Lost and Found (1)

Kyren ran.

His lungs burned, his legs screamed, but he didn't stop. He couldn't. Not yet. Not until he was sure he was safe.

The night air was thick and heavy, pressing against him like an unseen force. The world around him blurred—dark alleyways, cracked pavement, empty streets—until, at last, his body gave out. He crashed against a tall chain-link fence, strands of barbed wire curling like thorns at the top. His vision swam as he slumped to the ground, chest rising and falling in ragged gasps.

For the first time in what felt like forever, there was only silence.

When he awoke, something sharp jabbed his cheek.

Kyren groaned, his eyes fluttering open. A small stick poked him again, harder this time.

"Who are you?"

A little girl, maybe six or seven, stood on the other side of the fence, grinning as she prodded him through the gaps. Her blonde pigtails bounced as she giggled.

Kyren swatted the stick away, groggy and disoriented. "Stop that."

The girl giggled louder. "You're funny."

With a deep breath, Kyren forced himself upright, the stiffness in his muscles protesting. "I'm Kyren. Who are you?"

"Irene!" she declared proudly, as if the name alone should mean something to him.

"Nice to meet you, Irene," he said, rubbing his sore face. "Where… where exactly am I?"

Irene tilted her head. "Grandma's orphanage!" she chirped. Then, as if just realizing something, her eyes lit up. "Hey! Do you wanna meet her?"

Kyren hesitated. Orphanage. The word sat heavy in his chest, stirring emotions he hadn't dared name before. He had never admitted it to himself, but deep down, he knew. He was an orphan. Alone. Unwanted.

For a moment, the weight of it all nearly made him turn away. But then, what other choice did he have?

He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. "…Yeah. I'd like that."

Irene beamed, grabbing his hand through the fence before scampering off to unlock the gate. Kyren followed as she led him inside, weaving through the shadows of the decrepit three-story house. The place smelled of old wood and something faintly sweet—maybe cinnamon. It was worn down, sure, but it wasn't cold.

Not like the places he had been before.

Inside, at a wooden table near a flickering oil lamp, sat an elderly woman. She looked up, her gaze steady. Her silver-gray eyes were sharp, piercing in a way that made Kyren feel as though she could see straight through him. Her wrinkled skin told a thousand stories, and yet, her presence wasn't frail. If anything, she radiated strength.

She studied him for a moment, then gestured to the chair across from her.

"Come in, young one," she said, her voice steady yet gentle. "Sit. Tell me your name… and how you ended up here."

Kyren hesitated, but something in her tone—something firm, yet understanding—made him step forward. Slowly, he took a seat.

And for the first time in a long time, he told his story.

By the time he finished, Grandma Windy had already led him upstairs. She stopped at a small wooden door and turned to face him.

"This is your room," she said softly. "This is your home. This is your family now."

Kyren didn't know what to say. He only stared at her, the lump in his throat returning, but for a very different reason. Before he could think of a response, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a deep embrace.

For a moment, he stood stiff. Uncertain.

Then, slowly, he let himself sink into it.

When she finally pulled away, she left him alone to unpack. The room was simple—a bed, a dresser, a small window—but it was his.

Or at least, it could be.

As he moved to open the door, a flicker of movement caught his eye.

Kyren turned, only to find at least ten kids—ranging from ages ten to four—peeking at him from behind furniture, doorways, and stair railings. Their wide eyes sparkled with curiosity, though some tried (and failed) to remain hidden.

Kyren sighed, shaking his head with a small, amused smirk.

He had a feeling things were about to get interesting.