Madella’s first instinct was a surge of tears, then an overwhelming need to hug, and finally, a practiced, gentle control that settled over her features. Amasha watched, wide-eyed, as his mother called out "Miss Ylba!" and flew to the door, embracing an elderly woman with the fervent relief of a child reunited with a long-lost parent.

  "It's Mrs. now," Yilba teased, her voice a soft, rustling sound like dry leaves.

  A chuckle escaped Madella as she released her and ushered Yilba inside, the scent of old wood and faint dust filling the air. "You have to tell me all about your time with him!"

  "If you want to know so badly, some tea might make it easier to spill." Yilba’s eyes crinkled at the corners.

  Madella guided the woman to a seat and bustled away to prepare the tea. Amasha, perched on the shoddy sofa next to Yilba, stared with unblinking curiosity. Yilba returned her gaze with a warmth that seemed to fill the room. "Who is she, mother?" Amasha asked, his small voice cutting through the quiet.

  "She's your grandmother, Amasha," Madella answered from the kitchen area, the clink of porcelain and the growing rumble of boiling water accompanying her words.

  "What's a gwandmover?"

  Teerom replied this time, his heavy tread on the stairs announcing his arrival, Jurie a quiet shadow beside him. "It's your mother's mother."

  "Oh!" Amasha’s entire demeanor shifted, as if this single word had bestowed upon Yilba a magical, wondrous title. "Gwandma!"

  Madella giggled, the sound light and musical. "Yes, Amasha. She's your Grandma." She brought the tea over, the steam carrying the faint, floral scent of chamomile. Yilba thanked her and took a careful sip, her gaze drifting over to Teerom and Jurie. "I haven't seen you two in so long," she said, rising to hug them both, her movements slow but sure. "You've grown into a fine young man, Teerom." She held his cheek, her palm cool and papery against his skin. "And you a fine young lady, Jurie. You two seem much closer than back then."

  "Uh, thanks?" Teerom’s own comfort lasted only until he saw the faint blush on Jurie's neck and her averted eyes. "How have you been, grandmother?"

  "As good as an old woman can be." She turned to Madella, whose eager, shining eyes were fixed upon her. "Raduw took me to theme parks despite our age. I preferred our nights at fancy restaurants, the taste of sweet wine on my tongue, but he was an energetic one. Not that it mattered - it was a compromise I quite enjoyed. We gazed at the stars on the beach, listening to the endless rhythm of the waves. We walked together through the fields of Pernaim - it was magnificent."

  "All of your dreams came true," Madella said, her smile radiant with a sincere, profound happiness for her.

  "And his, too." Yilba’s smile was soft, her eyes glistening with tears she refused to let be sad. "He said he always wanted to die in the arms of his love, listening to the waves crash on the beach, and look up at a beautiful night sky." Yilba looked down at her own arms, the memory of her husband's weight still a fresh imprint, but she held it gently, a sacred trust. After all, that man still had a goofy, contented smile plastered on his face even in death. It was a passing she saw not as an end, but as a promise fulfilled.

  "I buried him by the peach tree, then with the money he left behind, I came back here to Gouon. I've lived my life now, Madella, sweetheart. I want to give the rest of it to helping others." There was a quiet finality in her voice, the peace of one who has completed their personal journey and now seeks to serve.

  Madella nodded, understanding passing between them without words. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Yilba." She looked to Teerom and gestured for him to gather the orphans from upstairs.

  One by one, they streamed into the room, Paley last, half-carrying an exhausted Adimia. Yilba noticed him and her body went rigid; Madella immediately laid a calming hand on her arm. "He's not who you think he is. He's Paley."

  "Well, you should have written about him. I was going to smack him!" Yilba laughed, the tension dissolving into the warm air.

  "Huh?" Paley asked, blinking slowly.

  "Don't worry about it, Paley." Madella addressed the assembled children next. "Mrs. Yilba has been very kind to us, and she's gotten a free trial class for all of you at the town learning center. Master Hogwen will be teaching you mathematics."

  The reaction was a chorus of mixed emotions. Jurie and Rauba seemed cautiously on board. Adimia, Bacha, and Reben cried out as if in physical pain, their groans filling the small space. Paley just watched, puzzled, as did Amasha.

  "What's maths?" Amasha asked him, tiny fingers tugging on his trousers.

  "I think it's counting. I can count up to a million."

  "Woah!" Amasha's head recoiled in awe. "I do ten! One, two, three..." He proceeded to count, his voice earnest, proving his mastery.

  "Paley, it's more than just counting," Jurie explained, outlining the concepts of adding and subtracting, dividing and multiplying.

  "I can already do that, though."

  "Oh, really? Okay then, what's 10 + 24?" Jurie gave him a pop quiz, her hands on her hips.

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  "34," Paley answered without a pause.

  "25 - 9?"

  "...16."

  "Woah, that was fast. Okay... 199 - 43 + 67 - 88?" Even she didn't know the answer to that, her confidence wavering.

  "I can't answer that," Paley admitted. "Can you?"

  "Of course I can!" She gave him a proud look, a clear falsehood that made Teerom snort with laughter, causing a deep blush of embarrassment to bloom on Jurie's cheeks.

  "Why don't you teach maths instead, Jurie?" he teased.

  "Well, why don't you teach building or whatever you do?"

  "Maybe one day I will. When I grow old."

  She grew quiet at that, her gaze lingering on him. Yilba watched their exchange with a knowing smile and whispered to Madella, "I was wrong. They're still the same." She returned to her normal voice, "Well, sweetheart, it's been so lovely seeing you again. The trial class is tomorrow at 4 pm. I'll see you there?"

  The warm, familial glow of the orphanage lingered with Yilba like a gentle perfume as she made her way back through the cobbled streets of Gouon. A small, contented smile touched her lips, the image of Madella’s bustling, loving home a balm to her recently wounded heart. The children’s voices, especially that bright little Amasha calling her “Gwandma,” echoed pleasantly in her mind, a sound of pure, unburdened love.

  Her peaceful reverie was shattered as she turned the corner onto her street.

  There, nailed to a post just outside the flickering glow of a streetlamp, was a wanted poster. The artist’s rendering was rough, but the face was unmistakable: the sharp, cold features and that distinct crimson shock that were his eyes. It was Paley.

  Her heart seized, a cold dread washing over her that was as sudden as a winter gust. Oh, Madella, what have you gotten mixed up with? Her mind raced with terrible possibilities - theft, violence, dark magic. Her hand flew to her chest as she hurried closer, her eyes frantically scanning the text for the crime.

  WANTED: For Theft of Restricted Goods | IDENTITY: Name and Surname Unknown | CRIME: The unlawful removal of three advanced texts on Healing Magic from the Gouon Library | REWARD: 50 Silver for Information - 2 Gold for capture

  The air left Yilba’s lungs in a soft, relieved whoosh. Theft was serious, yes, but it was not the blood-soaked crime she had feared. She stood there for a long moment, the initial panic receding, replaced by the sharp, calculating intelligence that had always served her so well. In a world where every soul carried the weight of its own choices, this act seemed born of something other than pure malice.

  Healing Magic books. Why would a boy from an orphanage risk so much for those? The answer came to her not as a guess, but as a certainty, a quiet conviction settling in her spirit. Someone had gotten sick. Seriously sick. It was the only scenario that made sense. Madella, with her unwavering moral compass, would never condone a selfish theft. But for a life? To save one of her children? She would look the other way, her compassion for the one in need outweighing the strict letter of the law. And of course, Paley, with his fierce loyalty, didn't think twice. It was a desperate mercy.

  A new emotion bloomed in Yilba’s chest, overshadowing the fear: a deep, profound respect. A Healing Mage. In a city like Gouon, where trained healers were as rare as honest nobles and their fees were exorbitant, a natural talent like Paley was beyond price. He wasn't just a stray Madella had taken in; he was a potential savior for that entire household. Of course, his being a Quimnia was something that never crossed her mind.

  She glanced around nervously, the shadows between the buildings seeming to watch her, then reached up and carefully tore the poster down, crumpling the coarse paper into her basket. Her mind was already working, weaving a protective narrative. She would have to be careful. She would watch him, help him to the best of her ability. But for now, all she felt was a grim sense of purpose. She needed to get home. She needed to think. And she needed to ensure no one else on this street saw that face and connected it to the kind woman from the orphanage.

  The first thing she needed to do was go to the orphanage before they left for the city to ensure that they a) knew that Paley was a wanted criminal and b) had some way of hiding his identity.

  The next afternoon, Yilba’s heart was a frantic drum against her ribs as she hurried towards the orphanage. She had to stop them, to warn them. But as she rounded the final corner, her steps faltered. There they were, Madella shepherding the children through the gate like a mother duck. Her eyes scanned the group, searching for the shock of crimson and cold features from the poster.

  He wasn't there.

  Instead, walking beside Bacha was a boy she had never seen. He had hair the color of fresh snow and kind, amethyst eyes that held a gentle warmth. He was… beautiful in a pure, almost ethereal way. Where was Paley? A fresh wave of panic crested within her.

  Just then, Bacha broke from the group and scurried over to her. “Grandma Yilba!” she whispered, tugging on her sleeve. “Do you like it? It was really hard to get the eye color right without it looking muddy.”

  Yilba looked from Bacha’s proud, grinning face to the white-haired boy, who offered her a broken smile as if his skin was not his own. Understanding dawned, swift and stunning. “Bacha,” she breathed, her voice full of awe. “You did this?”

  Bacha nodded vigorously. “Powders and creams! They’ll wash off, but they should last through the class.”

  A profound sense of relief, mixed with sheer admiration, washed over Yilba. She looked at this resourceful, brilliant family Madella had built - a healer who would steal to save a life (really a Quimnia), an alchemist who could disguise him, all of them moving as one to protect their own. She smiled to herself, a weight lifting from her shoulders. Maybe I don't need to watch over you so closely after all, she thought This family you have, Madella, is strong.

  The town learning center was a stark, formal building of pale stone that made the orphans huddle a little closer together. Teerom was turned away at the door; he was too old for this class, a reminder that his path now lay in work or a specialized academy. He waited outside, leaning against the sun-warmed wall.

  Inside, the air was thick with the silent judgment of city children and their parents, and smelled of old ink and polished wood. The lesson began with mathematics. Paley breezed through the initial problems, earning a curt nod from the stern Master Hogwen. The teacher then gave him and Jurie special, complex questions that made them both frown in concentration, the gears in their minds visibly turning.

  Adimia, however, struggled. His face grew hot with frustration as numbers swam meaninglessly before him, a confusing sea of symbols. Seeing his distress, Rauba, ever quiet, leaned over and whispered an answer.

  Master Hogwen’s cane tapped sharply on the floor, the sound cracking through the room. “You, girl. In life, it is eat or be eaten. To help another is to do so at the cost of yourself. Remember that.”

  The other children snickered. But then, Rauba, her voice barely a whisper yet piercing the quiet, said, “I’d give anything for my brother.”

  The words hung in the air, a simple, powerful truth that shamed the teacher’s cynical lesson. The snickering stopped. Adimia, overwhelmed by the loyalty and the public exposure, broke down into quiet tears. From his seat, the disguised Paley allowed himself a small, private smile.

  Later, Master Hogwen did something that made Paley’s stomach clench. “Let us go around. State your magic type.”

  “I don't know.” Reben said proudly.“Fire,” Rauba murmured.“I… haven’t found mine,” Bacha admitted. “But I can use Protection and basic Strength.”“I don’t know mine,” Jurie said. “I’ve never tried.”Amasha, given only simple counting, had aced his work but was too young to have awakened.

  All eyes fell on the white-haired boy. “Uh… Earth?” Paley ventured, picking the most boring element.

  Master Hogwen’s eyes lit up. “An Earth brother! Show me what you can do.”

  Paley’s mind went blank. He hadn’t used Earth Magic for much beyond survival. He remembered the fight. Focusing, he channeled mana, and sharp, jagged blades of earth erupted from the floorboards with a gritty, tearing sound.

  The teacher sighed, deeply unimpressed. “Crude. Unimaginative. Earth is not a weapon of brute force! It is the most malleable of the elements, a canvas for the mind! Only Water offers a similar creative freedom. You can build, sculpt, and create. You are thinking like a brute, not an artist. You have been given a gift, boy, and you use it inelegantly.”

  The lesson ended with a long, dreary lecture on the theoretical principles of elemental malleability. Paley was exhausted from the mental effort of both listening and maintaining his disguise, but somehow, the teacher’s chastising words had taken root deep in his mind.

  Back at the orphanage, after the creams were washed away to reveal his familiar, sharp features, Paley sat in the dusty yard. He let his mind go wild, pushing past the ingrained concept of ‘blades’. He focused on the earth, the rich, damp smell of it filling his nostrils, and imagined not just shapes, but purpose. He formed a lumpy, misshapen cup. A rough, four-legged figure that vaguely resembled a dog. A small, square block.

  He looked at the blocky earth-dog, its form crude and static. And then, he had an idea. A spark of pure, creative potential ignited within him. What if it didn't just sit there? What if it could… move? What if he could, as the teacher said, truly create, and not just destroy?

  What if he could build a Golem?