Thunder cracked in the distance. The windows rattled lightly. It shook Wilson awake before the other children followed. He threw off his covers and rose. Looking out the window he saw soldiers marching down the street. He sighed knowing that it would be a late night.

“Get up. Will you?” he said to his half-asleep roommates. He kicked their beds rocking them. “The soldiers will be at the wall. We need to get the young ones to sleep before Priest Damon does his rounds.”

At those words, the three other boys rose. Brad and Greg got up quickly and joined him down the hall. A few kids were already in the hall. Those old enough to remember and expect what would be happening tonight went back to bed. The sound of soldiers echoed down the street. In many ways, they were lucky to be near the city walls, but not on a night like this.

The children split up to check on the youngest of the orphans and coax them back to sleep. Curtains were further blacked out to hide the torches or mage light that might pass them by. Returning the children back to bed took some time. It depended on the child’s age. They knew that they would not get great sleep tonight and would have to block out the noise somehow.

“I wish they would let us know when the wall defense would occur,” said Wilson. “I was expecting them to wait until later in the week at least. If Priest Damon Interrupts us and stops us I am going to scream.”

“Just be ready to wait out the evening in one of the kiddy rooms so that they don’t cry all night,” said Brad. “Gods, I hate today.”

Wilson and the older children moved swiftly through the shadowy corridors of the orphanage; their footsteps muffled against the worn wooden floors. The distant sounds of marching soldiers and the low rumble of thunder set an ominous tone as they gently roused the younger children from their slumber.

"Come on, little ones," whispered Wilson, his voice soft and reassuring. "Let's get you back to bed. There's nothing to worry about." He scooped up a whimpering toddler, cradling her against his chest as he carried her back to her room. Brad and Greg followed suit, each taking a child by the hand and leading them through the darkened halls.

"Did you hear that?" asked a wide-eyed boy, no older than six. "What are the soldiers doing out there?"

"They're just... patrolling," replied Greg, choosing his words carefully. "Making sure everyone in the city is safe and sound." He exchanged a knowing glance with Brad, both of them aware of the unspoken truth that hung heavy in the air.

As they settled the children back into their beds, the older orphans took turns telling stories and singing lullabies, their voices soft and soothing against the backdrop of distant commotion. "...and then the brave knight defeated the dragon, saving the kingdom from its fiery breath," whispered Brad, his words weaving a tale of heroism and triumph.

Wilson, meanwhile, kept a watchful eye on the door, his heart racing at the thought of Priest Damon discovering their late-night activities. "Hurry," he urged, his voice low and urgent. "We can't let him find us out of bed."

The children worked quickly, blacking out curtains and tucking in blankets, their movements precise and practiced. They knew the drill all too well, having endured countless nights like this one before. As the last of the young ones drifted off to sleep, the older children gathered in the hallway, their faces etched with worry and fatigue.

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"I wish they could be finished out there once and for all. Isn’t that what they are there for," murmured Greg, his voice barely audible over the distant sounds of the wall. "

“Maybe some mercenaries or adventurers could kill them once and for all,” said Wilson.

“Aren’t those basically the same thing,” said Greg.

“Mercenaries are focused on profit and are more open to kill if necessary. Adventurers are interested in fame and money for slaying monsters as well. There is a difference,” said Wilson.

The sound of marching soldiers grew louder, their footsteps echoing through the empty streets like a grim reminder of the long night ahead. With heavy hearts and weary eyes, the older children made their way back to their rooms, bracing themselves for the sleepless hours to come.

Footsteps rocked the stairs of the orphanage. Wilson’s head spun at the sound. The others recognized it as well. He made no further sound and they bolted. There was no more time for discussion. Luckily, the sounds of an explosion cracked in the distance. They ran passed Taylor who was closing her door and squeezed into their room.

Their footsteps to their beds made more noise but it was muffled by the door. Wilson knew the gait of the man walking the halls now. There were no pauses as he inspected the hallway, each door, and the wall at the end of it all. Wilson pulled back on the door to his room and slid back to his bed. He was careful not to let it creak as he lay back down.

The footsteps grew louder, echoing through the hallway like a sinister heartbeat. Wilson held his breath, his body rigid with fear as he listened to the approaching steps. The other boys lay motionless in their beds, their eyes wide and unblinking in the darkness.

Priest Damon's shadow loomed beneath the door, a black void that seemed to swallow the faint light from the corridor. Wilson's heart pounded in his chest, his pulse racing as he silently prayed for the priest to pass by without incident.

The doorknob rattled, a metallic sound that pierced the tense silence. Wilson squeezed his eyes shut, his hands clenching the worn sheets beneath him. He could hear the priest's breath, heavy and labored, as he tested the lock.

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. The only sound was the distant rumble of explosions and the creaking of the old orphanage settling in the night. He didn’t turn the doorknob all the way. Then, mercifully, the footsteps began to recede, fading away into the darkness.

Wilson let out a shaky breath, his body sagging with relief. He glanced at his roommates, their faces pale and drawn in the moonlight that filtered through the curtains. They had survived another close call, but the night was far from over.

As the sounds of battle raged on outside the city walls, the boys lay in their beds, their minds racing with thoughts of the horrors that lurked beyond the orphanage gates. They knew that the soldiers were fighting to keep them safe, but the knowledge brought little comfort in the face of such uncertainty.

Wilson stared at the ceiling, his eyes tracing the cracks and stains that marred the plaster. He wished he could fall asleep as easily as the others. As the night wore on, the boys drifted into a fitful sleep, their dreams plagued by visions of marching soldiers and faceless monsters.

The next morning, Wilson awoke to the sound of birds chirping outside his window. For a moment, he almost forgot the terror of the previous night, lost in the peaceful stillness of the early morning light. But as he sat up in bed, the memories came flooding back, washing over him like a cold wave.

He glanced around the room, taking in the sight of his sleeping roommates. Brad and Greg lay tangled in their sheets, their faces smooth and untroubled in the soft glow of dawn. Wilson envied their ability to find solace in slumber, to escape the constant fear that gnawed at his insides.

With a heavy sigh, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, his bare feet cold against the wooden floorboards. He padded to the window and peered out, his eyes scanning the empty streets below. The soldiers were gone. They had destroyed the things that had arrived at the walls. Nothing was burning or destroyed. They were safe. The threat was gone and would stay that way for another month or so.