The girl woke up at dawn. Her heart was racing, the sheets tangled around her like a shroud. She lay there, bewildered, the echo of her scream fading in the silent room. The shadows of early morning stretched across the walls, a stark reminder that it was all just a dream.
Outside the window, a large, vibrant city was noisy. Skyscrapers rose like mountains illuminated by the rising sun. Flying cars and winged creatures zipped between the gleaming towers, their trails blending with the early morning haze. The dawn chorus was the hum of magic power and the steady pulse of the high-speed transit system. It mingled with the calls of sky-dwelling beasts. At that moment, the city appeared alive and eagerly awaiting the new day's arrival.
The girl sat up in bed and tried to calm her racing breath. She wore faded cotton pajamas—shorts with lace trim and a tank top with spaghetti straps.
Her hands were still trembling.
The girl shook her head and attempted to dispel the dream images, but they clung like cobwebs. It was so real—the battle, the shadow, the dragon!
She felt both sadness and wonder. The girl knew she had witnessed something extraordinary most people would never believe—the night when the light and dark fought, and the dragon looked into her soul. No one in this orphanage.
Loud footsteps in the corridor brought her out of the daze.
"Catty! What the heck!" there was a scream, and the door swung open, crashing against the wall with a force that shook it.
The girl blinked away the remnants of her dream when a woman appeared on the threshold. Her face was a mask of fury. The orphanage director was tall in a long black dress, square all over: square jaw, square shoulders, square toe boots.
"You missed your shift!" she bawled, hands on her hips, looming like a storm cloud over Catty. "Do you think we can feed you for free here?"
"I was sick. What's wrong?" the girl's tone was laced with a boldness that few in the orphanage dared muster. "Think the factory will fall apart without me?"
"Sick? You know the rules! Do you think they don't apply to you?" the director seethed, her fists clenched at her sides.
Catty smirked, and her fearlessness infuriated the matron further.
"Maybe I think the rules are as stupid as this place," she faced the woman eye to eye, her defiance a clear challenge.
The director's eyes narrowed, her voice cold and menacing, "You'll regret this, girl. I'll make sure of it."
"I already do. Every day in this dump is one day too many. You know what? I’m not sticking around here forever."
"You're on double shifts for this week. And if you think about skipping again, remember, there are worse places than the factory," the matron turned on her heel and got out, leaving the door open.
Catty sat in the morning light. Her body trembled, not from the chill but from a deep resentment of what lay ahead. The door slammed shut, echoing a grim reminder of her reality—a world away from the dragons of her dream.
Sunlight struggled to seep through the dusty window. The room was dismal, its air thick with the smell of neglect. Once painted vivid, the walls faded and peeled, revealing patches of damp plaster beneath. Rows of rickety bunk beds lined the room, each one hosting a thin, worn mattress that had seen better days. Personal belongings were tucked away in the rickety wardrobe.
"Worse places than the factory," Catty repeated in her thoughts. It felt like ants crawling all over her. The girl knew that the matron—the Widow—as kids called her behind her back, had never lied. She had never joked. Every word from that woman had always had a very straight meaning.
"I'm sixteen and have no papers like I've never existed."
The girl almost cried—a single tear had already fallen from her eyes. Not out of fear. Out of anger.
"And no one cares where I end up."
She put on a work jumpsuit, all covered in patches, and pulled her long hair into a ponytail with an elastic band. A bracelet glimmered on her wrist; it was a solitary link to the parents she could not recall. It spiraled with a sheen that flickered in the light—a band of unknown metal that seemed to pulse with a life of its own.
Fuelled by anger and an empty stomach, Catty made her way to the kitchen, the heart of the orphanage, where warmth and the scent of food might offer brief solace. It was alive with the aroma of baking bread and the promise of breakfast. Here, amidst the clatter of pots and pans, she found Mrs. Benna, the cook, a portly woman whose stern exterior belied a kind heart. She was the one person in this dreary place who seemed to retain a spark of love.
"Mrs. Benna," Catty began when she stepped into the kitchen, her voice cheeky but desperate.
"I missed dinner last night. And breakfast, too," her stomach rumbled audibly.
Turning from the stove, the cook cast a disapproving look that quickly softened.
"Always trouble with you. You live up to your nickname!" But she slid a plate of warm bread towards Catty, along with a bowl of porridge.
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As Catty ate, the room felt more like a haven.
"The Widow's really got me," she said between bites. "It's like they don't even see us as human."
"This place... it's no home for any of you," Mrs. Benna nodded sternly, leaving no room for doubt about the seriousness of the matter.
"I've been hearing things, you know? About her," Catty said.
"Oh? And what kinds of things might those be?" the cook glanced over her shoulder, continuing to chop vegetables.
"Gossip. That she didn't just inherit this place... that there were... circumstances."
"Circumstances, um," Mrs. Benna nodded in understanding. "Yes, that's one way to put it. There are stories, Catty. This orphanage it's seen a lot. Not all of it good."
"What kind of stories?"
The cook leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper, "Stories of how the last director has gone. No farewell, no trace. And our current director? Suddenly in charge."
"And nobody questioned it?"
"Uh... In this place?" the woman chuckled bitterly. "Questions are a luxury few can afford. But whispers, they get around. Whispers of deals made in the dark, of secrets buried deep beneath these floors."
"What about... magic? They say this place has... a history."
Mrs. Benna straightened and cautiously glanced around before continuing.
"History? Oh, well, more like legends. This orphanage was built on grounds that have seen more than hardship and tears. They say the land itself is... special."
"Special, how?"
"Old magic, dearie. The kind that doesn't fade. The kind that seeps into the bones of this place. Some believe it's what gives the director her edge."
"Magic. And she knows how to use it?"
"Maybe. Or maybe it's using her. Hard to say. But if you're looking to find what's been taken from you... magic might be your best bet."
"Then I'll need to know more. About the magic, the director, everything," Catty's eyes determined glint.
The cook became serious, "Be careful, Catty. Some doors, once opened, can't be closed. And some truths... they can burn."
Catty smirked. Then, having finished breakfast, she asked.
"Mrs. Benna, have you seen Luli? I can't find her anywhere."
"Luli? I've seen many girls..." the cook sighed, wiping her hands on her apron. "You know, one day here, the next, gone. Gone without a word. Have you known how many of them vanish?"
Catty paused, her spoon halfway to her mouth.
"Just... disappear," the cook added.
"Disappear? You mean, they run away?"
"Not run away," the woman's face darkened, and she leaned in close, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Taken away. Some say to places far worse than this. Have you heard about the 'special guests' the Widow entertains?"
The cook glanced around the kitchen as if the walls themselves could betray them. "There are rumors, Catty, about a hidden place. A brothel, servicing the rich in downtown."
Catty felt her blood run cold. "A brothel? That's... that's crazy!"
The news hit her like a punch. She knew the orphanage was a harsh place, but the existence of such a brothel with orphans seemed unthinkable.
"Yes, and Luli might be next. I overheard the Widow talking about 'preparing' her for some guests."
"Luli?" Panic tightened around Catty's heart.
The cook looked at her with fear in her eyes. "Be careful, Catty. You're brave, but this is dangerous. These people, they're powerful. And ruthless."
"Mrs. Benna, how do you stand it here, seeing what's happening?"
Catty's spoon clattered against the bowl. "I have to do something. I can't let that happen."
"There's always a choice, my girl."
Catty felt a determination take hold. She couldn't leave Luli to such a fate. She needed to act and save her friend.
"I can't just sit back. I have to do something," the girl set her jaw.
She left the kitchen and went in search of her friend. The orphanage had always been a prison. But now, the girl resolved that she wouldn't let it be a tomb for her and Luli.
Inside the workshop, children, some scarcely older than toddlers, were hunched over tables and dismantled broken robots. The air was heavy with the smell of oil and metal, and the constant roar of machinery drowned out the children's voices. Mana, extracted from demounted bodies, was sparkling everywhere. Overhead lights cast harsh shadows over their fatigued faces. The floor around children was a graveyard of technology—metal limbs, tangled wires, printed circuits, and lifeless electronic eyes.
The world where childhood was lost amid the remnants of a mechanical age.
Catty's eyes darted from face to face, seeking the familiar one she feared she'd never see again, but Luli was nowhere to be seen.
Catty pressed on, her steps leading her through the dimly lit corridors lined with peeling paint and the remnants of happier times. The dormitories where the exhausted kids rested offered no sign of Luli. The air, thick with despair, seemed to swallow her inquiries whole.
The mess hall, usually bustling with the clamor of mealtime, felt eerily silent as Catty entered. Her questions, directed at anyone who dared meet her gaze, were met with shrugged shoulders and averted eyes. It was as if Luli had vanished into thin air, leaving behind a void that no one dared to fill.
Each place had the same story: children were aweary and despaired. No sign of Luli.
Late evening, Catty found herself outside the director's room. Usually locked, the door stood ajar. She waited until the corridors were silent, then slipped into the room with trepidation and resolve. Her heart was pounding against her ribs like a caged bird desperate for escape.
It was empty and dark, save for the moonlight slipping through the blinds. It cast long shadows across the floor.
Catty's eyes quickly scanned the room, landing on the neatly stacked papers and files on the desk. She rummaged through the papers, opened the desk drawers, and shook their contents. She searched for anything about Luli and checked each sheet, looking for a clue. Papers fluttered to the ground, and books, pens, papier mache joined the mess. When the desk became bare, every drawer was emptied, and every paper examined, the girl saw the woman standing at the door.
"What the hell are you doing?" the director barked, looking around the room.
"Looking for Luli," Catty shot back, her voice steady, betraying no fear. "Where is she?"
"Don't you have anything to do?" The Widow stepped closer and clenched her fists.
"I'll find out what’s going on, with or without your help," Catty responded.
The director pounced like a shark, aiming a slap at Catty's face, but the girl dodged. She pushed the woman away, the wrath giving her strength.
"You'll pay for that," the Widow hissed, met with unexpected resistance.
They clashed, and the woman tried to capture the girl, but Catty evaded again.
The fight was chaotic, a whirl of motion and fury. Catty didn't give up, but the director noticed the bracelet glimmering on the girl's wrist. With a quick movement, the Widow yanked the bracelet off her hand.
"Give it back!" Catty's voice shook with anger.
"What's this?" the director grimaced, examining the bracelet. "What's a beautiful trinket! I'll keep it as a reminder of you here," she mocked, putting on a bracelet.
"Give it back, or I kill you!" The girl shouted and lunged forward.
"Arnold! Gregory!" The Widow screamed throughout the house.
When Catty managed to hit the woman in the chest, the door slammed open, and guards rushed in. They grabbed Catty, pulling her away from the matron. She struggled against their hold, but the men were too strong, their grips iron.
The director, now seething, approached. Her face was red with rage, and she landed a sharp slap across Catty's face.
"Drag her to the basement," she spat out, her voice dripping with contempt. "You end here, you worthless rat."