The last ray of the setting sun timidly pierced the dusty glass of the only window in their room, painting the log walls in warm, copper tones. Night was falling at the "Old Pine" orphanage, and with it came their most precious time. The time when they were alone.
The room was tiny, three by three paces, with two bunk beds, but for four children, it was a whole world. Their world.
Dur sat on the windowsill, knees drawn up, looking out the window. Beyond it stretched an endless forest, already drowning in lilac twilight. His black hair cast blue highlights in the sunset light, and his blue eyes were full of quiet, enchanted sadness.
"Daydreaming again?" came Kaedan's voice. A red-haired boy with wild but kind features and bright orange eyes was breaking off a piece of dried meat—a rare treat he'd managed to trade from an old woodcutter. "Here."
Kaedan distributed equal pieces to everyone. Ulvia, a stocky girl with short brown hair and freckles, eagerly dug into her ration.
"Thanks, Kaedan! I'm so sick of that turnip slop."
Gil, a neat girl with jet-black hair tied back in a short ponytail, took her piece with a polite but slightly detached smile.
"Thank you. By my calculations, the value of this piece is equivalent to three full bowls of our usual stew."
Dur silently accepted his share and nodded his thanks to Kaedan. His gaze drifted back to the window.
"What are you thinking about?" Gil asked, settling onto her bed and tucking her legs under her.
"About what's out there," Dur replied quietly, nodding towards the forest. "Where does the forest end? What's beyond it? Miss Elira says there are other lands, but... I can't imagine it."
"There are mountains!" Ulvia said, her mouth full. "A thousand times taller than these pines! And the snow on them never melts. And the ocean! I want to see the ocean. They say it's blue, blue and smells like... freedom."
"Freedom doesn't have a smell," Gil noted pragmatically. "According to logic, water is odorless. And the ocean is just a very large amount of water."
At the word "water," Dur flinched almost imperceptibly. He looked at his nearly full clay jug standing in the corner. Gil, noticing his glance, poured water for everyone into wooden cups. Approaching Dur, she handed him his bowl. Their fingers touched briefly, and Dur took the cup with the care one might reserve for the finest crystal. Taking a small sip, he placed it on the windowsill. A drop of moisture fell on the back of his hand. He froze, looking at it, then abruptly, almost with irritation, wiped it off on his worn-out shirt.
"And I heard there are whole cities made of stone in the North," Kaedan chimed in, trying to distract everyone. "And warriors live there who keep order. Real order, not..." He didn't finish, but everyone understood. "Not like here"—in the wilderness, on the outskirts, under the tired kindness of Miss Elira and the indifference of the rest of the world.
"I just want to go there," Dur whispered again, looking at the darkening horizon. "Just to see it. Sometimes I dream... of a great water. Dark. And cold. Very cold."
Silence hung in the room for a moment. They all knew about his strange fear. He didn't panic at the sight of a puddle or a stream, but large, deep bodies of water instilled an inexplicable, primal terror in him.
"It's okay," Kaedan said firmly, clapping Dur on the shoulder. "When we grow up, we'll see it all. All together. Ulvia's mountains, the stone cities, and... everything else. We'll definitely leave here someday."
"We'll build our own world," Ulvia said dreamily. "Where there are no orphanages. Where everyone has their own home."
"That's highly unlikely," Gil objected, but a spark ignited in her eyes. "But... striving for it is logical."
For the first time that evening, Dur turned away from the window to face them. He looked at Kaedan—his shield; at Ulvia—his fire; at Gil—his mind. And on their faces, he saw the same thing he felt himself: a vague but unshakable hope.
"Yes," he said simply. "We will leave."
Outside, it had become completely dark, and the window now only reflected the four of them, sitting in a small oasis of light in a vast, unfamiliar world. A world they would one day conquer.