The orphanage at night always felt like a shadow, lurking in the periphery of the city's bustling life. Nightfall turned the building into a tired husk, the paint on its walls peeling like dead skin, revealing the crumbling bones beneath. The pipes leaked in rhythmic drips, the sound echoing like the ticking of a clock, reminding everyone that time was running out for this place. The air inside carried the scent of boiled socks, stale bread, and mold—familiar, but no less suffocating.
Ash slipped through the side window with practiced ease, the frame groaning under his weight. He winced slightly as his body ached from the fall earlier, but it was nothing compared to the days he'd spent dodging the city watch. His head throbbed where the crown had pressed against his skull, but he dismissed the pain with a mental shrug, used to living with discomfort.
He stood still for a moment, letting the silence of the orphanage settle over him. The place still smelled the same—like broken promises and forgotten children. He'd been here since he was too young to remember, yet it always felt like he'd never truly belonged. The orphanage didn't take care of its kids. They were a nuisance, a burden. And Ash? He was just another face in the crowd, forgotten the moment he stepped out the door.
Pushing away the thoughts, he glanced down at the crown, still wrapped in his shirt. A strange sense of pride bubbled up in his chest. It had cost him, sure—but this time, he'd come out on top.
The moment he entered the dormitory, the room fell into a hush. The kids, who had been playing or chatting, turned to look at him. They recognized the glint of something precious even before Ash pulled it from his shirt.
"Got something for us, Ash?" Bran asked, his lanky form leaning against the doorframe. He was a year older than Ash, but everyone knew Ash was the one who called the shots around here. Bran threw a teasing smirk. "Another treasure from your 'little adventures,' I'm guessing?"
"Better than the last one, I'll tell you that," Ash said, his grin widening as he slowly unwrapped the crown, letting it glint in the dim light of the room. The kids crowded around him, their faces a mix of awe and skepticism.
"That's not loot, that's a cursed heirloom," Lysa piped up, her voice sharp with concern. She was the cautious one, always worried Ash was going to get himself killed with one of his schemes. "Are you out of your mind? It looks like something from one of those high-nobles—those ones with the supernatural powers."
"You're gonna get strung up by sunrise," Bran added, his tone lighter but tinged with genuine worry. "I'm tellin' ya, someone's gonna come lookin' for that thing. You really want the city watch at your door?"
Ash waved them off with a careless laugh. "Who needs the watch? I'll sell it before they even know what's goin' on." He slipped the crown onto his head, its cold metal sitting heavy on his brow. The kids fell silent, staring at him.
Lysa's face twisted in worry. "You're gonna get us all into trouble one day, Ash. You don't even know what you're messing with."
Ash smirked. "It's just a damn crown. Don't get your panties in a twist."
But even as he said it, something about the weight on his head felt... wrong. There was something about it that felt too real, too heavy. But he ignored it. He always ignored it.
The youngest, Nibs, bounced on his feet, wide-eyed. "What if it's from a king? Or a god?" he asked, his voice full of wonder.
"A god, huh?" Ash chuckled, but it was hollow. "You're right. It'd make sense for a god to leave something like this in a broken-down, rat-infested building." He pulled the crown off and looked at it one more time, as if seeing it for the first time. It was beautiful, far too pristine for something that had been left to rot in a forgotten place. He couldn't figure out why it felt... wrong.
Before Ash could comment further, the door to the room banged open. Marthen, the orphanage overseer, stormed in. The man's face was flushed, his eyes wild with something between anger and fear.
"Ash! What the hell are you doing now?" Marthen spat, his hands shaking as he pointed at the crown in Ash's hands. "You skallywag, where did you get that from? It better not have been from a noble or someone important!"
Ash straightened, rolling his eyes. He knew what was coming. "It's just a trinket, Marthen. Calm down."
"Calm down?" Marthen's voice rose, his face growing redder by the second. "You've got a damned cursed heirloom in your hands, and you're telling me to calm down?" He stepped forward, eyes narrowing. "You're always pulling these stunts, Ash. Always. What if one day you bring trouble down on all of us?"
The kids shrank back, watching the exchange. Ash held his ground, but Marthen's next words hit harder than expected.
"This... looks like something that belongs to someone very important, Ash. Do you even realize that? What if it's from one of those supernatural priests—one of those high nobles with abilities we can't even imagine? What if they come looking for it? You'll get us all killed!"
Ash felt a flicker of irritation. "Oh, so now it's my fault if we all die?"
"Yes!" Marthen shot back. "You're always the one pushing boundaries. One of these days, someone important will come looking for whatever crap you've pulled out of your 'adventures.' I won't be responsible for it."
Ash's jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. Instead, he gathered his things—his ragged clothes and the meager belongings he'd managed to keep. The crown, wrapped in his shirt, was the last thing he picked up.
"I don't need your charity anyway," Ash muttered, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "I'll do just fine without you."
Bran looked away, pretending not to care, but Ash saw the sadness in his eyes. Lysa, on the other hand, was visibly angry, but her hands were tied. "You don't have to go," she said, her voice tight with frustration. "We're all we have. You don't have to be alone out there."
"I raised myself in these streets before this dump remembered I existed," Ash replied coldly, his voice devoid of emotion. He flashed them a grin, but it was empty, lacking the usual cocky confidence. "Orphanage or not, doesn't make a difference."
Nibs, small and innocent, held out a piece of stale bread in his tiny hands. "So you don't starve first thing," he said softly.
Ash hesitated, his eyes softening for a moment. He took the bread and gave Nibs a small nod. "Thanks, kid."
Without looking back, Ash walked out, disappearing into the night. He left behind the broken walls of the orphanage, the place that had been his cage for as long as he could remember.
The chill of the city outskirts hit him immediately. The fog rolled in thick, wrapping the world in an eerie silence. Ash climbed up to the rooftops, his feet light as he moved through the alleys he knew so well. He let out a breath, watching it fog in the cold air.
He pulled the crown from its wrap, his fingers brushing against the cool metal. For a moment, he stared at it, lost in thought. It was too clean. Too real. Too perfect for something that had been left behind in a rundown place like that.
Ash mused aloud, his voice low in the quiet night. "Why haven't I sold it yet? Knowing me, I'd have already gotten rid of this thing. So why do I still have it?"
The answer, though, was elusive.
He looked down at the crown again, noting the intricate design—the way it glimmered in the dim moonlight. And then, without another word, he set it on his head. It felt heavier this time, but there was something about it that made him feel... different. The same feeling he'd had when he first put it on—a strange power stirring within him. It felt like something was watching.
And then, it happened.
His vision flickered. For a split second, the world seemed to peel away, revealing something far more ancient. Massive chains, ten of them—ethereal, shimmering—spanned across the sky, their links stretching far into the distance, their presence oppressive. Some were broken. Some remained tight, holding something back.
For a moment, Ash was paralyzed, staring at the chains, at the eyes that seemed to blink in the sky beyond them. The air felt thick, the world pressing in on him.
He blinked, and the vision vanished, leaving him gasping for breath. His mind was reeling.
"What the hell was that?" he muttered. "Right. So now I'm hallucinating the sky being held together by chains. Perfect."
Shaking his head, Ash straightened up, the crown feeling even heavier now. It was only the beginning, and he wasn't sure if he was ready for whatever came next.
In a realm beyond mortal comprehension, a divine being stirred.
"He saw them. The chains. Even I couldn't until I bore the Crown's weight for years."
"He's still a child."
A pause.
"This... changes everything."