Jason stood in a small room, a desk to his back, which was covered in a light dusting of paperwork. Bookcases lined one wall and a wide window overlooked a courtyard below. Subtracting from the serious nature of the office, the opposite wall was completely covered in childish scribblings. Houses that were perfectly square, with four windows and a door, an oversized brown triangle balanced on top. Trees that were straight, brown lines with green blobs on top covered in red circles that were presumably supposed to be apples and not some sort of pox. The odd thing that kids did where the sky and the ground failed to meet in the middle.

"She had another episode yesterday," said an elderly woman standing next to him as they both gazed out through the window at the children playing below. "They're getting rarer, but that just makes them all the more impactful to her when they strike."

"I'm only sorry I couldn't be of more help," replied Jason.

"Nonsense!" snorted Tracy, the orphanage director. "You've already gone above and beyond. I couldn't possibly ask for anything more."

"And yet I could do nothing for her."

"Hah. Not everything is curable, you young 'un, and don't these old bones know it. Hurry up and find a skill that fixes old age already."

Jason gave a small smile despite himself. Tracy was human, and the path she had chosen wasn't one that brought great levels of endurance. Approaching eighty years old, she was reaching the end of her life, and there was no healing magic that could prevent it. Nevertheless, he couldn't imagine her quitting her post until she was dead. Maybe not even then.

"Time claims us all, in the end. From us short-lived humans up to the elves, demons and dragons."

"Yes. It comes for us all..." Tracy heaved a great sigh as she turned from the window and collapsed into the red-lined chair behind the desk. "I'm old Jason. I won't last forever. The Emerald Nest orphanage closed last year. Sent their kids here, but some of their staff came with them. Same with the Emerald Caverns. When the Emerald Sea closed down, they didn't send anyone here because they had no-one to send. Completely ran out of kids. Now we're down to our last dozen, and we have more staff than children. Parents just ain't dying any more."

"Most would consider that a good thing."

"Hah. Yes, it's a good thing indeed. Leaves me out of a job, though. And now you're taking one of my last. Once she's gone, we won't have anyone left younger than five."

Tracy spun her chair, gazing out of the window with an expression of melancholy.

"You know, I never did decide on a successor. Told myself I'd never need one. Who'd have thought I'd be right?"

"We'll always need some provision for orphans."

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"Yes, but it'll be a home somewhere. One night with a carer while they look over lists of volunteers and match them up with an appropriate family. Unless things change again, we'll never need this sort of place, with its rows of bedrooms and giant kitchens."

The pair remained quiet as they continued to watch the energetic children—some twenty of them, only half of whom actually lived at the orphanage—until a knock on the door distracted them.

"Ah, it seems your lovely wife has finished packing," said Tracy as the door opened and another lady walked in, carrying a heavy-looking bag with corners of small articles of clothing poking out the top. "Well, don't let me keep you. Go and say hello to your new daughter."

With a smile and a nod, Jason left the office, arm in arm with the new visitor. Tracy continued to watch from the window as the pair entered the courtyard, calling over to the troubled little toddler, who waddled up to them in confusion. She watched Jason crouching down as they talked, and grinned as the girl, Erryn, became progressively more animated.

In the daylight, her episode of the day before seemed like a hazy dream. An unreal nightmare. But she knew it had been very real. The toddler writhing in her bed, screaming until she coughed up blood, then curling up into a shivering, unresponsive ball. Healing magic had no effect. [Diagnosis] claimed she was completely healthy. [Eye of Judgement] showed her health was full.

It did show a status condition, though. [Scarred Soul]. Jason had refused to read out its description. Not point blank—he'd been circumspect about it—but Tracy knew full well when she was being fobbed off. It was something bad enough that he hadn't wanted to tell her, and she hadn't pressed the issue. That was when he'd started making suggestions about adoption.

It showed other things, too. Like the way she was attuned to every affinity. Not one from each pair, but literally all of them. Other than soul, obviously, because that was impossible. If affinities were born of the soul, did that have some relation to her status condition?

And, of course, there was that trait. She was [Curious], but no-one needed an appraisal skill to work that out. [Devoted] was perhaps less obvious, but still understandable. She didn't often get stuck hard into something, but if she did, she would always give it her all. No, the problem was the last one.

Unique traits were not unheard of, but the most common ones simply had a slightly personalised effect on top of a generic name. It was rarer for only one person in the world to have a trait with a specific name, but even if they did, they weren't normally personalised to the extent of not being able to imagine anyone else holding the trait. That didn't apply to Erryn, who was, well, [Erryn].

Jason had read out the description for that one, not that it said anything useful, at a mere four words long. You paid the price. It was, of course, rank five.

The girl was a mystery indeed, and Tracy regretted that she was unlikely to live long enough to see its solution. Not that she'd never see the girl again after today; too many of Erryn's friends lived here, after all. She'd still come around to play. Tracy didn't doubt that even after the last child had been adopted and the building lay closed and empty, the kids would still meet up here, former orphans and their friends alike. Of the twenty down there, how many had formerly lived here? Six, maybe? The last four had just snuck in because it was a handy space, with lots of friendly children already there to play with.

Erryn hugged her two new parents, then ran back to the rest of the children to say her goodbyes. Tracy watched her try to take the bag that contained her meagre belongings from her new mother, completely unable to carry the weight, but giving it a terrific effort regardless. It wasn't long until she'd left the courtyard, out of sight of the elderly director.

With another sigh, Tracy turned back to her desk. Yes, the lack of orphans was a good thing, but sometimes she didn't half feel lonely.