Chapter Text
Two generously clothed figures wound down the tarmac round. The barred gate got closer. Up ahead, a derelict building greeted them with crenellations scraping the grounds of heavens, crowned with a bronze bell tower. The sky was overcast, filled with the susurration of the sleeping owls and breeze of the turbid autumn.
Pallid fingers curled around a lollipop stick, the other chained to a rougher and larger hand. Behind the auburn strands, glacial eyes dejectedly stared ahead. Donned in a loose trench coat. This girl was on the run, and it was cut short when a bald, mustachioed man with kind eyes promised her a sanctum.
An orphanage.
The gate groaned against the ground as the guard opened it. A verdant garden boasted a flurry of activity: children were on see-saws, laughter joined jabbering, and feet bounced on the trampoline. Some sat on benches, while others played and ran around like pyromaniacs. One thing they shared in common: they were under Mr. Pyne's wing.
Or, as it was formally named, Hozibage Orphanage.
Children stopped to see the newcomer. They bewilderedly stared at the auburn head as she walked down the overgrown pathway. She was an outsider. Someone who long missed the touch of a fireplace. More tellingly, she did not possess a childlike aura. The corded tension manifested in her neutral face and trudging steps.
When Mr. Pyne led her into the building, a feeling of hospitality embraced her. The entrance hall opened beneath a high vaulted ceiling of dark oak beams, glowing softly in the amber light of hanging brass lanterns. Stained-glass windows cast amber and ruby light across polished parquet floors. Dark oak beams, carved mahogany cassones, and neatly framed school crests gave the space a grand yet welcoming atmosphere. Lockers, shelves of books, wooden benches lined with satchels, and distant classroom doors filled the hallway with the solemn promise of tutelage and care.
The wooden planks protested against their feet. The girl's eyes wandered around with unfeigned curiosity. She took in the frosted glass etched with ivy motifs like "What start as pleasantries end as treasures". Despite her overt innocence, violent thoughts tyrannized her mind.
Her homeland was far from law abiding. The malefactor of her family's murder got away, leaving the case buried in the soil of Kuril Islands. The girl, just being five, tried with the enforcement, how the culprit evaded capital punishment. But they all said "This case has long gone, dear. Just forgive and forget".
How forgive and forget when guilt enshrouded her vision? When Nancy, a name so maleficent to the marrow, killed her friend and her father in their poverty-stricken house? When the girl had to steal her sister's Visa and arrange documents under a forged identity to reach here? As vagabond and orphan? It was a pain that coiled deep in her stomach.
As her dad would say, "The pain is patient for patients". In other words, pain was lifelong. But she concealed it behind the film of tears rendering her eyes reflective. The cure was to inure oneself.
She trailed behind Mr. Pyne wordlessly as they entered the West Wing, the dormitories. Anytime he asked a question, like "What was your favorite place in London" and "What is your dream career", she would give laconic responses. Seeing how taciturn the girl was, he stopped speaking until they reached Room 118.
Mr. Pyne fished his chest pocket and handed her a key. "Take good care of these keys. If you ever lose them, you can rest assured that I have spare ones."
The girl let out a hum of understanding, pocketing the keys. "Thank you, Mr. Pyne."
He offered a gentle smile. The bell overhead tolled out like a knell. He pointed up. "This must be the call for morning line-up. I will attend to it to announce your presence. In the interim, you may explore the place. Remember all the places I showed you?"
The girl nodded. With that, Mr. Pyne turned and disappeared into the dingy corridor of the orphanage.
The girl looked back at her door despondently, her eyes narrowing. Her dorm...the perfect place to set her plan in motion. To get back at Nancy before the dereliction dug a deeper hole in her heart.
Pop!
Something light hit her sleeve. The girl blinked. A small red plastic pellet bounced off her arm and rolled across the floor.
“Ah—! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—I was aiming for the wall— well, technically the air—which is worse, aiyeh—!”
A boy with shock-bright red hair skidded into view so abruptly that one of his boots squealed against the polished floor. He nearly tripped over himself trying to stop.
The tiny metal pellet bounced once beside the girl’s shoe before rolling in a lazy circle.
“Whoa—!”
The boy lunged after it with frantic energy, dropping to one knee as his oversized propeller hat tilted dangerously sideways. The little brass blades atop it spun faintly from the sudden movement.
He snatched the pellet up with both hands like it was a priceless artifact. Then he looked up.
“Did it hurt?” he blurted immediately. “It didn’t, right? I promise it’s not dangerous!” He paused, grimacing. “Well— mostly not dangerous.”
The hallway suddenly felt louder because of him.
Everything about the boy seemed in motion even when he stood still; the restless shifting of his boots, the high lilt in his voice, the bright flickering of his expressions. His bright yellow clothes looked half engineer, half knight: layered shoulder plates strapped over a dark tunic lined with copper buckles and belts stuffed with tools, little gears hanging from hooks like charms. Metal guards wrapped around his forearms, scratched and dented from obvious use rather than decoration. The propeller hat somehow complemented the look.
The girl stared at him quietly. Red hair. Freckles dusted across his nose. Bright eyes moving too quickly for someone pretending to stay calm.
Without really meaning to, she asked, “Are you from the Kuril Islands?”
The boy stilled. Then, slowly, his entire face lit up with astonishment so genuine it was almost childlike. “You know the Kuril Islands?” he asked.
A grin spread across his face immediately after, quick and brilliant. “Yeah! Yeah, I am!”
The girl parted her lips, slightly taken aback by how excited he sounded.
The boy stared at her another lingeringly.
“Oh!” He snapped his fingers sharply. His entire body jerked sideways as if he were physically trying to shake a memory loose from his brain. “Auto engineering!” he exclaimed. “I almost forgot!” He groaned dramatically at himself before pointing down the hallway.
“I’m supposed to be in the workshop like…” He squinted upward in faux thought. “Three minutes ago.”
Already moving backward, he turned toward her again, boots scraping against the floor.
“But I’ll be in the common room later, okay…?” His expression faltered for the first time. “Sorry — I didn’t catch your name.”
“Sekiko.”
The name seemed to settle into his mind instantly. His grin returned. “And I’m Zuay.” He gave a small salute with two fingers pressed against the brim of his ridiculous propeller hat.
Then he added something in their native language, softer this time despite the irrepressible brightness in his voice. “Don’t disappear on me, Sekiko.”
And just like that, he was gone. Boots pounding against the hallway, and energy trailing after him like sparks from a grinding wheel.
Sekiko pressed her lips together to stifle a smile. Somehow, the tension melted away as soon as it had clung to her.