In the desolate realm of Morbenthia, where shadows clung to the crumbling ruins of once-great cities, a grim tale unfolded. The orphanage of Xylar stood at the edge of the forsaken village of Varth, its walls whispering secrets of lost souls. Within its cold embrace lived a frail girl named Zynra, her body fraught with illness, yet her spirit flickered like a candle in the dark. At just nine years old, she bore the weight of the world, her heart tethered to her younger brother, a sturdy lad named Kyn, who was but six.
Zynra often pondered the nature of existence as she sat in the back of a rickety truck, jostling along the treacherous path of Highway 31 going to a medical camp at quite some distance. The truck was filled with twenty other orphans, their faces a mix of confusion and despair, and one of the wardens from Xylar, a sickly woman named Mietra, who kept a watchful eye on the children. “Why do we endure, Kyn?” she asked, her voice barely rising above the rumble of the engine. “Is it to suffer, or is there something more?”
Kyn, with his wild hair and bright eyes, replied with a cynical edge, “Enduring seems pointless, Zynra. We’re just waiting for the next disaster to find us.”
As if summoned by his words, disaster struck. The truck, laden with children, veered off the treacherous path and plunged into the depths of the Nethra river.
Zynra awoke amidst the chaos, her heart racing as she searched for Kyn. “Kyn! Where are you?” she called, her voice trembling. She spotted him, dazed but alive, clinging to a piece of floating debris. “We must go!” she urged, her frail body trembling with urgency. “We cannot let these waters take you too.”
With a determination that belied her weakness, Zynra pulled Kyn up from the river shore. She then led Kyn through the wreckage, their feet guided by the flickering lanterns of fate. They navigated the twisted remnants of the truck, the cries of the lost echoing in their ears.
“Stay close,” Zynra instructed, her voice steady despite the turmoil around them. “We must find what we can.”
Kyn, though small, was strong for his age. He helped Zynra sift through the debris, their hands trembling as they uncovered remnants of lives lost—jewelry glinting in the dim light, coins that whispered of forgotten dreams. Zynra’s heart ached for the souls who had perished, yet she knew they had to survive.
“Why do we take these things?” Kyn asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.
“Because, dear brother,” Zynra replied, her voice a soft murmur, “in a world so cruel, we must gather what we can to forge our own path. It is not the items that matter, but the hope they can bring.”
With a heavy heart, they collected what they could—food, coins, and trinkets—and Zynra led Kyn to a hidden nook beneath the gnarled roots of an ancient tree nearby. There, they buried their newfound treasures, a secret sanctuary for their future.
As dawn broke over Morbenthia, the authorities arrived, their presence a stark reminder of the tragedy that had unfolded. Among them was a figure named Jor, a tall man with a stern expression. He scanned the wreckage and called out, “Is anyone here? We are looking for survivors!”
Zynra and Kyn exchanged worried glances, unsure if they should reveal themselves. Jor continued, “You don’t have to be afraid. We’re here to help. If you can hear me, please respond.”
Zynra took a deep breath and stepped forward, her voice trembling. “We’re here! Please don’t take us back.”
Jor knelt down, his expression softening. “I promise, we just want to make sure you’re safe. What are your names?”
“I’m Zynra, and this is my brother, Kyn,” she replied, her heart racing.
“Zynra and Kyn,” Jor repeated, nodding. “You’re very brave. Can you tell me what happened?”
Zynra hesitated but then recounted the events of the crash, her voice steadying as she spoke. “The truck went off the path, and we ended up here. We thought we were lost.”
Jor listened intently, then said, “You’re not lost anymore. We’ll take you to a safe place. Can you tell us about the place you’re from.”
Zynra’s mind raced as she quickly thought of options but she immediately realized she didn’t know of where else to go given their situation. “We want to go back to our orphanage Xylar in the village of Varth,” she said firmly, glancing at Kyn, who nodded in agreement. “It’s all we have left.”
Jor studied their faces, sensing the weight of their loss. “I understand. Xylar is where you feel safe, and I will do my best to take you back there.” Jor said, standing up and extending his hand to them. “Let’s move quickly. I’ll lead you back, but we must stay alert. There may be others who need help along the way.”
Zynra took Kyn’s hand, and together they followed Jor as he navigated through the wreckage and into the dense forest surrounding the crash site. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and the distant sounds of nature, but the weight of their loss hung heavily in the air.
As they walked, Zynra couldn’t shake the feeling of emptiness that surrounded them. “What about the others?” she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Will they be okay?”
Jor paused, looking back at them with a somber expression. “I wish I could say for certain. We will do everything we can to find them, but right now, we need to focus on your safety.”
Kyn squeezed Zynra’s hand tighter, and she could feel his fear. “I don’t want to be alone again,” he said, his voice trembling.
“You won’t be,” Zynra reassured him, her own heart aching. “We have each other, and we’ll make it through this together.”
Soon enough they were in Jor’s ambulance where he made them sit on the side of the driver’s seat. Jor consulted his map for some time till he figured out the directions, and then started on the long drive. As they continued their journey, the sun began to set, casting long shadows through the trees. The path ahead was uncertain, but Zynra could recognise the land features.
After an hour of driving, they finally reached the outskirts of Xylar. The familiar sight of the orphanage loomed ahead, its walls still standing despite the ravages of time.
As they neared the entrance, they were met by a figure standing guard, his muscular frame a testament to years of strength and resilience. His hair was thick and silver, and deep lines etched his face, but his presence was commanding. It was someone new.
“I am Thar. I am the newly appointed warden. I was meant to replace poor Mietra. I will be working here under Ms Simori.” he introduced himself to the kids and Jor.
“Are these the only survivors?” Thar asked Jor, his voice deep and gravelly
“Yes,” Jor replied. “Zynra and Kyn. “They’re tough kids They’ve been through a lot.”
Thar knelt down to meet their eyes, his expression softening. “You’ve shown great courage, children. You’re safe now. Welcome back to Xylar.”
Zynra felt a warmth in her chest at Thar’s words. “Thank you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “We just want to be together and feel safe.”
“You will,” Thar assured her. “Come inside. We have food and a place for you to rest. You’ve earned it.”
As they entered the orphanage, Zynra hoped that together, they would begin to heal under the watchful care of Thar.