Interlude A1.VI

Five Years Ago...

Mags felt the shift in the air outside the orphanage even before the black figures appeared on the horizon. The silhouettes, one stretched tall and rail thin, the other a short smudge, were spotted approaching Solstice, shimmering in the dead heat of the late summer morning.

Mags was eleven, and that meant she was old enough to know when something wasn’t right. The orphanage was always busy, always full of noise—the clatter of dishes in the kitchen, the sound of children’s feet running through the halls, and the constant hum of conversation. But today, everything felt different.

She sat on the sun-warmed stones near the orphanage’s garden, idly picking at a loose thread on her dress, as she watched Vitomir welcome the two strangers to the orphanage. The taller one was a nun, dressed in black robes, her dark Olenish face framed by an ivory coif and veil. She was an older woman and her dark eyes drank in the sight of the orphanage. The other was a boy, probably about her age, with dirty, tattered clothes and a mop of tight, dark curls atop his head. He stood silently by the nun’s side, staring off at some distant point Mags couldn’t discern. Vitomir welcomed the two inside. Curiosity bubbling over, Mags scrambled to her feet and, as quiet as a cat, followed them inside.

She sat outside the kitchens, back pressed against the cool stone wall, knees pulled up to her chest. The smell of bread baking drifted through the cracked open door, warm and comforting, but it did little to ease the gnawing feeling in her stomach. She could hear voices inside—Vitomir’s deep, rumbling voice, and another, unfamiliar one. A woman’s voice, sharp and stern. The nun.

Mags leaned closer, straining to catch the words. Eavesdropping wasn’t something Vitomir encouraged, but if you were careful—really careful—you could get away with it. And Mags was nothing if not careful.

“I’m surprised to find the old church in this condition,” the woman said, her voice laced with disapproval. “Abandoned, repurposed. . .”

“You sound disappointed, Sister Patience,” Vitomir said calmly.

“Not disappointed . . . an orphanage is a noble cause. It is sad, and somewhat disgraceful, I must admit, that the presence of the Zircunwit has been so thoroughly scrubbed from this place.” She sighed. “But it was the Church that abandoned it, I suppose. Though I wonder if the children are being raised in the faith. The true faith. The old faith. . .”

“That’s none of your concern, Sister,” Vitomir replied, voice unwavering. “The children need a home, and they’ve found one here.”

There was a pause, and Mags could almost picture the woman, Sister Patience, narrowing her eyes. “Yes. Tell me about the children under your care.”

“Orphans. Each one a survivor from Calmarsh,” Vitomir said. His tone was steady, but Mags could hear the undercurrent of sadness.

“I wasn’t aware there were any survivors of the incident at Calmarsh,” Sister Patience said.

“Close enough to the truth. Only a handful of children survived the attack.”

“And how exactly did they end up under your care, Mr. Ratnik?”

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Another pause. The tense silence filled the space, so thick that Mags could almost feel it pressing through the walls of the kitchen. “And what brings you to Solstice, Sister?” Vitomir finally asked, severing the tension before it could drown them all. “And the boy you brought with you?”

Mags perked up at that, her interest sharpening.

“My convent is near the northern edge of the Front, not far from the border between Uruth and the Green Sea,” Sister Patience began, her voice taking on a somber tone. “We were traveling through the wastelands, heading to a village where we sometimes trade. When we arrived, the village was… gone. Destroyed. Every man, woman, and child massacred. Maldrath were still prowling the outskirts. We barely escaped with our lives.”

Mags’s breath hitched. Maldrath. The monsters that haunted her nightmares, that had taken everything from her and from so many others.

“We found the boy near a lake near the village,” Sister Patience continued, before stopping as though considering whether she wanted to continue at all. Then she spoke. “First we found his mother’s body. It was . . . well . . . The boy was near death . . . We thought he was dead when we first found him . . . He was cradling his mother’s head. He was still breathing, clinging onto life.”

Mags’s stomach twisted. The image painted by Sister Patience’s words was too vivid, too horrible. She felt a pang of something—pity, maybe, or fear. She wasn’t sure.

“The sisters couldn’t keep him at the abbey,” Sister Patience said, her voice quieter now. “One of them heard of an orphanage in Solstice, and so we brought him here.”

There was silence for a moment, and Mags knew the conversation was ending. She didn’t want to be caught, so she slipped away from her hiding spot and crept down the hallway, her heart pounding in her chest.

She made her way to the back of the building, where the steps led down to a small yard. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the cobblestones, and there, sitting on the steps, was the boy.

He was hunched over, his face buried in his hands, his skinny shoulders shaking. Mags approached slowly, her footsteps quiet on the stones. She wasn’t sure what to say, but felt as though she needed to say something, anything.

“Hi,” she said softly.

The boy’s head snapped up, and he stared at her with wide, frightened eyes. His dark skin was streaked with dirt, and his cheeks were wet with tears, the skin under this eyes were puffy and raw.

“I’m Mags,” she said, trying to sound friendly. “What’s your name?”

The boy sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Sabomir,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.

“Are you gonna live with us now?” Mags asked, sitting down on the step beside him.

Sabomir shrugged, his gaze dropping back to the ground. “I don’t know. I’m probably going to run away, anyway.”

Mags frowned. “Why?”

Sabomir didn’t answer at first. He just stared at the dirt beneath his feet, his hands clenching into fists. “I don’t have a home anymore,” he whispered.

Mags’s chest tightened. She knew that feeling, that hollow emptiness that came when you realized you had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. She glanced at Sabomir, his face pinched with pain, and felt an ache in her heart.

“Your mom was killed by Maldrath,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t a question—it was a fact. A horrible, undeniable fact.

Sabomir’s lip quivered, and fresh tears welled up in his eyes. He turned away, but not before Mags saw the tears start to fall.

“My mom was killed by them too,” Mags said quietly. She didn’t usually talk about it—about what had happened to her—but somehow, with Sabomir, it felt like the right thing to do.

Sabomir sniffled again, his shoulders shaking. Mags hesitated for a moment, then scooted closer and put her arm around him. He stiffened at first, but then he leaned into her, his small frame trembling.

“I’m gonna join the Crown Coalition Forces one day,” Mags said, her voice firm. “I’m gonna fight the Maldrath, so no one else has to lose their mom. So no one else has to be alone.”

Sabomir looked up at her, his eyes red and puffy. “You really think you can do that?” he asked, his voice shaky.

“Yeah,” Mags said with all the conviction she could muster. “I’ll be strong enough one day. Strong enough to protect everyone. And then we won’t have to run away anymore.”

Sabomir was quiet for a long moment, his gaze distant. Then he nodded, just a little. “I want that too,” he whispered.

Mags gave him a small smile, tightening her arm around his shoulders. “Then we’ll do it together.”

For the first time, Sabomir smiled back. It was small, barely there, but it was enough. They sat together on the steps, two children in a world full of monsters.