Gracewell Orphanage was a place where children without parents could rediscover the warmth they had lost. Here, they were treated with kindness—perhaps with even greater care than they had ever received in their own homes. Every need was seen to: emotional, material, and even the promise of a future. The orphanage was managed by the Kingdom of Eirabelle. Many children passed through its halls, learning to heal from the pain of loss. Yet, just as a flawless white cloth can be ruined by a single stain, so too could Gracewell’s image be marred.

Gracewell did not always bring smiles. Emily Nielsen was a twelve-year-old girl who had lost her father. Declared guilty by the Baranic court and sentenced to death, her father left behind Emily and her two younger siblings, Selly and Timmy, who were then sent to Gracewell. In time, Selly and Timmy learned to close the holes in their hearts. But not Emily. Being three years older than Selly and six years older than Timmy, she saw things differently.

By her third month at Gracewell, Emily had made her decision: she would leave. At first, she intended to go alone. But Selly and Timmy secretly followed her when she fled. Emily could not force them to stay. They were adamant. At last, she had no choice but to take them with her. They settled in an abandoned house, surviving on the small savings she had managed to collect during her time at Gracewell. To keep them fed, she took odd jobs, however meager the pay.

Almost every day, Emily returned to Eastgarden to watch the Barani at their gatherings. Each time she saw those fanatics laughing freely, her thirst for vengeance burned anew. She could not explain why she tortured herself by coming here, to the very place her father had been condemned with cruelty and injustice. Perhaps it was because she could never forget—the memory seared into her, the reminder of a love torn from her arms, a void nothing could ever replace.

One day, her visit to Eastgarden took an unexpected turn. In the middle of an execution, someone shouted and stormed the platform, causing a disruption. Intrigued, Emily pushed her way through the adults to the front. The culprit was a young man with blond hair. She thought for certain he would be punished on the spot, but he wasn’t. The priest allowed him to walk away, untouched. That was unheard of. Baranic law was absolute. To defy openly—or even in secret—was to invite punishment.

Emily’s suspicions grew. She eavesdropped on the priest speaking to the man called Sir.

“You have no right to question me,” Sir said. “This is a direct order from the Palace.”

The Palace?

From that day on, Emily haunted museums and libraries. Surely the blond youth had some connection to the Palace—he could not be ordinary. She combed through books and manuscripts in search of his identity. Only one name surfaced, the only youth who could ever break the Baranic law: the Lord Protector, Prince Elden.

Prince Elden?

The name lingered in her mind. Emily sought out a painting of him. Once she found it, she used the method of facial recognition her father had once taught her, studying every detail of the prince’s features and comparing them to the blond young man she had seen that day. The resemblance was undeniable. Then she looked upon the portrait of Queen Anna—and froze. Within that regal face, she glimpsed a shadow of the blond youth.

It was said Queen Anna had two sons, though no one knew who the second was, or what he looked like. This time, Emily abandoned the official archives—if this was truly tied to Queen Anna’s secrets, no state institution would preserve it. Her father had warned her: Queen Anna had rewritten portions of history for political gain. That truth had been part of what condemned him. So Emily turned to the mouths of the old.

“Queen Anna? Ah… I remember holding her baby once.”

“How many years ago was that?” Emily asked.

“I am old, child. I cannot recall.”

“Then… what did he look like?”

“I don’t quite remember. All babies look the same.”

Emily lowered her head in disappointment. She had questioned dozens of elders, but none yielded answers. The thought crept in: perhaps this idea was nothing more than a fantasy. How could a twelve-year-old uncover a secret so tightly buried by the highest power in Eirabelle, armed only with scraps of rumor?

“But…” the grandmother spoke again, eyes lifting to the sky, “his eyes were beautiful. Like the clear heavens. That is what I remember most.”

Clear heavens? Blue?

Emily had not noticed the youth’s eye color on that day. But this was enough. One thing was certain—the baby the old woman had held was not Prince Elden. She knew the Lord Protector’s eyes were a deep brown. If the blond youth’s eyes were indeed blue, then the evidence aligned. He had to be Queen Anna’s second son. She needed to find him. She needed to ask why he had opposed the execution.

Yet Emily never saw him again. Time after time she scoured Fellbrook, only to return empty-handed.

Then, one day, while still searching for clues, Emily noticed someone suspicious. From behind, he wore a brown coat, his head wrapped in a black scarf pulled like a hood. His movements were furtive, shifting left and right as if stalking prey. At first Emily tried to ignore him. But when he lingered at the park, standing beneath a tree while staring at children, suspicion flared. Was he a kidnapper? Emily decided to keep watch from afar.

Half an hour passed. The man never moved, even as the children went home. Emily grew convinced: he was a kidnapper. Then she saw him dart toward a bag left behind. Her heart raced—she nearly cried out Thief! But before she did, the man ran to the owner and returned the bag.

Emily stayed hidden, watching. She saw the owner smile in gratitude. Only then did Emily realize she had been wrong. Relieved, she turned to go home, back to her siblings.

On her way, her thoughts churned. Who was he? In times like these, honesty was rare, no matter how peaceful the town appeared. Peace was only a mask—behind it, people were controlled, restrained. Given the chance, they would do wrong.

Her curiosity gnawed at her until she could bear it no longer. Emily turned back. She would confront the man, and apologize for judging him unfairly—twice.

She crossed paths with him. And then—

Emily froze. Her breath caught. Her eyes widened. The man lowered his hood. Blond hair spilled into the fading light. Her pulse hammered. She had found him. The Second Son.

She seized the moment, searching for his eyes.

Blue!

Emily ducked quickly behind a bush, her heart pounding. Confusion tore through her. And then the vision appeared—the woman who had stolen her happiness: Queen Anna. Her father’s final words rang in her ears, echoing forever.

She had thought herself healed, logical, beyond the pain. But when she saw the blond youth’s face, the old wound tore open. Rage boiled up. She would never forgive the queen. She wanted vengeance. An eye for an eye. A life for a life!

Emily’s hand darted into her bag. Trembling with hatred and fear, she pulled out the small knife she always carried.

I must kill him!

Her hand shook as she tightened her grip.

Queen Anna must feel what I have felt!

The Second Son walked on, unaware of her presence. This was the perfect chance. She could strike him from behind. Emily whispered the words to herself again and again: I must kill him. Forgive me.

But the knife slipped from her hand. She could not move her feet. Each time vengeance whispered, her siblings’ faces appeared. Her father’s code echoed in her soul: never take a life. Treasure life.

Fury swallowed her whole. Frustration, helplessness, despair. If only she had been stronger, smarter, more capable—perhaps her father would still be alive.

Emily screamed silently, and when she could bear it no longer, she ran toward the Second Son with her fury unchained.

“Give me back my father!” she cried, striking him with all her strength.

The Second Son did not flinch.

“Don’t just stand there!” Emily sobbed, clutching at his coat. “Give me back my father, you villain!”

Next Chapter: Chapter 9: The Desicion