I Heard Every Single Call
The orphanage remained unchanged. Aside from a fresh coat of garish, colorful paint applied sometime during her absence, its characteristic gloom lingered as thick as ever.
It still wore that same deceptive mask, appearing perfectly harmless from the outside.
Is that the director's son?
Lefonya searched her memories. He was undeniably the same man who had munched on cheap cookies and snickered on the sidelines whenever the director sold children off during her early childhood. His face, a sickening mirror image of his father's, caused foul memories to surge back like bile.
"Here."
Her legs frozen stiff from conditioned terror, Lefonya felt the man lightly grip her shoulder and shove her forward for the director to inspect.
From there, matters unfolded without a hitch. Exactly as she had overheard, the man handed a pouch of coin to the director with strict instructions never to hand the child over, no matter who came looking.
The director, who had greeted them wearing the phony smile of a kindly soul, underwent an instant transformation at the sight of money. Practiced in such dealings, he pocketed the cash and offered breezy reassurances that as long as they weathered a month or two, there would be no problems. He even added that selling the brat right away might arouse suspicion, so he would keep her stashed away for at least five years before putting her on the market.
Without casting a single backward glance, the man turned and walked away—as if whatever life Lefonya might endure from then on meant nothing to him.
"Hmm. Thirsty?"
The director read Lefonya's condition in an instant. Most children sold off to an orphanage arrived starved, battered, or parched.
"It's alright. Let's head inside."
Paying no heed to her reaction, the director seized the limp, drained girl and hauled her into the building.
"Nice to meet you. How old are you? No, no, don't say a word. Your age doesn't matter here anyway. Hmm... you're tiny and scrawny enough to easily pass for an older three- or four-year-old."
"Let... go of me!"
"You ought to consider yourself lucky. The younger you look in this place, the higher your value. Overgrown brats lose all commercial appeal—they won't even sell as slaves."
Stepping inside revealed a long hallway. A corridor so terribly, agonizingly familiar.
Faded picture frames clung to the walls, and on the floor lay someone's hardened, discolored bloodstains. Even the terror-stricken eyes of children peeking through narrow cracks in the doorways were just as she remembered.
After everything I did to escape this place...
Of all the places in the world, she had been brought right back here. What kind of twisted, inescapable curse was this?
Realizing her struggles were futile, Lefonya ceased fighting and let her body go completely slack. If she hoped to escape, she needed to conserve her strength and wait for the right moment.
"This worked out beautifully. My gambling debts were getting out of hand, and I was just wondering if I should liquidate all the brats at once and skip town. With the money I just received, I can turn things around for good, clear my debts, and make a fresh start."
Whistling cheerily, the director descended toward the basement. Down in the cellars, which served as storage, lay the solitary confinement cells. It was where misbehaving children were dragged to be locked away for days, or subjected to cruel discipline.
"Just to be safe, you'll stay here for a month or two."
Having been dragged down here several times in her childhood, Lefonya knew the space well. Not a single sliver of sunlight reached inside, and with only a single candle burning, the moment the cellar door swung shut, one could barely see an inch ahead. At night, drafts howled like a weeping woman, and she used to wake to the scurrying patter of fleeing rats.
Because of that, the children lived in absolute terror of being sent to solitary confinement. Lefonya had been no different.
The director shoved Lefonya into the cell.
"Keep quiet in here, and even if someone comes searching, they'll never know. Ah, you said you were thirsty earlier, didn't you?"
Smiling, he offered her a cup of water.
"You can't go dying or falling sick. That makes you useless, you see?"
Ironically, the thing such monsters feared most was the death of a child—for to them, children were mere commodities.
Biting her lip, Lefonya took the cup and gulped down the water greedily.
"Still, you're quite unusual. Most brats dragged here bawl their eyes out, begging for their lives or screeching to be let out. You're quiet. I like that."
"If you don't send me back, you're going to be in big twouble."
The director, who had been about to close the door with a grin, paused and turned around.
"The head of the family didn't permit this. He acted all on his own. If you let me go right now, I'll pwomise nothing happened."
"...And here I wondered why you weren't crying. Are you just completely insane? Did they throw you away because you lost your mind? Damn it. Mad brats don't fetch a good price. I should've squeezed more coin out of that guy."
"I belong to House Craitan."
Lefonya looked up at him with an impassive stare.
"Can you handle the consequences?"
She had no reason to hide it.
If the director sprinted to House Craitan to negotiate with her as a hostage, the Duke would rescue her, ensuring her safe return. If he babbled to anyone, it would advertise that she was in his hands, sparking rumors that would lead to her extraction. She felt guilty dragging House Craitan's proud name into such filthy business, but surviving came first.
Live. I want to live.
Ever since she had clawed her way out of this very orphanage, that had been her one and only goal.
"Ha... You really are touched in the head."
Sighing, the director looked down at her with chilling contempt.
"If you're from the Duke of Craitan's household, then I must be the Crown Prince. Huh? Why doesn't every stray dog on the street claim to be high nobility while they're at it, eh?"
"If you don't believe me, send word to House Craitan that you have me and demand a ransom."
At the mention of demanding money, the director's eyes wavered. Given his earlier muttering about gambling debts, he clearly lacked funds. Yet he quickly recovered his senses.
"You're trying to get me executed for defaming nobility, aren't you?"
I'm not.
"Ha! If you're going to lie, at least make it plausible. This is the problem with brats. Why stop there? Why don't you claim you're the little Lady Craitan herself?"
"..."
"Every little runt who lands here spouts the exact same nonsense. 'Do you know who I am?' 'Let me go and I'll bring you a fortune'... I'm sick to death of it. What, are you going to tell me next that you're dear friends with the Duke of Villemon everyone's buzzing about?"
"..."
"Behaving yourself is best for both of us. Understand?"
With an oily smirk, the director shut the door.
...Every single word of that was true, though.
The crooked, ill-fitting door groaned heavily on its hinges as it scraped shut. She heard the director's jaunty footsteps ascending the stairs, followed by the heavy thud of the cellar door slamming closed above.
She had worried that her five-year-old appearance might prompt him to recognize her as the child who had vanished years ago, but too much time had passed; he didn't seem to recall her in the slightest.
It'll be dinnertime soon, so the director and the caretakers will all be gathered upstairs. I should stay quiet for now.
...Teacher.
Thinking of the word instantly brought Habelian to mind.
She remembered his face as he desperately avoided her eyes, and how, in the end, it had been drowned in guilt, regret, despair, and turmoil. If he had decided to throw her away, he shouldn't have made that face. He should have just cast her aside and felt relieved.
"...Idiot."
He was the one who abandoned her, so why couldn't she stop worrying about him?
Curling into a ball, Lefonya closed her eyes. Perhaps because her body had grown accustomed to the comforting warmth of a fireplace, the bitter cold set her shivering uncontrollably.
Several days passed in the solitary cell.
On the very first day, Lefonya had been stripped of her clothes and jewelry. Anything that appeared even remotely valuable was taken. In their place, they had tossed her rags—clothes and shoes so worn, frayed, and threadbare from repeated washing that they barely held together.
They stole all those expensive things and gave me this garbage in return.
Lefonya ground her teeth in frustration.
At least they didn't find this.
Just one item had escaped their notice: the Green Gem Rudeum had given her. By tucking it against the nape of her neck and letting her hair fall over it, she had managed to keep it hidden. Though it emitted no light, she occasionally drew it out in the dark cell just to gaze upon it. Whenever she did, strength seemed to seep back into her weary limbs.
Eat well, rest up, and wait for just one chance to escape. One chance is all it takes.
With no way to mark the passage of time down here, she had to tally the days by the meals delivered to her cell. The director showed so little interest in her that he never even asked her name, addressing her only as "Hey, you." Fortunately, her fear that he might recognize her never came to pass. Perhaps consumed by his gambling, he subjected her to neither verbal abuse nor beatings. Or perhaps her claim of belonging to House Craitan had shaken him more than he let on.
A vicious chill jolted Lefonya awake.
They couldn't even bother with basic repairs...
Over the intervening years, the dilapidated orphanage had only decayed further; with no maintenance whatsoever, biting drafts whistled through the masonry gaps. She curled herself as tightly as possible to ward off the wind, but it did little good.
They could have at least spared a blanket.
She couldn't fathom how she had once endured this freezing misery day in and day out. Shivering violently, Lefonya furrowed her brow.
This is why I shouldn't have gotten used to luxury. Sleeping in front of a warm hearth every night ruined me—now I can't sleep a wink in the cold.
After circling the world, this was the place she had returned to in the end.
A grimace pulling at her features, Lefonya squeezed her eyes shut. She clutched the gem tightly between both hands.
You told me to survive, so I'll try.
Her fluttering anxiety evaporated in an instant. Opening her hands, Lefonya looked down at the jewel resting upon her palms.
You said you'd come if I called. But you haven't.
"...Liar, Rudeum."
In a faint, tiny whisper, Lefonya murmured his name once more.
I shouldn't have believed even that. Foolish girl.
Grimacing, Lefonya squeezed her eyes shut. Instead of clinging to this jewel, she should have kept the expensive Return Stone on her person. Or stayed glued to the enchanted wooden horse with its built-in safety wards. Had she done that, she would already be far away from this wretched place...
"Me?"
A voice rang out.
Her eyes flew open in shock. Into the pitch-black solitary cell, where not a single ray of light had penetrated, spilled the luminous glow of a spirit. Lefonya blinked, dumbfounded.
"Ponya."
True to his promise that he would come whenever she called, Rudeum stood right before her eyes, summoned by her voice.
"I finally found you."
Could she be dreaming? She had called out so many times before, and he had never appeared.
"I was waiting for you to call me."
Is it a dream? Am I hallucinating?
"I called you... so many times. But you didn't come until now."
Lefonya mumbled in a hesitant, wavering voice. Rudeum smiled faintly.
Seeing Lefonya's disheveled, battered state, Rudeum clenched his teeth for a brief second before forcing his expression to soften as he approached.
"I know."
Shedding his outer coat, he knelt in front of Lefonya and met her at eye level. He gently draped the garment around her shoulders. Enveloped in the oversized coat that retained his lingering warmth, heat rushed back into her freezing limbs as if the cold had never touched her. The cool, crisp scent unique to Rudeum brushed against the tip of her nose, confirming that this was no dream.
"I heard every single call."
Rudeum opened his arms and drew Lefonya's small, coat-wrapped frame into a tight embrace.