I can still remember the day I arrived at the orphanage, or what I was told about it. It wasn’t a grand entrance, just a basket left at the doorstep, a quiet knock on the door that broke the silence of the night, and a woman’s soft gasp when she found me there. Abandoned as a newborn, swaddled tightly in a blanket that smelled faintly of lavender no note, no explanation. Just me.

Mrs. Hargrove, the orphanage’s head caretaker, who picked me up, used to tell me how my eyes shone in the moonlight. She mentioned how I cried so fiercely that she almost thought I was more than a helpless child. She named me Lumen, which meant Light, a name that always felt too big for someone so small, so lost. But she believed it was fitting for me. “You were born in the dark,” she’d say with a tender smile, “but your eyes, oh, they were full of light.”

The orphanage's eerie atmosphere was heightened by its towering structure, despite the small number of children it housed. It had been built years ago, though no one quite knew by whom or why it was so far from the town. It loomed like an old giant at the edge of Luminara, its grey stone walls seeming to merge with the darkening sky. I remember the long corridors, the way they swallowed every sound, the floorboards creaking beneath our small feet as though the house itself was shifting in its sleep. Sometimes, late at night, you could hear distant echoes, like the ghosts of former inhabitants whispering secrets we weren’t meant to know.

And then there was the pond a vast, murky body of water just beyond the orphanage’s grounds. No one ever went too close, not even the bravest among us. The water remained eerily calm as if holding its breath in the presence of children. The older kids used to say it was haunted, that if you listened closely enough, you could hear the whispers of the ones who had ventured too far, the ones who never came back. We never knew whether it was a story to scare us or if there was something truly lurking beneath the surface.

The dense and brooding forest loomed like a watchful sentinel, its shadows creeping towards the orphanage's boundaries, reaching out ominously. Its shadows never quite reached us, but they were always there, stretching out like long fingers, reminding us of the boundary we didn’t dare cross.

I wish I could say I remembered those early years with clarity, but the truth is they’re just a blur, like a painting smudged with water. I was told my first five years were peaceful, yet I have little memory of those times. I have flashes, though scattered images that come and go like fireflies in the dark. Warm days spent in the yard, the sun casting long shadows across the grass, the sound of the old swings groaning under the weight of children, their laughter carried by the wind. I remember the taste of fresh bread from Mrs. Hargrove’s kitchen and the way she hummed a tune as she worked a sound that made the orphanage feel less lonely.

However comforting those memories were, they always felt distant. Detached. As if they weren’t truly mine but borrowed from someone else’s life. It’s like reading a book that’s been sitting on a shelf for too long; the words are faded, the pages yellowed, and the details blurred at the edges.

It wasn't until I was around five that things began to sharpen, like a fog lifting to reveal hidden details, gradually unveiling the world around me. That’s when I started to truly see the world around me the orphanage, the children, the caretakers. That’s when I started to grasp that life here was far more complex than it initially appeared. The orphanage had its own rules, its unspoken code. There were the good days the laughter, the warmth of shared meals, the comfort of knowing you weren’t entirely alone. But there were also bad days.

When we turned five, everything changed. We were no longer allowed to stay in Mrs. Hargrove’s hall, where the younger children remained under her gentle care. Instead, we were moved to the other side of the orphanage, where the older kids lived. The dorms were split between boys and girls, each housed in a crumbling building next to the children’s section. The new caretakers were Ms. Connie and Mr. Brock, a pair as crooked as the creaking floors beneath our feet. They ruled with fear, lording their authority over us in ways that twisted the very meaning of care. Life became harsher, and no one spoke out after all, fearing retribution or isolation in a place where defiance was swiftly punished. Who would stand up for a bunch of orphans?

My introduction to this new world was swift and brutal. The first person I met was Mr. Brock. He looked at me like I was nothing like I didn’t even deserve to breathe. His voice was a cold sneer as he barked out the rules "No talking after lights out. No playing without permission. No stepping out of line. You eat what you're given, and you don’t complain." Freedom was something we could only dream of. He dismissed me with a wave of his hand, telling me to go settle in the dorm.

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Confused and scared, I stumbled out of his office, my mind spinning with all the changes. I was just five years old, thrown into a new reality without any warning. I tripped, sending a small table crashing to the floor. The noise startled me back into my senses, and I froze, staring at the mess I’d made. Before I could even think to apologize, Mr. Brock’s voice boomed from behind the door, "What are you still doing here, boy? You want a beating on your first day?" His words sent a jolt of fear through me, and I scrambled to my feet, clutching the small sack that held my two pairs of clothes. I ran.

Still shaken, I opened a door, hoping it was the boys’ dorm. But when I looked up, I realized my mistake. I had walked into the girls’ dormitory. They stared at me, some with curiosity, others with annoyance or outright disgust. I felt my face flush. Among them, one girl stood out. She was beautiful, older than me, and she didn’t even notice me at first, too focused on drying her hair. But when our eyes met, everything stopped. She shouted, snapping me out of the daze. Panicking, I yelled, "I’m sorry!" and ran out of the room, slamming the door behind me.

My heart was pounding in my chest, and I had to catch my breath. I slapped my own face to snap out of it, to pull myself back to reality. But before I could figure out where I was supposed to go, I walked straight into someone. When I looked up, it was Mr. Brock and Ms. Connie. My blood ran cold. I knew this wasn’t going to end well.

Mr. Brock’s hand came down hard across my face before I even had time to explain. His voice was filled with venom as he said, "If I catch you in the girls’ dorm again, I’ll throw you out for good." He glanced at Ms. Connie, as if seeking her approval, and I realized that this wasn’t about me at all. It was about him trying to stay in her good graces.

By the time he was done, my face was swollen, and bruises lined my arms. I was just a child, but that day reminded me of one cold truth: I was on my own. No one was going to protect me.

I finally made my way to the boys’ dorm, limping slightly. As I walked in, every eye in the room was on me. They had heard the commotion, but none of them had come to help. I understood why. To get involved meant you would suffer the same fate. One of the older boys, Marcus, made his way over. He was bigger than me, stronger, and meaner. Without a word, he shoved me to the ground and planted his foot on my chest, pressing down until I could barely breathe.

"Always know your place," he growled, his foot grinding into my ribs. I whimpered in pain, but I didn’t fight back. I couldn’t. He sneered and walked away, leaving me gasping for air.

I slowly stood up, clutching my chest, trying to soothe the ache. No one met my gaze as I looked around the room. It was like I didn’t exist. Quietly, I found an old, empty bed at the far end of the dorm. The only good thing about it was the small window nearby, which let me look outside. I often found myself staring out of it, losing myself in daydreams, imagining faraway places and stories that made me forget the world I lived in.

As I sat there, a weak voice broke the silence. "Hey." I turned to see a boy walking toward me, his frame thin and his eyes kind. He looked older than me, but not by much.

"I’m Theo," he said, offering a small smile. I nodded. "I’m Lumen."

Theo sat down on the edge of the bed and looked around before leaning in to whisper. "Marcus told everyone to stay away from you. Said you were trouble."

I frowned. I barely knew Marcus. "Why would he do that?" I asked.

Theo shrugged, his expression hardening. "Because he can. And there's nothing you can do about it. Just try to survive, okay?" He stood up and walked back to his bed, leaving me with a cold pit in my stomach.

The next few days blurred together, each one a repetition of the last: chilly mornings filled with demanding chores, and mealtimes punctuated by an eerie silence that echoed through the halls. I kept my head down, trying to avoid Marcus and the others, doing my best to go unnoticed. At night, I’d lie in bed and stare out the window, finding solace in the sliver of sky I could see from my corner of the room.

It was during one of those evenings that I saw her again, the girl I’d run into on my first day. I hadn’t been able to forget her, though I hadn’t seen her since. But there she was, standing outside, just beyond the pond, where the settling sun was casting a soft glow on her own figure. She looked calm, almost serene, as if the pond and the whispers surrounding it didn’t scare her like they did the rest of us.

I watched her from my window, trying to make sense of what I was feeling. There was something captivating about her—an aura of quiet strength mingled with an enigmatic mystery that drew others to her like moths to a flame. I couldn’t look away, even though I felt like I was intruding on a moment that wasn’t mine to witness.

And then, as I watched, I saw movement a shadowy figure walking towards her. My breath caught in my throat. The way the person moved, the way they carried themselves. I had a feeling I knew who the silhouette was. The silhouette was familiar, but I couldn’t be sure from this distance. My heart raced at the thought of what might happen next.

But instead of watching longer, I turned away, my thoughts swirling. Who was she? And why did I feel so drawn to her? I lay back down, closing my eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. Her face, the way she stood so confidently, lingered in my mind.

Maybe one day I’d get to talk to her. Maybe one day I’d find out who she was.

And so, as I drifted off, the memories of those early days began to settle, making way for the stories that would follow stories of people and places I had yet to recall, but that were already waiting in the corners of my mind, ready to be told.