A Knight’s Presence

Footsteps barely audible against the wooden floor as she left the table. Her expression was carefully neutral, yet there was an unspoken urgency in the way she moved—something about the presence of the knight had unsettled her. "The manager is in his room, sir," she said with a polite bow. "I will guide you. I apologize—he likely did not know you were coming."

Edran's gaze lingered on her for a moment before he gave a small nod. "Lead the way."

As they disappeared down the hallway, the tension in the dining hall eased. Conversations slowly resumed, though hushed and cautious at first.

Kai, who had been observing silently, finally spoke. "Who is he?"

Hale, still leaning slightly over the table, exhaled in relief. "That guy is terrifying."

Kai turned to him. "So? Who is he?Why everyone fear him that much"?

Hale gave him an incredulous look, as if the answer should have been obvious. "That's Sir Edran. One of the top knights from House Stormbeast."

Don't you see his face is… intimidating." Hale paused, his expression turning serious. "People say he has a big scar on his face. It's why everyone keeps their distance. That, and... well, his presence commands attention."

Kai frowned. "A scar? What does that matter?"

No one answered his question then a moment of silence.

Kai glanced toward the doorway where the knight had vanished. "And why is he here?"

Rena, who had been listening, rested her chin on her palm. "He's here to give us money." She tilted her head, her red hair swaying slightly. "Sir Edran grew up in this orphanage. Now that he's successful, he comes back sometimes to help."

Hale grinned, his green eyes gleaming with admiration. "And that's exactly why I want to be like him."

Kai studied him for a moment before smirking. "I see. So, you plan to scare children into silence when you grow up?"

Hale nearly choked on his own spit. "What?! No!" His face turned red as the nearby children giggled.

Rena snorted. "He's already doing a great job at that."

The table burst into laughter, and for a moment, the heavy atmosphere lifted.

Just then, the distant ring of a bell signaled the end of mealtime. The children stood, clearing their plates before heading outside.

Meanwhile, Sister led Edran down a narrow hallway toward the manager's office. The wooden floor creaked beneath their steps, and the faint scent of old paper and candle wax filled the air.

She knocked lightly before pushing open the door. "Sir Edran is here."

Inside, the manager—a rotund man with a neatly trimmed mustache—sat behind an old wooden desk, shuffling through a stack of parchment. The room was cluttered, with books stacked haphazardly and an ink-stained ledger open in front of him. He looked up with mild surprise, though his expression quickly shifted into a practiced smile.

"Oho, Sir Edran, you have come! My apologies, I did not receive word of your arrival."

Edran stepped inside, his sharp gaze sweeping over the room before settling on the manager. "No matter," he said, voice steady. "I did not come for formalities."

The manager gestured toward the chair across from him. "Please, sit."

Edran, however, remained standing. His gaze flickered to the barely filled shelves, the dust gathering in corners, the faint but undeniable signs of neglect.

"The food isn't bad," Edran remarked casually.

The manager let out a forced chuckle. "Of course! We make do within the budget."

A beat of silence stretched between them.

Edran reached into his cloak and retrieved a small pouch. With a flick of his wrist, it landed on the desk with a soft thud. The manager's eyes darted to it—gold coins.

"The budget is increased," Edran stated. "I made a request to my lord."

The manager's mustache twitched slightly as he reached for the pouch. "You have a generous lord." He gave a thin smile. "I mean—we have."

Edran said nothing. His piercing gaze remained locked on the man, as if seeing straight through the carefully maintained pleasantries.

After a brief pause, he turned toward the door. "I have what I need."

And with that, he left.

Outside, the crisp afternoon air carried the earthy scent of soil and grass. Beyond the orphanage's main building stretched the fields where crops were cultivated. The older children worked in neat rows, digging into the soil, planting, watering—doing what they could to help sustain the orphanage.

Kai, Hale, and Rena walked toward the field, joining a group of children who were already tending to the crops. Wooden buckets filled with water sat nearby, ready for irrigation.

"Alright," Hale said, rolling up his sleeves. "Let's get to work."

Rena smirked. "Try not to fall into the dirt like last time."

Hale scowled. "That was one time."

Kai knelt, running his fingers through the dirt. It was rough yet familiar. Strange. He picked up a handful and let it slip through his fingers.

"Here." Rena handed him a small bundle of seeds. "Plant these in neat rows."

Kai nodded and got to work. The task was simple but tiring. The afternoon sun cast long shadows over the field, the occasional laughter of children breaking the quiet rhythm of work.

At the edge of the field, a lone figure stood watching.

Sir Edran.

His gaze swept over the orphanage—the children playing, the ones working, the old buildings standing just as they had when he was young.

His gloved hand clenched slightly at his side.

"This place…" he murmured to himself.

Memories flickered at the edges of his mind. The past he had left behind. The days spent working in this very field. The hunger, the cold nights, the endless desire to escape.

And now, he had returned, standing not as a struggling orphan, but as a knight of the realm.

Yet, something wasn't right.

His gaze drifted toward the manager's office. The faintest crease formed on his brow. He had seen enough of the world to recognize corruption when it lurked in the shadows.

He needed proof.

Taking one last look at the field, he turned on his heel and walked toward his waiting horse.

For now, he would leave.

But he would return.

As Sir Edran stepped through the orphanage gates, his presence lingered longer than his footsteps. Though his figure had disappeared beyond the horizon, the weight of his visit remained—a silent echo that stretched beyond the moment.

Yet, hidden among the rows of planted crops, a lone boy with mud-streaked hands watched him. His fingers pressed into the damp earth, his touch absentmindedly adjusting a tiny sprout. He was not truly focused on the plant. His eyes were locked onto the knight's back, his mind tracing the rigid posture, the controlled movements.

Kai did not know why, but something about that man felt... off.

And then, as quickly as he came, Edran was gone.

But Kai did not forget.

Months passed. The world continued as if nothing had changed.

The sun rose. The sun fell. The moon took its place.

And the orphanage remained the same.

Kai's days were built from repetition—play, eat, work, learn. The moments blurred into one another, forming a cycle that never truly ended. The other children lived within that cycle, never questioning its design. They laughed, they cried, they fought, and then they laughed again.

But Kai observed.

He absorbed.

While the others played without a thought, he saw the patterns beneath the surface.

Sister often gathered them in the afternoons, teaching them how to write with gentle patience. The parchment was rough, the charcoal messy, but the knowledge it carried was clear.

Kai learned quickly.

The letters became words. The words carried meaning. Meaning turned into knowledge.

And knowledge was power.

Rena was the same—quick, sharp. She picked up words with ease, and when she stumbled, she sought help without hesitation. When Kai read, she listened, her blue eyes gleaming with curiosity.

But Hale… Hale was different.

No matter how many times he traced the letters, no matter how much he tried, the symbols refused to make sense. The frustration was there, though he hid it well, masking it behind laughter and careless words.

Yet Kai noticed.

And deep within, a voice whispered— Observe.

So he did.

He watched everything.

The way Sister's expression tightened when she counted supplies.

The way the older children bullied the younger ones when no adults were around.

The way food was divided—equal at a glance, but not truly fair.

And then there was the manager.

A fat man with a too-easy smile and eyes that did not match the warmth in his voice. He walked with the arrogance of someone who believed himself untouchable, yet when Edran had visited, he had been polite—too polite.

And now, weeks later, Kai saw what the others did not.

The way the food portions grew smaller.

The way Sister sometimes hesitated before speaking, as if biting back words she wished to say.

The way small sacks, heavier than they should be, were carried into the manager's office—and left lighter.

It wasn't obvious. Not yet.

But truths never revealed themselves in a single glance. They were woven into patterns, hidden in shadows.

And Kai?

He was beginning to see the strings.

Then there was Edran.

Though the knight had left, his presence remained like an unseen weight. The children still whispered his name, their voices hushed, uncertain.

"The way he stood there… he didn't even flinch."

"Did you see his face? That scar? I heard it runs from his eye all the way to his jaw."

"They say he doesn't feel pain. That he can cut a man down before they even see his sword move."

Fear.

Not admiration. Not respect.

Fear.

Kai didn't understand why.

But he would.

Because no matter how much time passed, no matter how ordinary his days seemed, there was one thing he knew for certain—

Nothing was ever as simple as it appeared.

___