A New Beginning

Two days had passed since that stormy night. The heavy rains had ceased, leaving behind the damp scent of wet earth and the faint echoes of distant thunder. The monastery remained quiet, its stone walls shielding those within from the outside world.

Inside a modest room, dimly lit by a single candle, a small child lay motionless on a simple bed. His chest rose and fell steadily, his body wrapped in a thin blanket.

The nun, known simply as Sister to the orphans, had been tending to him whenever she found the time. Though she had other duties within the monastery, she never failed to check on him—ensuring he was warm, making sure he ate, and watching over his troubled sleep.

Then, in the dead of night—

A scream.

"Don't go!"

The boy's voice was raw with desperation, his small body jerking upright. Cold sweat clung to his pale skin, his breathing ragged as if he had just been pulled from drowning.

Within seconds, hurried footsteps echoed down the stone corridor. The wooden door creaked open, and the nun entered, her expression filled with concern.

"What's happened? Are you okay, boy?" she asked, stepping closer to his bedside.

The child did not respond. His trembling hands clutched the blanket tightly, his brown eyes unfocused, as if trapped in a world far beyond the confines of the small room.

His lips parted, his voice weak but filled with confusion.

"…Who am I?"

The nun's breath caught for a moment.

He turned his gaze toward her, searching, lost. "Why am I here?"

She remained silent, watching him carefully.

His hands curled into fists. "There was a woman… I suddenly saw her…" His voice wavered as he tried to grasp the fading image in his mind. "She… she was leaving me."

Something in his chest tightened. A sorrow so deep it felt unbearable. Yet, he did not understand why.

"Why… am I feeling so sad?" he murmured, more to himself than to her.

The nun's expression softened.

Amnesia…?

She had wondered if this might happen. Given everything he had witnessed, it was possible that his mind had erased the memories as a way to protect itself.

For a brief moment, relief settled over her.

If he does not remember, then perhaps… it is for the best.

She knelt beside his bed, her hands warm as they gently held his shoulders. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice filled with comfort. "You don't have to worry. It was just a dream."

She pulled him into a gentle embrace, resting his head against her chest. The rhythmic beat of her heart was steady, calming.

The child did not resist. He did not cry, nor did he speak. He only sat there, still and quiet, as if waiting for something—an answer, a sign, anything that might fill the empty spaces in his mind.

She stroked his hair softly. "Your name is Kai," she told him.

"…Kai?" he repeated, the name unfamiliar on his tongue.

She nodded, offering a kind smile. "Yes. You had an accident two days ago. You were climbing a tree to get fruit and fell. That's why you're feeling this way. But don't worry, everything is fine now."

Kai lowered his gaze, his brows knitting together.

Fell?

Something about that explanation felt strange. But no matter how hard he tried to grasp his missing memories, they remained elusive—just fragments slipping through his fingers before he could make sense of them.

His body felt empty. Hollow.

Still, he did not argue. He simply accepted her words with a small nod.

Yet, deep inside, an unease remained.

As the silence stretched between them, his voice came again—so quiet it was almost a whisper.

"When I was asleep… I heard someone say something to me."

The nun tilted her head slightly. "What was it?"

His lips barely moved.

"Observe and take minimum action…"

He did not know why he said it. The words had surfaced from the depths of his mind, lingering there like an unshakable presence.

The nun blinked. "What do you mean?"

Kai did not answer. He only stared down at his hands, his thoughts tangled in confusion.

"…Nothing," he murmured, more to himself than to her.

A quiet sigh left her lips, but she did not press further. Instead, she tucked the blanket around him once more, brushing his messy hair aside with a gentle touch.

"Rest now, Kai," she said softly. "You don't need to think about anything right now."

She stood up, her robes rustling as she moved toward the door. Before leaving, she glanced back at him one last time.

His eyes were still open, staring blankly at the ceiling.

She exhaled. Perhaps time will heal him.

Extinguishing the candle, she stepped out into the corridor, closing the door behind her with a quiet click.

The room was left in darkness.

But Kai did not sleep.

He remained motionless, his mind replaying those words over and over again.

Observe and take minimum action.

What did it mean?

And why did it feel so important?

The days passed slowly, marked by the rhythmic toll of the monastery bell and the quiet murmurs of prayer drifting through the stone halls. The monastery, which doubled as an orphanage, stood tall with its weathered walls of gray stone. Its high-arched windows let in slivers of golden light during the day, casting long, solemn shadows against the wooden floors.

At dawn, the halls echoed with the soft whispers of the sisters tending to their duties. By midday, the laughter and chatter of children filled the open courtyard, where an old oak tree stood proudly, its sprawling branches offering shade to those resting beneath it. Wooden benches lined the edges, worn smooth by time, and the scent of fresh bread often wafted through the air from the distant kitchen.

In this place, Kai had begun to recover. Though his memories remained absent, he slowly adapted to the rhythm of life within the orphanage. He had learned much from Sister, and whenever he had free time, he found himself drawn to her presence. No matter where she went, he followed like a shadow, his small hands gripping the edges of her robes whenever he could.

To him, she was warmth, comfort—something familiar in the vast emptiness of his mind.

At first, the other children observed him with curiosity. There were many of them, ranging from infants to those nearing adolescence. Most were kind, welcoming him into their games and daily routines. However, among them, there were a few older boys—children who had long outgrown the tender care of the sisters. They roamed in small groups, sometimes teasing the younger ones when the sisters weren't watching.

Kai noticed this, but he did not react. He simply observed.

Then, one day, something unusual happened.

He had been wandering through the courtyard, watching the others play. The midday sun cast warm light upon the stone walls, and a few children were gathered near the garden, plucking wildflowers to weave into crowns.

That was when a boy approached him.

He was around five years old, just slightly taller than Kai, with short green hair and striking green eyes. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he had a look of authority—like someone who had long claimed dominance over those younger than him.

"Hey," the boy said, his voice filled with challenge. "Stay away from Sister."

Kai tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable.

"Or do you want a sacred duel?" the boy continued, puffing his chest out.

Before Kai could respond, a sharp slap landed on the boy's head.

"Don't bully him, Hale," a girl's voice scolded.

A girl with deep red hair and striking blue eyes stood behind Hale, her arms crossed with an air of authority that rivaled his. She looked about six, older than both of them, with a presence that made the other children give way when she walked by.

"I'm not bullying him," Hale muttered, rubbing the back of his head. "He's just too clingy to Sister."

Kai's gaze remained calm. "Do you have a crush on Sister?" he asked, his voice devoid of teasing—simply curious.

The courtyard fell silent. A few nearby children turned their heads, eyes widening at the sudden remark.

Hale's face turned red. "T-that's not something to talk about with you!"

A murmur spread among the other children. Some snickered, while others whispered amongst themselves.

The red-haired girl, who had slapped Hale, suddenly looked at Kai with curiosity.

"Oh, so you're that child," she said, tilting her head slightly.

Kai turned his attention to her.

"You always seem a bit upset whenever something happens," she said thoughtfully, her blue eyes scanning his face.

Kai did not respond immediately. He only looked at her, studying the way her gaze lingered on him, as if trying to piece something together.

Before the conversation could continue, a distant voice rang through the monastery's stone halls.

"Your breakfast is ready!"

At once, the children scattered. The ones playing near the oak tree abandoned their game, while those weaving flower crowns tossed them aside in favor of food. The laughter and chatter quickly filled the air as the courtyard emptied.

The red-haired girl turned toward Kai before leaving. "Come eat with us."

Kai hesitated for a brief moment, then nodded.

As they walked together toward the dining hall, he glanced back.

Hale stood still, watching them go. His face was still slightly red, his expression unreadable.

Then, with a huff, he went in the same direction.

The orphanage's dining hall was quiet tonight. The dim glow of candlelight flickered against the worn stone walls, casting long shadows over the room. The air carried the faint scent of boiled potatoes, the only meal available for the children. At the long wooden tables, the orphans sat in small groups, eating in silence, their wooden spoons scraping lightly against their plates.

Kai sat at one of these tables, his plate holding nothing but boiled potatoes. Opposite him sat Rena, the six-year-old girl with fiery red hair and sharp blue eyes, and Hale, the five-year-old boy with messy green hair and matching green eyes.

"My name is Rena," the girl introduced herself with a cheerful smile. "And he's Hale." She pointed at the boy beside her, who crossed his arms and looked away. "You don't have to dislike him. He has a good heart—he just doesn't know how to talk properly."

Hale scowled at her. "You don't have to talk about me like that," he muttered, looking embarrassed.

Kai studied them for a moment before speaking. "My name is Kai." His voice was calm, but there was something distant in his tone. He hesitated for a second before asking, "But why don't you know me?"

Rena blinked in confusion. "Of course, you're new here."

New.

Kai's grip on his spoon tightened slightly. If he was new, then why had Sister told him otherwise?

Before he could dwell on the thought, a familiar voice interrupted.

"Why aren't the three of you eating?"

Sister stood beside their table, her warm gaze falling on them. The flickering candlelight made her face seem softer, but there was an underlying exhaustion in her eyes.

Kai looked up at her and replied evenly, "We were just about to."

Sister sighed and spoke in a gentle but apologetic tone. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I can't offer you food that will satisfy your stomachs."

There was a brief silence.

Then, to Kai's mild surprise, Hale—who had been so defensive before—lowered his gaze slightly and muttered, "It's okay, Sister. You don't have to worry. What you give us is already better than nothing."

Kai turned his attention to him and, without a change in expression, spoke.

"So you do know how to flirt."

A sudden pause.

Rena blinked before bursting into laughter, her giggles light and unrestrained. Hale's face turned red in an instant. "W-what are you talking about?!" he stammered, his voice rising slightly. "I wasn't—!"

Before he could finish, a soft murmur swept through the hall.

"The knight is here."

The room fell silent.

The gentle hum of conversation vanished, and the quiet clatter of wooden spoons against plates came to a halt. The atmosphere shifted, a subtle tension settling over the children.

Kai noticed how some of them lowered their heads, their shoulders tensing. Others cast cautious glances toward the entrance, their expressions unreadable.

Sister's posture stiffened slightly, but she quickly masked it with her usual calm demeanor as she turned toward the doorway.

Then, the sound of heavy boots echoed through the stone corridors.

A lone knight stepped into the dining hall.

His presence was imposing, even though he wasn't particularly large. Dressed in dark chainmail beneath a navy-blue surcoat, his silver gauntlets reflected the dim candlelight. His helmet was tucked under his arm, revealing short brown hair and sharp, discerning eyes that swept across the room with quiet authority.

He carried no sword at his hip, which meant he wasn't here to enforce anything. He was here for a different reason.

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