for all of us."
The words hung in the air like smoke, too thick to ignore, but before anyone could respond, the conversation was abruptly interrupted by a loud shout from across the bar.
"You spilled your drink on me, you bitch!" a man yelled, his voice tinged with fury. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and probably around thirty-five years old . His red eyes glinted with anger as he glared at Bob, who stood a few feet away, still holding his drink.
Bob, a well-built man with slicked-back black hair, was trying to keep the situation from escalating. "Come on, man, it was an accident. I didn't mean it." He raised his hands in a gesture of peace, but the angry man was beyond reasoning.
The bartender's face darkened as he rushed over to intervene. "I told you, no fighting in my bar!" Alger's voice was commanding, but the anger in his tone made it clear that he wasn't just angry about the disruption; there was something more personal at play.
Before Alger could stop the fight, the angry man lunged at Bob, throwing a punch that landed squarely on his jaw. Bob staggered back, but he quickly recovered, his fists tightening.
Frank and Victor exchanged a glance, the tension in the air almost palpable. "This isn't going to end well," Frank muttered.
Victor, however, was already on his feet. "Let's get outside," he said, already walking toward the door. Frank followed him, a sinking feeling in his stomach.
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Far away from the city there was something that was glowing bright and red.The screams that were coming like a horrific sound; it was a building that's on fire.
A girl running from the township saw that and she immediately called someone.In the building that named a home for one who doesn't feel like they are living.
A Distant screams telling " run!!!! ".
The fire starts to spread to the loving forest.There were orphans in the building and there were little childrens living there.A fell silent except the fire and the winds of the winter sounding like an almost peace like there was Nothing happened. Then there was a fire truck breaking the silence.They started to spread water.
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The brawl spilled out onto the street, the cold air of the night biting at their skin. A crowd quickly gathered, chanting the names of the fighters.
"Kade! Kade!" the crowd yelled, cheering on the angry man, who was already throwing punches with a ferocity that bordered on madness.
"Bob! Bob!" came the counter chants, though the majority of the crowd seemed to be on Kade's side.
Alger stepped outside, his face pale with worry, his eyes scanning the brawlers. "Idiots," he muttered under his breath. "I never should have allowed this."
Victor, grinning like a wolf in the night, turned to Frank. "Let's make this interesting," he said, nudging his friend.
Frank's brow furrowed. "You're not serious?"
Victor winked. "Let's see who's got more heart." With that, he moved toward the fight.
The two men stripped off their shirts, their muscles glistening under the dim streetlights. The crowd roared with excitement.
Bob, with a swift movement, launched a punch straight at Kade's face. But Kade was quick enough to catching Bob's fist mid-air. A moment of stillness passed before Kade retaliated, landing a solid blow to Bob's jaw.
The sound of bone meeting bone echoed in the cold night air, and Bob's head snapped back. The fight escalated from there, the two men exchanging brutal punches.
With a growl of frustration, Kade tackled Bob to the ground. Bob, struggling to free himself, managed to land a devastating punch to Kade's ribs. Then, in one smooth motion, Bob kicked Kade off of him and pinned him down, raining punch after punch down onto Kade's face.
"You like this? You like getting hit?" Bob growled, his voice wild with adrenaline.
Kade's nose bled profusely, but he wasn't finished yet. He lashed out, kicking Bob in the chest with enough force to send him sprawling backward.
The crowd was no longer chanting. The tension in the air was suffocating, thick with anticipation. Bob slowly rose to his feet, his chest heaving with effort. Kade followed suit, his face a mask of rage and blood.
The two men squared off, each glaring at the other, ready for the final blow.
But then something unexpected happened.
Bob lunged forward, his fist flying toward Kade's face. But Kade caught his arm mid-swing, twisting it in a painful hold. With a final burst of energy, Kade slammed his knee into Bob's gut, knocking the wind out of him.
The fight had reached its peak. Both men were bruised, bloodied, and exhausted.
Alger, watching the fight unfold, couldn't take it anymore. "Enough!" he shouted, rushing forward to separate them. "You fools need to go to the hospital. You're both a damn mess!"
The crowd slowly began to disperse as the adrenaline wore off, but Frank and Victor were left standing in the street, silent and shaken by the violence they had just witnessed.
"Why'd you let it go on that long?" Frank asked, his voice quiet.
Victor shrugged, his eyes scanning the empty street. "Sometimes you need to let people get their anger out. Sometimes, it's the only way they know how to deal with it. When I was young I couldn't find my happiness. The purpose of living is not to use your time properly, it's to spend the time even though it is a waste".
Frank wasn't sure he understood, but he didn't argue. The world had always felt a little out of control to him, especially since the day he had come to the orphanage. He had been broken, lost, and filled with a kind of grief that no one seemed to understand.
But Victor had.
Victor had pulled him from his shell, made him laugh when he didn't want to, made him feel like there was still something worth fighting for in this dark world.
As they walked away from the scene, Frank's thoughts turned inward.
"Victor," he said, his voice suddenly tight, "do you think we'll ever get out of this place?"
Victor didn't answer immediately. He seemed to be thinking about the question. "I don't know, Frank. But what I do know is this—life's about finding those little moments of joy. That's how we survive."
Frank was silent for a moment, the weight of those words settling on him. He wanted to believe them, but it was hard when everything he had ever known was crumbling around him.
As they made their way toward the orphanage, the cold air biting at their skin, Frank couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Something was about to change.
Far off in the distance, a red glow lit up the sky.
The orphanage was on fire.
Frank and Victor ran toward the burning orphanage as fast as their legs would carry them. The sky glowed red with flames, smoke curling into the cold night air. Their eyes widened in horror at the scene before them—children lay scattered across the ground, some crying, others unconscious. Firefighters scrambled to control the blaze, their shouts drowned out by the roar of the fire.
Among the chaos, they spotted a firefighter slumped against the side of the firetruck, his knee bloodied, his face pale with exhaustion. He clutched the vehicle for support, clearly injured.
Frank rushed to him. "What happened here?" he asked, breathless.
The firefighter winced in pain before speaking. "We got a call from a woman. She told us there was a fire at the orphanage. By the time we arrived, it had already spread. I was sent in with a team to rescue the children, but…" His voice trailed off, heavy with the weight of what he had seen.
Just then, Victor noticed someone stepping out of the burning building. It was Orion. He emerged slowly from the flames, untouched, his white clothes immaculate against the blackened backdrop. His face was expressionless—neither sad nor angry, just eerily blank. His eyes were pitch black, darker than night, as if reflecting nothing at all.
They stood there in silence, watching as firefighters battled the flames through the freezing night. Despite the cold air, the fire kept the chill away. The wind brushed gently past them, the trees rustling softly. The grass beneath them was warm and dry. It almost felt peaceful. Frank and Victor lay down on the grass, trying to find comfort, staring up at the stars. But every time they raised their heads, the burning orphanage loomed in their vision.
The whole night didn't feel like it was real. It was like a dream to them they lay down on the grass seeing the stars pass by. In that cold night Frank understood why Victor let them fight.
They couldn't sleep just by seeing the stars. Instead of seeing a nightmare or a fire that destroyed their home, it felt peaceful to them.
Morning came slowly. The fire had finally been put out, but the damage was already done.
They entered the building with heavy steps. Inside, there was nothing left. Dust covered everything. The memories that once lived in those halls were gone—consumed by the fire. The laughter, the shared secrets, the warmth… all vanished.
As they walked through the hallway, they came across a half-burnt picture hanging on the wall. In the dining room, they could still hear echoes of laughter in their minds. The bedroom where thirty children once slept together was nothing but ash and broken wood.
Outside, near the entrance, they found a photograph of everyone from the orphanage—every child accounted for in one precious frame. It was almost completely burned, but still recognizable. That image hit them harder than anything else. The fire hadn't just destroyed a building; it had erased their home.
They sat on the orphanage steps in silence, numb. It was like their hearts were burned too. The place where they had grown up, laughed, cried, and lived—it was gone. And most of the people who made it feel like home were likely gone too.
A police officer approached them and began asking questions. "Where were you last night? What were you doing during the fire?"
Neither of them was in a state to speak. Victor, out of respect, tried to answer as best he could. Frank, staring at his shoes, asked quietly, "Where are we supposed to go now?"
The officer's voice was cold. "I don't know," he said flatly, walking away.
Then, from a distance, Lily came running. She spotted the two boys and ran straight to Frank. Kneeling beside him, she cupped his face in her hands, her eyes welling with tears. Without a word, she hugged him tightly.
"I'm just glad you're both okay," she whispered, her voice breaking. She cried out loud almost like a child.
They explained everything to her, and in return, she told them what she saw as the orphanage burned.
None of them had answers—but they were alive. And somehow, that had to be enough.