ã€ŠThis Place is FULL of HEROES [Slice of Life, Fantasy]ã€‹


 1) ARRIVAL

    What makes a hero a hero? How does their childhood shape who they will grow up to become? What happens before they are their world-renowned selves?

    I tapped the carriage door rhythmically as it moved along the old roads of the backcountry. The road had twisted, turned, rose, and fell in the trip from the capital. I was bored and ready to leave the carriage. Despite the several stops, I was ready for it to be over. The occasional in was stopped by but most nights he and his driver were camping. It was the furthest I had traveled from home. The nerves were getting to be as I shifted my hands and pulled at the edges of my robe.

    It was a nice robe, new, clean, and free of wrinkles like I had seen on my old teacher''s robes. Theirs had gone through many lessons, children, and experiences. I was alone about to start my first assignment.

    I looked at the clipped pages tied together. They hadn¡¯t changed in the dozen times I had looked at them. It was at least something different to do instead of the tapping I had done for the past hour. I had tried to write a little, but the rocking and bumps of the old carriage were unpredictable and best and unpleasant at worst.

    Report to the city of Henoes. The head priest there will follow up with the orders necessary for the city and region.

    I sighed looking over the note. The other pages contained information on my route, the head priest, and information about the small city at the edges of the normal world. It gave little about what I was to do once I arrived. The assignment was set at the discretion of the head priest of Henoes. Which meant it could be anything I had been qualified to do.

    ¡®I just hope it isn¡¯t outdoor expeditions. I almost failed that introductory class. Cooking wouldn¡¯t be too bad. Or entrance duty from time to time.¡¯

    I put the papers aside and checked the window. There was an open forest around with some wildflowers dotting the landscape. It was nice weather out and the light rain brought a liveliness to the plants.

    The city grew closer. It was on the small side of cities but had all the amenities one would expect including a Church of the Kingdom. Stone walls had been built up after generations of work. Some pieces needed more work than others and were in the process of renovation. The process to get inside was quick, the guards nice, and I was no merchant with a load of goods to sell.

    I took to the steps of the church which was built shortly after the town hall and a few other essentials. A priest stood beyond the entryway and nodded with a smile.

    ¡°You must be Priest Grant. I¡¯m glad that you could arrive so swiftly in our rather minor city.¡±

    ¡°No. No. I¡¯m glad to serve and even a minor city is still a city despite its distance from the capital. Its people have worked hard to distinguish itself from quiet village life.¡±

    ¡°Then so the city shall grow as its population and peoples grow. Come follow me inside. I have deliberated on where you should be placed once we got word that our request for an additional priest was fulfilled.¡±

    ¡°You did not have a role in mind at the time of the request?¡±

    ¡°No. I do things a little differently than during the strict obedience of your teachers. Our focus here is on the people who we meet while at the capital they must run the entire organization and prepare priests for a near-infinite amount of roles. I will still expect notes on your work to be turned in when you have time, but the other rules can be more flexible at times.¡±

    ¡°I know that the job here will be much different than if I were to stay in the capital.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know about much differently, but here we have our quirks. The first is our orphanage and your first assignment. We are looking to expand it unfortunately and that means new teachers and staff to oversee the children in our care. My head priest at the orphanage is currently swamped by the repairs and renovation so any help he can get would be appreciated. You will be teaching what you can, supervising playtime, and doing some other smaller things. I¡¯m sorry to slow you right into the thick of things but your record as a student is strong.¡±

    ¡°It isn¡¯t as bad as I feared, and I remember my time training in the Church¡¯s orphanages fondly.¡±

    ¡°Good. The work moves on and so does the day.¡±

    I echoed the final words and took my leave. The orphanage stood next door to the church. Scaffolding stuck to the wall on one side as a few workers gathered. It was a nice building slightly smaller than the church. Out in the front was a sign that read ¡®Henoes Orphanage¡¯.  I noted the place as I walked in. It had the same style as the church, clean and warm. I heard the sound of voices down the hallway. Realizing the time, I found myself as hungry as the children eating their food.

    I followed the sound of voices. The kitchens were busy with work and was the first I saw of people in the orphanage. Two women busied themselves around the stoves and oven. One of them looked up.

    ¡°You new here?¡± she said bluntly. ¡°Got a confused look about you.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. I am looking for the priest In charge, but I also realized that I have not eaten yet.¡±

    The other woman laughed. ¡°Get yourself a plate. He is eating just like the rest of them.¡±

    I followed her instructions leading me to the dining area on the other side of the kitchen and grabbed some food. Kids were seated haphazardly in little cliques that had formed while three priests sat alone at a table separated from the rest.

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    They recognized me and I, them. I sat down with my food.

    ¡°You the new guy?¡± One asked.

    ¡°I will be joining you. Though I don¡¯t know exactly what you want me to work on while here.¡±

    ¡°Are you fresh from training?¡± Asked another.

    ¡°Yes,¡± I said.

    ¡°Good. Then you should remember all of the courses meant for the kids. We¡¯ve been lacking in our history courses, and you can remedy that. Hopefully, you remember everything because I don¡¯t have a copy of the coursework like they did in the capital. Good luck.¡±

    ¡°Wait. Which one of you is the head Priest?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Formally I am. Name¡¯s O¡¯Brian,¡± said the first. ¡°But I don¡¯t care. The responsibility is spread around you see. That reminds me. Along with the history of the Empire, you will be in charge of the problem children.¡±

    It took less than a week to collect some problem children.

    I sighed as I looked at the four kids I had just started to get to know as part of the larger group of orphans. They were twelve and eleven years old. Less than half my age and short in stature. They sat in chairs shrinking their size further as I stood. In my hands were my notes which would be soon delivered to the other priests.

    ¡°Who would like to start, or should I pick?¡± I asked.

    The kids gave side-eye glances, but none spoke. They didn¡¯t know me, and I was just another adult stranger to them.

    ¡°OK then. Wilson. You were found to be sneaking out at night. I¡¯ll have to make sure that the locks are well secured at night. Care to tell me where you went? I hear that this is your second, no third offense of this nature.¡±

    ¡°It is none of your business. You should be glad I am even staying here. It is miserable here sometimes.¡±

    ¡°Well, if you have any suggestions for improvement I will let my superiors know and hopefully they can be implemented if reasonable after the repairs are finished.¡±

    The kids shifted in their seats allowing me to continue the conversation by myself.

    ¡°OK then. Next was Taylor. I was surprised to see you stalking around the small library so late at night. You do know that there is a curfew in place. Right?¡± I said while looking between the pair.

    Taylor just hung her head in silence.

    ¡°Now you two. Would you like to explain how the fight broke out this time or will you keep up the silent glares?¡±

    I looked at the remaining two, Greg and Brad. They both tensed up at being called on. Brad¡¯s hand was now wrapped up and slightly swollen while Greg¡¯s nose was braced, red, and at risk of bleeding again. The other pair didn¡¯t speak up on behalf of one of the others and were content to stay away from the matter.

    Greg sat back in his chair while continuing to wait out the awkward silence. I watched them both until Brad finally spoke up.

    ¡°Does it even matter who started the fight? I know I won¡¯t go near him again. If I never saw him again then I¡¯d be fine. Just give us our punishments and be done with wasting our time.¡±

    ¡°It is not wasting your time but should be a teaching moment and time for improvement. You are right that it doesn¡¯t matter who started the fight because you both actively played a part in it. The fight continued until the priests in the kitchen pulled you apart. As for punishment. You all will join me for some time in a remedial study session so I know what topics I will have to cover with you and the others. Then we will do some important chores that have started to be neglected with how busy everyone is. You will each participate without complaint for the entire time that I assign you. Is that understood?¡±

    The four children nodded slowly. I wasn¡¯t sure that they knew the importance of forgiveness, change, and repentance, but I would show them the way. I would be lenient this time around. To them, I was the strange new teacher and priest. I didn¡¯t want to be too harsh yet. For now, work needed to be done and they would be of great help.

    I gathered them in one of the three classrooms the orphanage had. They sat in simple chairs that rocked a little when pushed. I let them settle in for a minute, but they still looked bored and disinterested.

    ¡°History is probably best understood when considering how it affects the present. If it is just a bunch of facts and information then the knowledge is easy to forget or in your case willingly forget and stay disinterested in the topics. Then in this case we will go over the history as I know it of Henoes. Feel free to add constructive comments to this discussion and your time cleaning after this may be reduced. Now, over a hundred years ago this city started as an outpost. Do you know why it was built?¡±

    ¡°Henoes was a trading station with the demon world beyond our own. They have materials valuable to us, and we have stuff for them. It was a temporary place of trade, so it grew slowly,¡± answered Taylor.

    ¡°Correct. The trade was very profitable and useful to the King. Over time the region has been invested in and grown. Despite the surrounding area, every five years this city brings in more revenue than any other.¡±

    ¡°What is stopping the region from being even more profitable during the off years?¡± asked Greg.

    ¡°That is the question that the region governors have been asking themselves for the past hundred years. I am not familiar with every development that was pushed, but the main growth has been through the city itself building up the livestock trade and the harvesting of the more unique plants in the area. This topic as a whole ties into the understanding of the economy within the kingdom and how it works which we can have later.¡±

    I led the four children through the halls of the orphanage. They trotted along behind me.  Each child wore their reluctance like a badge, dragging feet and barely looking at each other let alone me. The orphanage, with its vast and often overlooked corners, had gathered its share of dust and clutter over time, making it an ideal ground for teaching a lesson about responsibility and teamwork.

    "Remember, this isn''t just about cleaning," I said, trying to pierce the bubble of their collective disinterest. I took out the cleaning supplies and started to hand it out. "It''s about taking care of a place that takes care of us. This place is more than just stone and glass; it''s a home for many, for you."

    Wilson snorted, pushing a broom half-heartedly along the tiled floor. "Feels more like a prison," he muttered with some disinterest. He looked around while focusing on the windows.

    Taylor, silent until now, picked up a rag and began dusting the window sills, her movements slow but gradually becoming more deliberate. Greg and Brad, meanwhile, found themselves in a standoff over who would tackle the daunting task of cleaning the stained-glass windows. The previous tension between them, however, slowly gave way to a reluctant partnership as they realized the job was easier with two sets of hands.

    I watched over them with one eye as I helped do some of the work. They each participated in their way. With five pairs of hands, the cleaning of the kitchen and nearby rooms went by quickly. They each looked longingly at the other kids who ran by without responsibility. I wasn¡¯t sure if they understood the changes that needed to be made but at least they were present to accept their punishment.

    I checked the time and one by one left them to return to their free time and other assorted duties. Taylor was first, happy to leave the boys behind she dropped the cleaning supplies she was using and ran off down the hall. Wilson was next. He made sure to throw the supplies he was using into one of the buckets. Greg and Brad were left to finish cleaning up the room. I let them go after scrubbing a table thoroughly. More food would get spilled on it by the end of the day, but it was looking nicer now. The two boys ran off after they finished leaving me to store the collected supplies in storage. I watched the pair run down the hall with the rest. Brad followed behind Greg. It was almost time for the next lesson.

 2) GOING OUT

    Heroes by nature are forced into impossible situations. They must sacrifice everything or at least more than most to make the world better for others. Is the sacrifice worth the reward?

    Wilson kept one eye open as he lay in bed. The lamps had been systematically unlit casting the orphanage into darkness. The youngest children had already been put to bed leaving the older kids to take care of themselves as the start of curfew approached.

    The other boys in his room were ready for bed. Their night wore on and stops at the bathroom ceased. Even the new priest came by and checked that they were all in their beds. He made sure that nothing of suspicion was to be seen.

    The locks on the windows were checked and the doorway out was watched at least for a while by that same new priest.

    Wilson waited. He knew he didn¡¯t want to get caught again. His roommates were likely to rat him out if it meant they were let off on some assignment or another that was meant to keep the orphans busy for the day.

    He stayed silent but aware and awake. The night wouldn¡¯t pull him into sleep so soon. He focused his mind on what he would do when the others were well and truly asleep. A part of his mind flashed to the man outside his door. A temporary measure at best and one that wouldn¡¯t last the week if his warden wanted any good sleep. It was a matter of will and patience. He couldn¡¯t be constantly checked so he wouldn¡¯t be. He knew the obvious and unorthodox ways to leave so he would take the right path. Wilson had learned from his mistakes in that he wouldn¡¯t be caught the same way twice. His bed would always be filled; with him or something else, it wouldn¡¯t matter to the casual observer.

    As night continued he watched his roommates. Their shifting and murmuring has slowed leaving them to comfortable rest without interruption. Once they gave that biological signal he counted down his secondary timer. He needed to make sure that they would stay asleep. Wilson didn¡¯t need another incident. He would be more prepared for his outing.

    The timeline hit its end and Wilson moved on to the second part of his plan. His sheets slid off and he carefully rolled his feet off the bed and to the floor. Making no noise as he stepped he grabbed his dummy. In the low light of night, it would stand in as him during his outing. It was pulled out from under the bed and quickly prepared. His clothes were already on so all he had to do was get shoes on and leave.

    He grabbed his extra pair of shoes he had stashed, and his other items, and went for the window. It was locked from the outside. Difficult but not impossible and made just for him.

    The window cracked open just a bit even with the lock before stopping. He was lucky it wasn¡¯t a windy night though the cold air would be a problem if the temperature changed too much.

    Wilson felt the cold of the window as he worked. His fingers barely reached through the cracks as he slid his lock-picking tools toward the lock. It would be harder to pick without a clear look at the lock, but he had plenty of practice. Once he fit his tools through the opening the rest fell into place. The window slid open further, and Wilson exited the orphanage. He slid the window closed as he stepped out while making sure to limit his noise.

    Despite the late hour life was still shown through the city on a few streets and buildings. Adults gathered to take a break from the hours of work and relax whether it was food, drink, or people. Wilson made his way around those streets and kept from getting too close to their light. His dark clothes helped blend into the shadows, but they could only do so much.

    After passing a few blocks Wilson turned away from the brightly lit streets and to a larger part of the city. And with the larger part of the city, there come more guards. Their occasional patrols were largely focused on the nightlife of the city though there were always exceptions. Valuable items and rare goods could be found by searching along the main thoroughfare of the city. Wilson wasn¡¯t after those sorts of things at the moment.

    The patrols and passing guards were obvious and predictable to Wilson. He saw their steps were a pattern that he could exploit. Rarely was there a deviation or one that mattered anyway. Tonight, they followed expectations, and he was able to navigate around them with ease. Some might be worried that the guards might be complacent or that crime would flow easily. But in the small city of Henoes, it was rarely a problem. So far away from everything else the people in the city had a purpose and had chosen Henoes as their home for good reason. They didn¡¯t want to disrupt that.

    Wilson avoided the guards and reached his destination. He circled the back of the familiar building and got to the back door. Knocking softly once he opened the door. Pots and pans lined the walls. Knives, spoons, and forks were sorted neatly in containers. The tables in the back were wiped clean, ready for the next day for orders and customers. To one side sat the large ovens waiting for the start of the day.

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    Wilson popped his head into the front of the shop confirming that no one was in the front of the shop. It would have been a strange sight to see, but with the owners resting above his head, anything was possible.

    His hands moved quickly through drawers checking for the items he was looking for. Once a minute he paused and listened for any unusual sounds before continuing. He was sure that no one was awake in the building. The drawers slid open slowly with a hand on the hinges to limit the noise they made.

    Finally, Wilson spotted the sweet treats that he was looking for. The bag he brought with him was opened and the food was gobbled up. He checked for noise once more as the storage door was closed. Taking a step back he did a visual inspection of the place before preparing to leave. Now he just needed to retrace his steps and get back to his room unnoticed.

    Shifting his tool bag, he started walking out. Each step made as little noise as possible. It was getting later, and people would be settling in from their night activities. The added noise would be of help, but he needed to be careful of the drunk townspeople. They were less likely to spot him but could be unpredictable.

    Wilson''s heart pounded softly in his chest, a steady drum that fueled his careful movements through the darkened streets of Henoes. He hugged the shadows, moving with a practiced stealth that belied his youth. His mind was focused, every sense sharpened to catch the slightest hint of danger. He knew the risks; getting caught would mean more than a stern lecture or extra chores. It could jeopardize everything he worked for, everything he was trying to prepare.

    As he navigated the alleys and side streets, Wilson couldn''t help but reflect on his situation. Was it worth it? The late-night escapades, the constant vigilance, the ever-present risk of discovery? He had asked himself this question countless times, and each time, the answer was a resounding yes. These moments of rebellion, of defiance against the constraints of his life, were the only times he felt truly alive. They were a testament to his resolve, his unwillingness to accept the hand fate had dealt him without a fight. It was one of the few things he was good at. He had accepted that fact and embraced it. Since then, his skills in navigating the nightlife had grown exponentially.

    The cool night air brushed against his face, carrying with it the mixed scents of the city¡ªfood from late-night vendors, the earthy dampness of the streets, and the underlying, ever-present smog of industry. Henoes might be a small city, but it was alive, pulsating with the hopes and dreams of its inhabitants. Wilson felt a kinship with the city, a shared sense of determination and resilience.

    As he rounded the corner to the final stretch leading back to the orphanage, Wilson''s thoughts turned to the sweets tucked away in his bag.

    Suddenly, a noise¡ªa drunken laugh, loud and jarring in the quiet of the night. Wilson froze, pressing himself against the wall of the nearest building. He cursed himself for getting distracted. A group of inebriated townsfolk stumbled into view, their boisterous laughter and slurred words echoing through the street. Wilson held his breath, waiting for them to pass. He couldn''t risk being seen, not now, not when he was so close to getting back unnoticed.

    The group moved on, oblivious to the shadow that watched them go. Wilson let out a silent sigh of relief and resumed his journey. As he climbed back through the window he had left unlocked, carefully replacing the lock-picking tools in his bag, he couldn''t help but smile. The window slid open, and he tucked himself inside. His feet hit the floor and he scanned the room.

    Something felt off, but he couldn¡¯t place it. Wilson jumped back when the light of a lantern flashed in his face.

    ¡°Out again are we?¡± asked Priest O¡¯Brian with a smug grin. ¡°You know the rules and the punishments.¡±

    Another priest stepped forward and grabbed his arm. He wrestled with them, but their grip held firm. His bag was taken from him and thrown to the ground.

    ¡°Your free time this week is naturally gone. We better not find any stolen items in that bag. You will be watched by me throughout the week and expect to sleep uncomfortably for the next week in the cellar room. I know well that it isn¡¯t one you can sneak out of.¡±

    Wilson was pulled along out of the room. Waiting outside the door were his roommates waiting. They looked down silently. Their acknowledgment of him was small and subtle. They knew as well as he that Wilson couldn¡¯t get caught and the consequences of leaving. Even more so they knew the consequences of hiding the fact that he left. He didn¡¯t blame them though as they parted ways. His job tonight had been accomplished if a bit more complicated by his capture.

    Wilson was dragged along to the basement and then the subbasement. He didn¡¯t slow them down or attempt to plead with them. He had tried that path before, and it was not effective. Maybe when he was younger or with a different person, but he was supposed to know better and be a better example for the other kids in the orphanage. At eleven he was supposed to be a leader.

    He entered the cellar. It was cold by nature. He had no blanket and a small spot with what could barely be called a mattress. The door was locked behind him. He could throw a tantrum and break some of the stuff down in the cellar, but that would cause more trouble and he had seen the outcome that could be brought upon another older child. He just tried to get what rest he could manage.

    The next day he searched out his confiscated tools and stored them safely. His prize waited for him in the cellar. A great hiding spot for almost anything. It was brought out and presented to his little sister. It was left next to her bed. She enjoyed the dessert happily.

 3) A GAME

    Heroes are often faced with challenges. How they face them and overcome them often shows more about them than anything else.

    ¡°Wanna play a game?¡±

    ¡°Where is Wilson?¡±

    ¡°Sure. I think he is still stuck in solitary,¡± said Brad.

    ¡°That sucks,¡± said Taylor. ¡°Isn¡¯t that like twice in two months.¡±

    ¡°It has been three, but who is counting,¡± said Greg. ¡°What should we even play? He had all of the cards. I don¡¯t know if I could find where he stashed that contraband.¡±

    ¡°We could go play with the older kids,¡± suggested Brad.

    ¡°No,¡± said Greg.

    ¡°Younger?¡±

    ¡°No. Definitely not,¡± said Taylor.

    ¡°Older it is.¡±

    ¡°Fine.¡±

    Each of the children''s age groups formed natural cliques. Any further splitting would create solo person groups and few of the children wanted that. To deal with their situations they needed friends, support, and someone to understand them. Brad had tried to make friends with some of the other kids in town, but none of them understood him. Even some of the other kids in the orphanage didn¡¯t understand him, but he knew he was ok. He had arrived at the orphanage so long ago that he didn¡¯t remember anything about his parents except what the priests chose to tell him. Eventually, he stopped asking them for stories. They had gotten more and more wildly outlandish. They were unfortunately in the past and there was nothing he could change about that.

    Together as a trio, they approached the older group of kids. They ranged from fourteen, fifteen, and sixteen. Any older and they would be sent to find a job and were no longer cared for. These kids had been in the orphanage for the longest and had different expectations thrust upon them. They had their futures to think about. Brad just had to think about how to stay within the rules and avoid the eye of trouble.

    ¡°What game are you playing today?¡± asked Greg. ¡°Can we join in today?¡±

    One of the older boys stepped forward with a ball under his arm. He looked over them, examining them and mentally summing them up. ¡°Today we are doing kickball, but we already have an even number of players. Find someone else to join or she can go play with the little girls and practice her crafts. We play in five minutes. Decide what you want to do.¡± He turned around and returned to his friends with no interest in further discussion.

    Greg turned to Taylor. He started to give her a look. ¡°No. I said I didn¡¯t want to play with the younger kids, and I meant it. Nor am I going back to reading. This is my break from that.¡±

    ¡°Which other kid will play with us?¡± asked Greg.

    ¡°Wilson has probably already broken himself out and is available,¡± said Brad.

    ¡°No. He won¡¯t agree to it and if the older kids see him then they might rat us all out bringing more trouble onto us. We have to find someone else,¡± said Brad.

    ¡°I do have an idea though we only have five minutes to convince her and come back to play,¡± said Taylor. ¡°And I think I already know where to find her.¡±

    ¡°Lead the way,¡± Greg said with a sigh.

    Taylor ran and the others followed as they cut through the edge of the woods and ran back toward the orphanage. They all knew the path back well and made good time getting to the orphanage. She circled the back where a smaller stone wall marked a back area for the place. Behind the orphanage was a garden, a play area for the smallest of children, and a pen for orphan-raised chickens.

    A few kids were in the back enjoying their playtime in the area or tending to other duties. Some orphans had chosen to stick to unusual schedules for the sake of the animals and took their free time at other parts of the day. Only at night was the backyard area devoid of children.

    Taylor scanned the rows of planted food, flowers, and the pen. ¡°Ash!¡± she exclaimed when she saw the younger girl picking flowers from a pot. She looked up in acknowledgment.

    Ash looked to be a year or more younger than the boys at nine or ten years old. Rarely were ages meticulously counted except for time spent at the orphanage. She had brown hair neatly braided with flowers pulled from the current plant in them. Her clothes were sturdy and meant for outdoor work and play.

    ¡°What do you want Taylor.¡± Her focus was more on the plants than on Taylor. Brad and Greg got more of a suspicious eye than her.

    ¡°We need one more person for the kickball game. Otherwise, we can¡¯t play. Please?¡±

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you do something else or join me?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to play with the youngest of kids. They just want to play with their old dolls and play house. It¡¯s too boring and I was never really into it.¡±

    ¡°As I said you could help me garden for the hour instead?¡±

    ¡°How about next free time we do that together? I¡¯ll even bring out my books on gardening?¡±

    ¡°We these two be joining in the garden as well?¡± she asked with a look past Taylor.

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    Brad shrugged. ¡°If we have to. I don¡¯t know much about plants, but I¡¯ll help you out if it means everyone gets to play. We should hurry though. We are on a time limit.¡±

    ¡°Of course you are. I¡¯ll have you take care of planting seeds. You can¡¯t mess that up. Or at least I hope you can¡¯t.¡± Ash set her trowel and gloves down. ¡°Lead the way.¡±

    They ran back eager to get started with a spring in their step as Ash trailed behind.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t think that you would find one. Have you played kickball before?¡± he asked Ash.

    ¡°Yes. I know the rules too.¡±

    ¡°OK then. You guys are on your team.¡±

    ¡°But¡­¡± Greg started to say.

    ¡°I said that you could play. I didn¡¯t say anything about how the teams would be arranged. It¡¯s ok. We will be sure to go easy on you.¡±

    The older boy spun the ball in his hands waiting to hear further challenges. Greg just scowled and accepted that this was how it was going to be. When no further word was spoken on their end the older boy stepped back and gathered with his team.

    ¡°Because you are younger you four with start with the ball. That tree is the goal. Ours is there,¡± he said. The two trees were marked by old knife marks. One had a square while the other had a roughly cut circle. They had held the marking for these games longer than any of the children had been alive. Each year the cuts were reopened to make sure that the signs were clear.

    Then he tossed the ball. It spun quickly and the kids barely realized it had left the older kid¡¯s hands. It flew toward Greg who instinctively raised his hands and caught the ball. He felt the stinging in his hands but couldn¡¯t linger on that fact as ¡®Start¡¯ was yelled by the older boy.

    Greg stepped back as the three older boys and one girl ran for the ball. The game was simple. Get the ball to its target destination by almost any means necessary with the first to three winnings though the exact number could vary. Of the few things that were off limits, they were holds, extended grappling, and brawling. This left the use of feet as a means of attack or trip giving way to the name ¡®Kickball¡¯. It was unfortunately obvious who had the advantage.

    The others were caught off guard when he checked on his teammates. He started to run indirectly toward the goal. His enemies moved to intercept. The first of his team to run was Taylor. Greg, with a flicker of strategy lighting up his eyes, decided on their first move., he tossed the ball to Taylor, who was quick on her feet and adept at dodging. She caught it with ease and darted to the left, drawing a couple of the older kids towards her.

    Her feet thumped against the ground bringing her as fast as she could. The older kids were faster. One blocked Greg who had gotten further ahead while the others surrounded Taylor. She scanned for an opening and dropped the ball. Taylor, seeing an opening, made a swift pass to Ash, who, despite her earlier reluctance, was now fully engaged in the game.

    The ball reached her, and she stopped it with her feet before picking it up. The ball had slowed down too much however and one of the older kids had turned her way. Before her teammates could help her the ball was out of her hands. With a swift push, she was on the ground. The older kid ran without looking behind her.

    Brad held the backline and moved to intercept before the older girl could get a clean shot at the target. He watched her feet and went to grab her as she feinted. His hands slid past her and with one hand she grabbed his shirt and rolled him over. He held on for a moment, but she kept her feet moving. She saw the tree and tossed the ball into the center of the circle.

    Brad let go when he realized that they had lost the first round. ¡°Crap,¡± he said instinctually.

    ¡°Better luck next time,¡± said the older boy. The ball back in his hands. ¡°Ready for round two?¡±

    Brad got up and dusted himself off. He rejoined the line and adjusted his stance. He looked to the others.

    ¡°We need to go for speed,¡± said Taylor quietly. ¡°They will overpower us directly if we let them get to us.¡±

    ¡°Then speed it is. We just need to create an opening,¡± said Ash.

    ¡°We¡¯re ready,¡± said Greg to the other side.

    The older boy charged head-on toward Greg. Strength was their strategy while they had the ball. Greg went for a kick with his hands ready to meet the ball. His foot was met with a matching kick from the older boy. It swiftly snapped out and it pushed Greg off balance. He fell to the ground.

    Ash and Taylor were next trying to pin him in. He didn¡¯t fall for their pincer attack, and they realized the flaw in their plan. They needed to retrieve the ball in the first place. Before he reached them the ball was out of his hands and in the hands of a teammate. Ash and Taylor were quickly grabbed, and their feet kicked out from under them.

    Brad was in an inconvenient spot and could only watch as the ball was tagged to the tree. They had one chance left. His mind thought of options and even briefly considered quitting. This was not how he expected to be spending his free time. And he had agreed to garden tomorrow. He looked at his teammates and sighed. They knew it too. They would see the game through even if it meant losing. If they quit now then ridicule and bullying would likely follow. Ending it now meant it would be over sooner, but that didn¡¯t mean they wouldn¡¯t try at all.

    Taylor was passed the ball and got back in the lineup.

    ¡°That went well,¡± Ash said to Taylor.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t consider how to get the ball. Now we start with it.¡±

    ¡°So much for the brains of the team,¡± said Greg. ¡°We going to try something else?¡±

    ¡°Quick and fast is fine, but we also need to go wide. Pass the ball further. It is risky, but so far we have been stuck in a short, small line. We have the whole forest around us. Use it,¡± said Taylor. She looked over to the other team. ¡°We are ready.¡±

    Taylor took off without warning and ran to her left. The others split off in other directions. Their enemies chased. She held the ball tightly as she ran and watched the others while she did so. Her pace wasn¡¯t very fast, but she stayed ahead of the enemy chasing her. As they grew closer to her she tossed the ball.

    It bounced off a tree and spun in the air. Greg shifted directions mid-sprint and picked up the ball. Another boy was hot on his tail and had started to catch up while he had to grab the ball. He started to run back toward their goal.

    ¡°Stop him!¡±

    Greg ran unsure if he would make it. He searched for the tree. Once he spotted it he kicked. The ball dropped out of his hands and fell in time for his foot to kick the ball. He was tackled as the ball soared through the air. Though he was unable to watch, the others did as it bounced off the ground and landed near the tree.

    Ash¡¯s eyes rose in surprise, and she ran toward the ball. Another player raced to get the ball before her. She kept her feet light. The grass slid under her feet keeping her steady. She pushed herself closer and felt the wind in her flowered hair. Her hands reached out wishing she had more time and was closer.

    The enemy player ran but did not check their feet as they got closer. They were almost to the ball but felt a pull on their foot. Their boot snagged on the gnarled roots of a tree, and they fell. With a thump, they hit the ground and Ash was able to dance passed them to touch the ball to the tree. They had gained a point finally hitting 1-2.

    ¡°Nice play,¡± said one of the older boys almost mockingly. ¡°But it is our turn.¡±

    He grabbed the ball from Ash¡¯s hands. She almost didn¡¯t let go in time. The other team backed up getting ready to start once more.

    ¡°We are about to lose aren¡¯t we,¡± said Brad.

    ¡°Probably, but at least we got a point,¡± said Greg.

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t make me feel better.¡±

    ¡°We could try and slow down their win. Brad is right. There is no chance they are going to let us win,¡± said Ash.

    ¡°I¡¯ll see them try,¡± said Greg with a cocky grin.

    The next round started. With the ball in hand, the four older kids stuck together as they ran. They had the physical strength and more endurance while the others had tired themselves out getting that single goal. Greg tried to keep things together, but the older kids barreled through him before pushing past the others. He was stomped underfoot and felt a snap. The pain started to register as the enemy team scored their third point. They had lost.

 4) HURT

    Through battles, heroes gain injuries and often must fight through them.  In the end, they gain many scars before they die.

    ¡°This sucks.¡±

    ¡°How does it feel,¡± said Taylor.

    ¡°Like I have broken my arm,¡± said Greg.

    ¡°You know what I mean. How bad is it?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I¡¯m not a doctor. It must not be that bad because the bone isn¡¯t out, and I am still conscious.¡±

    ¡°We need to do something before the priests see this mess. The older kids won¡¯t get any punishment,¡± said Brad.

    ¡°Leave me here. When they find me, or when I walk inside I can tell them I was playing in the woods by myself.¡±

    ¡°No, we can help,¡± said Taylor. ¡°I know where the first aid books are, and they should explain how to set up your arm into a splint.¡±

    ¡°I can get some numbing herbs for the pain and some other supplies for any cuts from the garden,¡± said Ash.

    ¡°I¡¯ll stay here I guess. Keep you from doing anything more stupid,¡± said Brad.

    Ash and Taylor got up from their spots and ran back toward the orphanage. The older kids had already run off without realizing they had injured Brad as they reviled in their easy victory. Greg and Brad watched the pair run off for a minute before returning to the issue at hand, with the hand.

    ¡°Roll up your sleeve if you can,¡± said Brad. ¡°We can at least do a visual inspection before they try anything drastic.¡±

    Greg started to roll up his sleeve slowly. Seeing the progress Brad helped him roll it up to the elbow. The skin was bluish purple and the expected straight line running from elbow to wrist was a bit more of a curve. Both boys stared at it unsure of what to do next if anything at all.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± Greg finally said. ¡°I know I messed up. I should have just let the older kids run by. They were going to get their way regardless of what I did. Instead, I got trampled. I don¡¯t know what I am¡­¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. I¡¯ll be here to help and so are the others. Now we know what they are like and will avoid them next time. We¡¯ll find a way to get back at them another time. I¡¯m sure Ash knows some good plants that will cause rashes or diarrhea.¡±

    Greg laughed at that. ¡°That would be great to see. Imagine watching their hives erupt in the middle of the cafeteria. All the other kids watching too. Something like that hasn¡¯t happened in almost a year when Gray was it, had his pet attacked, and got back at the other kid by putting some animal dung in the kid¡¯s soup.¡±

    ¡°That was a sight to see. I¡¯m glad I never pulled any pranks on him.¡±

    Despite the fond memories, Greg turned their attention back to his injury. ¡°While the girls are off finding something to help this heal faster we should figure out how we are going to hide this injury. A sling will probably be necessary, but it is also obvious. At least I can still write with my right hand so I can do the assignments the priests hand out.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how long it will take to heal. The last kid to break something took two, or three months to heal at least. Though I don¡¯t know how the injuries compare. You will need to limit exercise of course. If the priests have us do any manual work you will be caught immediately. We can probably trade jobs for a while, but that may not be an option every time.¡±

    ¡°Wilson might be able to grab a healer¡¯s cure for me during one of his night outings,¡± Brad suggested.

    ¡°No. We are not involving him. Not yet at least. He is still in trouble and will probably be watched for the next week once he is out. And that stuff is too valuable. He might be willing to take the risk, but we can¡¯t let him.¡±

    Greg sighed. ¡°Fine. Perhaps we could find a way to distract the priests instead. There are almost too many of us for them to keep track of all the time. If I disappear in the times when I am not needed for things then I would be less likely caught.¡±

    ¡°That is maybe four or five mandatory hours other than bedtime where you would be observed. During that time, you wouldn¡¯t be able to wear a sling and would have to bear any pain. Additional herbs might help with that, but it is risky.¡±

    Greg¡¯s internal despair grew. It had started after realizing that he was injured, but the trouble he was in gnawed at him. ¡°Should I just accept my fate? Otherwise, you might get in trouble as well for helping me cover this up.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Brad said firmly. ¡°We know the consequences and that is our last resort. With our help, we will make sure that it doesn¡¯t get infected or grow worse in any way. While we haven¡¯t had to deal with this before we know how to keep things secret. The adults won¡¯t know a thing.¡±

    At the orphanage, Taylor rushed to the small library the building had. They didn¡¯t have much free time left before all the children would be called back inside for classes and work. Greg needed to be back for that call without visible issues. Or else the adult¡¯s wrath would be upon them.

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    Taylor stepped into the small alcove. It wasn¡¯t even a full room. A few shelves were filled with books and decorations. In the corner was a small reading chair. She scanned the shelves looking for the familiar book.  Skimming the titles as she thought over the organizational structure or lack thereof she eventually found the book. Grabbing the book and opening it up she began to read. She ignored the other children who ran by on occasion searching for the right page. The book was sorted by types of illness which led to her finding the pages she needed easily.

    While rushed she flipped through the pages quickly and took care to keep the pages unbroken at the same time. Taylor was so engrossed in her reading that she almost didn¡¯t realize that someone had said her name. She looked up to see a younger boy looking over her and more specifically the book in her hands.

    ¡°What do you want?¡± Taylor asked him.

    ¡°Are you in trouble,¡± he answered in a drawn-out fashion.

    ¡°No, I am fine. Leave me alone,¡± she said while drawing the book closer.

    ¡°OK then. It is just that you seem to like that book and everyone that does is either hurt or knows someone who is. Maybe I should¡­¡±

    The boy didn¡¯t finish his words before she cut in. ¡°I said what do you want? Here to rat me out?¡± Taylor said a bit harsher than she meant to.

    ¡°No. No. Not at all.¡± He put up his hands defensively. ¡°I like that book too. I added it to the library. The name¡¯s Danny. Do you need any help with the injury? I have helped the kids my age before.¡±

    ¡°I think I will be fine thanks. As you well know I need to hurry off with this information.

    ¡°Are you sure?¡± asked Danny again. He peered over at the book catching a glimpse. ¡°Page 87. Either you are dealing with a bout of hives which seems unlikely given the urge to hurry or your friend has a broken bone.¡± He said correctly.

    ¡°What do you know about that?¡± Taylor asked a little more intrigued.

    ¡°I¡¯ve assembled a split before. Built crutches too, but that was before my time here. We can get things done quicker with an extra set of hands. What do you say?¡±

    She grimaced at making a decision so quickly and under these circumstances. ¡°We got to go, and we got to make it quick.¡±

    ¡°Go where?¡± said a new voice both recognized easily.

    Priest Grant gave them both curious glances waiting for them to answer. The two kids looked like deer in headlights. Their responses didn¡¯t come quickly. Both were stuck in their heads trying to decide on little information. The new priest was younger, strange, and different. Whether he was going to do the same as the old priests was unknown and for time to tell.

    ¡°The first aid book,¡± he finally said after getting a read on the book. ¡°That one is quite useful. Now, what happened?¡±

    Taylor and Danny gave each other unsure glances. Finally, Taylor spoke. ¡°Greg got hurt outside. We are trying to help him.¡±

    Priest Grant nodded as if expecting the answer. He kept his face neutral and calm. ¡°Do you know how bad the injury is?¡±

    ¡°Broken bone in his arm. The older kids were being too rough,¡± she said while trying to cast blame on the other kids. Taylor started to relax a bit and so did Danny.

    ¡°I would tell you to be careful, but I think you have learned that lesson. Considering that you haven¡¯t left yet he probably hasn¡¯t been hurt for long. Where is he now?¡±

    ¡°At the edge of the forest in the direction behind the orphanage. I suppose I can lead you there.¡±

    ¡°You can lead me there in a minute. Things would have been easier if you found me right away. I need to collect something but will meet you back here. Then we will go to him together. Ok? You aren¡¯t in trouble. Accidents happen,¡± he said while putting a hand to her shoulder.

    Taylor nodded and Priest Grant left them in the reading nook. She relaxed a bit more once he was out of sight.

    ¡°Should we get out of here?¡±

    ¡°No. That would be a bad idea,¡± said Tayor as she put the book back on its shelf. ¡°For now, I will trust him. If we leave now we could be in more trouble and could get caught by one of the other priests. If things go wrong with him then I will be the first to spread word about the problems and the warnings, but for now. Now we wait. If you want to go you can, but I know where Greg and Brad are. You don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°I guess I will stay. I said I would help, didn¡¯t I? Even if it is just moral support. I¡¯ll wait.¡±

    Other children passed them by as they waited nervously. Taylor¡¯s thoughts were on Brad and Greg who were still waiting for them. Their free time was coming to an end for the day. She had gotten them through the first interactions with the adults, but she wasn¡¯t sure how the second time through would go. Especially when the priest saw the results of their activities. Her mind wandered to what he must be up to while keeping them there. She hoped it was something that would get them through this quicker.

    Priest Grant walked quickly around the corner ushering them up. ¡°Lead the way. I¡¯ve got some things to help him.¡±

    Taylor hopped up from the chair eager to get going. She raced ahead and the others followed behind her. There weren¡¯t many people out, so they got back quickly. At the tree, Ash had already returned from her gathering trip. She was applying a paste to Greg¡¯s arm. Brad watched with a nervous eye. The trio caught sight of Taylor and Danny first before spotting Priest Grant walking behind them.

    ¡°What is he doing here?¡± Brad asked quietly.

    ¡°He is here to help. For now, at least.¡±

    ¡°Or catch us all together,¡± Brad muttered even quieter.

    Taylor nodded at that and let it slide. The adult took up Brad¡¯s spot and looked over Greg¡¯s injury. Brad stepped away and his nervousness grew. Priest Grant traded a few words with Greg though it was hard to hear. He looked over at Ash¡¯s work next and thanked her for her work. She took a step back as well.

    Out of an inner pocket, Priest Grant brought out a bottle. He removed the cork quickly and brought it to Greg¡¯s lips. ¡°Drink all of it if you can.¡± Greg accepted it and started to suck it all in. He drank quickly and coughed a little as he did so. Still, he followed the instructions. The priest watched him intently. When the bottle was empty Greg dropped it to the grass.

    Priest Grant turned to the other kids. ¡°What you¡¯ve done is foolish and I expect you know that by now. I will deal with the older kids though I expect you know to avoid playing such games in the future. You still have assignments and chores for the day to attend to. Greg, what is yours?¡±

    ¡°It is supposed to be assisting in cooking dinner tonight.¡±

    ¡°Taylor?¡±

    ¡°Sweeping and mopping after dinner,¡± she said expecting the question.

    ¡°Putting the littlest children to bed tonight,¡± said Brad without needing to be prompted.

    ¡°Then you Greg will swap with Bradley tonight. Do not put weight on it and be more careful next time. Do not go running around or stress yourself for the rest of the week. You understand?¡±

    Greg nodded. Priest Grant got up and helped Greg follow. ¡°You all should return to your duties. Your free time is almost over. These circumstances should not repeat.¡±

    Priest Grant left them at the edges of the woods for he had other duties to attend to. When the kids saw him truly leaving Danny was the first to leave followed by Ash and then the others. Greg kept his arm close to his chest, but the pain was fading. He looked up in the sky and thanked the gods that they had finally brought them a nice priest.

 5) HISTORY

    Wilson walked into the classroom under the eye of one of the priests. He walked to the back and sat down in one of the chairs before they left the room. Grant at the front of the classroom eyed them both before he started class.

    ¡°Welcome to your first of hopefully many history lessons.  I know some of you have read some of this information in the library, but I hope to explore the information more deeply and discuss why events in our past happened the way that they did. For those younger listen well and feel free to ask questions. Those of you a bit older I hope that you can answer the questions or give your best guesses. I will start calling on people if I need to.¡±

    He slid into one of the middle seats next to Brad, Greg, and Taylor. Once he was in his seat Priest Grant continued his discussion.

    ¡°I want to start our history discussion on the history of the city we live in. Henoes has stood for well over one hundred years. First, it was a small outpost before expanding into a town before it became the city it is known to be. Through the continual development of its people and resources, Henoes grew to be a city. Does anyone know what made that possible?¡± he asked the kids.

    Wilson sat back as Priest Grant began to delve into the history of Henoes. The city''s growth from a small outpost to a thriving metropolis had been of mild interest to him. As Grant posed the question about what made Henoes'' expansion possible, Wilson''s hand shot up, eager to share his knowledge.

    "Henoes grew because of its border with the kingdom of demons that opens up every five years," Wilson said confidently. "The city''s strategic location allowed it to become a hub for trade and commerce, even with the demon realm."

    Grant nodded, impressed by Wilson''s answer. "Excellent point, Wilson. The city''s proximity to the demon kingdom played a significant role in its development. Can anyone else elaborate on how this unique border affected Henoes'' history?"

    Brad raised his hand and added, "The border opening every five years created a cycle of trade and cultural exchange. Merchants from both realms would gather in Henoes to buy and sell goods, leading to the city''s economic growth."

    "That''s right, Brad," Grant affirmed. "The influx of diverse goods and ideas from the demon kingdom enriched Henoes'' culture and economy. However, the border also presented challenges. Can anyone think of what those might be?"

    Behind them, another kid spoke up, "The border opening also meant that Henoes had to be prepared for potential conflicts or invasions from the demon realm. The city had to invest in strong defenses and a well-trained military to protect its citizens."

    Grant smiled, pleased with the student''s engagement. "Precisely, Alfred. Henoes'' leaders had to strike a delicate balance between fostering trade and ensuring the city''s safety. This led to the development of a unique system of governance and diplomacy. Because of the difference between realms, unique items are found only here and some only in theirs. Some have tried to grow demonic plants, but they fail to eat the nutrients found in the soil here. Now does anyone know why we can¡¯t stay in the demon realm?¡±

    ¡°We will die,¡± said Taylor simply.

    Grant nodded solemnly at Taylor''s response. "You''re correct, Taylor. The demon realm is inhospitable to humans, and prolonged exposure can be fatal. The very air and environment are toxic to our bodies, slowly draining our life force."

    He paused for a moment, letting the gravity of the statement sink in before continuing. "However, there have been rare instances of individuals who managed to survive in the demon realm for extended periods. One such case is the story of a man named Alastair."

    The students leaned forward; their curiosity piqued by the mention of this mysterious figure. Grant began to recount the tale, his voice low and captivating. "Alastair was a scholar and adventurer who became fascinated with the demon realm. Despite the warnings of his peers, he ventured across the border during one of the openings, determined to uncover the secrets of this forbidden land. As expected, the demon realm''s hostile environment began to take its toll on Alastair. His body weakened, and he found himself on the brink of death. It was then that he encountered a group of demon healers who took pity on him."

    Grant''s eyes sparkled with a hint of wonder as he continued. "These healers possessed ancient knowledge and powerful magic. They recognized Alastair''s thirst for understanding and decided to help him. Through their arcane arts, they managed to sustain his life force, allowing him to survive in the demon realm."

    The students were now completely engrossed in the story, hanging onto every word. "Alastair spent the five years among the demons, learning their ways and uncovering the mysteries of their realm. He became a bridge between our world and theirs, a living testament to the possibility of coexistence and understanding. But his story is not without its tragedies. The price of his survival was high, and the demon healers'' magic left an indelible mark on his soul. When Alastair finally returned to Henoes, he was a changed man, haunted by the experiences he had endured."

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    Grant leaned back, his gaze sweeping over the classroom. "Alastair''s tale serves as a reminder of the dangers and wonders that lie beyond our borders. It is a story of the lengths one may go to in the pursuit of knowledge and the sacrifices that come with it. He was left weak. The demonic energy tainted his soul for the rest of his life. Even after returning to our realm, he could not recover and barely lived long enough to make a proper accounting of his experiences. From what the demons have reported and written accounts it is the same for them. You will not see a demon here except for the one week the realms connect. Otherwise, they too will die."

    Grant paused for questions. The kids were busy with their thoughts, so he posed a question. ¡°Who knows of the capital¡¯s role in Henoes and the demon realm.¡±

    ¡°They enforce the trade and military roles during Demon Week,¡± said an older girl.

    Grant nodded at the older girl''s response, acknowledging her contribution. "You''re right. The capital plays a crucial role in overseeing the trade agreements and military presence during Demon Week. But there''s more to it than that. The capital''s involvement in Henoes and its relationship with the demon realm has evolved over time, shaping the city''s culture and politics."

    He stood up and began pacing the room, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "In the early days of Henoes, the capital was wary of the demon realm. They saw it as a potential threat and were hesitant to engage in any form of diplomacy or trade. However, as Henoes grew and the economic benefits of the border opening became apparent, the capital''s stance began to shift."

    Grant stopped and turned to face the class, his eyes scanning the room. "The capital started to see the demon realm as a valuable trading partner. They began to negotiate trade agreements, establishing rules and regulations to ensure fair and mutually beneficial exchanges. These agreements not only boosted Henoes'' economy but also helped to foster a sense of cooperation between the two realms. Still, they set up a larger military presence, but that has been due to an interest in smuggling and illegal goods crossing between the realms. This has also included goods traded by our people. Due to the large amount of trade, every merchant house comes during the week and often conducts major trade deals unrelated to the demons in the city. On average almost half of all trade goods for the city in terms of price pass through this one-week window."

    "As the years passed, the capital''s role in Henoes and the demon realm became more complex. They had to balance the needs of their citizens with the demands of the demon kingdom. This led to the development of a specialized branch of the government, dedicated solely to managing the relationship between Henoes and the demon realm. This branch, known as the Demonic Relations Council, is responsible for negotiating trade agreements, resolving disputes, and ensuring the safety of both human and demon citizens during Demon Week. They work tirelessly to maintain the delicate balance between the two realms, often making difficult decisions that impact the lives of many. For example, the prices of goods can be a hard topic due to the abundance on one side and the scarcity on the other. Many things can change in five years which causes expected prices for items to vary wildly. It can be frustrating for many merchants looking to make money."

    He walked back to the front of the classroom, his gaze intense. "The capital''s influence on Henoes extends beyond just trade and diplomacy. As the city grew and changed, so did its culture. The influx of demonic goods and ideas began to shape the way people lived their lives. Demonic fashion, art, and even language started to seep into Henoes'' society, creating a unique blend of human and demon culture." Grant paused, letting his words sink in.

    "This cultural exchange has not been without its challenges. Some in Henoes fear that the city is losing its identity, becoming too influenced by the demon realm. Others embrace the change, seeing it as a natural evolution of a city that has always been defined by its relationship with the border." He looked around the room, making eye contact with each student.

    "As future leaders and citizens of Henoes, it is important for you to understand the complex history and dynamics at play in our city. The capital''s role in shaping Henoes and its relationship with the demon realm is a testament to the power of diplomacy, trade, and cultural exchange. But it is also a reminder of the challenges and responsibilities that come with living in a city that straddles two worlds." Grant walked back to his desk, his voice softening.

    "In the coming lessons, we will delve deeper into the specific trade agreements, diplomatic efforts, and cultural changes that have defined Henoes over the years. We will explore the stories of individuals like Alastair, who dared to cross the border and bridge the gap between our realms. And we will discuss the role that each of you can play in shaping the future of our city and its relationship with the demon realm." He sat down, his eyes twinkling with a mix of excitement and challenge. "But for now, I want you to think about what you''ve learned today. Consider the implications of living in a city like Henoes and the responsibilities that come with it. And most importantly, never stop asking questions and seeking to understand the world around you. Next time I want to explore the history of the capital and the kingdom as a whole. There should be a book or two in our library on the histories if you want to delve deeper. I hope you do so."

    Taylor listened intently as Priest Grant concluded the lesson, her mind buzzing with newfound knowledge and insights. The complexity of Henoes'' history and its relationship with the demon realm fascinated her, and she found himself eager to learn more. As the class began to disperse, Taylor approached Grant, her eyes shining with curiosity.

    "Priest Grant, thank you for the enlightening lesson. I have so many more questions about Alastair''s journey and the cultural exchange between our realms. Are there any specific books in the library you would recommend for further reading?"

    Grant smiled warmly at Taylor¡¯s enthusiasm. "I''m glad to see your interest, Taylor. Several excellent books delve deeper into these topics. ''The Chronicles of Alastair'' by historian Elara Blackwood is a comprehensive account of his life and experiences in the demon realm. ''Borderlands: A History of Henoes and the Demon Kingdom'' by scholar Roran Frostwind explores the evolution of our city''s relationship with the border. I highly recommend both. Unfortunately, I don¡¯t think we have a copy of Alastair¡¯s first-hand account at the orphanage, but the others should get you started."

    Taylor nodded, committing the titles to memory. "I''ll be sure to check them out. Thank you, Priest Grant."

 6) COOKING

    Tasty food is the spice of life. Though on the road heroes and adventurers alike must know how to make a good campfire meal.

    ¡°I¡¯m here to help with the cooking,¡± said Brad as he knocked on the kitchen door. It swung inward showing the two ladies in charge of running the area.

    ¡°Head to the back and get started on the stew. We are running late so hurry up,¡± said the closer lady.

    Brad nodded and ran past. He paused at the sink and washed his hands thoroughly with the bar of soap at his side. The process had been rung through him several times so he wouldn¡¯t forget while helping in the kitchen. As he washed his hands he looked over the kitchen. The smells of half-finished meals hit him, and the heat of the stoves and oven had started to warm up the slightly cramped space.

    Once he was done getting ready he went down to the end of the kitchen where a pot was starting to boil, and a familiar girl was working. She turned to him.

    ¡°You are late. Hurry up and help me. I¡¯ve needed a stool for this pot. You can be in charge of adding the food and stirring it all. While I will get things cut and prepped,¡± said Ash.

    ¡°You have dinner duty as well?¡± asked Brad.

    ¡°Of course. I try and get it regularly. It is fun, and relaxing, and I can snag extra portions of food after everyone else has been served. I can also poison my enemies,¡± Ash said with an evil grin.

    ¡°Sure,¡± he said ignoring her final statement and moving on. ¡°What step are you on now?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve already peeled the onions, started to boil the water, and added salt, and the cloves. Now we need to add the beef.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll grab it.¡± Brad moved the stool away and brought the beef over. It had been cut into a few pieces and was ready for the pot. He carefully lowered each piece into the large copper pot while being careful not to get burned by the bubbling water.

    ¡°Put the lid on it. We¡¯ve got to let it boil for a minute and then simmer for a while. It is a long recipe.¡±

    ¡°What are we working on next?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve got plenty of vegetables I picked from the garden that need to be cleaned, peeled if necessary, and then cut up. Why don¡¯t you take care of the carrots and potatoes, and I will do the rest.¡±

    Brad nodded. ¡°OK then.¡± He gathered up the potatoes and carrots and set them in a strainer in the sink. The peeler was set up on one of the shelves and he brought it over to his spot where Ash was doing a similar thing.

    Brad felt the cool, damp earthiness of the potatoes as he washed them, the water running in a soothing, rhythmic cascade. There was a comfort in these simple tasks, a grounding effect against the backdrop of Ash¡¯s words. He found himself lost in thought as he wondered about the day¡¯s earlier events. The smell of food grew, and a bit of hunger started to grow in him. The kitchen was warm and filled with the rich, savory scent of boiling beef and cloves, that spilled over him.

    Ash, on the other side of the kitchen, moved with a grace that belied her jesting nature. Her hands, skilled and confident, danced through the air as she prepared the rest of the vegetables. The sharp knife in her hand glided through the flesh of a ripe tomato, the juice beading on the cutting board like tiny rubies in the soft, golden light filtering through the kitchen window. As they worked Ash occasionally looked over at the pot careful that its ingredients weren¡¯t burning. She kept checking on them occasionally as she moved on from tomato to lettuce, leek, and then turnips.

    Brad peeled the potatoes, each strip falling away in a satisfying curl, his thoughts wandering. He considered Ash¡¯s quip about poisoning, how the shadow of a smile played on her lips as she said it. There was an art to her humor, dark though it might be, a kind of release valve for the pressures of their lives. He chuckled to himself, a low sound drowned out by the bubbling pot and the slicing of vegetables. ¡°It would be a fitting taste of their own medicine.¡±

    After placing all of the finished potatoes in a bowl while waiting for them to be placed in the pot he moved on to the carrots. Ash in the meantime had doubled his pace and was working on parts of what he suspected was part of the salad for the evening. He was not a big fan of salads and was happy to let her prepare that on her own. Throughout their preparations, the pair of kitchen ladies checked in on their work. They smelled the soup and made sure that the sizes of their cuts were appropriate.

    ¡°Hey, Brad, earth to Brad. You¡¯re with me, right?¡± Ash¡¯s voice, teasing yet tinged with a warmth he had come to look forward to, pulled him back from his reverie.

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    ¡°Always,¡± he replied, meeting her gaze with a smile. ¡°Just lost in the Zen of peeling carrots.¡±

    Ash laughed, a genuine, infectious sound that filled the kitchen. ¡°Weird. Well, don¡¯t get too lost. I need those carrots and potatoes ready for the next step. We¡¯re making a stew that¡¯ll warm the soul. It is one of my favorite recipes.¡±

    He focused on his task, peeling, and cutting with renewed vigor, the mundane action now imbued with a sense of camaraderie. The kitchen, with its simmering pot and an array of vegetables, felt like a sanctuary, a place where the outside world, with all its complexities and dangers, could not reach them.

    Next to them the sound of bubbling water added to the background noise, the atmosphere, and his actions. As they worked, the air between them filled with more than just the aroma of cooking. Seeing Ash finish up Brad hurried his work while not ruining the carrots. Soon he was finished and had a second bowl of vegetables ready for the pot.

    ¡°Alright, what¡¯s next, chef?¡± Brad asked, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel, ready for the next step in their culinary adventure.

    ¡°We¡¯ll be adding these vegetables to the pot, but the meat still has some time left on it before we do so. The meat has to make a broth of the water. Until then it won¡¯t be ready. What do you want to do until then?¡±

    ¡°What do you usually do? I don¡¯t usually get stuck with the long meals. It is usually lunch or breakfast for me if I get kitchen duty at all.¡±

    ¡°We usually trade stories about our day, but we already spent the interesting parts together. Do you have any gossip?¡± she asked with interest.

    ¡°You mean do I have any gossip about the new priest that has joined the church and orphanage? No, I do not. I¡¯ve avoided him so far. Today was only the second day that I have really interacted with him as you saw. I guess I can tell you a bit more about the first if you would like.¡±

    Ash nodded eager to hear the story.

    ¡°The new priest, Grant seems to be in charge of dealing out punishment. Unless one of the others catches you in something more problematic. They seem to know that they are unliked, so they have pushed the responsibilities onto the new guy. We had to do a bunch of extra cleaning and listen to him talk in preparation for today¡¯s lesson. It wasn¡¯t the worst. If you do something wrong try and get him to notice before the others. With him entering the picture our previous offenses if you have any don¡¯t matter as much. They are just stories told to him by the other priests. We will of course need to watch him to see what changes, but it has been decent from my experiences so far.¡±

    ¡°Got it. I¡¯ll pass the word to those I know don¡¯t know already. I¡¯ll try not to stir the pot too much until then,¡± she said with a wink,¡± But I will have to test the waters.¡±

    ¡°Do so at your own risk.¡±

    Ash looked over the pot bringing over the stool so that she could peer over the side of the thing. ¡°It looks like it is ready. Been long enough at least. Bring over the vegetables.¡±

    Brad followed her instructions and let her add the pieces one by one. First was the carrots and potatoes he had prepared. He watched them fall in with a plop. Next was Ash¡¯s ingredients. The turnips and leeks were added with a few stirs. With the motion, he could smell the meat and his hunger grew even more.

    Ash stepped off her stool and put a lid on the pot. ¡°Almost done. Just got to soften up the vegetables. We should be done just in time for the dinner bell to be rung.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m glad I can relax now.¡±

    ¡°Not quite. We¡¯ve got to assemble the salad.¡±

    Brad sighed. ¡°I¡¯d rather that you do it.¡±

    ¡°It is easy. More so than the stew. We don¡¯t even need to prepare the dressing. One of the older girls already did it this week and there is plenty of extras. Get the big bowl for me.¡±

    Brad followed her instructions. He had already seen the bowl she had indicated earlier. It was hanging by a handle on the other side of them a bit high up. He grabbed the stool from her and reached for it. Once he had it in his hands he slid it over to her. The large bowl was almost as wide as her reach. She needed the stool back from him, so she started to add the prepared vegetables to the bowl.

    ¡°Grab two of the big spoons as well.¡±

    Brad knew which ones she was talking about and already had them ready. With the big spoons she began to toss and mix the salad ingredients while Brad added the last few ingredients. The salad mix was a simple one but healthy and filled with nutrients. Not that many of the children cared. It was just the standard salad that they all had been eating for their lifetimes in the orphanage.

    ¡°Check the pot for me,¡± asked Ash.

    ¡°Already on it,¡± Brad replied.

    The lid of the pot had slid and shifted around drawing out the aromas of flavor and bringing the taste to his lips. Outside of the kitchen, the sound of the dinner bell rang and children eager for dinner were hurrying to find a seat in the cafeteria.

    ¡°I think it¡¯s done,¡± said Brad.

    He poked a carrot and then the potato wedge with a fork. The metal instrument sank into the softened food.

    ¡°Good. I¡¯ll let the others know and they will bring it out. This salad is ready as well. Do you want to pour the dressing on while I mix it?¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± he answered without hesitation.

    Brad brought the jug of dressing over to the side of the bowl. As he tipped it the dressing poured out in waves. Ash was quick to mix it and make sure that none condensed in one place for long. With one of the serving spoons, Brad scooped out the last of the dressing as he tipped the jug all the way over. Brad caught a whiff of the dressing. To him, it smelled weird, but the other kids seemed to like the salad.

    ¡°All done,¡± Ash said with a finality that hit Brad differently than his usual times in the kitchen. He was glad that he had swapped jobs with Greg even under unfortunate circumstances.

    The pot was taken by both of the kitchen staff. Each had a hand and hot pad on the handles as they carried it out to be served. Next went the salad bowl and a few other side dishes. By now Brad¡¯s hunger was peaking and he was ready to leave. He and Ash set the kitchen supplies to the side and rushed out to get servings of the food. After dinner, another set of orphans would help with the cleanup of the kitchen.

    Later that evening a bout of hives erupted between a few of the older kids.

 7) PUNISHMENT

    Ash sat in the empty classroom. A minute later another boy her age entered the room. He sat in the opposite back corner as her. She looked over watching his shoulder.

    ¡°Where¡¯s your birdie,¡± she asked.

    ¡°He is quarantined in my room. Until it behaves,¡± he said with a frown.

    ¡°You got to have better control of that bird, Gray. It has been what? A year since it started following you around.¡±

    ¡°About that long. It is usually good, but it gets moody when I do,¡± said Gray. ¡°It reacts when I don¡¯t want or need it too.¡±

    ¡°Have you tried? I don¡¯t know. Not letting it in the orphanage?¡±

    ¡°Been there and done that. Makes things worse and I am blamed because I now have a cage for it and in theory have trained it well enough. I guess this is my fault by now and I¡¯ve got to accept the punishment. Or at least that is what they tell me.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s rough. I heard this new guy isn¡¯t too bad though. Can¡¯t be worse than Priest Damon.¡±

    Gray shuddered at that but said nothing. For a while, they waited in silence for Priest Grant and their punishment to arrive.

    Priest Grant stepped into the room with quick steps and shut the door behind himself. ¡°Sorry that I am late. Things can be quite chaotic around here as you¡¯ve surely experienced. I don¡¯t think we know each other as well as we should so why don¡¯t we start with reintroductions? I am Priest Grant. New to this city but not new to helping with children of various ages. Today I will be going over your deeds and punishment as is proper.¡±

    Grant looked to the two children as he found himself a seat at the front facing them. ¡°Who would like to go next?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m Gray. I¡¯m here because of Eddie. If you have seen him fly around then you would know. He can be disruptive.¡±

    ¡°Ash. We¡¯ve met before. And we all saw what I did with their stew.¡±

    ¡°Yes, we did,¡± Grant said sadly. ¡°I was dealing with them myself, but you stepped in quite visibly. Understand that you will not be allowed near the kitchens for the next week or two at least. Don¡¯t expect to spend your time in the gardens either.¡±

    Ash looked down. ¡°I expected that. Is there more?¡±

    ¡°Do you want me to add more time,¡± he asked.

    ¡°No, I do not.¡±

    ¡°Then do not repeat your actions. You can consider me as your enforcement officer meaning that things will start anew but I will not tolerate repeat offenses. Maybe instead of a history lesson, we should go over the rules at least once,¡± he said the last line more to himself.

    ¡°What is our punishment this time then?¡± asked Gray.

    ¡°So eager to get things over with I see? We will get to that soon, but I would like to go over what you did wrong, why it happened, and what you will do to make sure it doesn¡¯t happen a second, or third time,¡± said Priest Grant.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t do anything wrong,¡± Gray protested. ¡°It was Eddie. He is kind of a pet. But he is his own bird, creature, or whatever. I didn¡¯t tell him to poop in the hallway.¡±

    ¡°And yet Eddie did it anyway,¡± Priest Grant continued. ¡°So, you know it is wrong. The bird seems to like you and the others haven¡¯t had luck keeping it away from you so then it is your responsibility. In that case, how can you help teach Eddie what to do in the future?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know man. Keep him in his cage for longer,¡± he half-heartedly suggested.

    ¡°Anything else?¡±

    Gray thought for a minute. There was some silence and Priest Grant let the boy think over his answer. Finally, he answered. ¡°I could try carrying the cage around. It would be annoying, and Eddie wouldn¡¯t like it, but I could do it. I would then have to let Eddie out when I go outside as well. Whether Eddie still behaves or not is not always up to me. When he is outside what he does won¡¯t always be seen by me.¡±

    ¡°That is a decent starting plan. Though I wish you would let Eddie stay outside.¡± Next Priest Grant turned to Ash. She had not been dozing off and already had some of her answers at the ready.

    ¡°I guess it is my turn to admit fault. I made those boys deal with an itching power I made. It was payback for how they played their game of kickball yesterday. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I had an opportunity to get back at them and I took it,¡± as Ash reached the end of her statement her volume petered off.

    ¡°I¡¯m glad that you can admit that fault. You shouldn¡¯t have let your anger cloud your decision-making and should have waited for me to meet with them. Even if they were initially at fault your actions ruin the process of betterment and change I hope that you all will be on. So now considering that what are you going to do in the future?¡±

    ¡°In the future, I need to wait even if I want to act right away. They need to be punished by you before I do something at the moment.¡±

    ¡°Good. That is better. Now I want you to consider your actions and the words we have shared while we work together on a project. The people of the city have generously given their time in the expansion, improvement, and repair of part of the orphanage. With their help, the services and use of the orphanage can be expanded in times of need. And while their help is appreciated we don¡¯t want to take up too much of their time so some of it is done ourselves. So, for the next hour, we will see how we can help the stonemason and carpenter who are working so very hard.¡±

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    Ash and Gray followed him down the stairs to the first floor and out the side entrance. Here on the east side, the walls were under construction in the process of adding a few new rooms and extending the hallways to connect to the new area. In doing so the building was expanding to bring it closer to the edge of the property line. The work being done was only a few hours each day due to it being volunteer work. The orphanage funded some of it, but it was also a community effort and people of the city pitched in accordingly.

    ¡°How goes the work?¡± asked Priest Grant to the old stonemason as they approached.

    ¡°Good. So very good. Matching the stone hasn¡¯t been too hard. For now, it has just been repetitious work until I get closer to finishing the roof, but that won¡¯t be until the end of the month. Now who are these two little one.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m Gray and this is Ash.¡±

    ¡°They are troublemakers looking to help now,¡± Priest Grant said in answer. ¡°One of them could help you while the other could help the carpenter.¡±

    ¡°It is just me for the rest of the day unless he returns in the evening to do additional work. I can take care of them if you¡¯d like,¡± said the stonemason.

    ¡°I will watch them and help out a little while they get used to the work and what you need of them today. After that, you can take them for a while longer. I expect them to be out here for an hour and a half. Maybe a little more or less depending on how things are progressing here.¡±

    ¡°I stick to something like that. You two are very lucky that it is a nice day out with the breeze. Take water breaks if you need to but you better not be slacking off while I¡¯m in charge of you.¡±

    Ash and Gray stepped forward ready to start on the tasks assigned to them by the old man. They would follow through and accept their punishment.

    The sun was high and warm, casting long shadows of the group across the newly turned earth and stones that lay scattered around the site. Ash and Gray, still wearing the traces of their earlier tension, now looked with a mix of curiosity and resolve at the materials and tools laid out before them. The stonemason pointed to a stack of stones at the edge of the site.

    "Gray, you start by moving those stones closer to the wall we''re building. No need for fancy lifting, just make sure you''re not straining your back. We don''t need another project on our hands," he said, his voice a mix of sternness and care. Gray nodded, moving towards the stones with a determined step.

    "Ash, come with me. You''ll be mixing mortar. It''s simple enough, but it needs to be just right. Too wet and it won''t set properly, too dry and it''ll crumble. I''ll show you the first batch, then you''re up," the stonemason directed, leading her to a small, makeshift mixing area.

    Under the stonemason''s watchful eye, Ash quickly learned the rhythm of mixing mortar. The stonemason''s initial demonstration was concise, showing her how to blend the components in the correct proportions and how to test the consistency. As Ash worked she was reminded of mixing the stew and other foods from the kitchen. The stirring spread an uncomfortableness through her arms. Once satisfied she had grasped the basics, the stonemason left her to it, turning his attention back to Gray, who was now hauling stones with a steadiness that belied his earlier reluctance.

    The air was filled with the sounds of work: the scrape of the shovel against the ground, the thud of stone on stone, and the occasional grunt of effort. Ash found a meditative quality in the mixing, losing herself in the physicality of the task. Meanwhile, Gray, stone by stone, was busy stacking the stone after the mortar had been added. He had to be careful to stack them evenly or else he had to redo it until it was just right.

    Priest Grant observed from a short distance. He found that the physical labor, while demanding, offered a different perspective on consequence and responsibility. He hoped that they kept in mind the words he had shared and would avoid having to come out here again. His focus turned from the two children to the building as a whole. Pieces were out of place during the construction, but the paint had become especially worn down by the elements and dirt.

    ¡°It looks like some of the paint needs touching up,¡± Priest Grant remarked.

    ¡°It will be,¡± said the stonemason looking up at the older walls. ¡°The sun has faded it some. It will be an easy fix though. Quicker than building a wall. If you look for it there is always more work to be done.¡± The old man added more paste to the bricks and stacked another piece.

    Priest Grant nodded. Though he didn¡¯t have a timepiece with him he knew his time outside was up. Satisfied with the continued work the pair were doing he left.

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure if this really counts as decent. Or if my previous actions didn¡¯t matter as much,¡± said Ash more to herself.

    ¡°What?¡±

    Ash looked up realizing that Gray had listened to at least part of what she had said. ¡°I¡¯ve heard some things about our new punishment officer. I thought things wouldn¡¯t have been as bad or at least as tiring as this has been.¡±

    ¡°It is always worse than you think. That is just how it is,¡± said Gray.

    ¡°I¡¯ll keep that in mind for the future, but that does nothing to help right now.¡± Ash set the stirring stick down exhausted from the work. She didn¡¯t know how long it had been, but she felt like it had been forever since they started.

    ¡°You taking a break?¡±

    ¡°Trying to.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t let him catch you. If you want I can help stir for a minute after a stack this last set of bricks.¡±

    ¡°Sure. That would be very helpful.¡±

    Gray went off to stack the next set of bricks. He hurried to finish. The larger stack of bricks meant to be laid had shrunk significantly in the past hour. While he was nowhere near as fast as the practiced man he still helped enough. Once he was done Gray returned to the pot of mortar. Ash stepped away letting him get closer and gain leverage over the stirring pot. He tried stirring. It was difficult. He wasn¡¯t sure if it was just because he was tired or because the mixture had started to dry. As he stirred and pulled at the edges the mortar stuck there was pulled off and brought back into the center of the pot. For a bit longer they worked together on the mortar.

    As the hour turned to an hour and a half, both Ash and Gray were visibly tired but satisfied. The stonemason, now inspecting their work, nodded in approval. "Not bad for a couple of novices. You''ve both earned a break," he conceded, a rare smile breaking through his otherwise quiet demeanor.

    Ash and Gray exchanged looks, happy to have finished the work, and were both ready to get out of the sun. They were both ready to collapse once they got inside. Ash in particular felt like her arms were jelly.

    "Let''s clean up here," the stonemason said, "Then you two are free to go. Remember this feeling of hard work and accomplishment. It might serve you better than any punishment."

    As they tidied the tools and materials, Ash and Gray relaxed a little. The priest hadn¡¯t returned so they didn¡¯t have anywhere to go immediately after this. Ash considered what she wanted to do next. They had a little more time before they had to go inside for lessons. The clean-up was quick work and less demanding. Soon they were let go by the stonemason.

    ¡°Do you want to go to the garden for a minute,¡± Ash asked Gray. ¡°I think I have a few flowers in there that Eddie would love.¡±

    ¡°I would love that.¡±

 8) MILITARY DAY

    Wilson stepped out of the orphanage along with Greg and several others who were considered older boys. They were led by Priest Damon for the purpose of outdoor activities. This was part of a larger education and apprenticeship effort. If the children of the orphanage found what they liked quickly then Once they were the right age for an apprenticeship or work then they could be sponsored and start to live outside of the orphanage allowing the church to no longer sponsor the child.

    ¡°By now you should be intimately familiar with how our training regimen works. Or at least most of you should,¡± said Priest Damon. ¡°I hope you can perform well today despite how badly you might curse it. For today we have the pleasure of joining the military for the day. You will join the other new recruits and experience what it is like being part of a military squad. Even if you don¡¯t join up with them at sixteen this training is vital to understand in the unlikely case that a militia is needed, and you are called upon. For those who have experienced this before, I hope you can impress upon those younger the importance of completing this training and its use.¡±

    ¡°So, this is Military Day,¡± said Wilson to the other boys.

    At twelve he and Greg we now considered old enough to start learning on the military days. They happened infrequently throughout the year when some of the military squads visited the city. At eleven Brad had been left behind.

    ¡°The rumors were true then. Do you think we will have to do everything they said?¡± asked Greg.

    ¡°Knowing the priest and the older boys they were telling the truth and exaggerating only a little. Be glad that I reminded you to eat a big breakfast. Considering we have never done this before it will be like torture. I have occasionally tested my skills and gone to see the military base. Today probably won¡¯t be fun.¡±

    ¡°Anything else?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t throw up your lunch when we get it. Or breakfast.¡±

    ¡°Great,¡± said Greg as they were pulled into a line and started to form a march toward the training yard.

    The older boys who had been goofing off earlier were now serious and led the marching line. There were three lines made up of the near dozen boys. Those who didn¡¯t line up properly at the front were swiftly yelled at and pushed into the right order. As the priest brought his eyes to the back of the line everyone else was at the ready and followed the one in front of them. Greg and Wilson as one of the younger kids found their place at the back. Greg considered speaking but any conversation was cut off.

    ¡°Each group will participate in a training portion and then a testing portion at the end. It may be challenging for some but worth it,¡± said Priest Damon continuing his lecture. ¡°What I want to see is perseverance and improvement for those who have done this before. I do have your scores from before and will be looking at them. As for those who have not been with us, your scores will be compared to the first-time scores that others have received. If you do not meet the average or are not above your previous scores then extra work and added physical activity will be needed. This remedial time will of course be cut from the time you would otherwise join the others at the lake.¡±

    There were groans and mutterings at the pronouncement, but the priest ignored them. ¡°Being able-bodied is important and necessary for any job that you choose to pursue. Those who cannot work in any capacity cannot take care of themselves and will die. It is a simple fact of life. It is why you all have chores and responsibilities. I and the others cannot always be there to baby you like we have to with the youngest of our orphanage family.¡±

    As the group walked down the street people made way for their training. Their looks showed they knew what the orphan kids were going to be doing. Soon they arrived at the training field. They were kept in their lines awaiting orders.

    ¡°Those of you fifteen and older step up,¡± said Priest Damon. Three stepped forward. ¡°You will join the Mage Corps leader for testing. May the gods bless you with some magical ability.¡±

    The trio were led away by a man in gray robes. They followed without a word. The priest watched for a moment before returning to his speech.  Soldiers approached to watch as he finished. ¡°Maybe the rest of you will show magical potential but that is unlikely today. Because we are now down to eight of you the group will separate into two. Each will undergo the same training from what I¡®ve seen, but the styles may be slightly different. For the rest of the afternoon, I will be releasing you into the military¡¯s care. Follow their instructions to the letter and I will return to retrieve you for dinner. Lunch will be provided by the soldiers here.¡±

    ¡°Step forward men,¡± said a soldier. He wore a more decorated uniform and had his helmet on while the others were helmetless. ¡°You will be joining us today. I¡¯m not one for introductions. Let¡¯s just get you started on some laps around the field. My man here will set the pace and start with five laps. Once it is over you will join either me or him for the other exercises. Get started.¡±

    The orphans shuffled around and started to form up around the runner. The field encompassed half of the military base. In the center were equipment for training. As they ran they were able to see more of the base and its set up. Once they rounded the first bend and everyone was going at a steady pace the speed picked up. The older boys seemed to expect it and kept up. The front man was in armor slowing him down slightly and that was the only advantage the children had over him.

    Greg and Wilson found themselves at the back of the pack though not too far behind the front. Each of them had to push a little harder to keep up with their smaller frames.

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    ¡°Why are they speeding up?¡± Greg spat out quickly.

    ¡°Don¡¯t waste words. Breath. Run. Focus,¡± said Wilson simply.

    As they finished the first lap the front man spoke up.

    ¡°Match my pace! Keep yourself steady. One foot in front of the other. Keep your back as straight as you can and let your arms pump back and forth. I don¡¯t want to see anyone out of the corner of my eye as we go around the next bend. Keep up and run! We aren¡¯t even at a full run yet.¡±

    After the second lap, the pace didn¡¯t change. Each of the children was expected to keep up and stay close. When Wilson and Greg had to slow down at times the man at the front seemed to see from the back of his head and yelled for them to keep up. They grumbled but sped up. The pace was uncomfortable but not painful for them. Soon they got to the final lap and finished with the others.

    ¡°Good job. Your times have been recorded and now we will split off into groups for strength testing and then will run through some weapon practice.¡±

    Wilson and Greg followed the man in charge of the track running with two other boys while the others joined the first man. One by one they went through the strength training. Each of them was expected to try to perform a dozen of each exercise or more if they could. As Greg worked he was reminded of the averages the Priest Damon had described. Though as he hit twelve he could barely get to thirteen. The weights stayed the same for each of the boys so when the two other kids who he knew as thirteen and fourteen years old respectively. They hit a much higher rep count each time.

    Each boy would take a turn doing as many as they could while the others rested and watched. Wilson turned to the fourteen-year-old who had just finished his set of squats.

    ¡°How many reps do they expect on average? It is difficult to tell just based on what us two can do,¡± said Wilson.

    The older boy looked down on him wiping sweat off his brow. ¡°You will need to do more than the suggested minimum that¡¯s for sure. I know that I was hitting close to fifteen or more when I started, and I barely made the average. Whatever he has decided it as. I expect he raises it each year just to see a few people fail while others push themselves to meet the high marks. If you are ever wondering if you should be doing more then the answer is always a ¡®yes¡¯.¡±

    ¡°Thanks for the advice. I¡¯m Wilson.¡±

    ¡°I know who you are. The escape artist. Better gain some muscle here, but then you wouldn¡¯t fit through the bars that they will add to your room. I¡¯m Jack.¡±

    He stuck out his hand. ¡°Wilson. Nice to be formally introduced,¡± he said matching the handshake. ¡°I¡¯m not sure if I am built to gain much muscle, but I can try improving the other parts.¡±

    Wilson returned to the exercise now that Greg was finished with his set. He followed the exercise trying to meet the fifteen repetitions that Jack had suggested. He hit fourteen before his arms gave out. The man in charge hadn¡¯t given them several exercises that they were working on. The next time he was free he tried asking the fourth kid in their group, but the answer was always ¡®more¡¯.

    ¡°I for sure thought that he would join the military today,¡± said Greg. He pointed to the one who had pulled him into the terrible kickball game. The boy and the others in the second group crossed the field.

    ¡°He likes wielding power of others not having to deal with power over him. Maybe he would if he could jump right into squad leader, but he doesn¡¯t have the skill for it.¡±

    Greg returned to his bow and knocked another arrow. He focused on his aim and drew it back. The arrow twanged as it left his grip. He sighed as it landed on the padded target just barely hanging on. Wilson shot his arrow much closer to the target.

    ¡°I¡¯m not good at this. Holding the bow feels wrong.¡±

    ¡°Well, have you held a bow before? No,¡± said Wilson. ¡°Then it is probably going to be strange. Don¡¯t worry though. We have other skills to show off. Might do better at them. I think sword fighting is next.¡±

    ¡°What will it matter? My arms feel terrible, and it hurts my legs when I step,¡± said Greg. ¡°Even if I like sword fighting, I¡¯ll barely be able to learn enough to decide if I like it.¡±

    ¡°Then rest while you can. It is clear you can¡¯t make a good bow shot. Fire off the last of the arrows quickly and then rest. We¡¯ve been made a fool of here. We¡¯re probably one of the youngest that goes out to the military training. Most will be closer to thirteen than twelve at least. Try your best but remember that we can try better next time when we are older, stronger, and better. If we lose then we¡¯ve got extra work to do. We¡¯ve done it before and can do it again.¡±

    ¡°I never want extra work again. Not from the Demon. Not again. Sometimes I wish I could sneak away like you.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not always that great. Can¡¯t really escape no matter how far around the city I go. Leaving can be a nice break at times, but I always have to come back.¡±

    Wilson fired off his final shot earning himself his third bullseye. He set his bow down. Greg fired off his last arrows. They were a pathetic showing compared to Wilson¡¯s. Few had stayed on target and never hit a bullseye. Though he had gotten a little better in the time since they started. Soldiers passed by them marking their scores. It wasn¡¯t long before they were pushed onto the next assignment.

    After a brief water break and snacks, their group of four was pulled into a swordsmanship demonstration.

    ¡°Throughout our kingdom, we have several different sword styles developed by heroes, old families, or the demons across our borders. Today I will show you the start of the military technique. This style is meant for quick debilitating blows. After the demonstration, you will be put against the padded dummies. Afterward, you will show what you learned to one of our soldiers here. But first, a volunteer is needed.¡±

    As if expecting this Jack stepped forward. ¡°I will volunteer. I am familiar with most of the moves.¡±

    ¡°Good. Very good. You look familiar. What is your name?¡±

    ¡°I am Jack. Though I am not yet of age I intend to join a military squad one day.¡±

    ¡°Collect your sword and shield. These are of course blunted though hurt. Let¡¯s see how much you have improved since last you came to our base.¡±

    They each drew their swords. The soldier moves first. Jack expected the first testing hit and displayed his defense before following up with a standard riposte. The blow was easily blocked by the soldier¡¯s shield. They circled each other before the soldier found an opening and struck. Jack tried to parry and was pushed back opening him up for a follow-up attack that was barely caught by his shield. The soldier pushed the advantage and gave Jack nothing. He was struck in the arm before falling over.

    ¡°Better,¡± said the Soldier. ¡°You¡¯ve lasted longer than most I¡¯ve seen around your age.  I will watch your entry with great interest. Dismissed!¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± said Jack. He bowed once quickly before stepping back in line with the other boys.

    The soldier looked to Greg and Wilson who were younger than Jack. ¡°I hope you two will show as much promise as him. Grab a sword and wait for a dummy. You won¡¯t need a shield today. Let¡¯s get you drilled on the moves your friend has presented.¡±

 9) TRAINING

    ¡°You are abysmal. How you are still walking around frankly astonishes me. Twelve pushups. Twelve. I think you¡¯ve set a new record for the orphanage. Lowest. Scorer,¡± said Priest Damon arching over Greg. ¡°Though I think you already knew that. Your friend here too. Didn¡¯t even try. Good thing there will be plenty of extra work and chores for the both of you. Now go. Both of you. Don¡¯t even think about skipping out. I will see you and the others tomorrow right after breakfast.¡±

    The two boys scurried away eager to leave the room. The news was unfortunate but expected. They knew what they had done throughout the Military Day and the demanding results required by Priest Damon. As they ran out they slowed down catching some of the man¡¯s words to Jack.

    ¡°Did better this time. Not by much but these results are passable. You will do well in the military academy. Now leave and tell the little rats to follow you out instead of listening at the door!¡±

    Jack hurried out the door, not unhappy but not satisfied either. The door closed with a clang. He was quick to catch up to the others.

    ¡°Super hearing that one has,¡± said Greg once Jack was close. ¡°We were halfway down the hall.¡±

    Wilson ribbed Greg. ¡°We should get going regardless. I¡¯m tired from yesterday¡¯s trip and need to go somewhere and do something else.¡±

    ¡°What do you want to do then?¡± asked Greg. He looked up to Jack. ¡°What do you do in your free time? I¡¯ve only sometimes seen you play ball with the other kids.¡±

    Jack shrugged. ¡°It depends on the day. I¡¯ve played games with the other kids in the past for exercise but as of late, they have gotten more mean and disinterested in others. Probably comes with the fact that they never got adopted and will have to take up full-time work as adults sooner rather than later.¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t want to adopt those pigs feet either,¡± said Greg.

    ¡°Other days I practice with a training sword. I already know the military is the path for me so outside of what I have to do for the orphanage I do in preparation for my career.¡±

    ¡°Sounds boring,¡± said Wilson. ¡°Jobs and the future can come later. That¡¯s why they are the future. They don¡¯t matter in the present.¡±

    ¡°I think it sounds cool,¡± said Greg. ¡°I mean the training did suck and we will have to go to it again, but you can prepare us. Show us your moves.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure how well I could teach you two. I¡¯m not the best at explaining things. I¡¯ve got my training to do but maybe by showing you guys I will also understand the fundamentals better.¡±

    ¡°That is great,¡± said Greg. ¡°Where should we meet you during free time.¡±

    ¡°On the steps of the orphanage to start. I¡¯ll show you where I usually go.¡±

    Once Jack left and was out of earshot Wilson spoke up. ¡°I¡¯m not going with you two.¡±

    ¡°Come on. It will be fun. I need something to take my anger out on. You probably do too.¡±

    ¡°Get Brad to go out with you. Or anyone else.¡±

    ¡°You know he doesn¡¯t have the same free time today. Stop making excuses. It will be fun.¡±

    ¡°Have you considered that there are things that I want to do?¡±

    ¡°Well, no. What would you do?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve got some places to explore today. I¡¯m not sure if I will have the chance to see them next time I get the chance to.¡±

    ¡°That is rather vague,¡± said Greg. ¡°How about this? You join me for the first thirty minutes. Maybe a little less if we both find it boring. If you want to stay then stay for the full time. There should be plenty of time afterward for you to sneak off to wherever you are planning on going.¡±

    ¡°I will counter with this. I will join you this time, but you owe me a favor. One that I can call on later and you will have to do my assignment. How about that?¡±

    ¡°I know your tricks. Assignments could be anything. I will do any orphanage job or task within the orphanage that they assign us. The favor also must be called on within one week from tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°Two weeks.

    ¡°Fine. You¡¯ve got a deal.

    Wilson put out his hand. ¡°Deal.¡± They shook on it completing the contract.

    0-0-0-0

    The two boys stepped out on the steps of the orphanage.

    ¡°I see you two made it. Let¡¯s go have some fun,¡± said Jack as he put his arms around the two boys and slid in between them.

    Jack pulled them down the stairs following him around to the back of the building. Other kids ran by with the start of their free time, but they paid no mind. They went past the edge of the building to the gated area. In the back was the garden, supply shed, playground, and for their purposes a field.

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    ¡°I¡¯ve got one extra wood sword at the moment,¡± said Jack. ¡°Who wants to start?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll start,¡± said Greg. He stepped forward confidently and grabbed the extra sword from Jack¡¯s hand.

    Jack grinned at Greg''s enthusiasm, nodding approvingly as he handed over the wooden sword. "Alright, Greg, let''s see what you''ve got." He turned to Wilson, who was watching with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

    "Don''t worry, Wilson, you''ll get your turn soon enough. Pay close attention to what we''re doing, okay?"

    Wilson nodded; his eyes fixed on the two older boys as they moved to the center of the field. Jack took a few steps back, assuming a relaxed stance with his wooden sword held loosely at his side.

    "Now, Greg, the first thing you need to remember is your stance. Keep your feet shoulder-width apart, and make sure your dominant foot is slightly forward." Greg adjusted his feet, trying to mimic Jack''s position.

    "Like this?" he asked, looking up at his mentor for approval.

    "Close," Jack said, moving to stand beside Greg. "Here, let me show you." He demonstrated the proper stance, exaggerating his movements so that both Greg and Wilson could see clearly. "Remember, you want to be stable but still able to move quickly if needed."

    Greg nodded, concentrating as he fine-tuned his stance. Wilson watched intently, mentally noting every detail of Jack''s instructions though his mind wandered. Once satisfied with Greg''s position, Jack returned to his spot facing the younger boy.

    "Okay, now let''s talk about how to hold your sword. You want a firm grip, but not too tight. Your hand should be about an inch from the cross guard, and your thumb and forefinger should form a ''V'' shape on the grip."

    Greg adjusted his hand placement, feeling the balance of the wooden sword as he held it in front of him. "It feels a bit weird," he admitted, frowning slightly.

    Jack chuckled. "It''ll take some getting used to, but trust me, it''ll feel natural before you know it." He raised his sword, holding it vertically in front of his face. "Now, let''s start with a basic strike. Watch closely." With a swift, controlled motion, Jack brought his sword down in a diagonal slash, stopping just short of the ground. "This is a simple downward strike. It''s a good starting point for beginners. Give it a try, Greg."

    Greg took a deep breath, focusing on the target in front of him. He raised his sword, trying to mirror Jack''s movement, and brought it down in a clumsy but determined slash.

    "Not bad for a first attempt," Jack praised, causing Greg to beam with pride. "Remember to keep your wrist straight and follow through with the motion. Let''s try it again."

    As Greg practiced the basic strike under Jack''s guidance, Wilson watched with growing interest. He couldn''t wait for his turn to learn from the older boy.

    After several minutes of practice, Jack called for a break. "You''re doing great, Greg," he said, patting the younger boy on the shoulder. "Take a breather, and then we''ll let Wilson have a go."

    Wilson practically bounced with excitement as he took the wooden sword from Greg. The once reluctant boy jumped into the practice.

    "I''ve been watching closely," he said, grinning up at Jack. "I think I''ve got the stance down already. Though I¡¯ve never held a sword I¡¯m used to the footwork needed for it and similar stuff."

    Jack raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Oh? Let''s see it, then."

    Wilson planted his feet, mimicking the stance he had seen Greg practicing earlier. He held the sword in front of him, his grip slightly too tight but otherwise correct.

    "Impressive," Jack said, nodding approvingly. "You''re a quick learner, Wilson. Now, let''s see that downward strike."

    Wilson took a moment to concentrate, visualizing the motion in his mind. Then, with a determined grunt, he brought the sword down in a surprisingly smooth slash.

    "Whoa!" Greg exclaimed; his eyes wide with admiration. "That was way better than my first try!"

    Jack laughed, clapping Wilson on the back. "Looks like we''ve got a natural here," he said, causing Wilson to blush with pride. "But don''t get too cocky, kid. There''s still a lot to learn."

    As the hour wore on, Jack continued to guide the two boys through the basics of swordsmanship. He taught them simple parries, thrusts, and footwork, always emphasizing the importance of control and precision. They rotated through and took turns with the extra wooden sword. As they practiced Wilson jumped into training simultaneously. Even without a sword, he followed the foot movements. He mimicked holding a sword in his hands and followed the instructions that Jack gave.

    Despite their initial struggles, both Greg and Wilson made steady progress under Jack''s patient tutelage. Their movements became more fluid, their strikes more accurate, and their confidence grew with each successful technique.

    As a distant clock tower bell rang, Jack called an end to the training session. "You two did an amazing job today," he said, smiling proudly at his prot¨¦g¨¦s. "Keep practicing what you''ve learned, and we''ll pick up where we left off next time."

    Greg and Wilson nodded eagerly, their faces flushed with exertion and excitement. The duo started their trod back to the orphanage building after returning the spar wooden sword.

    ¡°See! That wasn¡¯t too difficult. You¡¯re even better than me,¡± said Greg eagerly.

    ¡°Of course, I am. Who do you think carved that wooden sword? I did. Now don¡¯t forget that favor of mine.¡±

    ¡°Me. Never,¡± said Greg mockingly. ¡°Though the fact that you made that wooden sword was cool. How did you have the time to make those?¡±

    ¡°You aren¡¯t going to ask where I got the knives for it?¡± Wilson paused but quickly moved on. ¡°Anyway, I made time because despite what you think not every night do I sneak out of my room just to leave the orphanage. Sometimes I do stay inside. And sometimes I use my free time for something other than being with you.¡±

    As they approached the familiar, weathered facade of the orphanage, a sense of reality began to settle upon Greg and Wilson. The exhilaration of their swordsmanship lesson with Jack gradually faded, replaced by the weight of their everyday lives within the confines of the institution.

    Greg''s mind wandered to the monotonous routine that awaited them: the bland meals, the strict schedules, and the endless chores. He sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as they climbed the steps to the entrance. "Back to the grind, I guess," he muttered, casting a sideways glance at Wilson.

    Wilson, however, seemed lost in thought, his brow furrowed as he contemplated something. ¡°Tomorrow is going to suck isn¡¯t it.¡± He turned back to Greg.

    ¡°I expect it will be. I hoped that a new priest might change things, but it hasn¡¯t. At least not yet.¡± Greg¡¯s brows became more furrowed than should be natural as he contemplated something.

    ¡°I know that look. You¡¯ve got a plan. Don¡¯t you?¡± asked Wilson.

    ¡°I have something, but I don¡¯t know if it will work. Or if we even have the means to do it. I¡¯ll have to think it over. And no, it won¡¯t be possible before our extra work tomorrow. We don¡¯t have enough time for that. We do need to avoid Priest Damon for as long as possible.¡±

    ¡°Aye to that. It is not as if we aren¡¯t already doing that.¡±

 10) EXTRA WORK

    The next day was a slow walk toward hell. The morning went by with classes and chores. As Wilson ate breakfast and then lunch he watched the doors and the edges of the hallways from the corner of his eyes. Some children were more carefree today. Others like him knew what was coming and knew they couldn¡¯t avoid it.  The topic was one that the priests talked about often. Punishment and retribution, mercy, and forgiveness. He knew that the time was soon approaching for the payment of failure.

    It didn¡¯t matter what kind of failure. They all found a way to fail in this blessed orphanage. Failing was something they had done from an even younger age. That priest made sure they were reminded of it.

    Wilson finished up his lunch bringing his plate, cheap fork, and spoon to the bucket for the children assigned to clean up to take care of. As the pieces clattered into the bucket with the rest of the dishes he heard the priest¡¯s voice. It was disappointing but expected. The time for work had come.

    ¡°I see that almost everyone has had a good meal,¡± said Priest Damon. ¡°Some of you will be with me today. You know who you are. We will be working outside today. I know you can work hard out there. If you hurry then you can catch the last of the overcast sky.¡± Priest Damon scanned the group of children. Some hurried to move. Others were frozen in place. ¡°Let¡¯s get moving shall we.¡±

    Wilson hurried his feet and matched step with Greg as he and the other kids in trouble followed behind the priest. The seven kids in their group ranged in age. Each knew the process and did not complain. There was no chatting or whispered conversations as they left the orphanage building. They passed the afternoon construction workers who gave them all a glance before returning to their work. Wilson almost hoped that they would be put in with the construction crew to help assemble some of the expanding buildings. Priest Damon just scoffed as he passed the workers and marched passed quickly. He didn¡¯t even check the children behind him. They knew not to leave the line.

    They crossed the street and turned down the road. The streets were less busy at this hour. Most everyone had work to do or places to be. Wilson¡¯s mind spun as he tried to guess where they were being led. Some punishment sessions brought them to the same places. Others felt more random. He tried getting a read on the adult in front of him but didn¡¯t want to stand out with his focus. Wilson mentally checked off various places they had passed or were too distant from that wouldn¡¯t make sense to walk to.

    ¡°Unless he is intentionally walking us around in circles,¡± Wilson thought.

    It didn¡¯t take much longer for the group to arrive at their destination. Wilson cursed himself for not remembering this destination earlier. The park was obviously going to be one of the destinations for punishment. A place of fun and enjoyment during free time twisted into a chore and physical work. This park varied from the smaller one set up near the orphanage. The small playground was set up for fewer kids and different games. For larger groups and the older kids, the choice of playground became the forest just beyond the walls.

    The park on the other hand was for adults, events, and in its current state, nothing. This patch of land had been carved out in front of the city administration buildings but had fallen into disregard. The grass was a bit out of control. The trees and bushes could use some trimming. All things Priest Damon expected them to do. It didn¡¯t matter if the park would return to its previous state in a week or two. The tools were laid out and work had to be done.

    ¡°Everyone grab a tool,¡± said Priest Damon. ¡°There should be one for each of you. Get started. You know my expectations. Now go exceed them.¡±

    As the instructions rang out, they were quickly followed. There was a rush to grab a tool. Greg, Wilson, and the others easily recognized which tools were which. The tools that would make the next hours easier or harder on themselves. It was unlikely that there would be a switching of tools or jobs halfway through. What they got was up to luck. Even if some might fail as a result.

    Greg and Wilson rushed to grab a tool. They didn¡¯t have much time to scan the pile. There were seven tools for seven people. Greg grabbed a scythe to cut the grass. Wilson took a smaller trimmer for the bushes and trees before backing away as quickly as he could.

    ¡°Everyone get started. Don¡¯t forget to bag the trash, trimmings, and whatnot. There is no need to make a bigger mess of things. Only interrupt me if there is an emergency,¡± said Priest Damon. He slid into a chair already set up to survey the park. He opened up a book and started quietly reading.

    Greg hurried over to the path circling the park. Grass and weeds had overgrown the edges and spread wildly. He looked back toward the priest with annoyance on his face before starting on the work. Priest Damon was in a world of his own. The orphans followed their orders. There was brief fighting over the last of the tools, but it ended quickly with a look from the priest. Soon they were all at work even if they weren¡¯t enthusiastic about it.

    Greg and Wilson set to work. Their faces were grim with the knowledge that this was their punishment for some perceived failure. The sun beat down on their backs as they toiled, the scythe and trimmer in their hands feeling like lead weights. The other children were scattered around the park, each focused on their own task, but the shared resentment towards Priest Damon was palpable in the air.

    As Greg swung the scythe, the long grass fell in clumps at his feet. He paused for a moment, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. His eyes darted towards Priest Damon, who sat in his chair, engrossed in his book, seemingly oblivious to the children''s suffering. Greg''s jaw clenched, and he gripped the scythe tighter, imagining for a brief moment what it would be like to turn the tool on the priest instead. He cut a line in the grass digging the scythe into the dirt below.

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    Wilson, meanwhile, was wrestling with a particularly stubborn bush. The trimmer seemed dull, and he had to put all his strength into each cut. His arms ached, and his hands were blistered, but he knew better than to complain. Complaining only led to more punishment, and more work. He glanced over at Greg, catching his eye for a moment. They shared a look of understanding, a silent acknowledgment of their shared hatred for the man who had brought them here.

    He knew the man before them didn¡¯t care how the park turned out. As long as they did something at all did it matter? The mayor of the city would maybe step into the park once a month. Only for bigger events would it be trimmed and done so by a professional. Wilson brought his shears closer to the roots of the current bush he was working on. He pulled the two parts together as tight as he could. The branches twisted and bent out of place. He was surprised that the shears were still holding up. With a snap, the branch fell from the rest of the bush. Wilson hurriedly pulled it out from the bush and threw it toward the buckets of trash pieces. He smiled at the work he had done. It was a small piece of imperfection marring the rotting park.

    As the hours dragged on, the park slowly began to take shape. The grass was trimmed, the bushes were neat, and the trash was bagged and ready for disposal. But the children took no pride in their work. It was just another task, another way for Priest Damon to exert his control over them.

    Finally, as the sun began to dip toward the horizon, Priest Damon closed his book and stood up. He surveyed the park with a critical eye, his lips pursed in disapproval. "It''ll do," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "But next time, I expect better. Now, gather up the tools, and let''s head back."

    The children scrambled to obey, their bodies aching and their spirits low.

    As they trudged back towards the orphanage, Wilson fell into step beside Greg. "I hate him," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the sound of their footsteps.

    Greg nodded; his eyes fixed on the ground. "Me too," he whispered back. "One day, we''ll be free of him. One day, we''ll make him pay for what he''s done to us."

    But for now, they had no choice but to endure. They had to keep their heads down, do as they were told, and hope that someday, somehow, they would find a way out of this hell. As they approached the orphanage, they could see the other children milling about, their faces etched with the same weariness and despair that Greg and Wilson felt in their hearts. Greg felt the soreness in his back. With each swing of the scythe, he had hunched at least a little. His hands felt raw and so did Wilson¡¯s.

    Though they had accomplished their task at the park there was still work left to be done. The scattered clippings and buckets of leaves, branches, and more needed to be gone. It wouldn¡¯t do to have them left behind and they needed to learn how to clean up after their mess after all. This was their punishment.

    The buckets were slowly dragged away from the park. Each weighing more than any of the children. There were no wheels on the old buckets. Wilson knew the path and so did the others. They dragged the buckets closer and closer to the walls where they could then be dumped in the forest. Priest Damon led the way walking slower so that he could enjoy his book and the sounds of the groaning kids. There were two kids to a bucket. For an unlucky child, they carried the bucket by themselves. Carrying it with a partner barely helped the weight. They had filled the buckets to the brim. They stuffed them as tightly as they could. There would be no second trip back to the park to load more scraps.

    Priest Damon had often used the buckets as a metaphor in his teaching. They were the weights of evil on their souls. The continued pain they would go through if evil continued while under the watch of the orphanage and church. Repentance was for those who wished to change and actively did so.

    Wilson and Greg trudged along with the other children, their muscles straining under the weight of the heavy buckets. The rough handles dug into their palms, leaving angry red marks on their skin. They could hear the labored breathing of their companions, punctuated by the occasional grunt of pain or frustration.

    As they neared the forest, Priest Damon slowed his pace even further, seemingly lost in thought. He closed his book and tucked it under his arm, his eyes fixed on some distant point ahead. The children exchanged wary glances, unsure of what to expect from the unpredictable priest.

    "You know," Priest Damon said, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife, "this is all for your own good. The pain, the suffering, the hard work - it''s all meant to purify your souls, to cleanse you of the evil that lurks within."

    He turned to face the children, his eyes glinting with a strange light. "The world is a harsh place, full of temptation and sin. It''s my job to prepare you for it, to make you strong enough to resist the devil''s snares."

    Wilson felt a shiver run down his spine at the priest''s words. Something was unsettling about the way he spoke as if he took pleasure in their pain and hardship. He glanced over at Greg, who met his gaze with a look of grim determination. As they reached the edge of the forest, Priest Damon gestured for the children to dump the contents of their buckets. They obeyed, their arms trembling with exhaustion as they tipped the heavy loads onto the ground.

    The priest watched them with a critical eye, his lips curled into a slight sneer. "Remember," he said, his voice low and menacing, "this is just a taste of what awaits you if you stray from the path of righteousness. The fires of hell are far worse than any punishment I could devise."

    With that, he turned and began to walk back towards the orphanage, leaving the children to follow in his wake. Wilson and Greg fell into step beside each other once more, their hearts heavy with the weight of Priest Damon''s words.

    "He''s wrong," Greg whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of their footsteps. "What he''s doing to us isn''t right. It''s not about making us stronger or purer - it''s about control. He wants to break us, to make us into his obedient little puppets."

    Wilson nodded; his jaw clenched tight. "I know," he murmured back. "Keep quiet. He might be listening. We will talk later. He holds all the power here.¡±

    They filed inside, returning the tools to their proper place and heading towards the dining hall for dinner. The smell of the food turned their stomachs, but they knew they had to eat. They needed their strength for whatever tomorrow might bring.

    As they sat down at the long tables, Greg leaned in close to Wilson. "We have to stick together," he said, his voice low and urgent. "We can''t let him break us. We have to be strong for each other."

    Wilson nodded, his eyes meeting Greg''s with a fierce determination. "We will be," he said, his voice steady despite the fear that gnawed at his gut. "We''ll survive this, no matter what it takes."

 11) LAKE DAY

    Brad watched a few children leave with Priest Damon. For a few moments, he was glad that he wasn¡¯t joining them and then frowned as Wilson and Greg joined the group that was leaving. He looked over to Taylor who had some of the same emotion flash over her face. Brad clenched his fist under the table and didn¡¯t move to do anything. He tried to relax himself. Today otherwise was supposed to be a good day. One that came around on occasion when the weather was nice and things in the orphanage were calm. They had a trip to the lake to go to.

    The mood lightened after the group left. The toddlers who had little to care for were excited. Rarely would they leave the orphanage grounds and even rarer would they go to the lake. Brad only remembered visiting the lake a few times and each had been more memorable than the last. The reasons they had gone varied, but it often came down to the weather was nice and the school work and other jobs were ahead of schedule for the majority of children. As a result, they got a break from the monotony of the orphanage and could go outside the city and a bit further beyond. Greg cared little for the true reason and was just glad that they had the afternoon off. It was a few hours of fun that they wouldn¡¯t normally have.

    The excitement of the other kids built off one another to the point where it even influenced the usually more stoic oldest kids and the ladies in the kitchen. They stepped out of the kitchen finished with serving for the day and hung up their aprons. The younger of the two ladies, in her young forties, stepped forward to the kids left behind.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure all of you have heard the news by now and yes we will be going to the lake,¡± she said. There were a few cheers at that news. ¡°I will be joining you all and so will our esteemed Priest Grant. We only have a few hours available to us so let''s make the most of it. Gather your things and we will leave in ten minutes.¡±

    Those who hadn¡¯t already left to prepare hurried out of their seats and ran to their room. There was a rush toward the door as they almost trampled over each other to reach their rooms in time. The kitchen lady just chuckled lightly at the sight.

    Brad entered his room where another boy was already halfway through changing into his swimwear. He followed suit. For a while, there was a bit of chaos in the orphanage. If Priest Damon was here to see it he surely would have thrown a fit. None of that mattered now though and Brad set himself in the mindset of relaxation and fun. He looked over to the other beds in the room. Wilson and Greg were missing. An unfortunate side effect of Priest Damon¡¯s wrath. He sighed wishing they were with him.

    Brad met Taylor and Ash by the door. The other kids were already forming small groups. Priest Grant waited outside with them and accounted for each child waiting to go to the lake. Soon everyone was out of the orphanage, and they started their trek to the lake. He led them out of the city with the assistant cook following from the back.

    Past the city walls opened up to the surrounding forest to one side and rolling hills to the other side.

    The journey to the lake was a welcome escape from the confines of the orphanage and the bustling city. As the group ventured beyond the city walls, they were greeted by a breathtaking landscape that seemed to stretch endlessly before them. On one side, a lush forest stood tall, its trees reaching towards the sky, their leaves rustling gently in the warm breeze. The dense foliage blocked one side.

    On the other side, rolling hills undulated like gentle waves, their slopes covered in a vibrant carpet of green grass. The hills seemed to dance in the sunlight, their contours casting ever-changing shadows as the day progressed. Wildflowers of various colors dotted the hillsides, adding splashes of yellow, purple, and white to the verdant landscape. Cutting through a piece of the hills was the main road built up through years of use. Travelers of all kinds used it and often carted the beautiful flowers and plants away for use in crafting.

    As the group made their way towards the lake, a sense of excitement and freedom filled the air. The children chattered animatedly; their laughter carried by the gentle wind. The worries and troubles of the orphanage seemed to melt away with each step they took, replaced by a newfound sense of joy and camaraderie. Even the older children, who often carried the weight of responsibility on their shoulders, allowed themselves to be swept up in the moment, their faces softening with genuine smiles.

    The path to the lake wound through the forest, dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy above. The air was filled with the sweet scent of pine and the gentle chirping of birds. The children marveled at the towering trees, their trunks weathered and wise, standing as silent guardians of the forest. Squirrels darted among the branches, their bushy tails flicking playfully as they watched the group pass by.

    As they emerged from the forest, the lake came into view, its crystal-clear waters shimmering like a mirror in the sunlight. The surface was calm and serene, reflecting the surrounding hills and trees in perfect symmetry. The shoreline was dotted with smooth pebbles and soft sand, inviting the children to kick off their shoes and feel the cool water on their feet.

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    The excitement reached a crescendo as the children raced towards the water''s edge, their laughter echoing across the tranquil lake. They splashed and played; their worries are forgotten in the pure joy of the moment. The assistant cook and Priest Grant watched from the shore, their hearts warmed by the sight of the children''s unbridled happiness.

    Entering the lake was an old dock. The wood had held up after years of use and creaked as the children jumped from the end. Priest Grant followed them to the edge and found a spot to sit before pulling out a used fishing rod. He unspooled the string and waited to see if he could catch anything.

    Brad crashed into the water feeling its coolness wash over him while the sun beat down from above. He swam out toward the center. The loose sand kicked up between his feet. As he got closer to the center he felt a cold wave crash over his head and then laughing followed. He spun around to see Ash. His hand slapped the water, and he splashed Ash back. She shifted to avoid most of the water.

    ¡°I¡¯ll dunk you. If I can catch you,¡± said Brad with a playful grin.

    Ash kicked up more water as she swam away from him. She raced toward Taylor trying to drag her into their games. Taylor realized quickly what they were doing.

    ¡°Don¡¯t bring him to me,¡± she said with a splash. She pulled her arms away and then closed as she kicked and started to swim as well.

    Brad, Taylor, and Ash continued to play in the cool, refreshing water of the lake, their laughter and shouts of joy echoing across the tranquil surface. They splashed each other, engaged in playful races, and dove beneath the surface, exploring the wonders that lay beneath. The sun''s warm rays danced on their skin, and the gentle breeze carried the scent of the surrounding forest, filling their lungs with the invigorating aroma of nature.

    As they played, the trio forgot about the troubles and responsibilities that awaited them back at the orphanage. At this moment, they were simply children, free to enjoy the simple pleasures of life. They chased each other through the water, their feet kicking up sand and creating small ripples that spread outward, merging with the gentle waves that lapped against the shore.

    After a while, exhausted from their aquatic adventures, Brad, Taylor, and Ash made their way back to the shore. They plopped down on the soft sand, their chests heaving as they caught their breath. The sun''s warmth enveloped them, drying the droplets of water that clung to their skin. They lay back, their eyes closed, basking in the peacefulness of the moment.

    Brad¡¯s meandering thoughts were broken by the crack of stone.

    ¡°Hey, what the hells,¡± he said as he spun his head around. His hand went to his head, and he eyed the thrown stone resting on the ground.

    Distant menacing laughter ensued from the tree line. He could barely spot the older kids from before. Mentions of ¡®nice shot¡¯ whispered by. Ash and Taylor turned at the disturbance and scowled with Brad. He shifted his feet to stand. Taylor grabbed his arm.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t go after them. Don¡¯t play their games.¡±

    ¡°You know exactly why I don¡¯t want to stay here. I¡¯m done with their games, so I am going to end it.¡±

    ¡°That is exactly what they want you to do. They will get you in trouble before they see any of their own. You chase them and they will ruin your day more than it already has been.¡± Another rock sailed by and plopped into the water. Taylor looked to the woods. ¡°Their excuse will be that they are just practicing skipping stones and will be the sympathetic and apologetic older kids for a few minutes. We should move spots, however. That is clear.¡±

    Brad grumbled and stood up and this time Taylor didn¡¯t stop him. Brad''s mind raced as he contemplated his options for dealing with the older bullies. He knew that chasing after them and confronting them directly would likely only lead to more trouble for himself. The bullies were skilled at manipulating situations to their advantage, and Brad feared that any retaliation on his part would be twisted against him.

    As he walked away from the shore with Taylor and Ash, Brad''s thoughts turned to the injustice of it all. These older kids seemed to take pleasure in tormenting others, and yet they always managed to escape the consequences of their actions. It frustrated him to no end, and he longed for a way to put a stop to their cruelty once and for all. Brad briefly considered going to the adults for help, but he quickly dismissed the idea.

    In his experience, the adults at the orphanage were often too busy or too preoccupied with their concerns to truly listen to the children''s problems. And even if they did intervene, Brad feared that it would only make matters worse in the long run. The bullies would surely find a way to retaliate, and he would be labeled a snitch among his peers.

    As they walked, Brad''s mind churned with possible solutions. He knew that he couldn''t let the bullies continue to torment him and the other children, but he also recognized the need for caution. Any action he took would have to be carefully planned and executed, lest it backfire and make his situation even more miserable.

    For now, Brad decided to bide his time and observe. He would watch the bullies closely, looking for patterns in their behavior and seeking out any weaknesses he could exploit. Perhaps, with a bit of cleverness and patience, he could find a way to turn the tables on them and put an end to their reign of terror once and for all. Settling on his decision, Brad continued on his way, his mind already working on a plan. He knew that the road ahead would be difficult, but he was ready to face the challenge head-on. One way or another, he would find a way to stand up to the bullies and protect himself from their cruelty.

    Brad, Taylor, and Ash distanced themselves from the older bullies, keeping a safe distance between the two groups. They watched the other side closely but neither side made further moves. Brad tried to enjoy the water for the rest of their time there, but his heart wasn¡¯t in it. He felt relieved when the call to return to the orphanage rang out. Those in the water dried off and they started their march back to the Henoes. The older kids stayed near the back of the line and Brad checked his rear regularly. He ran back inside as soon as he saw the orphanage building.

 12) CHURCH TIME

    Greg checked the time, wishing for the day¡¯s activities to end. Once a month they sat together with the entire orphanage and most of the neighbors to sit down and hear Priest Damon preach about whatever topic he fancied for the day. The man stood at the front reading occasionally from an old book of parables and partially inspirational quotes.

    Next to Greg were Brad, Wilson, and Taylor. They too were only partially engaged in the material. It was almost worse when Damon was on the stand compared to O¡¯Brian. The continued discussions of suffering and punishment just brought back the previous day¡¯s memories of extra work. His gaze shifted to the wall behind the priests and the sides. Ornamental candles lit the room even with the light being cast through the arched windows. Fractal art shattered the light allowing it to suffuse the room.

    As he sat he was glad that he only had to sit for one hour of this repeating topic for the day. For the children of the orphanage, this was their hour. The previous one had a different section of the city visit if they were so inclined to and the next hour would have others of the city listen in. While it could be boring at times Greg was glad he could tune it out if he tried, didn¡¯t get called on to answer questions, and best of all on these days he had fewer chores. It was truly a blessing at times.

    Though due to the mandatory attendance for his kind this speech and ones much like it were well ingrained in his mind. Damon continued his speech with an occasional eye to check if the orphanage was at a minimum pretending to listen. New arrivals quickly learned the rules and the customs required while in the church building.

    Damon''s voice rose as he continued his sermon, his eyes scanning the room to ensure he held the attention of his audience. "And so, my brothers and sisters, we must remember that in this world, good shall always triumph over evil. Those who walk the righteous path will be uplifted, while those who stray into darkness will face the consequences of their actions." He paused for a moment, allowing his words to sink in before continuing. "Retribution is not a matter of cruelty, but rather a necessary step in maintaining the balance of our world. When the wicked are punished, it serves as a reminder to all that there are consequences for our choices. It is through this process that we can ensure the good in this world is protected and allowed to flourish."

    Damon''s gaze settled on the orphans, his expression shifting slightly as he addressed them directly. "You, my young friends, have a unique opportunity to shape the world around you. Despite the hardships you have faced, you have the power to choose the path of righteousness. By embracing the lessons taught within these walls, and by striving to be kind, compassionate, and just, you can become beacons of hope in a world that often seems shrouded in darkness. Even when you are more prone to sin than most," His eyes lingered on the orphans, and the other adults in the pews naturally hovered their eyes over them.

    He turned his attention back to the congregation as a whole, his voice growing more impassioned with each word. "We must not be content to simply sit idle while evil takes root. It is our duty, as members of this community, to actively seek out and confront wickedness wherever it may hide. Whether it be through small acts of kindness or grand gestures of bravery, we all have a part to play in the eternal struggle between good and evil."

    Greg grew irritated at the words. In between the speech the other children hung their heads and whispered to each other. They were careful to go unnoticed. He joined in with the gossip as it reached him.

    ¡°What is the latest news?¡±

    ¡°Some of the older girls have heard word of a wedding next month of one of the orphanage¡¯s graduates. Though I don¡¯t have all the details,¡± said Taylor. ¡°There are whisperings of the schedule of events for next week and trading of chores. Do you need to trade anything because of your arm?¡±

    ¡°My arm has been sore since, but it works. I would need to see the schedule before committing to any trades. Thanks though.¡±

    Damon''s voice grew louder, his hands gesturing emphatically as he drove his point home. "Remember, my brothers and sisters, that the path of righteousness is not always easy. There will be times when you are tested when the temptation to stray into darkness will be strong. But it is in these moments that your true character will be revealed. Will you succumb to the allure of evil, or will you stand firm in your convictions, knowing that your actions have consequences not just for yourself, but for all those around you?"

    "Let us go forth from this place with the knowledge that we are not alone in our fight against evil. Together, we can create a world where goodness and justice reign supreme. It is through our collective efforts that we can ensure a brighter future for all,¡± Priest Damon continued. The words seemingly coming to a close opened up a new avenue of discussion and new topics for him to touch on. At this point, Greg tuned out again.

    ¡°How much longer is going to be talking?¡± asked Greg.

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    ¡°Maybe twenty more minutes,¡± Wilson answered. ¡° That is his average, but he might seed time for Priest Grant to speak. Though he could always go over that.¡±

    ¡°Great. He¡¯s got to introduce the new guy every time. We¡¯ve got to do something about this situation.¡±

    ¡°What? Sitting in church?¡±

    ¡°No. Kinda, but also Priest Damon in general. Things need to change. He needs to go. I just don¡¯t know exactly how we can do that.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve considered this already and I don¡¯t know what to try that other orphans before us haven¡¯t tried,¡± said Taylor. ¡°He always catches them before it happens, and they get discarded, or it only works halfway, and the orphans get a beating before getting thrown out.

    ¡°But how much of that is old bedtime tales meant to scare us and what is the reality?¡± asked Greg.

    ¡°Don¡¯t forget them,¡± said Brad who leaned in. He glanced over to the older kids. One still had reddish skin from Ash¡¯s cooking.

    ¡°They are a problem as well but can be dealt with later,¡± said Taylor. ¡°They are a secondary issue. He is the source. Removing him will fix most of the secondary issues. We can handle whatever happens after together.¡±

    ¡°Can we even handle the current issues?¡± asked Greg.

    ¡°Unless you want to continue with more ¡®extra work¡¯ then change will be required,¡± said Wilson.

    Greg, Brad, Wilson, and Taylor huddled together, their whispers growing more urgent as they discussed their plans to overthrow Priest Damon''s reign of terror. The weight of their shared experiences and the desire for change hung heavy in the air between them.

    "I''m tired of living in fear," Greg confessed, his voice trembling slightly. "Every day, I wake up wondering if today will be the day I make a mistake and face his wrath."

    Brad placed a comforting hand on Greg''s shoulder. "You''re not alone in that feeling, Greg. We''ve all been there, and it''s time we put an end to it."

    Wilson nodded, his eyes filled with a mix of determination and apprehension. "But how do we even begin? Damon seems untouchable like he''s got the whole town wrapped around his finger."

    Taylor leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper. "We start by gathering information. We watch him, listen to the rumors, and see if we can find any cracks in his armor. People have moved on from the orphanage and may be willing to help. They could have what we need and the power to help."

    "And what if we do find something?" Brad asked, his brow furrowed. "How do we use it against him without putting ourselves at risk?"

    Greg''s mind raced with possibilities. "We could try to get the information to someone who has the power to do something about it. Could we use Priest Grant? Who would he side with? Or someone in town we can meet?"

    "That''s a good idea," Taylor agreed. "But we need to be careful about who we trust. Priest Damon has a lot of influence, and we don''t want word getting back to him."

    Wilson''s eyes widened as a thought struck him. "What about the upcoming wedding? If one of the orphanage''s graduates is getting married, there will be a lot of people coming in from out of town. Maybe we could find an ally among them. They could have the reach we are looking for."

    Brad nodded, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "That could work. We could try to get close to some of the guests and see if they''ve heard anything about Damon or the orphanage."

    "It''s a start," Greg said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "But we need to be smart about it. We can''t let anyone suspect what we''re up to. We also need a surefire way to convince them and bring them to our cause."

    ¡°Or push them into the role regardless,¡± said Wilson.

    The group fell silent for a moment, each of them lost in their own thoughts. The task ahead seemed daunting, but the prospect of finally being free from Priest Damon''s tyranny was too tempting to ignore.

    "I''m scared," Taylor admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I''m also tired of living like this. I want to feel safe, to know that I won''t be punished for simply existing."

    Brad reached out and took Taylor''s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We''re all scared, Taylor. But we''re in this together. We''ll watch out for each other and find a way to make things right."

    They settled back down in their seats. Priest Damon seemed not to have noticed them. The speech seemed like it was coming to an end. Even the regular church goers felt the length. Soon he wrapped up allowing the doors to be opened and the meeting to end. People gathered in groups afterward to chat about recent events or interesting days. Slowly everyone funneled out of the building. The first was the orphanage children. They bounced out of their seat at the chimes marking the hour and the end of the meeting.

    Brad and the others shifted to get out of their seats and angled to get out quickly. Priest Damon¡¯s eyes shifted with a smile growing on his face. He looked directly at Taylor.

    ¡°I would hope that my sermons would be more informative to someone like yourself. Alas, I cannot force you to listen to the will of your superiors. I will however require you. Each of you to put in more effort. Luckily, the hedges have already been trimmed at the park. Tomorrow, however, will require your attention for the construction of our home. It is nearing the end I hear. I hope you can come to enjoy construction.¡±

    Taylor looked back to the others at those words. She didn¡¯t show her reaction on her face and hoped the others hadn¡¯t as well. Priest Damon just moved on to the next group after his pronouncement.

    Greg, Brad, Wilson, and Taylor left the church, their minds focused on their future. As they walked back to the orphanage, they kept their voices low, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention.

    "We need to be careful," Greg warned. "Priest Damon could already suspect something. We can''t give him any more reason to watch us closely."

    Taylor nodded, her eyes darting around to ensure no one was within earshot. "There is not much we can do until that wedding. We can try meeting some adults for information early but there is a lot of planning to be done before the event.¡±

    ¡°Then for now we shelve it. Let''s try and stay out of his eye in the future,¡± said Wilson. ¡°You weren¡¯t stuck with military training and then extra work. If I only have to every do it one more time then that would be great.¡±

 13) THE WALL

    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.

 14) HEAVY LIFTING

    Brad seethed. He was tired and felt dry of energy.

    ¡°Why did they have to hit the wall last night? They couldn¡¯t even wait a day. I could barely go through the motions of cleaning up breakfast.¡±

    ¡°We just need to survive the next few hours,¡± said Wilson. He sat down with Brad on the steps to the orphanage. ¡°We should have been more cautious, or we should have followed the rules for church days. The discussions could have been put off until today. Now we have to deal with the consequences.¡±

    Greg and Taylor joined them outside and found spots to sit on the stairs.

    ¡°He still inside?¡± asked Brad.

    ¡°For now,¡± Taylor answered. ¡°He should be out soon. Ash has stalled him with some small talk, but I don¡¯t think that will last long.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s bold,¡± said Wilson. ¡°I¡¯m not sure it will work very well.¡±

    ¡°He has a soft spot for the younger kids,¡± said Taylor. ¡°I think he thinks he can mold them in his image better.¡±

    ¡°Good luck with that. Any guess on what we will do today?¡± asked Greg.

    ¡°Construction work is likely,¡± answered Wilson. ¡°The park was already trimmed. By me and others. Work at the wall is also likely.¡±

    ¡°If I have to go there then I am going to puke,¡± said Taylor.

    ¡°Please don¡¯t. Then we would have to clean it up as well,¡± said Greg.

    Their conversation slowed and they heard the distinctive footsteps of Priest Damon.

    Priest Damon approached them with a predatory grin on his face. ¡°There has unfortunately been a change of plans for the day. Perhaps for the better. We will see. The builders will just have to wait another day or two for you. The unexpected arrival of the undead monsters needs to be cleaned up. The area is no doubt safe by now and the sweep will continue. For you four, however, you will stay near the wall and deal with the aftermath. There are some out there already working. You will join and assist them. I want each of you to fill a bucket, move it, and get it consecrated and burned.¡± He pointed out the waist-high buckets that had been used for the park cleaning. ¡°Follow any further instructions from the crews working there and be a helpful citizen for once.¡±

    They nodded and followed Priest Damon toward the wall. There was no room for disagreement. The roads became busier and closer to the wall. Carts rolled down carrying merchant¡¯s goods and supplies for the workers beyond the wall. There was still somewhat of a military presence though it had died down. A runner ran by them bringing messages back to the military office.

    The five of them approached the gate without issues and were marked as leaving as they exited the main city. Past the wall, they could see the destruction and result of the fight clearly. Dirt was churned up. Trails dug into the earth and spun toward the horizon.

    The scene beyond the city walls was one of utter devastation. The once pristine landscape was now a churned-up mess of dirt, debris, and the scattered remains of the undead monsters that had attacked in the night. Deep furrows scarred the earth where the creatures had charged toward the walls in a frenzied assault. Broken arrows, shattered bones, and bits of rotting flesh littered the ground, painting a grim picture of the ferocious battle that had taken place.

    An oppressive stench hung heavy in the air, a nauseating mix of decay, smoke, and an underlying tinge of dark magic. The boys covered their noses and mouths with rags in a feeble attempt to block out the overwhelming smell as they surveyed the gruesome task before them. Dozens of workers moved methodically across the battlefield, gathering the remains of the vanquished undead into large waist-high buckets. Men and women of all ages bent low, using shovels, pitchforks, and even their bare hands to scoop up the foul detritus. Their faces were grim, etched with a mix of exhaustion, revulsion, and resignation. The filled buckets were hauled to waiting carts and wagons, the contents sloshing sickeningly with each step.

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    Teams of draft horses stamped and snorted nervously, their eyes wide and nostrils flared at the overpowering stench of death that surrounded them. The carts creaked and groaned under the weight of their macabre cargo as they rolled slowly toward the consecration fires burning in the distance. Great pyres belched thick black smoke into the sky, the flames greedily consuming the remains of the unholy abominations.

    Robed men stood before the fires, chanting prayers, and blessings over the burning mounds. Enchanted symbols glinted in their hands as they worked to purify and cleanse the land of the undead taint. Energy swirled around them, and the world reacted to their call. Their wills became reality and what they wished became true. The four of them wished their job was as simple as speaking.

    Other robed men stood at intervals near the wall. Their dances and synchronized choruses shifted the ground causing the area around them to level. The dirt was thrown up by attacks and the treading of feet shook. Smaller remains of the fighting sunk into the ground allowing the battle to remain a memory. While they worked on the closest parts of the walls some men used farming tools to till the ground and even out the soil manually.

    Under the watchful eye of Priest Damon, the four children - Brad, Wilson, Greg, and Taylor - reluctantly joined the cleanup crews already hard at work. They collected their buckets and spread out, grimly joining the effort. They worked mechanically, shoveling the gruesome debris, and trying not to dwell too deeply on the origins of the bits and pieces they collected. Rotting limbs, shattered bones, sundered armor, and weaponry - all were consigned to the buckets without ceremony.

    Sweat poured down their faces, leaving streaks in the grime that coated their skin. Their muscles ached and their stomachs churned from the stench and the grisly nature of their labor. But still, they pressed on, driven by Priest Damon''s watchful presence and the knowledge that this was their duty as citizens.

    ¡°I am glad that god blessed them last night,¡± said Priest Damon interrupting their thoughts. ¡°Some were injured, but no one died. Hopefully, they will make a quick recovery. Our city needs more men like them.¡±

    Taylor looked away from the remains of the undead. She had plugged her nose with a cloth. It had blocked the smell for a while. She wished she could have a flower mask. The boys too wished for a reprieve from the atmosphere.

    ¡°The workers have been blessed by your presence as well,¡± Priest Damon continued. ¡°This process has been sped up greatly by your presence.¡± They knew that to be a lie. ¡°Maybe next time I should bring you and your friends out here to help once again.¡±

    Brad, Wilson, Greg, and Taylor toiled under the harsh gaze of Priest Damon; their spirits as battered as the war-torn landscape surrounding them. The stench of death and decay assaulted their senses, making each breath a struggle as they shoveled the grisly remains of the undead into their buckets. Sweat mingled with grime on their faces, a physical manifestation of their inner turmoil and exhaustion.

    Taylor finally threw up. She didn¡¯t feel any better. Priest Damon frowned.

    ¡°If you don¡¯t want to keep your food then perhaps you shouldn¡¯t eat at all.¡± He turned toward Greg, Brad, and Wilson. ¡°Do keep your food in your stomach unless you want to join her.¡±

    The threat hung heavy in the air; a stark reminder of the power Priest Damon held over them. Brad, Wilson, and Greg exchanged glances, their faces pale and drawn. They knew better than to challenge the priest, his authority absolute and unyielding. With grim determination, they swallowed back their own nausea and continued their work, shoveling faster in a desperate bid to finish the task and escape Damon''s oppressive presence.

    Orphans, with no family to protect them. They were at the mercy of those in power. Priest Damon seemed to take a perverse pleasure in their suffering, using every opportunity to belittle and demean them. It was as if he saw them as less than human, mere tools to be used and discarded at his whim.

    As the day wore on, the piles of remains slowly diminished. The ground was scoured clean, the earth sanctified by the robed men¡¯s blessings and the purifying flames. The air began to clear, the smoke from the pyres dissipating on the wind. Over the next few days, the ground would need to be tilled and swept over, the grass replanted with new wildflowers and the road swept of debris.

    Finally, as the last of the undead remains were consigned to the flames, Priest Damon called a halt to their labor. Taylor¡¯s stomach churned at the thought of food that would not come that night. The work had only grown easier in that others were there working the land with them, and the sun was setting which allowed some cool air to pass them.

    "You have done well today," he said, his voice devoid of any real praise. "Perhaps there is hope for you yet. But do not forget your place. You are here by the grace of the church, and you will do as you are told."

    With that, he turned and strode away, leaving the four children to stagger back to the orphanage, their bodies aching, and their spirits crushed.

    Taylor looked at the boys.

    ¡°Don¡¯t say a word,¡± said Greg to her. ¡°We will talk later. Maybe tomorrow, but not now.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll see what I can get for you tonight,¡± Wilson said sympathetically.

    ¡°That would be great. Just don¡¯t get yourself in any more trouble. I know that this week has not been great for you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure if it has been any better for you.¡±

 15) ASHéˆ¥æ©² FAVOR

    Ash skipped through the garden. She walked through the paths that broke up the rows of food, herbs, and flowers that grew. It was her peaceful place where everything worked in the order it should and with the direction she requested. Some of the other orphans joined her at times in the garden, but that was usually because the produce was soon to be harvested and they could get one of the first bites.

    Though it was early enough in planting season that she was undisturbed by most. Only the flowers drew the interest of a few. Her hands worked to prop up the falling branches of plants and spray their soil with water. The trees required some trimming, but not much since she had done most of it before they started to bear fruit.

    Ash''s garden was a canvas of colors and hearty greens, a living mosaic that changed with the seasons. The air was always fresh here, filled with the earthy scent of soil and the sweet fragrance of blossoms. It was a place where time seemed to slow down, allowing one to savor the simple pleasures of life.

    The garden was more than just a plot of land; it was a sanctuary, a place of learning and growth, both for the plants and for Ash herself. She had learned to listen to the whispers of the earth, to understand the language of leaves and petals. Each plant had its own needs, its own rhythm, and Ash had become attuned to them all.

    As she moved through the garden, her hands were never idle. She tended to the young tomato plants, their stalks still tender and leaning slightly, craving the support that her stakes and ties provided. She whispered words of encouragement to them, as if her voice could instill them with the strength to reach towards the sun.

    Nearby, the herb section was a riot of scents. Basil, thyme, and rosemary released their fragrances at the slightest touch. Ash pinched off the tips of the basil to encourage bushier growth, and as she did, the scent clung to her fingers, a reminder of the pesto she would make when the leaves were plentiful.

    The flower beds were a particular joy. They were a patchwork quilt of colors, with marigolds, zinnias, and cosmos standing tall. The marigolds were more than just pretty faces; they were guardians, their pungent aroma deterring pests that would otherwise feast on the nearby vegetables. The zinnias and cosmos, with their bright blooms, attracted bees and butterflies, their delicate dances pollinating the garden''s many inhabitants.

    Ash paused to watch a honeybee as it flitted from flower to flower. She marveled at the bee''s tireless work, a reminder that every creature, no matter how small, played a part in the garden''s symphony. It was a symphony she conducted with care, ensuring each note, each plant, had its moment to shine.

    The fruit trees at the far end of the garden were heavy with the promise of future harvests. The apple tree, in particular, was a source of pride for Ash. She had nurtured it from a sapling, planted when she arrived, and now it stood tall, its branches laden with the swelling forms of young apples. She reached up to snip away a few stray branches, opening up the canopy to let in more sunlight.

    This was her world, a place where she could shape and be shaped, where the cycle of life was on full display. The garden was a teacher, imparting lessons of patience, resilience, and the interconnectedness of all things.

    The other orphans sometimes asked her why she spent so much time in the garden, and why she poured so much of herself into the soil and plants. Ash would smile and invite them to join her, to feel the satisfaction of nurturing life, of watching something grow from a tiny seed to a flourishing plant.

    Ash sat on a bench, her gaze sweeping over the garden, when she saw Greg.

    ¡°Greg, what are you doing?¡± she asked.

    He looked up at her gaze. His back was hunched in hiding and his movements were slow.

    ¡°You promised me your time. Don¡¯t think I have forgotten. Even while you ran off and got punished.¡±

    ¡°Oh yeah, that.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t ¡®oh yeah¡¯ me. Where are Taylor and Brad? I thought Taylor would at least keep you all to your promise.¡±

    ¡°Me and Wilson ended up practicing sword fighting instead,¡± Greg responded bashfully.

    ¡°Can you get them now? I¡¯m calling in my favor and you are working with me today. I have some work to do beyond the garden and need some help and an older orphan to escort me. Do hurry.¡±

    "Alright, Ash. I''ll get Brad."

    Brad leaned back in his chair. He pushed the wooden game pieces across the game board. The boy across from him considered possible moves before making his move. Around the playroom, other kids used their free time to play games of their own. The place buzzed with conversations, but Brad stayed silent as he contemplated his next moves.

    Greg found Brad still engrossed in his game, the intensity of his focus evident in the furrowed brow and the strategic placement of his game pieces. He barely acknowledged Greg as he made his next move.

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    "Brad, we need to go," Greg said, his voice cutting through the din of the playroom. "Ash needs us in the garden. Remember the promise we made?"

    Brad looked up, the competitive glint in his eyes relaxing as he remembered the commitment they had all made to Ash. ¡°Oh yeah. We did have that to do sometime. Can I at least finish my game?¡±

    Greg looked down at the game board. Brad shirked back. ¡°Fine then. "Let''s go," Brad said, standing up and leaving the game unfinished. He turned to the other player. ¡°Sorry. Maybe we can finish another time.¡±

    He followed Greg out toward the garden. The blue sky poked through a thin layer of clouds.

    ¡°So, what are we doing for her today?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure of everything, but she needs to be escorted around by one of the older kids. In this case, us,¡± he replied.

    ¡°I guess we will find out.¡±

    Ash led the way, her steps light and purposeful as she moved beyond the familiar confines of the garden. The freshly turned dirt beyond the walls beckoned, a blank canvas awaiting the touch of her green thumb. Greg and Brad followed; their curiosity piqued by the mystery of Ash''s plan.

    As they reached the edge of the garden, Ash turned to face her companions, her eyes alight with the vision she held in her heart. "You see this space here?" she began, gesturing to the expanse of soil. "It''s more than just dirt. It''s potential. It''s the future."

    Greg and Brad exchanged glances, unsure of what Ash had in mind but ready to lend their hands to her cause. "What''s the plan, Ash?" Brad asked, his voice tinged with the respect he had for her knowledge of all things that grew.

    Ash reached into the pockets of her bag and pulled out a handful of wildflower seeds. They were a mix of colors and shapes, each tiny seed a promise of beauty yet to unfold. "We''re going to plant these," she said simply. "We''re going to turn this bare patch into a sea of wildflowers."

    The boys looked at the seeds, then at the vast area of dirt. "That''s a lot of ground to cover," Greg remarked a hint of doubt in his voice.

    Ash smiled, undeterred. "That''s the beauty of wildflowers. They don''t need much. Just a chance to take root. We''ll scatter the seeds across the soil, and nature will do the rest. We won¡¯t do it all in one day, but a lot can change in a single day."

    "But why wildflowers?" Brad inquired, his mind seeking the purpose behind the actions.

    Ash''s smile widened as she explained, "Wildflowers are resilient. They can thrive in tough conditions, and once they bloom, they''ll transform this place. They''ll add color and life. They''ll make this empty space feel like a part of our garden¡ªa part of our home."

    The boys nodded, understanding dawning on their faces. "And they''ll attract bees, butterflies, and birds," Ash added, "They''ll help the environment, but most of all, they''ll beautify the area. Imagine looking out from the garden and seeing waves of color where there was once nothing but dirt. It''ll be a reminder that even the simplest things can create something beautiful."

    Greg looked out at the dirt hills. The place reminded him too much of the rot and fight that had taken place. He still remembered the smells of the place and from the look of things Brad did as well. The undead would surely return. He considered for a moment why they should even do this in the first place. In the days before the attack these hills were covered in short grass. Leaving them would result in their slow return. He looked back over to Ash.

    In the soft light of the afternoon, Ash, Greg, and Brad stood at the edge of the wall, the expanse of untamed soil stretching out before them like a blank canvas. The air was filled with the scent of earth.

    Ash held the wildflower seeds in her open palm, their varied shapes and colors holding the diversity of life waiting to spring forth from such tiny vessels. She looked at Greg and Brad, her eyes reflecting a mix of determination and hope. "Let''s start here," she said, gesturing to the edge of the wall. "We''ll work our way outwards, spreading the seeds as we go."

    The boys nodded, and together, they began their work. Ash showed them how to scatter the seeds, a gentle toss with a flick of the wrist, so they spread evenly across the soil. The task was simple, yet there was something profoundly satisfying about it. Each seed they sowed was a potential burst of color, a future contributor to the beauty and biodiversity of their environment.

    Greg, who had been quiet for most of the task, finally spoke up. "Do you think they''ll all grow?" he asked, looking down at the seeds that now dotted the landscape.

    Ash paused, considering his question. "Not all," she admitted. "But many will. And those that do will make all the difference. It''s like us," she continued, her voice soft but clear. "Not every effort we make leads to success, but it''s the trying that counts. Each success adds beauty to our lives, just like each flower will add beauty to this garden. The rain in the next few days should help them flourish."

    They each grabbed handfuls of the seeds. The small pieces were thrown out around them and then stamped into the ground. They made sure to spread out as they worked and covered a large area.

    ¡°Should we just water them today?¡± asked Brad.

    ¡°I think we should let nature take care of them herself. There is no need for extra work and these flowers need the strength to stand on their own.¡±

    After only a few minutes they scattered all the seeds Ash had available. More would need to be collected and scattered over the space they had remaining. Greg found the process relaxing. It was certainly less taxing than his previous outing beyond the wall. The actions required some thinking on where to move next but wasn¡¯t difficult. As their time ended he started to hope that all of the wildflowers would weather future storms of battle that might pass them by.

    As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the newly seeded ground, Ash, Greg, and Brad took a moment to look back at their day''s work. The vast expanse of soil now speckled with the promise of future blooms felt like a testament to their efforts and a hopeful gesture towards a brighter, more colorful future. The air was cooler now, a gentle breeze whispering through the trees, carrying with it the scent of earth and the faintest hint of the coming night.

    "Looks like we''ve done what we could for today," Ash said, her voice tinged with satisfaction. She wiped her hands on her pants, leaving behind traces of soil. "Thanks, you two. It wouldn''t have been possible without your help."

    Greg shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "It was actually kind of fun," he admitted. "Different from what I''m used to, but... good different."

    Brad nodded. ¡°I do wish I could finish my game.¡±

    ¡°Another time buddy. And Ash, good luck on the rest of the field. I do hope it looks nice in the end.¡±

 16) MINSTREL VISITS

    ¡°Hey Taylor. Do you have anything going on today for your free time?¡±

    Taylor looked up from her book to another girl a little younger than her. She though her name was Emma. ¡°I¡¯m busy reading my books,¡± she responded.

    ¡°I know that. You are here all the time. I was hoping that you would go outside with me. There is supposed to be a minstrel at the tavern nearby. I thought since you liked stories and learning that you could take me.¡± She paused tat that.

    Taylor looked up more interested. She started to slowly close the book. ¡°How far away is it?¡± Taylor asked eyeing the girl up and down.

    ¡°It should be down the road a short walk. I¡¯ve only been there once before, and I need  someone to accompany me. So¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll take you down there.  It might be interesting, and  I guess I can always leave if the stories aren¡¯t great.¡±

    ¡°Awesome. I can¡¯t wait.¡±

    As Taylor and Emma made their way down the cobblestone path leading to the local tavern, the air was filled with the distant sound of a lute being strummed harmoniously.

    Upon entering the tavern, the girls were greeted by the warm, bustling atmosphere typical of such a place. The wooden tables were crowded with people, their faces illuminated by the flickering light of candles. At the center of the room, on a small, raised platform, sat the minstrel. His fingers danced over the strings of his lute, and his voice, rich and captivating, filled the room.

    Taylor and Emma found a spot near the front, their eyes fixed on the minstrel. As his song came to an end, he smiled at his audience and began to weave tales of fantasy and adventure, his words painting vivid images in the minds of all who listened. He wore bright colorful dress that stood in contrast to the plainer clothes of most people in the tavern.

    The minstrel started his next story. "Far across the Sapphire Ocean, Captain Elowen and her crew sailed aboard the mighty ship, Starwave," he said, his voice ebbing and flowing like the ocean waves.

    ¡°One night, under a blanket of stars, the crew encountered a legendary sea serpent known for its immense size and fearsome power. Instead of attacking, Captain Elowen chose to communicate with the creature. She learned that the sea serpent was guarding a treasure lost to time¡ªa chest filled with the Star Pearls, said to grant wisdom and courage.

    Captain Elowen and her crew agreed to help the sea serpent find a new home for the pearls, away from greedy hands. Their journey took them to uncharted waters, through storms and past whirlpools. With each challenge, the crew''s bond strengthened, and their courage grew.

    In the end, they found a hidden island where the pearls could be safe. In gratitude, the sea serpent gifted Captain Elowen a single Star Pearl, which she used to navigate the seas and lead her crew on many more adventures.¡±

    As the minstrel concluded his tales, the tavern erupted in applause. Taylor and Emma clapped enthusiastically, their hearts full of the magic and wonder of the stories they had heard.

    ¡°Tell us the story of the king¡¯s squire,¡± shouted an audience member a few rows behind them. A few others yelled out suggestions for stories they had heard sung before.

    ¡°Ah, the Squire and his King. I know this story well,¡± said the Minstrel. He started up a slower song in minor key. ¡°The King of this long-lost kingdom was set to meet with distant tribes. A dozen joined him on this journey. But an illness swept through their group and monsters beseeched them.

    ¡°Only half way through their journey only the Squire and his King were left. The travel was harsh, but they were already closer to the distant tribes than his cities. So, they walked onward.¡±

    The minstrel''s voice took on a somber tone, drawing the tavern''s patrons deeper into the tale. "The King, weakened by illness and the relentless attacks, could no longer carry his own sword. It was then that the Squire, a young man of no noble birth but of great heart, took up the King''s blade. Together, they faced the perils of the wild, the Squire''s courage bolstering the King''s spirit."

    Taylor and Emma leaned in, captivated by the unfolding story. "One night, as they camped under the stars, the King confessed to the Squire that he had no heir. His line would end with him, and he feared for his kingdom''s future. The Squire, with a loyalty that surpassed his station, vowed to protect the kingdom as if it were his own.

    "The next day, they were ambushed by a band of marauders. The King, too weak to fight, watched as the Squire defended him with a bravery that belied his youth. The battle was fierce, but in the end, the Squire emerged victorious. With scars added to his skin.

    "The King, realizing the depth of the Squire''s loyalty and bravery, made a decision that would forever change the fate of the kingdom. With the last of his strength, he knighted the Squire, not just as a knight of the realm but as his successor. ''You have shown the heart of a true king,'' he said. ''Lead our people with the courage and wisdom you have shown me.''

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    "The King passed away that night, leaving the Squire¡ªnow a King in his own right¡ªto complete the journey. He reached the distant tribes and, with the story of his and the old King''s journey, forged an alliance stronger than any before. The new King returned to his kingdom, not as a squire but as a ruler who had earned his crown through courage, loyalty, and a profound sense of duty. He not only was lucky but had the strength to take advantage of a failing situation. Now some nay sayers will point to the alternate telling of this story. That it was the Squire who weakened the caravan leading to the results I have shared. I would hope that none are so pessimistic. These are just stories with hints of truth in them drawn from the imagination of simple folk like yourself.¡±

    The final words split the crowd into discussions as they wondered what the true story could be. They ordered more food and drinks as the minstrel took a natural break and swapped instruments to a flute. Even Taylor and Emma eventually succumbed to the air of discussion and imagination.

    As the minstrel switched to the flute, the melody he played was lighter, almost ethereal, contrasting sharply with the depth and gravity of his previous tales. The notes floated around the tavern, weaving through the conversations that had sprung up following his story.

    Taylor turned to Emma. "What do you think? Was the squire a hero or a manipulator?" she asked, her voice tinged with genuine curiosity.

    Emma pondered for a moment, her eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight. "I think it doesn¡¯t really matter that''s the beauty of stories," she finally said. "They change with who is the storyteller and the listener. Reality isn''t always what it seems, and truth can be as mutable as the sea."

    Taylor nodded, her mind racing with thoughts. "But doesn''t that make stories dangerous? If truth can be so easily molded, what¡¯s to stop people from creating their own versions of reality?"

    "That''s just it, Taylor," Emma replied, her voice enthusiastic. "Stories aren''t just about escaping reality or fabricating it; they''re about understanding it from different angles. They challenge us to think, to question, and to empathize. Maybe the squire was both a hero and a manipulator. Maybe his actions were shaped by circumstances we can barely imagine.¡±

    The minstrel¡¯s tune shifted, the playful notes turning into a somber, haunting melody that seemed to echo Emma¡¯s words. The room quieted down as the patrons listened, the earlier debates fading into a collective contemplation.

    ¡°I remember the scary tales told to us at bed time by older kids. At the time they were scary, maybe a bit mean, and didn¡¯t really have a point. Now that I am older I understand why the stories were told and why they exist. They aren¡¯t even scary anymore and are just dumb stories to get the littler ones to do what they are told. Or else some scary monster will get them.¡±

    ¡°Except those monsters do exist. Maybe not near Henoes, but somewhere beyond the walls.¡±

    As the minstrel ended his piece, the room erupted in applause once more. The atmosphere was charged with a newfound appreciation for the stories just shared. The minstrel bowed gracefully, his eyes twinkling with the joy of having engaged his audience so deeply.

    ¡°Don¡¯t remind me of those filthy skeletons. I wouldn¡¯t want to be anywhere near them. If I had to fight them it would have to be at a distance. Just there smell¡­¡±

    ¡°I know all to well unfortunately. Priest Damon, that uncaring beast, sent me and Brad, Greg, and Wilson out to clean up the mess as punishment. When I finally threw up because of the smell I lost my dinner rights. He¡¯s a monster.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s awful. I know I could never do something like that. How did the other workers out there not say anything?¡±

    ¡°It was a mix of they were busy in their own work and Priest Damon has a serpents tongue. Twisting our punishment into a benefit for the community and a job we were meant to do. I don¡¯t even think they know how bad it is some days for us. I thought with the addition of a new Priest things would lighten up for us. But.¡±

    ¡°The new priest is overwhelmed from what I can tell. He has taken over so many things that Priest Damon has more time to let loose on those he wishes,¡± said Emma.

    As the tavern''s atmosphere settled into a reflective silence, Emma and Taylor found themselves in a corner, their conversation drifting away from the tales of squires and monsters to the realities of their own lives. The minstrel''s music, now a gentle background hum, seemed to encourage a more personal dialogue.

    Taylor leaned in, her voice a whisper as if sharing a secret. "You know, Emma, sometimes I dream about what life could be like outside the orphanage walls. Not just the adventures and the freedom, but the simple things... like choosing what to eat for dinner or not having to share a room with a dozen others."

    Emma nodded, ¡°I¡¯ve heard stories of the orphanage in the capital. It sounds better. I¡¯m not sure if it could be called great. The stories are just that though. As real now as the minstrel¡¯s tales.¡±

    "There are days," Taylor continued, "when I wish we could just run through the fields without a care in the world, not worrying about chores or punishments. Just... being kids, you know?"

    Emma smiled, a wistful expression on her face. "I imagine that too. Running until we''re out of breath, lying in the grass, and watching the clouds pass by without thinking about what tomorrow might bring."

    "But then," Taylor sighed, "reality crashes back. We return to the orphanage, to the rules, the chores, and the ever-watchful eyes of Priest Damon and his punishments."

    Emma''s expression hardened slightly. "It''s tough, Taylor. But we''ve got each other, and that counts for something. We can''t let the harshness of our reality steal away our dreams. Maybe one day, we''ll find a way to make them come true."

    Taylor looked at Emma, a spark of determination in her eyes. "You''re right. We shouldn''t give up hope. Even if we don¡¯t have a plan right now. An opportunity might arise. The poisoning and illness of a caravan before a battle with bandits. At the right time a simple thing like that could cause cascading problems until the root of it all is dealt with.¡±

    Emma nodded, her voice firm. "Exactly. And who knows? Maybe our stories will change too. Just like the squire in the minstrel''s tale, we might find ourselves in a situation where we can be the heroes of our own story."

 17) PAINTING

    Another week went by. Priest Grant stepped out of the orphanage leading the children to the side of the building. They carried boxes in preparation for the work of the day. They turned the corner and saw the nearly completed wall. It was almost finished with a few parts left to patch up and the roof to fill in. Paint was brought out to cover the walls and plaster to seal them.

    ¡°I understand that this is a long time coming. The interior is almost done as well. Next week none of you should be sleeping four to a room anymore. Today though instead of a lesson. We will be working on cleaning up the outside of this place. Maybe making it more of a home.¡±

    They split off into groups depending on their assignment. Some chose to work alone without distractions. Greg found himself with a paintbrush working to match the side of the building with the entrance. The weather was overcast and nice for a change. The work as well was uncomplicated.

    The wall, which had been under construction for some time, was nearing completion. Only a few sections remained that needed patching, a task that was tackled with a mix of plaster and determination. The children, under Priest Grant''s supervision, had turned their attention to these final imperfections, filling in the gaps with a careful application of plaster. The mixture was spread evenly, ensuring that the wall would not only be strong but also smooth and ready for painting.

    They each had a role to play and most of them eagerly took it up. Even the youngest children assisted by delivering supplies to where they were needed.

    Greg started with the spots that had been worn down the most. They had been hit with rain, snow, dirt, and scrapes over the years. Greg continued painting the wall, his brush strokes steadily and even. The overcast sky provided a comfortable atmosphere for the work, and he found himself getting lost in the repetitive motion of the brush against the worn surface.

    As he painted, Greg took in the surroundings of the orphanage. The building itself was old but sturdy, with a sense of history etched into its weathered stones. He felt the wall underneath the brush strokes. The grounds were modest, with a small garden plot where the children could learn to grow vegetables and herbs. A few ancient trees stood sentinel, their branches reaching out to provide shade and shelter.

    The roof, much like the wall, required attention. The children were not directly involved in the more dangerous aspects of roofing, but they watched as skilled workers carefully positioned the shingles, nailing them into place. The sound of hammers echoed through the air, a rhythmic beat that signified progress. The roof''s completion was crucial, as it would provide much-needed shelter and warmth, especially during the harsher seasons.

    Despite the simplicity of the orphanage, there was a sense of community and belonging. The children worked together, their laughter and chatter filling the air as they went about their tasks. Priest Grant moved among them, offering guidance and encouragement, his presence a comforting constant in their lives. It certainly felt better than the work with Priest Damon. He shuddered at the thought.

    As he worked, Greg''s mind wandered to the significance of the task at hand. Painting the orphanage wasn''t just about making it look nice; it was about creating a sense of home and belonging for the children who lived there. Many of them had come from difficult backgrounds, having lost their parents or experienced hardship. The orphanage was their sanctuary, a place where they could feel safe and cared for. Greg understood the importance of this firsthand. He had arrived at the orphanage as a young boy, scared and alone. But over time, he had found a family among the other children. Even against the backdrop of difficult adults.

    Greg looked to the other children working on the wall. They were happy and relaxed. The day was nice.

    Priest Grant approached, placing a hand on Greg''s shoulder. "Well done, my boy," he said, his voice filled with pride. "You''ve done a fine job here today."

    Greg smiled, feeling a sense of accomplishment wash over him. "Thank you ," he replied. "It''s been great to be a part of this."

    ¡°Would you like to touch up the sign as well?¡± asked Priest Grant. ¡°The lettering on the sign has faded. It could use some love.¡±

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    Greg nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "Sure, I can do that," he said, his voice steady despite the fatigue setting in from the day''s labor.

    The sign in question hung crookedly at the entrance of the orphanage, its once-vibrant colors dulled by the relentless sun and harsh weather conditions. The letters, which once proudly proclaimed "Henoes Orphanage," were now barely legible, the paint chipped and faded from years of neglect.

    Greg fetched a small ladder from the storage shed and set it up beneath the sign. He climbed up, paintbrush in hand, and began the meticulous work of restoring the sign to its former glory. The task was simple yet required a steady hand and a keen eye for detail. He started to restore the sign. Its letters were nearly gone. Only from up close could he see the signs of the original words.

    The faded letters slowly began to regain their boldness as Greg applied a fresh coat of white paint. He chose a vibrant blue for the background, a color that would stand out against the stone facade of the building. The contrast was striking, and even with the overcast sky, the sign began to shine with a renewed sense of purpose. The faded ¡®r¡¯ in Henoes was filled in returning it to its former glory.

    Finally, the sign was complete. The letters "Henoes Orphanage" stood out boldly, a declaration of the safe space behind its walls. Some children had looked over at what he was doing. Greg stepped back, the children clustering around him, all of them admiring the handiwork.

    "It looks amazing, Greg!" exclaimed a young girl, her pigtails bouncing as she hopped up and down with excitement. "You made it look like new again!"

    Greg grinned, basking in the praise of his fellow orphans. "Thanks," he said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. ¡°I just did my best.¡±

    The children''s faces lit up with pride as they took in the newly painted sign. It was a small change, but it symbolized so much more to them. It was a reminder that they were part of something special, a community that cared and worked together to create a better environment for everyone.

    As the day drew to a close, the children gathered their tools and cleaned up the area. The sense of accomplishment was palpable, and even the overcast sky seemed to brighten a bit as the last of the paint was put away.

    Priest Grant gathered the children around him, his eyes sweeping over the group with a warm smile. "Today, you''ve all done something wonderful," he began, his voice carrying a tone of gratitude. "Not only have you helped improve our home, but you''ve also shown what we can achieve when we work together. This sign," he gestured towards the freshly painted emblem, "is a symbol of our unity and strength."

    The children nodded, their expressions a mix of fatigue and satisfaction. Greg, standing a bit apart, felt a swell of pride in his chest. He had contributed to something that would welcome future generations to the orphanage, a beacon of hope and belonging.

    As the children dispersed, heading inside for a well-deserved rest, Greg lingered for a moment longer. The orphanage, with its new sign and freshly painted walls, looked different to him. It was warmer and more inviting. Though at the same time he grew frustrated knowing what lay inside. The need for change still lingered. Priest Grant could promote positive change, but the man behind him still lingered.

    Greg''s eyes traced the contours of the newly painted sign, the vibrant blue and stark white a stark contrast to the grey sky above. The orphanage, with its fresh coat of paint and the promise of improved living conditions, seemed to stand a little taller, a little prouder. But as the children''s laughter and chatter faded behind the closing doors, Greg''s thoughts turned inward to the darker corners of the orphanage that no amount of paint could brighten.

    Inside, the halls echoed with the footsteps of the past, each creak of the floorboards a reminder of the years of history contained within these walls. Greg knew that history well, the good and the bad. He knew the kindness of Priest Grant, whose gentle guidance had steered many children towards brighter futures. But he also knew the shadow that Priest Damon cast, a looming presence that could turn the warmth of the orphanage cold with a single word.

    Greg''s hands clenched into fists at his sides, the frustration bubbling up inside him. Change was happening, yes, but it was slow, and not all change was for the better. The new wall, the roof repairs, the painted sign¡ªthese were all surface improvements. The real change needed to come from within, from the very heart of the orphanage itself.

    As he stood there, lost in thought, a soft voice broke through his reverie. "Greg?" It was Ash, one of the younger orphans, her small hand tugging at the hem of his shirt. "Are you okay? You seem distracted.¡±

    Greg forced a smile and knelt down to her level. "Yeah, Ash, I''m fine. Just thinking about how much this place has changed since I first got here."

    ¡°I know right. The garden was a mess before I arrived. It¡¯s nice that some other areas are getting some love as well.¡±

    "It''s getting there," Greg replied, ruffling her hair affectionately. "But it''s not just about fixing things on the outside. It''s about making sure everyone inside feels safe and happy too."

    ¡°I know that. The orphanage always needs something added or removed from it. Even if it has been here longer than we have.¡±

    "You are right. Come on," Greg said, standing up and offering his hand. "Let''s go inside. Dinner will be ready soon.¡±

 18) MERCHANT DAY

    ¡°You have any money?¡±

    ¡°Of course I do,¡± Greg responded in mock hurtfulness.

    ¡°And it isn¡¯t from Wilson¡¯s stolen stash?¡± asked Taylor.

    ¡°Not at all. Its all mine. Wilson had no hand in it. His money as well was collected rightfully. Most of it at least.¡±

    ¡°Whatever.¡±

    ¡°Where are we shopping today?¡± Greg asked looking around at the shops.

    ¡°First I¡¯ve got to sell some stuff for Ash. I¡¯ll be able to sell her stuff and by the seeds she wants at the same place. After that a treat would be nice. Maybe a new book as well.¡±

    ¡°That would be expensive. You must have saved up for a while. I¡¯ll get something for Jack.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t he the one who is always sword fighting and wants to join the military?¡±

    ¡°Yeah he helped me out after my first military day. I need to prepare for the next one or else Priest Damon will get mad. It is also fun to practice with the wooden swords. I¡¯ve gotten a bit better, but nothing like him.¡±

    As Greg and Taylor approached the herbology shop, the air was thick with the scent of dried herbs and the faint aroma of earth. The wooden sign above the door creaked softly as they pushed it open, stepping into a world of bottled potions and hanging plants.

    ¡°Hello there! What can I do for you young folks today?¡± greeted the shopkeeper, a wiry woman with spectacles perched on her nose.

    ¡°We¡¯re here to sell some items on behalf of a friend and to buy some seeds,¡± Taylor explained, unloading a small sack onto the counter.

    The shopkeeper peered into the sack, her eyes lighting up. ¡°Ah, Ash¡¯s goods! Always top quality. Let me see... Yes, these will fetch a good price. And what kind of seeds are you looking for?¡±

    ¡°Just the usual herbs, but she mentioned wanting something rare this time... something called Starlight Bloom?¡± Taylor replied, hoping the shop had what they needed.

    ¡°Starlight Bloom, you say? Tricky to grow, but incredibly valuable. I have a few seeds left. They¡¯re not cheap, though,¡± the shopkeeper warned, fetching a tiny, shimmering packet from behind the counter.

    Greg, who had been browsing a shelf of colorful potions, turned around, his interest piqued. ¡°Starlight Bloom? What¡¯s so special about it?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s said that the flowers glow by the light of the full moon, and their petals can be used to brew visions of the future,¡± the shopkeeper shared, her voice dropping to a whisper.

    Taylor exchanged a look with Greg, excitement flickering in their eyes. ¡°We¡¯ll take them. And Greg, did you find something for Jack?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I found this ointment. It¡¯s supposed to help with bruises and muscle recovery. Perfect for after his sword practice and it isn¡¯t too expensive,¡± Greg said, holding up a small jar.

    ¡°Excellent choice! Your friend will appreciate that, especially after a long work out,¡± the shopkeeper chuckled, ringing up their purchases.

    As they stepped out of the shop Taylor turned to Greg. ¡°Do you really think that Starlight Bloom can give visions of the future?¡±

    Greg shrugged ¡°I don¡¯t know maybe. What does it say in your books?¡±

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t¡¯ in the book at the orphanage. Maybe that is why Ash wanted it. Imagine if we could actually see the future, Greg. What do you think we¡¯d see?¡±

    ¡°Hopefully a world where I finally beat Jack in a sword fight.¡±

    Taylor laughed, nudging him playfully. ¡°Keep dreaming, Greg. But maybe someday.¡±

    ¡°We off to the bookstore next? What kind of book are you looking for?¡±

    ¡°Maybe another potions book if Ash is going to be delving into these exotic ingredients. Though realistically I¡¯ll just look for something in the used section that catches my eye.¡±

    Greg nodded. ¡°Sounds like a plan. I might pick up something on sword techniques. There¡¯s always more to learn, and maybe I¡¯ll find a secret or two to finally outmatch Jack.¡±

    ¡°Keep dreaming.¡±

    The streets of the market district were bustling with activity as they made their way to the bookstore. Vendors shouted their wares, children darted between stalls, and the occasional street performer added a splash of music or magic to the air. The scent of fresh bread and spices mingled with the less pleasant but equally vivid smells of livestock and leather.

    As they entered the bookstore, a bell tinkled above the door, announcing their arrival. The interior was a cozy chaos of stacked books and narrow aisles. The walls were lined with shelves that reached the ceiling, filled with books of every size and subject.

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    ¡°Hello, Taylor, Greg! Back for more reading material?¡± called out Mr. Albridge, the elderly bookstore owner, from behind a pile of books on the counter.

    ¡°Always,¡± Taylor replied with a smile. ¡°Looking for something on potions and maybe something a bit adventurous for myself.¡±

    ¡°Ah, potions! Let me see¡­¡± Mr. Albridge disappeared into an aisle and returned with a couple of dusty tomes. ¡°These should serve well. ¡®Elixirs of the Ages¡¯ and ¡®Herbal Concoctions for the Curious Mind.¡¯ And for adventure, you might enjoy ¡®The Chronicles of Eldoria.¡¯ It¡¯s a tale of knights, dragons, and quests.¡±

    ¡°I am unfortunately looking for the used books in your collection.¡±

    ¡°Ah, I see. I¡¯ll keep looking.¡±

    Greg, meanwhile, had wandered to a section dedicated to martial arts and warfare. He pulled out a slim volume titled ¡®Swordplay Strategies: Techniques from the Great Masters.¡¯

    ¡°Found something?¡± Taylor asked, walking over to him.

    ¡°Yeah, this looks promising. It might just give me the edge I need,¡± Greg replied, flipping through the pages.

    ¡°You just like the fancy illustrations. I¡¯m not sure that it is of any real substance,¡± she said bluntly.

    Embarrassed, he set the book down and put it back in its place. ¡°Maybe I¡¯ll get a book another time. I¡¯m not sure if I have the money today. Might have to steal from Wilson,¡± he said with a smile.

    Greg''s smile was met with a playful roll of Taylor''s eyes. "Don''t even joke about that. We''re doing things the right way, remember?"

    "Of course, I remember. Just trying to lighten the mood," Greg replied, his voice tinged with sincerity. He glanced back at the bookshelf, a hint of longing in his eyes, but he shook it off. "Let''s get your books and head out. We''ve got seeds to plant and potions to brew."

    Taylor nodded. She turned back to Mr. Albridge, who had returned with a small stack of used books. "These should be more within your budget," he said, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses.

    She sifted through the titles, her fingers brushing over the worn spines. One book caught her attention, its cover faded but the title still legible: ''Mystical Flora and the Secrets Within.'' "This one," she said, holding it up. "It might have something on the Starlight Bloom."

    "Excellent choice," Mr. Albridge approved. "That book has been here for ages, waiting for the right reader."

    With their purchases tucked under their arms, Greg and Taylor stepped back into the bustling street, the afternoon sun casting long shadows on the cobblestones. They walked in comfortable silence, each lost in thoughts of future endeavors.

    ¡°So, what¡¯s next? Head back and start studying our new finds?¡± Greg suggested breaking their silence.

    ¡°Actually, I was thinking about grabbing something to eat. All this shopping has worked up an appetite,¡± Taylor said, her stomach rumbling audibly.

    ¡°Great idea. I¡¯ve got to spend my left-over coin somewhere. There¡¯s a new place just opened up around the corner. They serve traditional dishes with a bit of a magical twist. Heard they have a stew that¡¯s supposed to make you feel like you¡¯re breathing fire. Want to try it?¡± Greg asked, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

    ¡°Breathing fire? That sounds intense. Let¡¯s give it a shot!¡± Taylor agreed enthusiastically.

    They made their way to the eatery, a quaint little establishment with a sign depicting a dragon curled around a cauldron. Inside, the decor was warm and inviting, with murals of mythical creatures adorning the walls.

    After ordering the infamous fire-breathing stew, they settled into a cozy booth. Taylor started to read over her new book in detail.

    ¡°Mystical Flora and the Secrets Within,¡± she murmured, flipping through the pages. The book was old, the pages yellowed with age, but the information was fascinating. She found a section on the Starlight Bloom and read aloud to Greg, ¡°The Starlight Bloom is not only rare but requires a specific kind of care. It thrives under moonlight and is sensitive to the emotions of those around it. It¡¯s believed that the plant can sense the intentions of its caretaker.¡±

    Greg listened intently, his curiosity about the plant growing. ¡°That¡¯s incredible. It¡¯s like it has a mind of its own. Do you think it¡¯s true?¡±

    ¡°Maybe,¡± Taylor shrugged. ¡°Plants are more aware than we often give them credit for. Who¡¯s to say some aren¡¯t sensitive to more than just sunlight and water? They definitely require more care at times and often thrive under specific environments. That is why they are usually grown in greenhouses where everything can be carefully controlled.¡±

    Their conversation was interrupted as the server brought over their stew, steaming hot and smelling strongly of spices. Greg took a cautious sip and immediately coughed, his eyes watering. ¡°Wow, that¡¯s hot!¡±

    Taylor laughed, taking a more careful taste. ¡°It¡¯s good though. Really clears the nose.¡±

    ¡°What do you think now? Will Ash really be able to brew a future-sight tea?¡±

    It is seeming less likely that it will happen. Not that she doesn¡¯t have the crafting capabilities, but this isn¡¯t the right ingredient. She must want it for something else.¡±

    ¡°The book doesn¡¯t give any hints.¡±

    ¡°The Starlight Bloom can create a variety of effects. It changes based on how it is prepared and what it is mixed with. The bloom seems to be an amplifier or dampener of whatever it is mixed with. If prepared wrong it just causes no effect.¡±

    ¡°Hopefully she can do something with it. Ash will definitely like that book.¡±

    ¡°Yeah she will.¡±

    After finishing their meal, they paid and left the eatery, the taste of the stew still lingering on their tongues. The sun was beginning to set, casting a golden glow over the city. They decided to head back.

    As the golden hues of the setting sun painted the city in a warm glow, Greg and Taylor made their way back to the orphanage, their steps light with the satisfaction of a day well spent. The streets were quieter now, the vendors packing up their stalls and the children running off to their homes, their laughter echoing in the distance.

    The building stood out on the street. Its finished sign hung above the door. The walls no longer held peeling paint and the construction tools were no longer out.

    They entered the common room to find it bustling with activity. Children of various ages were scattered about, some engaged in games, while others were huddled over books. In the corner, Ash was tending to her small collection of potted plants, her concentration unbroken by the surrounding noise.

    "Look who''s back!" Jack called out, spotting them from across the room. ¡°How was your day?¡±

    ¡°It was great,¡± Greg replied with real enthusiasm. The older boy shook him tightly. ¡°I got you this.¡± Greg grinned, pulling out the jar of ointment from his bag. "For the best swordsman in the orphanage," he said, tossing it to Jack, who caught it with ease.

    "Thanks! This will come in handy," Jack replied, examining the jar with interest. ¡°Thanks man. It is great.¡±

    Taylor approached Ash, the book on mystical flora clutched in her hands. "We found something you might like," she said, offering the book to the plant enthusiast.

    Ash''s eyes widened as she took the book, her fingers tracing the title. "This is perfect," she whispered, her voice filled with gratitude. "Thank you, Taylor. And Greg."

    Taylor and Greg settled into the room enjoying the last of their time before bed with friends.

 19) CARTOGRAPHER

    Wilson ran through the street with his bag tucked under his arm. The street was a bit busier at this time of day which gave him the advantage. He slid passed others on the street. His smaller frame allowing him to squeeze through.

    As he darted around a corner, his shoulder brushed against a stack of wooden crates outside a small shop. The crates wobbled precariously before tumbling down, scattering rolls of paper and various tools across the cobblestone path. Wilson paused, his heart pounding not just from the run but now from the mishap as well.

    "Hey! Be careful there!" a voice called out from the shop''s doorway. An older man with a bushy white beard and spectacles perched on the tip of his nose stepped out, surveying the mess.

    "I''m so sorry, sir," Wilson said, his breath still heavy. He bent down to help gather the scattered items.

    The man watched him for a moment before joining him in picking up the fallen goods. "No harm done; I suppose. But you ought to be more careful. These are not just any papers; they are maps, each one carefully drawn."

    Wilson picked up a cylindrical container and handed it to the man. "I really didn''t mean to, sir. I was just... in a hurry."

    The shop owner looked at him, his expression softening. "I can see that, young man. What¡¯s the rush?"

    Wilson hesitated, not sure how much to reveal. "Just trying to get away from some trouble, sir."

    The man nodded, understandingly. "Well, you''ve run into a map maker''s shop. My name is Mr. Hawthorne. And who might you be?"

    "Wilson, sir," he replied, still catching his breath.

    Mr. Hawthorne glanced at Wilson''s hands as he carefully placed a rolled map back into its container. "You''ve got steady hands, Wilson. Ever thought about map-making? It requires patience and precision."

    Wilson chuckled nervously. "Can''t say that I have, sir. Haven¡¯t seen enough of the world to map it and I¡¯m not rich enough to see a map of the fancier buildings."

    "Those are usually called building or architectural designs. Why don''t you help me inside for a bit? I could use a hand today, and you look like you could use a break from whatever trouble you¡¯re running from."

    Wilson looked down the street nervously, then back at Mr. Hawthorne. Something in the old man¡¯s eyes made him trust him. "Alright, sir. I can help for a bit."

    Inside the shop, the air was filled with the scent of ink and paper. Large maps hung on the walls, depicting various parts of the world with intricate detail. Mr. Hawthorne led Wilson to a large table where several maps were spread out.

    "Let¡¯s start with something simple," Mr. Hawthorne said, handing Wilson a fine-tipped pen and a blank sheet of paper. "Try copying this small section of the town map. We¡¯ll see how you do."

    Wilson took the pen, his hand surprisingly steady as he focused on the task. The lines slowly took shape, forming streets and landmarks. Mr. Hawthorne watched over his shoulder, occasionally offering pointers. It took him some time to get used to the feel of the pen and get used to dipping it regularly in the ink.

    "Good, good," Mr. Hawthorne murmured. "You have a natural knack for this, Wilson. Ever consider a career in cartography?"

    "I never really thought about what I¡¯d do, sir. Just been getting by day-to-day. I do some odd jobs when I need the money and have free time."

    "Well, map-making might just be your calling," Mr. Hawthorne said, clapping him on the back. "Why don¡¯t you come by the shop when you can? I could use an apprentice, and you could use a steady job away from whatever¡¯s chasing you."

    Wilson thought about it. The work was calming, almost meditative. ¡°Maybe. I like the work, but I like some of my odd jobs as well. I could come back later and work on other projects if you want.¡±

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    ¡°Ah, the fleeting nature of youth. I think I could work with that if you have a schedule in mind. Let¡¯s see if you can do more detailed work with that pen as well.¡±

    Wilson nodded, a mix of apprehension and curiosity lighting up his eyes as he accepted the challenge. Mr. Hawthorne pulled out a more complex map from a drawer, one that depicted the intricate waterways and tiny islands of a distant archipelago. The lines were fine, almost hair-like, and the annotations were in a tiny, precise script.

    "Here," Mr. Hawthorne said, pointing to a section of the map that seemed slightly faded. "Try redrawing this area. It''s an old map, and some details have faded over time. We need to bring them back to life."

    Wilson leaned over the map, studying the faded lines, and trying to make sense of the shapes and contours. He dipped his pen into the inkwell, his hand steadier now, and began tracing the outlines of the islands. The task required a focus he hadn''t known he possessed. Each stroke was a tiny voyage, each dotting a landmark, each line a pathway through the sea.

    As he worked, Mr. Hawthorne busied himself with other tasks around the shop but kept an occasional eye on Wilson''s progress. The shop was quiet except for the occasional rustle of paper and the soft clinking of glass as Mr. Hawthorne reorganized some of his tools. Eventually, even Mr. Hawthorne worked on a map of his own.

    "Map-making isn''t just about drawing lines and shapes," Mr. Hawthorne said, breaking the silence. "It''s about understanding the world. Each map tells a story, you see. The story of explorers venturing into the unknown, of nature and civilization. Of the large places and the small."

    Wilson paused, his pen hovering over the paper. "It sounds... important."

    "It is," Mr. Hawthorne affirmed. "And it''s a craft. Like all crafts, it requires dedication. But it also gives back. It teaches you about the world, and maybe, about yourself."

    Wilson resumed his drawing, pondering Mr. Hawthorne''s words. The map slowly came back to life under his pen, the islands regaining their sharp outlines, the waterways clear and distinct. He found a rhythm in the repetition, a comfort in the clarity of the task.

    After a while, Mr. Hawthorne came over to inspect his work. He examined the map closely, nodding in approval. "Very good, Wilson. You''ve got a careful eye and a steady hand. You''re bringing history back to life here."

    Wilson nodded feeling the words of encouragement.

    As the afternoon light began to fade, casting long shadows across the shop, Mr. Hawthorne lit a lamp and placed it on the table. "Let''s continue a bit longer," he suggested. "Are you up for it?"

    ¡°I am. Wilson nodded, eager to learn more, to draw more. The lamp cast a warm glow over the map, the golden light making the ink shine on the paper as if the map itself were lit from within.

    They worked together in silence, Mr. Hawthorne occasionally guiding Wilson''s hand or suggesting a technique to make certain features stand out. Wilson felt a sense of belonging, of purpose, that was new to him. The troubles that had chased him through the streets seemed distant now, less urgent.

    As the clock ticked on, Wilson completed the section he had been working on. He leaned back, taking in the map with a sense of accomplishment. Mr. Hawthorne placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Wilson paused.

    "You''ve done well today, Wilson. Think about my offer. Map-making could be more than just a job for you. It could be a refuge, a place to make your mark."

    Wilson looked at the maps on the walls, at the tools on the table, and at Mr. Hawthorne, whose eyes twinkled behind his spectacles with a mix of wisdom and kindness. "I''ll think about it, sir. Thank you for showing me your craft. It is very beautiful.¡±

    "Good," Mr. Hawthorne said with a smile. "Come back when you''re ready. The world is full of places to map, and perhaps, in mapping them, you''ll find your own path."

    Wilson nodded, his mind swirling with the possibilities that lay ahead. As he stepped out of the shop, the cool evening air felt refreshing against his skin, a stark contrast to the warm, ink-scented atmosphere he had left behind. The streets of the town were quieter now, the hustle of the day settling into the calm of twilight.

    He walked slowly, each step echoing softly on the cobblestones, his thoughts as tangled as the streets on the maps he had been drawing. The idea of becoming a map-maker, of charting unknown territories and bringing forgotten places back to life, intrigued him. It was a far cry from the aimless wandering and odd jobs that had filled his days before.

    As he made his way through the winding streets, Wilson''s mind replayed the events of the day. The rush of escaping his troubles, the accidental encounter with Mr. Hawthorne, and the unexpected discovery of a skill he hadn''t known he possessed. It all seemed like a twist of fate, guiding him towards a path he had never considered.

    Wilson looked at the orphanage in the distance. Its polished exterior showed off the hard work the workers and children had put in to add to it. With the additions Wilson was able to have more space to himself and more room to sneak out from. He shifted the weight on his shoulder. The leftovers from a delivery earlier in the day. He rubbed his fingers together feeling the leftover ink between them.

    ¡°It seems I¡¯ve gained another hobby. Too bad sneaking out won¡¯t be replaced by that one.¡±

 20) THE OTHER ORPHANAGE

    The sky turned blood red. Clouds faded from the sky and split open. People held onto their things as the ground shook for over a minute. Adults weren¡¯t too surprised and watched for their things and other people. It was only the young children who did not expect the world to shake.

    ¡°I thought it was opening up next week,¡± said one man.

    ¡°Has it been five years already,¡± said another.

    Greg and Brad were playing in the street when the sky changed. For a few moments they were surprised before realization set in. They remembered Priest Grant¡¯s history lessons. The barrier between their world and the Demon world was breaking down and connecting. A few runners ran by to send word to important people. The opening of the barrier would take a bit more time. Enough time for the city officials to prepare and for the populace to ready their new guests.

    ¡°We should go back.¡±

    ¡°Already?¡± asked Brad.

    ¡°Things will be a bit different this week. I don¡¯t want to give Priest Damon any reason to trouble us while visitors are in the city.¡±

    Brad and Greg hurried back to the orphanage, their minds racing with thoughts of the impending changes. As they entered the building, they found Priest Grant already in the midst of organizing the children for the upcoming events.

    "Ah, there you are," Priest Grant said, his eyes twinkling with excitement. "I was just about to send someone to fetch you. We have much to prepare for!"

    The children gathered around, their faces a mix of curiosity and apprehension. Priest Grant cleared his throat and began to explain the situation.

    "As you all know, the barrier between our world and the Demon world has begun to break down. This means that we will soon have visitors from the other side. It is our duty to welcome them and show them the best of our world." He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing. "To that end, I have decided to organize a field trip to the Demon world for tomorrow. This will be a chance for us to learn more about their culture and way of life, and to foster a spirit of understanding and cooperation between our two worlds. We won¡¯t stay overnight, but you will have plenty of time to see our sister city over the next week."

    The children erupted into a buzz of excitement; their earlier fears forgotten in the face of this new adventure. Brad and Greg exchanged a glance, both wondering what the Demon world would be like. As Priest Grant began to outline the details of the trip, Brad couldn''t help but feel a sense of unease. He had heard stories of the Demon world, of its strange and sometimes dangerous inhabitants. But he also knew that this was an opportunity he couldn''t pass up.

    Greg, on the other hand, seemed more excited than ever. He had always been fascinated by the idea of other worlds, and the chance to see one firsthand was a dream come true. As the day wore on, the orphanage was a flurry of activity as everyone prepared for the trip. Bags were packed, supplies were gathered, and last-minute instructions were given. They would leave as a group and stick together as a group. None of the children knew the city and neither did Priest Grant so they needed to make sure they didn¡¯t get lost.

    Finally, as the sun began to set, Priest Grant called the children together one last time. "Get a good night''s sleep," he said, ¡°We¡¯ll leave in the morning.¡±

    As the sun rose over the horizon, casting a warm glow across the city, the children of the orphanage gathered in the courtyard, their excitement palpable. Priest Grant stood at the head of the group, a smile on his face as he surveyed the eager faces before him.

    "Are we all ready?" he asked, his voice carrying over the chatter of the children.

    A chorus of "Yes!" rang out, and with that, they set off towards the portal that would take them to the Demon world. As they walked, the city around them seemed to come alive with activity. People hurried about their business, some casting curious glances at the group of children as they passed.

    Finally, they reached the portal, a shimmering gateway that seemed to pulse with energy. Near the entrance to the portal a few demons idles and chatted. Some had already passed them as they made their way to the portal. Priest Grant stepped forward, placing his hand on the surface of the portal. It rippled beneath his touch, and then, with a flash of light, it opened, revealing a world beyond.

    As the children stepped through the portal, they found themselves in a world unlike any they had ever seen. The city before them was a marvel of organic architecture, with buildings that seemed to grow out of the ground itself. The streets were lined with strange, luminescent plants that cast a soft glow over everything. The children gazed in wonder at their surroundings, their eyes wide with amazement. Even Priest Grant seemed taken aback by the beauty of the Demon world. Quickly each one in their group had entered the new world.

    As they walked through the streets, they began to notice other humans joining them. It seemed that they were not the only ones curious about this strange new world. The Demons, for their part, seemed just as curious about the humans. They watched from a distance, their eyes filled with wonder and interest. Some exited the portal with destinations in mind and ran off to meet acquaintances across the realms.

    The group made their way through the city, stopping to explore the various sights and sounds. They visited a park, where strange, otherworldly creatures roamed freely. They browsed through shops filled with exotic goods and trinkets, marveling at the craftsmanship of the Demon artisans.

    As they walked, Brad couldn''t help but feel a sense of unease. Despite the beauty of the Demon world, he couldn''t shake the feeling that something was not quite right. He glanced around, trying to pinpoint the source of his discomfort, but everything seemed normal.

    Greg, on the other hand, was having the time of his life. He darted from one shop to another, his eyes wide with wonder as he took in all the sights and sounds of the Demon world. Priest Grant noted Brad¡¯s discomfort.

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    ¡°What you are filling is normal. It is why the youngest children couldn¡¯t join us today. Remember when I told you how there are differences between the worlds. Longer term it isn¡¯t great for you. It is something you have to get used to while you visit here. Or head back if it is too much.

    ¡°I think I just wasn¡¯t expecting it. Some parts of the city have been better. Right when I entered the city though. The difference hit differently.¡±

    As the group continued their exploration of the Demon world, Brad tried to push aside his discomfort and focus on the incredible sights around him. The city was a marvel of organic architecture, with buildings that seemed to grow out of the ground itself, their curves and angles flowing seamlessly into one another. The streets were lined with strange, luminescent plants that cast a soft glow over everything, creating an otherworldly atmosphere that was both beautiful and unsettling.

    Despite his best efforts, Brad couldn''t shake the feeling of unease that had settled over him since they entered the Demon world. It was a subtle thing, a sense of wrongness that he couldn''t quite put his finger on. He glanced around, trying to pinpoint the source of his discomfort, but everything seemed normal. The Demons they passed on the streets seemed friendly enough, nodding and smiling at the group as they walked by.

    Despite his best efforts, Brad couldn''t shake the feeling of unease that had settled over him since they entered the Demon world. It was a subtle thing, a sense of wrongness that he couldn''t quite put his finger on. He glanced around, trying to pinpoint the source of his discomfort, but everything seemed normal. The Demons they passed on the streets seemed friendly enough, nodding and smiling at the group as they walked by. He looked to Greg who seemed to have adapted to the strange feeling of the new world. The other children as well had started to adapt. If they felt anything then it was only internal. Slowly the feelings faded as he focused on the new city around him.

    Finally, the group arrived at their destination: the Demon orphanage. It was a large, imposing building, with walls that seemed to be made of living wood. As they approached, they could hear the sound of children''s laughter coming from within.

    Priest Grant stepped forward, knocking on the large, ornate door. After a moment, it swung open, revealing a tall, slender Demon with kind eyes.

    "Welcome," the Demon said, bowing slightly. "We have been expecting you."

    ¡°Hello, I am a new priest to the city of Henoes overseeing the orphanage. I understand from the previous notes that you have some suggested activities for us.¡±

    ¡°Yes. As guests to our world, we must be good hosts. In a few days we too will schedule a field trip of our own and see your city.¡±

    The children filed into the orphanage; their eyes wide with curiosity. Inside, they found a world not so different from their own. Children played and laughed, while caretakers watched over them with loving eyes.

    As they explored the orphanage, Brad couldn''t help but notice the similarities between the Demon children and themselves.

    ¡°Do you want to play a game?¡± asked one eager demon boy.

    ¡°Check out these flowers I brought,¡± said Ash.

    Soon the two groups started to truly comingle. As the day wore on, the children of both worlds began to mingle, playing games and sharing stories. Brad found himself talking with a young Demon boy named Zephyr, who told him of his own adventures in the Demon world. Greg, meanwhile, had struck up a friendship with a group of Demon children, who were eager to learn more about the human world. They listened with rapt attention as he told them stories of his life at the orphanage.

    ¡°You like swords I hear,¡± said Zephyr to Greg.

    ¡°I¡¯ve started learning a bit,¡± he responded.

    ¡°We¡¯ve got some wooden swords in the back. Do you want to share tips?¡±

    Greg paused considering the offer. ¡°Sure. Let¡¯s go!¡±

    Greg and Zephyr made their way to the back of the orphanage, where a small training area had been set up. Wooden swords of various sizes lined the walls, and a few training dummies stood at the ready. Zephyr grabbed two swords, tossing one to Greg with a grin.

    "Let''s see what you''ve got," he said, taking a fighting stance.

    Greg gripped the sword tightly, feeling the weight of it in his hand. He had only just begun his training back home, but he was eager to learn from someone with more experience. They circled each other for a moment, sizing each other up. Suddenly, Zephyr lunged forward, his sword flashing in the light. Greg barely had time to react, bringing his own sword up to block the blow. The two swords clashed together with a loud crack, and Greg felt the vibrations running up his arm.

    They traded blows back and forth, their swords moving in a blur of motion. It was clear that Zephyr was the more experienced fighter, his movements fluid and precise. But Greg held his own, his determination and quick reflexes keeping him in the fight.

    As they fought, Brad watched from the sidelines, his eyes wide with amazement. He had never seen Greg fight like this before, with such focus and intensity. It was clear that he had found something he was truly passionate about. Against Jack, Greg had gotten used to similar moves, but Zephyr¡¯s style was something else.

    The fight went on for several minutes, neither boy willing to give an inch. Sweat poured down their faces as they danced around each other, their swords clashing again and again. Finally, with a quick flick of his wrist, Zephyr disarmed Greg, sending his sword clattering to the ground.

    "Not bad," Zephyr said, lowering his sword and grinning at Greg. "You''ve got potential."

    Greg rubbed his wrist, wincing slightly at the sting of the impact. But he couldn''t help but smile back at Zephyr, feeling a sense of accomplishment despite the loss.

    "Thanks," he said. "I''ve still got a lot to learn."

    Zephyr nodded, handing Greg back his sword. "Keep practicing," he said. "And maybe next time, you''ll be the one disarming me next time our world¡¯s meet."

    Greg laughed, taking the sword, and giving Zephyr a playful salute. "I''ll do my best," he said.

    As they made their way back to the others, Brad fell into step beside Greg, clapping him on the shoulder.

    "That was amazing," he said. "I had no idea you could fight like that. How much practice with Jack have I been missing?"

    ¡°Only a little bit. You should join in the practice with Jack some time.¡±

    Brad nodded, ¡°Perhaps some time.¡±

    As the day wore on, the children continued to explore the Demon orphanage, learning more about their new friends and their way of life. They played games, shared stories, and even tried some of the strange and exotic foods that the Demons offered them. Throughout it all, Brad couldn''t help but notice the way that Greg and Zephyr seemed to gravitate towards each other. They were constantly talking and laughing, their earlier sword fight having forged a bond between them.

    As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the Demon world, Priest Grant gathered the children together once more.

    "It''s time to head back," he said, a hint of regret in his voice. "But we''ll be back again soon, and I''m sure our new friends will be eager to visit us in our world as well."

    The children said their goodbyes, exchanging hugs and promises to stay in touch. Greg and Zephyr clasped hands, grinning at each other.

    "Keep practicing," Zephyr said. "And maybe next time, we can have a rematch."

    Greg nodded, his eyes shining with excitement. "I''ll be ready," he said. ¡°See you tomorrow.¡±

    Back in their own world, the children chattered excitedly about their adventures, reliving every moment of their incredible day. Priest Grant listened with a smile, proud of the way they had embraced this new experience with open hearts and minds. As they settled in for the night, Brad lay awake, his mind racing with thoughts of the Demon world and all that they had seen and done there.

    Beside him, Greg slept soundly, a small smile on his face as he dreamed of sword fights and a new friend.

 21) DEMON WEEK

    Greg trained with Zephyr for two more days, their swords clashing in the training area behind the Demon orphanage. With each passing hour, Greg''s skills improved, his movements becoming more fluid and precise under Zephyr''s guidance1. Zephyr taught Greg new techniques, showing him how to feint and parry, and how to use his opponent''s momentum against them. They sparred for hours on end, sweat pouring down their faces as they pushed each other to their limits.

    As they trained, they talked and laughed, sharing stories of their lives and their dreams for the future. Greg told Zephyr of his desire to become a great swordsman, to protect those he cared about. Zephyr listened intently, nodding in understanding.

    On the third day, the Demons visited the city of Henoes, eager to explore its corners and learn more about the human world. They wandered through the streets, marveling at the architecture and the bustling crowds.

    Greg and Zephyr walked side by side, pointing out their favorite spots and sharing stories of their adventures. They visited the marketplace, sampling exotic fruits and admiring the intricate craftsmanship of the artisans. As the day wore on, they found themselves in a quiet corner of the city, away from the crowds. They sat together, watching the sunset over the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.

    "I''m glad we met," Greg said, turning to Zephyr with a smile. "I feel like I''ve learned so much from you.¡±

    Zephyr grinned, clapping Greg on the shoulder. "I feel the same way," he said. "You''ve shown me that there''s more to the human world than I ever imagined. But there is still so much I want to see while I still can. I¡¯m not sure I can get used to the food though."

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I could get used to your food either.¡±

    0-0-0-0-0-0

    Ash stepped through the portal, her eyes wide with wonder as she took in the sights and sounds of the Demon world. The city was a marvel of organic architecture, with buildings that seemed to grow out of the ground itself, their curves and angles flowing seamlessly into one another. It called to her nature sensibilities. But it was the plants that caught Ash''s attention, strange and exotic specimens that she had never seen before.

    As the group made their way through the city, Ash found herself drawn to the plant shops and herbology merchants that lined the streets. She marveled at the vibrant colors and unusual shapes of the plants on display, each one more fascinating than the last.

    "Ah, I see you have an eye for the unusual," he said, his voice warm and inviting. "This is a rare specimen, found only in the deepest parts of the Demon world. It has many natural powerful healing properties. From clotting to scab removal."

    Ash listened intently as the merchant explained the various uses of the plant, from treating wounds to curing illnesses. She was fascinated by the depth of knowledge that the Demons seemed to possess when it came to the natural world. As she browsed the shop, Ash found herself drawn to a small, unassuming plant tucked away in a corner. Its leaves were a dull green, and it seemed to be wilting slightly. But something about it called to her, and she reached out to touch one of its leaves.

    To her surprise, the plant seemed to respond to her touch, its leaves perking up and taking on a healthier hue. The merchant noticed her interest and came over to take a closer look.

    "Interesting," he said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "This plant is known to be very difficult to cultivate, even for the most skilled of herbologists. But it seems to have taken a liking to you. Maybe it likes something different. Something human."

    Ash wasn¡¯t sure if what the merchant was saying was true or not. The display on the plant held no words and even if they did then they would be in the demon language.

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    ¡°What does it do?¡± she asked the shopkeeper. ¡°Why grow something so difficult?¡±

    ¡°People like to eat it. The roots at least. You can¡¯t use the leaves for anything. They might make your little human stomach sick.¡±

    ¡°If it is so hard to grow here, will it even grow at my home?¡±

    The shopkeeper saw her concern and hurried to assuage it. ¡°No. No. No. It should do fine in the human world. I know that some can¡¯t survive after the trip between worlds, but this one should not be the case. Try planting it tonight and if you aren¡¯t satisfied then you can return it for a full refund. Before the portal between worlds closes of course.¡±

    ¡°You know what. I think I will take the plant and a second one if you have it.¡±

    ¡°Wonderful, and I do have a second one just for a lovely girl like yourself. I¡¯ll also throw in a small leaflet on how to cook it and what kinds of dishes it would be great with.¡±

    Ash thanked the shopkeeper and carefully tucked the two plants and the leaflet into her bag. She couldn''t wait to get back to the orphanage and start growing these unusual specimens. As she stepped out of the shop, she found herself once again marveling at the organic architecture of the Demon world.

    The buildings seemed to grow out of the ground itself, their curves and angles flowing seamlessly into one another. It was as if the city was a living, breathing entity, constantly evolving, and adapting to the needs of its inhabitants. Ash wandered through the streets, her eyes wide with wonder as she took in the sights and sounds around her.

    She passed by a group of Demon children playing a game that seemed to involve throwing a glowing orb back and forth. They laughed and shouted, their voices echoing off the walls of the buildings. Ash smiled, reminded of the games she and her friends played back at the orphanage.

    As she walked, she found herself drawn to a large, sprawling park in the center of the city. The park was filled with strange and exotic plants, their colors, and shapes unlike anything she had ever seen before. She wandered through the winding paths, stopping to examine each new specimen she encountered. There were trees with leaves that seemed to shimmer and change color in the light and flowers that emitted a soft, pulsing glow. Ash marveled at the way the plants seemed to move and sway as if they were dancing to a silent melody.

    As she explored deeper into the park, she came across a small, secluded garden tucked away in a corner. The garden was filled with delicate, translucent flowers that seemed to be made of pure light. Ash reached out to touch one of the petals, and to her surprise, it felt warm and tingly against her skin.

    As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the city, Ash realized that it was time to head back to the portal. She said goodbye to the plants while no one else was around, promising to visit again soon and research more about them.

    Back at the orphanage, Ash carefully planted the two unusual specimens she had purchased from the Demon shopkeeper. She followed the instructions on the leaflet to the letter, making sure to give the plants just the right amount of water and sunlight. She needed them very healthy for the next steps in her plan.

    Danny joined her in the garden once the plants were sprouting from the dirt. ¡°I was able to find the notes that you were asking for in the demon city¡¯s library. They didn¡¯t let me take anything out for obvious reasons, but I was able to memorize a few things.¡±

    ¡°Will my plan work?¡±

    ¡°I think so.¡± Danny paused. ¡°I think the shopkeeper was underselling the sick feeling of those plants you got. Humans aren¡¯t really meant to eat food from other dimensions. We adapt and get through most things, but they are like super spices.¡±

    ¡°Then these will make sure that Priest Damon has the worst experience of spicy food imaginable. I¡¯ve just got to find the best meal to mask this with and a way to distill the leaves down.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think you will have to do much before they become toxic to the stomach. Just standing near them is making my eyes itch.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t get that feeling, but I can¡¯t smell them, or it irritates me as well. For now, though they are healthy. We can wait a bit while we plan and prepare what we need to turn the leaves into something else.¡±

    ¡°I know someone that might be interested in helping us out. Alfred¡¯s got a knack for fixing problems and with his help, he will find a creative solution to what we need.¡±

    Ash continued tending to the unusual plants she had acquired from the Demon world, carefully nurturing them as they grew stronger and healthier each day. She spent hours in the garden, studying their unique properties and experimenting with different methods of cultivation. The sun was setting, casting a golden hue over the orphanage grounds, and the air was filled with the earthy scent of damp soil and growing things. She felt a deep sense of satisfaction watching the plants thrive under her care, their leaves unfurling towards the last light of day.

    Her plan was coming together. Now she just needed a few more pieces and the right moment to strike.

 22) STRATEGY AND SUBTERFUGE

    One evening, as she was working late in the garden, Alfred approached her with a mischievous grin on his face. "I hear you''re looking for a way to make Priest Damon''s life a little more interesting," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

    Ash looked up from her work, a smile spreading across her face. "You could say that," she replied. "I take it Danny filled you in on our plan?"

    Alfred nodded, his grin widening. "Indeed, he did, and I think I might have just the solution you''re looking for. We will need to gather a few things for the cooking process, but they shouldn¡¯t take too long to set. The hard part will be hiding it somewhere before we start and the time we are making it.¡±

    Alfred rubbed his hands together, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Alright, let''s get started on this little project of yours. First things first, we need to extract the key ingredients from those demon plants you''ve been growing."

    Ash nodded, her heart racing with anticipation. "I''ve been tending to them carefully, making sure they''re healthy and strong. What do we need to do?"

    Alfred led her to a secluded corner of the orphanage grounds, where he had set up a makeshift distilling apparatus. "We''ll need to grind up the leaves and roots, then boil them down to extract the essential oils and compounds," he explained, gesturing to the various components of the setup.

    Ash watched intently as Alfred demonstrated the process, his hands moving with practiced precision. He carefully measured out the plant material, adding it to a large pot of water and setting it over a low flame. As the mixture began to simmer, a pungent aroma filled the air, causing Ash''s eyes to water slightly. He handed her a mask that could cover her mouth and nose, then goggles for their eyes.

    "We have to be careful with this stuff. Don¡¯t want to waste it and don¡¯t want any of it spreading. Now, we let it boil for a while, until the water has evaporated, and we''re left with a concentrated extract," Alfred continued, stirring the pot occasionally. "This is where the real magic happens."

    As they waited for the distillation to complete, Alfred regaled Ash with tales of his past exploits, his voice animated and full of mirth. She found herself laughing along with him, the tension of their clandestine operation melting away in the face of his infectious enthusiasm.

    Finally, after what seemed like hours, the extract was ready. Alfred carefully poured the dark, viscous liquid into a small glass vial, holding it up to the light to admire its deep, rich color. "This, my dear Ash, is the key to our little prank," he said with a wink. "A few drops of this in Priest Damon''s food, and he''ll be in for an unnatural surprise he won''t soon forget."

    Ash took the vial from him, a sense of giddy anticipation bubbling up inside her. "This is perfect, Alfred," she said, grinning from ear to ear. "Thank you so much for your help. I couldn''t have done this without you."

    Alfred waved off her gratitude with a chuckle. "Think nothing of it, my dear. I''m always happy to lend a hand in a bit of harm to our keeper. Now, let''s talk about how we''re going to slip this little concoction into the good Priest''s meal without getting caught."

    ¡°While we wait we can¡¯t forget the preparation of the Starlight Bloom. This will have some much-needed kick so that it goes from sickness to torturous. I¡¯ve tested some preparation methods and using it in its distilled form should hold its natural amplification properties.¡±

    ¡°That would be very dangerous. Are you sure you want to mix the two?¡± he asked skeptically.

    Ash considered Alfred''s words carefully, a slight frown creasing her brow. "You''re right, mixing the two could be incredibly dangerous," she admitted, turning the vial over in her hands. "But if we want to make sure Priest Damon really suffers, we might need that extra kick from the Starlight Bloom."

    Alfred nodded; his expression thoughtful. "I understand your desire to make him pay for all the pain he''s caused, but we need to be smart about this. If we go too far, it could backfire on us."

    "What if we use a smaller amount of the Starlight Bloom extract?" Ash suggested, her mind racing with possibilities. "Just enough to amplify the effects without pushing it into truly dangerous territory. We want him in pain, not dead.".

    Alfred mulled over the idea, his fingers drumming against the workbench. "That could work," he said slowly, "but we''d need to be very precise with the dosage. Too little, and it won''t make a difference. Too much, and we risk causing serious harm."

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    Ash bit her lip, weighing the risks and rewards. She knew Alfred was right, but the temptation to make Priest Damon truly suffer was hard to resist. "Let''s do it," she said finally, her voice filled with determination. "We''ll be careful, measure everything out precisely, and make sure we don''t cross the line."

    Alfred grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Alright then, let''s get to work on the Starlight Bloom extract. I''ve got a few ideas on how we can refine the distillation process to get the most potent result without going overboard. It should also go by much faster."

    ¡°Ok. I¡¯ll go get the Starlight if you want to reset the distiller?¡±

    As they set to work on the second phase of their plan, Ash felt a sense of camaraderie and purpose that she hadn''t experienced in a long time. With Alfred by her side, she knew they could pull off this prank and give Priest Damon a taste of his own medicine.

    An hour passed as they worked diligently, refining the Starlight Bloom extract, and carefully measuring out the precise amounts needed to enhance the demon plant concoction. The sun had since set by the time they finished; the orphanage grounds bathed in the eerie glow of the moon.

    "We did it," Ash whispered, holding up the final vial of their combined potion. The liquid within seemed to shimmer and dance in the moonlight, its power almost palpable.

    ¡°Now we just need to put them together.¡±

    ¡°But first some rest. Tomorrow we can discuss how we get this into Priest Damon¡¯s mouth.¡±

    The next day, they spent some time huddled together, whispering and plotting, their heads bent close as they ironed out the details of their plan. Ash felt a thrill of excitement running through her veins, the prospect of finally getting back at Priest Damon for all his cruelty and mistreatment filling her with a sense of righteous satisfaction. Even Taylor joined them for a bit to bounce ideas off of and consider viable strategies.

    When they were done they carefully packed up their equipment and made their way back inside, the precious vial of extract tucked safely away in Ash''s pocket. She could hardly contain her excitement as she bid Alfred goodnight, her mind already racing with thoughts of the next phase of their plan.

    Over the next few days, Ash, Alfred, and Danny worked tirelessly to gather the remaining ingredients they needed for their prank. They sneaked into the orphanage kitchens late at night, raiding the pantry for spices and herbs to mask the taste of the demon plant extract. They experimented with different recipes, trying to find the perfect balance of flavors that would both disguise the presence of the extract and appeal to Priest Damon''s notoriously picky palate.

    ¡°We can¡¯t veer too far off the regular dinner menu expectations. At the same time, we don¡¯t know what will mix well with the extract we have made,¡± considered Alfred. ¡°It also shouldn¡¯t be diluted too much by the food.¡±

    ¡°There is the option of upping the dose, but that could mean that he tastes the extract too early into the meal. I still think that adding it into a paste would be best with a side of bread or something similar.¡±

    ¡°I would hope we can have something concrete. We need something strong to mask the scents we will be adding. Maybe something citrusy like lemon. Or otherwise, bitter. I just don¡¯t want to tip him off when I¡¯m not sure we can try this a second time through.

    Ash nodded thoughtfully, considering Alfred''s concerns. "You''re right, we need to be careful about how we mask the taste and scent of the extract. Lemon could work well, but I worry that the acidity might interact poorly with the demon plant compounds."

    Alfred scratched his chin, his brow furrowed in concentration. "What about something bitter, like dark chocolate? We could melt it down and mix it into a paste with the extract, then spread it on some bread or pastries."

    Ash''s eyes lit up at the suggestion. "That''s brilliant, Alfred! Dark chocolate would not only mask the taste and smell but also complement the bitterness of the demon plant. Plus, it''s not too out of the ordinary for a dessert or snack."

    "Exactly," Alfred grinned, "and if we play our cards right, we can make it seem like a special treat, something Priest Damon won''t be able to resist."

    We''ll need to be careful about the timing, though," Ash mused, tapping her finger against her chin. "We don''t want to give him the opportunity to share it with anyone else or have someone else taste it by accident."

    Alfred nodded in agreement. "True, we''ll have to choose a moment when he''s alone and unlikely to be disturbed. Perhaps during his afternoon tea time, when he tends to retreat to his study?"

    "That could work," Ash said slowly, a plan forming in her mind. "We could have one of the younger children deliver the treat to his study, claiming it''s a special gift from the kitchen staff. He''s less likely to question it coming from an innocent face."

    "And we can make sure the child leaves quickly, so there''s no chance of them sticking around and accidentally tasting it themselves," Alfred added, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

    Ash felt a surge of excitement at the prospect of their plan coming together. "This is going to be perfect, Alfred. Priest Damon won''t know what hit him, and by the time he realizes something is wrong, it''ll be too late."

    Alfred chuckled, rubbing his hands together in gleeful anticipation. "I can hardly wait to see the look on his face when he takes that first bite," he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "It''s going to be a meal he''ll never forget."

    As they cleaned up the kitchen and made their way back to their respective rooms, Ash felt a sense of calm settle over her. She knew that what they were doing was risky and that there would be consequences if they were caught. But at that moment, she didn''t care. All that mattered was the thrill of the prank, the satisfaction of finally getting back at the man who had made her life and the others a living hell for so long. The anticipation of seeing Priest Damon''s reaction when the potion took effect was almost too much to bear, but Ash knew that patience would be key in executing their plan flawlessly.

 23) FARM LIFE

    Brad rode by cart out of the city with a group of the older orphans. Priest Grant watched over them and was in charge of this outing. It was another piece of their opportunity program. If they liked working and wanted to get started early on making money then they could apprentice at the farms outside of the city. The farms outside the city were smaller than most around other connected cities. The grass surrounding the city just wasn¡¯t great for cattle. It had taken lots of replanting and care to build up the farming industry to what it was so far. Though expansion was always hopeful especially when new money from the trading of goods came into the city.

    Brad and the other orphans were interested to see what the farm had to offer. Some were more excited than others. Brad just wanted to see the animals. They had heard stories about the fresh air, the wide-open spaces, and the animals that lived there. As the cart bumped along the dirt road, they chattered amongst themselves, wondering what the farm would be like.  As they approached the farm, they could see the vast fields of crops and the animals grazing in the pastures.

    Priest Grant explained that the farm grew a variety of vegetables that were easy to grow and raised chickens, pigs, and cows. He smiled at their enthusiasm. He knew that this was a great opportunity for the orphans to learn new skills and potentially find a place where they could belong. He had seen many orphans thrive in the farming environment, and he hoped that some of these children would find their calling there as well.

    As they approached the farm, the orphans fell silent, taking in the sight before them. The farmhouse was a simple, two-story structure with a yellow roof and brown walls. A large barn stood nearby, its doors wide open, revealing the hay and equipment inside. Chickens pecked at the ground, while a few cows grazed in a nearby field.

    The farmer, a kind-looking man with a graying beard, came out to greet them. "Welcome to our farm," he said, shaking Priest Grant''s hand. "We''re so glad you could come out and visit us today."

    Priest Grant introduced the orphans to the farmer, who smiled warmly at them. "We''ve got a lot to show you today," he said. "Why don''t we start with a tour of the farm?"

    The orphans eagerly followed the farmer as he led them around the property. He showed them the fields where they grew crops like wheat, corn, and vegetables. He explained how they planted the seeds, watered them, and waited for them to grow. The orphans were fascinated by the process, asking questions and marveling at the tiny green shoots that were just starting to peek out of the ground.

    Next, the farmer took them to the barn, where they met the animals. The orphans were delighted by the cows, who looked at them with big, curious eyes. The farmer showed them how to milk the cows, and a few of the braver orphans even tried it themselves. They laughed as the warm milk squirted into the bucket, and the cow mooed contentedly.

    The chickens clucked and fluttered around their feet, while the pigs snorted and rolled in the mud. The orphans giggled and tried to pet the animals. The farmer explained how the animals were fed and cared for, and how they provided eggs, meat, and milk for the city. He showed them how to collect the eggs, and the orphans took turns reaching into the nests and gently removing the warm, smooth eggs.

    The highlight of the tour was when the farmer let them ride on the back of his old, gentle horse. The orphans took turns riding around the paddock, laughing and enjoying the experience. Gray was first to jump on the horse. The old horse was quick to pick up on his connection and they trotted in circles together. Gray felt the riding get easier as the ride went on. By the end he was in sync with the horse.

    As Gray dismounted the horse, he had a wide grin on his face, feeling a sense of accomplishment and joy from the experience. The other orphans cheered and clapped for him, eager to have their turn on the gentle steed. Brad, who had been watching Gray with a mix of admiration and envy, stepped forward to take his turn.

    The farmer helped Brad onto the horse, adjusting the stirrups to fit his shorter legs. Brad sat up straight, trying to imitate the confident posture he had seen Gray maintain throughout his ride. The farmer gave the horse a gentle pat on the rump, and the old mare began to walk forward.

    At first, Brad felt a surge of excitement as the horse moved beneath him. He could feel the power of the animal, and he marveled at how high up he was from the ground. However, as the horse began to pick up speed, Brad''s excitement quickly turned to nervousness.

    The horse seemed to sense Brad''s unease, and it began to toss its head and snort. Brad gripped the reins tightly, his knuckles turning white as he tried to maintain control. The horse started to veer off course, heading towards the fence that surrounded the paddock. Brad''s heart raced as he tried to remember what the farmer had told them about steering the horse. He tugged on the reins, but his movements were jerky and uncoordinated. The horse, confused by the conflicting signals, began to trot faster, jostling Brad in the saddle.

    The other orphans watched with growing concern as Brad struggled to control the horse. Priest Grant, who had been observing from the sidelines, stepped forward, ready to intervene if necessary. The farmer, too, looked on with a furrowed brow, his hand resting on the gate of the paddock.

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    Brad, meanwhile, was beginning to panic. The horse was moving faster now, and he could feel himself slipping in the saddle. He tried to hold on, but his grip was slipping. Suddenly, the horse made a sharp turn, and Brad felt himself losing his balance. He let out a yelp as he tumbled from the saddle, landing on the soft grass of the paddock.

    The other orphans gasped and ran forward to help him, but Brad was already pushing himself up, his face red with embarrassment. The farmer hurried over, checking to make sure he was alright. Brad nodded, brushing dirt and grass from his clothes.

    "Are you okay?" the farmer asked, his voice filled with concern.

    "I''m fine," Brad mumbled, avoiding eye contact with the other orphans.

    Priest Grant stepped forward, placing a comforting hand on Brad''s shoulder. "It''s alright, Brad," he said gently. "Riding a horse takes practice. You did your best."

    Brad nodded, but he couldn''t shake the feeling of disappointment that washed over him.

    ¡°Its ok. You can try again later,¡± said the farmer. ¡°Now who wants to go next?¡±

    As the day drew to a close, Priest Grant gathered the orphans together. "Did you enjoy your visit to the farm?" he asked.

    Some nodded enthusiastically. "It was so much fun!" one of them exclaimed. "I loved seeing the animals and learning about how everything grows."

    "I think I might want to work on a farm someday," another orphan said shyly. "It seems like a really nice way to live."

    Priest Grant smiled. "I''m glad you enjoyed it," he said. "Working on a farm can be a wonderful opportunity. It''s hard work, but it''s also very rewarding. You get to be outside in the fresh air, working with your hands and caring for the animals and the land. And you get to see the fruits of your labor every day, whether it''s a basket of fresh eggs or a field of ripe wheat."

    He looked around at the orphans, his eyes shining with pride. "If any of you decide that you want to pursue this path, I will do everything I can to support you. There are many farms in the area that would be happy to take on an apprentice, and I know that you would all do very well."

    ¡°It is too dirt for my liking,¡± said one boy who had mud caked along the sides of his pants.

    ¡°That is valid as well,¡± Priest Grant replied. ¡°But a lot of jobs will get you dirty one way or another. Even I have to get these robes dirty on occasion.¡±

    Priest Grant continued, "In fact, there are many important jobs in our city that require getting dirty. Take blacksmithing, for example. It''s a vital trade that keeps our city running, but it''s not for the faint of heart."

    The orphans looked at him curiously, and Priest Grant smiled. "Blacksmiths work with fire and metal all day long. They forge tools, weapons, and all sorts of useful items. But it''s hot, sweaty work, and you''ll come home covered in soot and grime every day."

    Some of the orphans wrinkled their noses at the thought, but others looked intrigued. "What else do blacksmiths make?" one of the younger ones asked.

    "Oh, all sorts of things," Priest Grant replied. "Horseshoes, for one. Every horse in the city needs shoes to protect their hooves, and it''s the blacksmith''s job to make them. They also make nails, hinges, and other hardware for buildings. And of course, they make weapons for our city''s defenses."

    He looked around at the orphans, his expression growing serious. "It''s not an easy job, but it''s an important one. Without blacksmiths, our city would grind to a halt. We wouldn''t have the tools we need to farm, to build, or to defend ourselves. Every job has an important role to play in our society. We all have reasons for choosing what jobs we end up with. There isn¡¯t always a better job. Even the great merchants while they get to travel the world have to deal with the threat of bandits and their loss of life and goods."

    The orphans nodded, considering his words. Some of them still looked uncertain about the idea of getting dirty for a living, but others seemed to be warming up to the idea.

    "I think I might like to try blacksmithing," said Alfred. "I''m not afraid of hard work, and I like the idea of making things with my hands. I¡¯ve only worked with wood and some other simple materials before, but not from scratch."

    Priest Grant beamed at him. "That''s wonderful," he said. "I know the blacksmith in town, and I''m sure he''d be happy to take on an apprentice. It''s a challenging job, but it''s also very rewarding. You''ll be learning a valuable skill that will serve you well for the rest of your life."

    Alfred nodded, looking pleased with himself. The other orphans began to chatter excitedly, discussing the different jobs they might like to try. As they made their way back to the cart, Priest Grant felt a sense of satisfaction. He knew that not all of the orphans would choose to work on a farm or as a blacksmith, but he was glad that they had been exposed to some of the different opportunities available to them.

    "Remember," he said as they climbed into the cart, "there is no shame in getting dirty for a good cause. Whether you choose to work with your hands or with your mind, what matters is that you do your best and contribute to the well-being of our city."

    The orphans nodded, taking his words to heart. As the cart rumbled back towards the city, they talked excitedly about their future plans, their eyes shining with hope and possibility. Brad sat quietly, lost in thought. He had enjoyed the visit to the farm, but he wasn''t sure if it was the right path for him. He had found some fun in swinging around a sword with Greg though the idea of military service disinterested him. He had heard the stories and they sounded like another version of their dynamic with Priest Damon. He didn¡¯t want a superior over him like that.

    Brad''s thoughts were interrupted by the chatter of the other orphans, discussing the different jobs they might like to try. Alfred was excited about the possibility of becoming a blacksmith, and Gray was considering working on a farm. Brad listened to their conversations, feeling a pang of uncertainty. What did he want to do with his life?

    As they approached the orphanage, Brad''s thoughts turned to Priest Damon, the demon who had tormented him for so long. He knew that if he wanted to get rid of Damon, he would have to find a way to stand up to him. But how? Damon was a powerful and ruthless foe, and Brad was just a young orphan.

    Brad''s eyes narrowed as he thought about his situation. He knew that he couldn''t do it alone, but he also knew that he couldn''t rely on Priest Grant or the other orphans to protect him. He needed to find a way to defend himself, to make himself strong enough to stand up to Damon. Brad''s eyes narrowed as he thought about his situation. He knew that he couldn''t do it alone. He was reminded that Taylor and some of the others had been planning on something to deal with Priest Damon.

    ¡°I wonder what they have in mind or what I can do to help,¡± he thought to himself.

 24) THE CHILDREN COOK 2

    Ash hurried around the small kitchen. The night was dark and silent, the only sound being the soft hum of the kitchen''s lanterns as Ash and Danny worked together in hushed tones. They moved with precision, their hands moving in tandem as they carefully prepared the chocolate pastry that would soon become the vessel for their revenge.

    Ash measured out the dark chocolate, her hands steady as she poured it into the mixing bowl. Danny, meanwhile, was busy grinding more of the cocoa into a fine powder, his face set in a determined expression. The air was thick with tension, but it was a productive kind, the kind that came from knowing they were one step closer to their goal.

    As they worked, they spoke in whispers, their voices barely audible over the sound of the chocolate melting in the double boiler. "How''s the consistency?" Ash asked, her eyes fixed on the mixture as she stirred it gently.

    "It''s good," Danny replied, his voice low. "The extract is fine enough that it should mix in seamlessly."

    Ash nodded, her eyes never leaving the chocolate. She added a pinch of sugar, then a dash of cinnamon, the spices mingling with the rich aroma of the chocolate. The smell was intoxicating, and for a moment, Ash forgot about the true purpose of their creation. She forgot about the pain and the suffering they were about to inflict on Priest Damon. All she could think about was the taste, the texture, the sheer decadence of the pastry they were creating. It was a treat they rarely ate, now a sacrifice for their orphanage.

    But the moment passed, and Ash''s focus snapped back to the task at hand. She poured the melted chocolate into a waiting pastry shell, the dark liquid flowing smoothly into the flaky crust. Danny added the powdered extract, his hand moving in a slow, deliberate circle as he mixed it in.

    The silence that followed was almost palpable, the only sound the soft clinking of utensils against the counter. Ash and Danny worked in tandem, their movements choreographed to perfection. They were a well-oiled machine, each one anticipating the other''s moves before they happened. She thought about her previous times in the kitchen and the more relaxing times while cooking. This was not one of those times.

    As they worked, the kitchen around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them, lost in their task. The world outside receded, and all that was left was the pastry, the chocolate, and the extract. It was a world of its own, a world of precision and calculation, where every move was deliberate, and every action had a consequence.

    Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the pastry was ready. Ash and Danny stepped back; their eyes fixed on the finished product. It was a masterpiece, a work of art that belied its true purpose. The chocolate was smooth and glossy, the pastry flaky and light. It was a treat fit for a king, or in this case, a priest.

    Ash felt a surge of pride as she gazed at their handiwork. They had done it. They had created something truly special, something that would bring Priest Damon to his knees. She glanced over at Danny, a smile spreading across her face. As she looked over the pastry she noticed its imperfections. Ash sighed knowing it was a possibility. One she prepared for. The batch had made several pastries. He couldn¡¯t eat them all after all. So, the best was picked out and set aside for the old priest. Her poison would coat the top of the pastry with delectable chocolate.

    Ash and Danny froze, their hearts pounding in their chests as a loud bang echoed down the hallway. The sound reverberated through the small kitchen, shattering the tense silence that had enveloped them moments before. Ash''s eyes widened, her gaze darting towards the door. She could hear footsteps, slow and deliberate, approaching from the direction of the noise. Priest Damon was awake, and he was coming their way.

    Without a word, Danny sprang into action. He quickly gathered the pastries, carefully placing them into a nearby cupboard and closing the door with a soft click. Ash, meanwhile, hurried to extinguish the lanterns, plunging the kitchen into darkness. They moved with practiced precision, their movements fueled by adrenaline and the fear of being caught. Ash could feel her heart hammering against her ribcage as she crouched down behind the counter, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

    The footsteps grew louder, closer, until they were right outside the kitchen door. Ash held her breath, her muscles tensed, ready to flee at the slightest provocation.

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    Time seemed to slow to a crawl as they waited, the seconds ticking by like hours. The silence was deafening, punctuated only by the sound of their own ragged breathing and the occasional creak of the floorboards outside.

    Ash could feel the sweat beading on her forehead, her palms growing clammy as she gripped the edge of the counter. She risked a glance at Danny, who was pressed against the wall, his eyes wide and alert. The footsteps paused, and for a moment, Ash thought her heart might stop. She could almost feel Priest Damon''s presence, his looming figure just beyond the door.

    Then, after what felt like an eternity, the footsteps resumed, growing fainter as they moved away down the hallway. Ash let out a shaky breath, her body sagging with relief. They remained hidden for several more agonizing minutes, neither of them daring to move or speak. The tension in the air was palpable, the weight of their actions bearing down on them like a physical force.

    Finally, when they were certain that Priest Damon had moved on, Danny emerged from his hiding spot. He moved cautiously towards the cupboard, retrieving the pastries, and setting them back on the counter. Ash joined him, her movements slow and deliberate. She could feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins, her senses heightened by the near miss.

    As they surveyed the pastries, Ash couldn''t help but feel a sense of pride mixed with trepidation. They had come so close to being caught, but they had persevered. The pastries were almost finished. They just had to prepare the chocolate topping.

    Danny prepared the bowl of chocolate laced with the extract while Ash got out a pipping bag. The design was simple. One she had seen in the bakery before. Her hands were still a bit shaky, and she was nervous after their close call. She took a deep breath in and tried to calm herself. She waited a bit longer before covering the pastry.

    "It''s perfect," she whispered, her eyes shining with excitement.

    Danny nodded; his face set in a determined expression. "Let''s get some rest," he said, his voice low. "We have a big day tomorrow."

    Ash nodded, her heart racing with anticipation. Tomorrow was the day they would finally get their revenge, the day they would make Priest Damon pay for all the pain and suffering he had inflicted on them. She felt a sense of calm wash over her, a sense of purpose. They had done everything they could, and now all that was left was to wait and see the results of their handiwork.

    As they cleaned up the kitchen, their movements were quick and efficient, the silence between them comfortable and familiar. They knew each other''s moves before they happened, their bodies moving in tandem as they put away the utensils and wiped down the counters.

    Finally, the kitchen was spotless, the only evidence of their late-night baking session the delicious aroma of chocolate that lingered in the air. Ash and Danny exchanged a look, a look. They each picked one of the left-over pastries and ate them silently. Revenge tasted sweet.

    With a shared nod, they slipped out of the kitchen, disappearing into the darkness of the night. The pastry was safely tucked away, waiting for its moment in the spotlight. And Ash and Danny were waiting, their hearts pounding with anticipation, their minds racing with the possibilities.

    The next morning, Ash and Danny woke up early, their hearts pounding with anticipation. They had barely slept, their minds racing with thoughts of the pastry and the revenge it would bring. They quickly got dressed and made their way to the kitchen, eager to check on their creation.

    To their relief, the pastry was still there, nestled safely in the cupboard where they had left it. Ash carefully removed it, her hands trembling slightly as she held it up to the light. The chocolate topping glistened, the intricate design still intact. It was a work of art, a masterpiece of deception.

    Danny and Ash exchanged a look, their eyes shining with excitement. They knew they had to act quickly before anyone else in the orphanage woke up. They had already planned out their next move, and now it was time to put it into action. They boxed it up in preparation for delivery.

    Ash and Danny made their way to the dormitory, where the younger children slept. They scanned the room, looking for the perfect candidate. They needed someone who was innocent, someone who wouldn''t ask too many questions.

    Finally, their eyes landed on a young boy named Matthew. He was small for his age, with wide, trusting eyes and a sweet smile. Ash approached him, kneeling down to his level.

    "Matthew," she said softly, "we have a special task for you today."

    Matthew¡¯s eyes widened, his face lighting up with excitement. "What is it?" he asked eagerly.

    Ash smiled, holding out the pastry. "We need you to deliver this to Priest Damon¡¯s room," she said. "It''s a special treat, just for him."

    Matthew nodded; his eyes fixed on the pastry. He reached out, taking it carefully in her small hands.

    "Remember," Danny said, his voice low and serious, "this is a secret mission. You can''t tell anyone about it, okay?"

    Matthew nodded again; his face set in a determined expression. "I won''t tell anyone," he promised.

    Ash and Danny watched as Matthew made his way down the hallway, the pastry clutched tightly in his hands. They held their breath, their hearts pounding as he knocked on Priest Grant''s door.

 25) THE RESULTS

    The door opened, and Priest O¡¯ Brian appeared, his face creased with confusion. Matthew held out the pastry, a shy smile on his face. The priest looked down at the pastry. Matthew paused unsure what to do.

    ¡°This is for¡­¡±

    O ¡¯Brian cut him off. ¡°Thank you.¡± He grabbed the pastry and took a bite .

    Matthew unsure of what to do started to look back in hopes of spotting Ash and Danny. He wanted out of there as soon as possible as he realized that he might have been set up. O¡¯ Brian finished up the pastry not noticing anything wrong with the food or Matthew. Matthew wanted to keep it that way. He said a few more words before backing away.

    0-0-0-0-0-0

    In another part of the orphanage Brad returned from the farm trip. He returned to his room to change and clean up in time for some free time and fun before dinner. Greg pulled into the room as well.

    ¡°How was the farm trip?¡±

    ¡°Good I guess. How did you get out of it?¡±

    ¡°I had chores to do that couldn¡¯t be put aside for later. Making lunch was fun. I think Priest Damon has his eyes on me. At least you had a good time.¡±

    ¡°What has he been up to now?¡± asked Brad.

    ¡°He was harsh with cleaning and mad about the quality of the food. I think some of it has gone missing. Maybe Wilson snuck out and made a late-night snack.¡±

    ¡°Or another kid did. It isn¡¯t always him.¡±

    Greg shrugged. ¡°Probably was him. Do you know where he is today? I thought he went on the farm trip?¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t see him. Maybe he got in trouble.¡±

    Brad shook his head. "I don''t know, but I hope he''s not in too much trouble. You know how strict Priest Damon can be."

    Greg nodded, a concerned look on his face. "Yeah, I just hope Wilson''s okay. Maybe we should try to find him later and see if he needs any help."

    Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by a piercing scream coming from downstairs. Brad and Greg exchanged a worried glance before rushing out of the room to investigate. As they hurried down the stairs, they could hear commotion and voices coming from the main hall. They realized that it came from someone older.

    When they reached the bottom of the stairs, they saw a group of children gathered around something on the floor. Pushing their way through the crowd, Brad and Greg''s eyes widened in shock as they realized it was Priest O''Brian. He was lying on the ground, coughing, and shaking violently, his face contorted in pain.

    "What happened?" Brad asked, his voice trembling with fear.

    Taylor stepped in and spoke up. "I don''t know. He just collapsed all of a sudden and started shaking like that. I have some suspicions but¡­"

    Greg knelt down beside O''Brian, trying to comfort him. "It''s okay, Priest O''Brian. We''re here to help you."

    Just then, Priest Damon stormed into the room, his face red with anger. "What''s going on here?" he demanded, his eyes scanning the crowd of children that had started to gather around the hallway.

    No one spoke up, too afraid to say anything. Priest Damon''s gaze landed on O''Brian, and his expression softened slightly. He knelt down beside him, checking his pulse and trying to assess the situation.

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    "Someone go get the kitchen ladies," he ordered, his voice stern. "We need to get him to the infirmary immediately."

    A few of the children ran off to find the kitchen staff while Priest Damon and Greg carefully lifted O''Brian off the ground. Brad watched helplessly as they carried him out of the room, his mind racing with questions.

    Priest Damon turned to the remaining children. "I want to know who did this," he said, his voice low and threatening. "If I find out that any of you were involved, there will be severe consequences."

    The children looked at each other nervously, no one daring to speak. Brad and Greg exchanged a glance, both wondering the same thing. Could this have something to do with the missing food from the kitchen?

    The kitchen ladies arrived; their faces etched with worry as they saw O''Brian''s condition. They quickly took over, shooing the children out of the room so they could tend to him in private. As Brad and Greg made their way back to their room, they couldn''t shake the feeling that something was very wrong. Greg looked back to Taylor who had joined them in heading back to the rooms.

    ¡°What did you mean that you have some suspicions?¡± asked Greg.

    Taylor paused her walking. ¡°Not here. Not now.¡± She waited until they had gone inside one of the upstairs rooms. ¡°This was probably Ash¡¯s doing. I should have helped her. Guided her more. Whatever happened to O¡¯ Brian was meant for Priest Damon. He just got caught in between. Now it may be harder to accomplish our goals.¡±

    ¡°What even are our goals?¡± asked Brad. ¡°I mean we want this place to be safe but is that it?¡±

    Taylor sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Our goals are to make this place safe, yes, but also to ensure that the orphans here are treated with respect and kindness. We can''t let Priest Damon continue his reign of terror."

    Greg nodded in agreement. "But how do we do that? Especially now that Priest O''Brian has been caught in the crossfire?"

    "We need to be smart about this," Taylor said, her voice low. "Ash''s actions, while well-intentioned, have put us in a difficult position.  She should have prepared for the reality that another person would step in between and in this case take the fall for Damon. Priest Damon will be on high alert now, and we can''t afford any more mistakes."

    Brad leaned against the wall; his brow furrowed in thought. "Maybe we should try to find out more about what happened. Talk to Ash and see if she can give us any information that might help us figure out our next move."

    Taylor nodded. "That''s a good idea. We should also try to keep an eye on Priest Damon and see how he reacts to all of this. If we can anticipate his next move, we might be able to stay one step ahead of him."

    Greg looked out the window, his expression troubled. "We need to gather some of the other kids we trust as well to work on this. There may be less opportunities to fail if we work together. I just hope Priest O''Brian is okay. He''s always been kind to us, even if he doesn''t always stand up to Priest Damon."

    "I know," Taylor said softly. "But we can''t let this deter us from our mission. We have to keep fighting for what''s right, no matter the cost."

    Brad and Greg nodded in agreement, their faces set with determination. They knew that the road ahead would be difficult, but they were ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

    As they continued to discuss their plans, a thought suddenly occurred to Brad. "Hey, isn''t there supposed to be a wedding happening soon? I overheard some of the kitchen staff talking about it the other day."

    Taylor''s eyes widened. "You''re right! I completely forgot about that. Priest Damon will be distracted with the preparations, which means we might have an opportunity to make our move. He¡¯s required to do the ceremony and will be focused on it."

    Greg grinned. "And if we can get the other orphans on board, we''ll have strength in numbers. Priest Damon won''t be able to stop all of us if we work together."

    "Exactly," Taylor said, a smile spreading across her face. "We''ll need to be careful and plan everything out, but this could be our chance to finally take a stand against Priest Damon and his cruelty."

    Brad and Greg exchanged a look of excitement, their hearts racing at the thought of finally being able to make a difference. They knew that the road ahead would be long and difficult, but with Taylor''s leadership and the support of their fellow orphans, they felt like anything was possible. As they continued to discuss their plans, the sound of footsteps outside the door made them freeze. They held their breath, waiting to see who would enter the room. But after a few tense moments, the footsteps faded away, and they breathed a sigh of relief.

    "We should probably head back to our rooms," Greg said, his voice barely above a whisper. "We don''t want to draw any more attention to ourselves."

    ¡°Today¡¯s free time will be rather boring then.¡±

    ¡°More time to think about a plan then,¡± Taylor replied.

    Taylor and Brad nodded in agreement, and they quickly made their way out of the room and back to their respective quarters. Their thoughts dwelled on the days events. As they lay in their beds that night, their minds raced with thoughts of the future and the challenges that lay ahead. There was some uncertainty but they each had a part to play and work to be done.

 26) JOUSTING AND GAMES

    The two knights crashed against each other. Their lances met, crossed, then slammed into armor. Horses ran passed each other and the knights rocked in their saddles. One slipped from their seat and fell back. The horse rocked and they hit the ground.

    The audience cheered in response. People stood leaning in. The fallen knight stumbled and slowly stood back up.  The jousting tournament was in full swing, and the excitement in the air was palpable. The crowd had gathered from far and wide to witness the spectacle of knights in shining armor, mounted on powerful steeds, charging at each other with lances held high.

    The tournament grounds were a bustling hive of activity. Colorful banners and flags fluttered in the breeze, displaying the heraldic symbols of the participating knights. Vendors hawked their wares, selling everything from refreshing drinks to small trinkets as souvenirs. The aroma of roasting meats and freshly baked bread wafted through the air, enticing the spectators.

    At the center of it all was the jousting arena. The field was enclosed by a sturdy wooden fence, with viewing stands erected on either side to accommodate the eager crowd. The ground within the arena was a mixture of dirt and sand, providing a suitable surface for the horses to gallop upon.

    The crowd waited for the previous two knights to leave the field. Callers stood at either end of the grounds announcing various pieces of information about upcoming knights and the events going on near the jousting tournament.

    As the two knights took their positions at opposite ends of the field, a hush fell over the spectators. They knew that this was the moment they had been waiting for - the climax of the tournament. The knights, resplendent in their gleaming armor, lowered their visors and gripped their lances tightly.

    At the signal from the herald, the knights spurred their horses forward. The powerful animals surged ahead, their hooves pounding against the earth as they rapidly closed the distance between the two opponents. The crowd held their collective breath, eyes fixed on the unfolding scene.

    The knights lowered their lances, aiming for each other''s shields. As they drew closer, the anticipation reached a fever pitch. Then, with a resounding crash, the lances met their targets. Wood splintered and metal clanged as the knights collided in a fierce display of skill and strength.

    The impact was tremendous, and the crowd gasped as one of the knights was rocked back in his saddle. For a moment, it seemed as though he might maintain his seat, but the force of the blow proved too great. The knight slipped from his mount and tumbled to the ground, his armor clattering against the hard-packed earth.

    As the fallen knight hit the ground, the crowd erupted in a mix of cheers and gasps. Those who had been leaning forward in their seats now stood up, craning their necks to get a better view of the aftermath. The victorious knight, still atop his steed, raised his lance in triumph, acknowledging the adulation of the spectators.

    The fallen knight, meanwhile, struggled to regain his footing. The weight of his armor made it difficult to rise, but with a determined effort, he managed to stagger to his feet. The crowd applauded his resilience, recognizing the bravery and skill it took to even participate in such a dangerous sport.

    As the dust settled, the crowd buzzed with excitement, discussing the thrilling joust they had just witnessed. Some praised the prowess of the victorious knight, while others commended the fallen knight for his valiant effort. The atmosphere was electric, filled with the energy and enthusiasm of people who had just experienced something truly remarkable.

    ¡°That was awesome,¡± Greg remarked.

    ¡°Those guys are amazing on horseback,¡± said Brad as he thought back to his time riding on the farm. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be able to hold up that lance for more than a few seconds.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s why they are professionals. They train and prepare for events where they will show their skills for less than a minute at a time. All while preparing to get hit. It''s incredible how much dedication and training goes into jousting. These knights spend years honing their skills, just for these brief moments in the arena."

    "And the horses too," Brad added. "They have to be so well-trained and in sync with their riders. It''s like they''re a single unit out there."

    The two boys watched as the next pair of knights took their positions on the field. The anticipation began to build once more as the crowd eagerly awaited the next joust.

    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    "I can''t imagine the adrenaline rush they must feel," Greg said, his eyes fixed on the knights. "The moment before they charge, knowing that they''re about to collide with another knight at full speed."

    Brad grinned. "It''s got to be a mix of excitement and nerves. But I bet once they''re in the moment, all that fades away, and it''s just pure focus and instinct."

    As the knights charged towards each other, lances at the ready, the crowd held their breath. The thundering hooves and the clashing of metal against metal filled the air. The impact was fierce, and both knights struggled to maintain their balance.

    "Whoa!" Greg exclaimed as one of the knights nearly lost his seat. "That was a close one!"

    The knight managed to regain his composure, and the joust ended in a draw. The crowd applauded the display of skill and bravery from both participants.

    "I wonder what it feels like to be in their shoes," Brad mused. "To have all eyes on you, to hear the roar of the crowd, and to know that you''re part of something so thrilling."

    Greg nodded, a smile spreading across his face. "It must be an incredible feeling. To be a part of this event and show, to be a knight, even if just for a day."

    As the tournament progressed, the boys continued to watch in awe, marveling at the skill and courage of the knights. They cheered for their favorites, gasped at the close calls, and celebrated the victories. In between the jousts, they wandered around the tournament grounds, taking in the sights and sounds. They sampled the delicious food, admired the intricate craftsmanship of the armor and weapons on display.

    "This is the best day ever," Brad declared, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "I never want it to end."

    The duo moved on to games that had been set up. Greg and Brad couldn''t contain their excitement as they explored the various games and activities set up around the tournament grounds. The atmosphere was electric, filled with laughter, friendly competition, and the spirit of camaraderie.

    They approached a booth where a group of people were gathered, trying their hand at archery. The attendant handed them each a bow and a quiver of arrows, explaining the rules of the game. Brad and Greg exchanged a determined look, ready to test their skills.

    As they took their positions, they carefully nocked their arrows and aimed at the colorful targets in the distance. With a deep breath, they released their arrows, watching as they soared through the air. Brad''s arrow struck the outer ring of the target, while Greg''s landed just shy of the bullseye.

    "Nice shot!" Brad exclaimed, giving Greg a high-five. "You almost had it!"

    Greg grinned, feeling a surge of pride. "You didn''t do too bad yourself! Let''s go again."

    ¡°You guys did well,¡± say a girl interrupting their break. ¡°I¡¯m Emma.¡±

    ¡°Greg, and Brad,¡± said Greg. ¡°Nice to meet you.¡±

    ¡°Do you want to do best of three?¡± asked Emma.

    ¡°What¡¯s the prize?¡± asked Greg.

    ¡°Does there have to be a prize?¡± she asked.

    ¡°How about your pick of a treat from the festival stalls?¡± said Brad.

    ¡°Perhaps,¡± Emma smiled confidently as she accepted the challenge. "Best of three it is, then. And I''ll take you up on that offer of a treat from the festival stalls."

    ¡°Only if you win.¡±

    The trio made their way back to the archery booth, each determined to outdo the others. Emma stepped up first, her stance poised, and her eyes focused on the target. With a smooth motion, she nocked an arrow, drew back the bowstring, and released. The arrow whistled through the air and struck the bullseye with a satisfying thud.

    Brad and Greg exchanged impressed glances. "Wow, nice shot, Emma!" Brad praised.

    Emma grinned. "Thanks. Your turn, boys."

    Brad and Greg took their positions, each aiming carefully at their respective targets. They released their arrows simultaneously, and while both hit the target, neither could match Emma''s perfect bullseye.

    "Looks like Emma takes the lead," Greg commented.

    As the mini competition progressed, Emma consistently demonstrated her archery prowess. Her arrows found the center of the target with uncanny accuracy, leaving Brad and Greg struggling to keep up. They managed a few impressive shots of their own, but Emma''s skills were simply unmatched.

    With the final round complete, Emma emerged as the clear victor. She had outscored both Brad and Greg by a significant margin, earning their admiration and respect.

    "That was amazing, Emma!" Brad exclaimed. "Where did you learn to shoot like that?"

    Emma shrugged modestly. "I''ve been practicing archery for a while. It''s always been a passion of mine."

    Greg nodded appreciatively. "Well, it definitely shows. You''re a natural."

    As promised, Brad and Greg treated Emma to her choice of festival treats. They wandered through the stalls, sampling delectable pastries, savory meats, and refreshing drinks. The camaraderie between the three grew as they shared stories and laughter.

    They came across a group of musicians playing lively tunes on traditional instruments, and they couldn''t resist joining in the impromptu dance that had formed around them. They twirled and leaped, their feet moving to the rhythm of the music. Other festival-goers joined in, creating a whirlwind of color and laughter. Brad and Greg found themselves swept up in the joyous atmosphere, their spirits soaring higher with each passing moment.

    As the day wore on, they sampled more of the delectable food, watched skilled artisans at work, and even had the chance to try on some replica armor. They posed for pictures, pretending to be valiant knights ready for battle, their laughter echoing through the air.

    The sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the tournament grounds. Brad and Greg found a quiet spot to sit and reflect on their incredible day. They watched as the knights rode off into the distance.

 27) THE PLAN

    ¡°How is O¡¯ Brian,¡± asked Wilson to the group.

    ¡°He¡¯s still recovering. I¡¯m not sure if he is awake or not,¡± replied Greg.

    ¡°That¡¯s good.¡± Wilson paused. ¡°So, you said you needed me. What is this about?¡±

    ¡°We need to move forward with plans to get rid of Priest Damon,¡± said Taylor. ¡°After Ash did what she did we don¡¯t have much time before he cracks down on all of us. We need to gather the evidence of every bad thing we can and present it so that he can be dealt with.¡±

    ¡°He will be distracted by the events of the wedding, and we can further disrupt him while you sneak into his office and grab whatever incriminating evidence you can find.¡±

    ¡°What if the evidence isn¡¯t in his office?¡± asked Wilson.

    ¡°It will be in there. Trust me,¡± said Greg.

    "We need a solid plan. The wedding will be crowded, which works in our favor. We can blend in easily, but we must be vigilant,¡± said Brad.

    Taylor nodded; her expression serious. "I''ll be near the main hall, listening in on the guests. People tend to talk more freely at celebrations. It''s the perfect chance to catch any slip-ups or mentions of Damon''s misdeeds. If there is anyone else involved in covering up for him we will know."

    Greg added, "Brad and I will handle the mingling. We''ll keep the guests engaged and try to steer the conversations towards Damon. It¡¯s crucial we pick up on any discontent or past incidents that haven¡¯t come to light yet."

    ¡°Fine, then I''ll take the riskiest part¡ªsneaking into Damon¡¯s office. We believe he keeps a private journal. If we can get our hands on that, it might just have the evidence we need."

    "Let''s talk timing," Brad interjected. "I propose we execute our individual tasks during the peak of the reception when Damon is most likely to be occupied."

    "Agreed," said Taylor. "And we should have a subtle signal, just in case someone runs into trouble or discovers something critical. Maybe a simple hand gesture or an uncommon phrase dropped into conversation. He will be most busy when he is brought to the front of the church and everyone¡¯s eyes will be on him."

    ¡°Most of all we must be careful,¡± said Greg.

    "We meet back here, no matter what," Brad stated firmly. "We¡¯ll review everything we¡¯ve gathered and plan our next move. It¡¯s crucial that we keep this information secure until we have a full picture of what we¡¯re dealing with."

    ¡°Tomorrow the event starts early. Let¡¯s all get a good night¡¯s sleep,¡± said Taylor.

    A small procession rode through the street. The morning of the wedding arrived, and the bustling town was alive with excitement. The streets were adorned with colorful banners and flowers, as people from all walks of life gathered to witness the grand event. The church, an imposing structure with intricate stained-glass windows and towering spires, stood at the heart of the town, ready to host the momentous occasion.

    Priest Damon, a stern-faced man with graying hair and piercing eyes, emerged from the orphanage, his brow furrowed with frustration. He had spent the morning dealing with the unruly children, their laughter and mischief grating on his nerves. As he made his way towards the church, his thoughts were consumed by the impending wedding and the need to maintain his fa?ade of piety and righteousness.

    The crowd outside the church grew larger by the minute, a sea of faces filled with anticipation. Nobles in their finest attire mingled with commoners, their differences momentarily forgotten in the shared joy of the occasion. The air was filled with the gentle strains of music, as minstrels and bards entertained the gathering with their songs and tales.

    Inside the church, the atmosphere was one of reverence and solemnity. The altar was adorned with fragrant flowers and glowing candles, casting a warm light upon the sacred space. The pews were filled with guests, their whispers and murmurs echoing off the stone walls. Among the crowd, Taylor, Greg, Brad, and Wilson blended in seamlessly, their eyes and ears alert for any signs of Damon''s misdeeds.

    Priest Damon met with guests and spoke in casual conversation describing his time maintaining the orphanage and his other public works. Unbeknownst to Damon, Taylor, Greg, Brad, and Wilson were already in motion, their plan unfolding with precision. Taylor lingered near the main hall, her keen ears picking up snippets of conversation, searching for any mention of Damon''s misdeeds. Greg and Brad mingled with the guests, their easy smiles and engaging manner masking their true purpose. And Wilson, with the skill of a seasoned thief, slipped away from the crowd and made his way towards Damon''s office, his heart pounding with anticipation and fear.

    The others waited and listened. Brad started to find the conversations dull and boring. The adults often talked of business or trade. The fact that they were there and had to interact with Priest Damon seemed to be a formality. It seemed like few cared to interact with Priest Damon on a personal level. He was starting to think that this part of the plan. Based on the looks from the others they though similarly. No one was just going to causally go out and say how terrible Priest Damon was.

    Even in the gossiping circles around Taylor the name barely came up and only to discuss his aloofness.   Taylor grew frustrated.

    Outside the church Wilson returned to the orphanage. He watched the other kids go by and looked out for where the kitchen ladies might be. When the time was right he went for Priest Damon¡¯s office. He started lock picking.

    Wilson''s heart raced as he carefully maneuvered the lock pick, his fingers trembling slightly with each delicate movement. The soft click of the lock yielding to his efforts was like a symphony to his ears. With a final twist, the door to Priest Damon''s office swung open, revealing the dimly lit room beyond.

    Slipping inside, Wilson gently closed the door behind him, his eyes scanning the space for any signs of the incriminating evidence they so desperately needed. The office was meticulously organized, with towering bookshelves lining the walls and a large, imposing desk dominating the center of the room. The air was heavy with the scent of old parchment and the faint aroma of incense.

    Wilson moved swiftly, his footsteps muffled by the plush carpet beneath his feet. He approached the desk, his hands roving over the polished surface, searching for any hidden compartments or locked drawers. His fingers brushed against a small, ornate key, tucked discreetly beneath a stack of papers. With a triumphant smile, he retrieved the key and began his search in earnest.

    The desk drawers yielded little of interest, filled with mundane correspondence and administrative documents. Wilson''s frustration mounted as he rifled through the papers, his hope of finding the smoking gun they needed slowly fading. He turned his attention to the bookshelves, scanning the titles for any hint of Damon''s misdeeds.

    As he pulled a particularly ancient tome from the shelf, a small, leather-bound journal tumbled to the floor, its pages yellowed with age. Wilson''s heart leapt as he scooped up the journal, his fingers trembling with anticipation as he flipped through the pages. The entries were written in Damon''s own hand, a testament to his innermost thoughts and secrets.

    But as Wilson read on, his excitement turned to disappointment. The journal entries were vague and cryptic, alluding to events and individuals he couldn''t quite place. There were hints of wrongdoing, whispers of corruption, but nothing concrete, nothing that would definitively prove Damon''s guilt.

    ¡°There is nothing.¡± Wilson pulled back realizing that he knew nothing. ¡°Why did I even do this for them. I should get out of here before Priest Grant finds me.¡±

    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    Realizing that time was running short, Wilson hastily replaced the journal and the key, ensuring that everything was exactly as he had found it. He slipped out of the office, his heart heavy with the weight of his failure. As he made his way back to the others, he couldn''t shake the feeling that they were missing something, that the key to unraveling Damon''s web of deceit lay just beyond their grasp.

    Rejoining his companions, Wilson shook his head, his expression crestfallen. "I found nothing," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Just hints and whispers, but nothing solid. I fear we may need to dig deeper, to look beyond the obvious if we hope to bring Damon to justice."

    Taylor, Greg, and Brad exchanged glances, their own efforts having yielded similarly disappointing results. They knew that their quest for the truth would not be an easy one, that they would need to be patient, to bide their time until the right opportunity presented itself.

    As the wedding celebration continued around them, the four friends huddled together, their determination unshaken by the setbacks they had faced. They knew that they could not rest until Priest Damon was exposed for the fraud he was, until the orphanage and the town were free from his corrupting influence.

    ¡°What do we do?¡± asked Greg. ¡°We have nothing on Priest Damon. Otherwise, it is just us versus him.¡±

    They paused in thought. At this point Priest Damon was mid ceremony and the crowd was deep in the day¡¯s event. Brad looked around. None of the other orphan children had stuck around at the event. They were starting to stick out. The others had returned to the orphanage.

    ¡°What are we doing here?¡± Brad asked the group.

    ¡°What?¡± Greg turned confused.

    ¡°Exactly what I said. Why are we here? Everyone we care about is back at the orphanage. Nothing else matters.¡± He turned to Wilson. ¡°You said that it was ¡®us versus him¡¯. Well, there are a lot more of us than of him back at the orphanage. Each with many experiences and stories of what he has done. Those who have graduated out of the orphanage may have forgotten but we still remember and experience those events.¡±

    Dejected but not defeated, Taylor, Greg, Brad, and Wilson made their way back to the orphanage, their minds racing with the realization that they had been approaching their problem from the wrong angle. As they walked through the familiar halls, the sounds of laughter and chatter from the other orphans filled their ears, a stark reminder of the community they had been overlooking.

    "We''ve been so focused on finding evidence against Priest Damon that we forgot about the most important thing¡ªour family here at the orphanage," Taylor said, her voice filled with a newfound determination.

    Greg nodded in agreement. "Each one of us has a story to tell, an experience that could help expose Damon for who he really is. We need to come together, to share our truths and find strength in our unity."

    In the midst of their revelations, a gentle knock at the door caught their attention. Priest Grant, a newer addition to the church, stood at the threshold, his kind eyes filled with concern and compassion.

    "I couldn''t help but overhear your conversation," Priest Grant said softly, stepping into the room. ¡° I am here to help. I was sent to watch over him and report if I found anything," Priest Grant revealed, his voice calm and reassuring. The four children looked at him with a mix of surprise and relief, realizing that they had an unexpected ally in their quest for justice.

    Priest Grant continued, "The church has long suspected that something was amiss with Priest Damon''s leadership of the orphanage. Whispers of his cruelty and neglect have reached the ears of those in power, but without solid evidence, they have been unable to act without my experience and reports."

    Taylor, her eyes wide with newfound hope, spoke up, "Priest Grant, we''ve been trying to gather proof of Damon''s misdeeds, but we''ve hit a dead end. We thought we could find something at the wedding, but we came up empty-handed."

    Priest Grant nodded; his expression thoughtful. "I understand your frustration, but you must remember that the truth often lies in the experiences of those who have suffered under Damon''s rule. Your fellow orphans, both past and present, hold the key to unmasking his true nature. Today there is more than just the nobles visiting from out of the city. Today I bring my final report on Damon. With your testimonies it will be greatly supported."

    Greg, his brow furrowed, asked, "But how do we get them to come forward? Many of them are afraid of Damon, afraid of the consequences of speaking out against him."

    Priest Grant placed a comforting hand on Greg''s shoulder. "Fear is a powerful tool, but it can be overcome by the strength of unity. If you can show your fellow orphans that they are not alone, that there are others who share their pain and their desire for change, they will find the courage to speak their truth."

    Brad, his voice filled with determination, declared, "We need to gather everyone together, to create a safe space where they can share their stories without fear of retribution. We can start with those who are still at the orphanage and then reach out to those who have left."

    Wilson, who had been quietly listening, added, "And we can document everything, create a record of the abuse and neglect that Damon has inflicted upon us. With enough evidence, even the church will have to take action."

    Priest Grant smiled, his eyes shining with pride at the children''s resilience and determination. "You have a wise plan, my young friends. I will do everything in my power to support you, to ensure that your voices are heard, and that justice is served."

    ¡°I¡¯ll get everyone together and we will share everything,¡± said Greg firmly.

    It took an hour of hurried preparation but they each took to some of the orphans and chatted with them. Their words were recorded and prepared for presentation. The issues ranged from mundane to awful. They listened intently and were empathetic. Some after listening to their speeches decided to speak directly to Priest Grant. They were encouraged to do so.

    Priest Grant kept his own set of notes on the issues and happily listened to those that visited them. Brad and Greg looked out the window across to the church where the wedding¡¯s events were still being held. It was a reminder to move quickly.

    Children gathered in the common room of the orphanage, a sense of unity and purpose filled the air. Taylor, Greg, Brad, and Wilson stood at the front; their faces etched with determination as they prepared to hear the stories of their fellow orphans. Priest Grant sat in the corner, his pen poised over a notebook, ready to document the testimonies that would finally bring Priest Damon''s misdeeds to light.

    One by one, the children stepped forward, their voices trembling with a mix of fear and courage. Emma, a timid girl of twelve, spoke first, her eyes brimming with tears as she recounted the countless nights she had gone to bed hungry, the meager rations provided by Priest Damon barely enough to sustain her growing body. She spoke of the times she had been forced to clean the church floors until her hands were raw and bleeding, all while Damon watched with a cruel smile on his face.

    Next came Jack, his voice filled with anger as he described the beatings he had endured at Damon''s hands. He showed the scars that crisscrossed his back, the result of Damon''s leather strap, wielded with a fury that seemed to know no bounds. He spoke of the fear that gripped the orphanage, the way the children would cower in the shadows, praying that they would not be the next to face Damon''s wrath.

    As the stories continued, a pattern began to emerge. Tales of neglect, abuse, and cruelty, each one painting a picture of a man who had long ago abandoned his vows of compassion and kindness. The children spoke of the times they had been denied the comfort of a healer''s touch for a time. Damon hoarded the resources meant for their growth and development.

    Throughout it all, Priest Grant listened, his pen scratching furiously across the pages of his notebook. He asked gentle questions, probing for details that would strengthen the case against Damon. The children, emboldened by the presence of their allies, spoke with a newfound clarity and conviction, their voices rising in a chorus of truth and justice.

    As the last child finished their testimony, a heavy silence fell over the room. Taylor, her eyes shining with unshed tears, stepped forward, her voice trembling with emotion. "Thank you," she said, her gaze sweeping over the gathered orphans. "Thank you for your bravery, for your willingness to speak out against the injustices we have all suffered. Your stories will not be forgotten, and together, we will ensure that Priest Damon faces the consequences of his actions."

    Priest Grant rose from his seat, his expression solemn as he addressed the children. "Your testimonies have been recorded, and they will be presented to the church authorities. I promise you that your voices will be heard, and that Priest Damon will be held accountable for his crimes. You have shown incredible strength and courage today, and I am proud to stand with you in this fight for justice. For now, return to your duties. I have some people to meet with. He won¡¯t be allowed reentry into this building while our friends cooking meals are watching over you."

    Priest Grant hurried to leave to deliver his report. As he left Brad, Greg, Taylor, and Wilson turned to each other. Their faces showed something that wasn¡¯t quite victory. Not yet anyway.

    ¡°We did it,¡± said Greg. ¡°We actually did it.¡±

    Taylor nodded, "It''s a start," she said, her voice filled with determination. "But we can''t rest yet. We need to make sure that Priest Grant''s report is taken seriously, that the church authorities act on the evidence we''ve gathered."

    ¡°It will be,¡± said Brad. ¡°I¡¯m sure of it.¡±

    Wilson, who had been quietly listening, spoke up, his voice filled with a quiet strength. "We''ll face whatever comes together," he said, his gaze sweeping over his friends. "We''ve come this far, and we won''t back down now. We owe it to ourselves, and to every child who has ever suffered under Damon''s rule, to see this through to the end."

    "And just think, once Damon is gone, we can start to make some real changes around here. It will be how it was meant to be,¡± said Greg.

    ¡°We just have to remember,¡± said Brad, ¡°that we did this together.¡±