Clack!
In the blink of an eye, Lyra intercepted the descending stick meant for Andrew. Markus, caught off guard, barely had time to react before she skillfully twisted the weapon from his grasp and flung it away. He reached out instinctively to grab it back, but Lyra shoved him with a surprising force. Markus stumbled, his balance momentarily lost.
Just as she prepared to unleash her fury upon him with a well-deserved beating—
"Stop!"
A sharp voice rang through the orphanage yard.
It was Sister Luna. A middle-aged woman, her beauty had long been softened by the hardships of life. She was the only other religious figure in this remote village besides the priest from that obscure temple.
Her face was flushed—whether from anger or from the heavy pack she carried, it was hard to tell.
"Half an hour. Just half an hour! And you lot have already turned this place into chaos!" she exclaimed, her tone exasperated.
At her outburst, the gathered children scattered, vanishing into the orphanage like frightened mice. Only Andrew, still lying on the ground, Lyra, frozen in shock, and Markus, stiff with fear, remained.
Stolen novel; please report.
Sister Luna’s sharp gaze landed on Markus. "How many times, Markus? How many times must I do this before you stop picking fights?!"
Then, her eyes flicked to Andrew, widening in alarm. "Oh, my goddess Prithvi—he’s bleeding!"
She hurried to Andrew’s side. Lyra, snapping out of her daze, quickly followed.
"Let me help, Sister," Lyra offered, supporting Andrew as he struggled to sit up.
Sister Luna knelt beside him, murmuring a soft prayer under her breath.
"Please do," she said, then turned a stern gaze to Markus. "And as for you—go to your dorm. No evening snacks for a week!"
"But—!" Markus protested.
"No buts. Now!"
Markus lowered his head and trudged away.
No evening snacks were bad enough. But worse—far worse—was what came next.
"From today onward, you will recite the Metal Scriptures with me every evening," Sister Luna added.
A murmur of sympathy passed through the children who overheard. Sitting in a rigid position for three straight hours, chanting scriptures? That was a punishment worse than hunger.
Still, considering it was Markus, no one felt too sorry for him.