Chapter 68: The Bonds We Choose

The morning sun poured in through the wide windows of Tumblepouch Orphanage, casting a golden glow over the long wooden table where children of all ages sat, chattering between bites of their breakfast.

At the head of the table, the adults—Dorian, Bennett, Elira, Tache, Selyse, and Ralnor—shared their meal. Bowls of steaming porridge, fresh bread, and cured meats filled the table, a simple yet hearty meal that warmed the stomach in the crisp northern air.

Dorian scooped a spoonful of porridge, savoring the hint of honey and spice, before turning to Bennett.

"So, tell me, what made you build Tumblepouch Orphanage?"

Bennett glanced at Elira, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He swallowed his bite of bread, then leaned back in his chair.

"I built this place about two years after Elira and I got married," he said, his voice warm with nostalgia.

Elira brushed a strand of auburn hair behind her ear and pointed down the table at a broad-shouldered teenager, his dark eyes sharp and watchful despite his youthful face.

"It all started with Kane over there," she said.

Dorian's gaze followed, noting how Kane—probably around fifteen or sixteen—sat at the edge of the table, keeping a protective eye on the younger kids, cutting up their food when needed.

Bennett continued, "A few years back, a mercenary troupe came through town. They found him alone on the road, nearly starved and half-feral. They took him in but had a job lined up—some war for a noble in a land too far for a child to follow. They asked us to look after him for a while."

Elira sighed softly, resting her chin in her palm. "Days turned to weeks. Weeks to months. After five months, we realized they weren't coming back."

"They were wiped out," Bennett said, his voice steady but tinged with grief. "So we just… kept taking care of him. And we loved him."

Dorian set his spoon down, feeling the weight of their words.

"As my business grew," Bennett continued, "I kept hearing more and more stories of abandoned children. Some were left behind in war, some orphaned by disease, and some… well, some had even worse fates."

Dorian followed Bennett's gaze, now noticing the scars on some of the children—thin white lines around their ankles and wrists, the kind left by shackles. His stomach tightened.

"Slaves…?" he murmured, though he already knew the answer.

Elira nodded, her eyes dim with sadness. "We do what we can, but… scars like those never truly fade."

Across the table, Selyse went still.

It was a fraction of a second—the slight widening of her eyes, the tension in her shoulders. But it was enough.

Dorian, sitting beside her, caught the shift before she masked it. Tache and Ralnor, too, shared a glance. They knew what was going through her head.

Bennett and Elira didn't notice, but Dorian felt the tension in the air. He didn't press. Not yet.

Bennett exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Some of these kids ran away. They're not freed—they're fugitives. Their masters still have a legal claim on them."

Elira's expression hardened. "That's why we keep them hidden. We can't let anyone know they're here."

Dorian nodded firmly, his usual lightheartedness giving way to seriousness.

"Your secret's safe with me," he promised.

Elira smiled, a touch of relief in her eyes. "Thank you, Dorian. You don't know how much your songs last night helped. Even the kids who were scared to sing, who barely speak to anyone—they laughed. They smiled. That's… that's rare for them."

Dorian rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. "Ahh, well. That's what bards do, you know? We're not warriors, we're not kings, but we can at least give people a reason to laugh through the pain."

Bennett clapped him on the back, nearly knocking the air out of him.

"You've got a good heart, kid."

…

As the meal wrapped up, the children scattered, taking up their morning chores under Elira's guidance.

Selyse stood, her expression distant, then muttered something about helping outside before slipping out.

Dorian's eyes lingered on her retreating figure.

"She okay?" he murmured.

Tache let out a slow exhale, his gaze following her. "Memories. Give her space."

Dorian nodded. But something in his gut told him this wasn't the last he'd see of that look in her eyes.

…

The orphanage buzzed with life as the younger children finished their chores, their tiny hands dusted with flour, dirt, or soap suds from helping in the kitchen, the garden, or the laundry. Their laughter filled the air as they raced toward Dorian, who had been waiting with a mischievous glint in his eye.

With a flourish of his hands, he summoned swirling wisps of golden light, letting them dance around his fingers like fireflies. Then, with a flick of his wrist, the lights coalesced into the shape of a small bird, which flapped its shimmering wings and soared above their heads.

The children gasped in awe, their eyes wide with wonder.

"Whoa! Can I do that too?" one of the younger boys asked, tugging at Dorian's sleeve, his voice filled with hope.

Dorian grinned, kneeling so he was eye level with the boy.

"Of course! If you set your mind to it, nothing is impossible," he said, ruffling the boy's hair. "Magic is just like telling a story—you just have to find the right words."

The kids cheered, some trying to mimic Dorian's movements, waving their hands around in a dramatic fashion as if they could will the magic into existence.

Dorian chuckled, watching them try.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Selyse, slipping through the orphanage's main gate, walking toward the quiet edge of the property.

His brows furrowed.

Selyse was always the first to step in and help with the kids. She was protective, always keeping an eye on them. But now, she was walking away, her shoulders tense, her head slightly bowed—a stark contrast to her usual confident stride.

Dorian's instincts kicked in.

He turned his head slightly and spotted Tache, lying on his back in the courtyard, arms behind his head, soaking in the sun like a content cat.

A wicked grin spread across Dorian's face.

"Hey, kids," Dorian whispered, pointing toward Tache. "See that guy over there?"

The children all nodded eagerly.

"He's actually a sleeping giant, and the only way to wake him up is to tickle him with a thousand tiny fingers."

The kids giggled in unison.

"Go! Quickly! Before he wakes up on his own!"

Like a swarm of giggling goblins, the children rushed Tache, jumping on him, poking, prodding, and tickling with gleeful shrieks.

Tache jerked awake, flailing.

"AAHH! What the—?!"

He rolled over, trying to escape, but the children clung to him, laughing hysterically.

Dorian took his chance.

Without another word, he turned and bolted, slipping through the orphanage gate just as Tache's curses filled the air.