Bab 9: Back To The Orphanage
In the world Turai inhabited, an unseen power structure loomed over humanity. Gods, never glimpsed by mortal eyes, ruled from the lofty heights of the heavenly realms. These divine beings, shrouded in mystery and reverence, left the earthly realm to humans and other creatures, like the enigmatic Dwellers that roamed the lands.
This arrangement had persisted since time immemorial, a cosmic ballet of separation and influence. The gods, aloof in their celestial abodes, interacted with humanity solely through entities known as emissaries. These celestial messengers, beings of light and wisdom, would descend from the Heavenly Realm, their purpose twofold: to enlighten humans and to monitor their progress. They walked among mortals, their presence both a blessing and a reminder of the greater powers that governed existence. Once their tasks were complete, they would return to their divine home, leaving behind whispers of heavenly knowledge and the faint glow of otherworldly presence.
Each god held dominion over various concepts and beliefs, their influence seeping into every aspect of mortal life. Some ruled over the elements – fire, water, earth, and air – while others governed abstract concepts like love, war, wisdom, and death. They bestowed blessings upon their devoted followers, their favor manifesting in myriad ways: bountiful harvests, victory in battle, inspiration in art, or comfort in loss. The devout whispered prayers, built temples, and performed rituals, all in hopes of catching the benevolent eye of these cosmic overseers.
These unseen deities, so often invoked but never beheld, were the very beings to whom Turai now turned in desperate supplication. The irony of his situation was not lost on him. Throughout his young life, he had heard stories of the gods from Mrs. Benson but he scorned the idea of these invisible rulers, dismissing the fervent beliefs of others as mere superstition. Yet here he sat, in the worn-down hospital's waiting area, doing something he'd never imagined – praying.
His hands were folded, knuckles white with tension, eyes tightly shut as if to block out his own skepticism. He appealed to gods he'd never believed in, whose very mention he usually despised. But today, with Mrs. Benson's life hanging in the balance, he set aside his hatred and skepticism. He wasn't sure if he was doing it right, if anyone or anything was listening, but he persisted, driven by a desperation he'd never known before.
Behind closed doors, Mrs. Benson lay unconscious, receiving treatment. Turai had been strictly forbidden from entering the room, a restriction that chafed at him.
While Mrs. Benson wasn't a Magic User and thus not particularly sensitive to magical energies, the nurse attending to her was a different story. She excelled in healing magic, her skills honed through years of practice and innate talent.
The nurse's craft required utmost concentration, a delicate balance of power and precision. Even the slightest disturbance could lead to dire complications, the magical energies she wielded as volatile as they were potent. So Turai waited, his restless energy contained in a body too small for the emotions roiling within.
As Turai continued his reluctant prayers, the nurse poured her energy into healing Mrs. Benson. Sweat beaded on her brow as she channeled her magic, her hands glowing with a soft, pulsating light. Her connection to the injured woman went beyond professional duty; she was determined not to let her perish. Mrs. Benson had been a constant presence in the town, her kindness touching many lives.
Twenty minutes crawled by with no word on Mrs. Benson's condition. Each second felt like an eternity to Turai, his faith in prayer, tenuous to begin with, began to waver. The words died on his lips, replaced by the practical, often brutal thoughts that had kept him alive on the streets. His mind shifted to contingency plans, preparing for the worst-case scenario – Mrs. Benson's death.
His thoughts raced, a whirlwind of strategies and potential actions. He needed to locate the hideout of the first group of thugs, the ones who had escaped his wrath earlier. That would be his starting point. From there, he'd carve a bloody path to the heart of the organization behind the attack. His small hands clenched into fists as he imagined the retribution he would exact.
If the situation became untenable, if their enemies proved too numerous or powerful, he had a backup plan. He'd gather the orphans and flee, using his street smarts and survival skills to keep them safe. Or perhaps, he mused grimly, he could act as a decoy, drawing their enemies' attention while ensuring the other children could live peacefully. The thought of sacrificing himself didn't frighten him; he'd long ago accepted that his life was worth less than those of the innocent children he protected.
Just as Turai was about to rise and seek out the nurse, hoping to glean any information about Mrs. Benson's condition, he spotted the nurse approaching. Her face bore a smile that sent a wave of relief washing over him, so powerful it nearly brought him to his knees.
"Mrs. Benson is stable," the nurse announced, her voice warm with reassurance despite the evident exhaustion in her eyes. "She's out of danger now. It was touch and go for a while, but she pulled through."
Turai felt a weight lift from his shoulders, a burden he hadn't fully acknowledged until it was gone. The nurse continued, "I'll look after her. She needs rest now, and time to recover. You should return to the orphanage and take care of the other children. They must be worried sick."
Nodding in agreement, Turai thanked the nurse, his voice rough with emotion he rarely displayed. "Thank you very much, Miss Steelwart."
As he set off for home, the pre-dawn air cool against his skin, Turai's mind whirled with the night's events. The attack, his brutal retaliation, the brush with divine powers he'd long scorned – it all seemed surreal. Yet the aches in his body, the dried blood on his knuckles, were very real reminders of the dangers they faced.
Approaching the orphanage, a glint caught his eye. Scattered on the ground were over two dozen silver coins, remnants of the earlier chaos. He quickly gathered them, the cool metal a comfort in his palm. These would help with the orphanage's expenses, a small silver lining to the night's dark cloud.
The moment he stepped inside the building, a wave of small bodies crashed into him. All twenty-four children swarmed around Turai, their voices rising in a cacophony of questions. Their fear and confusion were palpable, their need for reassurance evident in their wide eyes and trembling lips.
"Who were those men?"
"Why isn't Mrs. Benson back?"
"Where is she?"
"Is she coming back?"
The rapid-fire inquiries threatened to overwhelm Turai, but he maintained his composure. With a gentle smile, he opened his arms wide. "How about a group hug first?"
The children didn't hesitate, enveloping him in a tangle of small arms. As they clung to him, seeking comfort and security, Turai spoke softly, his voice steady and reassuring. "Everything is okay. Mrs. Benson will be back really soon. There's nothing to worry about."
Hadiah
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