I lay there on my bunk, nervous and undecided.

  Am I really doing this?

  The thought clung to me like fog, thick and stubborn, refusing to clear.Sleep had already abandoned me, stolen by the slow burn of uncertainty.

  I glanced toward the small window above my bunk. The night was still, unnervingly so.

  The moon, veiled behind a drifting shroud of cloud, seemed hesitant to reveal itself,

  as if even it was reluctant to witness what I was about to do.

  It was time to go.

  And yet, I had no idea where I would go.

  No destination. No promise. Only the agonizing knowledge that staying meant dying. There was no way a skinny orphan like me could survive the Astra Sanctum.

  I was shedding the last thread of normalcy my life had ever offered.

  I moved silently, wrapping the thin cloak around my shoulders as if it could shield me from what waited beyond the door.

  The air was smoky and colder than it had been yesterday. Or maybe that was just my nerves.

  My boots fell to the floor. I slowly walked to the door and finally past the threshold.

  The corridor was empty, but it didn't feel safe. Every step I took echoed off the wooden walls, betraying my presence to shadows surrounding me.

  I had bribed a kitchen boy for a key whose worth he hadn't known. Yet, with every heartbeat, I still wondered if some ancient curse of the Sanctum would awaken, dragging me back to my bunk to cast me into its depths.

  The walls here were etched with religious sayings, my eyes flicked up to one of them.

  "He who walks the spiral of truth treads with quiet feet, but the one who twists his path against the stars shall find the constellations bearing witness—and judgment always descends."

  Huh, that's pretty fitting.

  I pulled my hood deeper over my face and pressed on.

  I reached the end of the hall. I was only a few metres away from the exit, one step closer to being free.

  A soft chime echoed—like metal touching metal. I froze, breath locked behind my teeth.

  Footsteps.

  Not heavy enough to be a guard.

  Lighter. Measured.

  Another orphan?

  Or something else?

  I scanned the corridor in a quiet panic, eyes flicking for cover. To my left—a shallow alcove, narrow and half-swallowed by shadow. It wasn't much, but it might be enough to shield me from whoever else prowled this hallway.

  I slipped in, heart pounding in my throat.

  The footsteps passed. Whoever it was, they didn't pause. Didn't hesitate. They walked like they belonged here—like they had purpose. Like they weren't afraid of being seen.

  Then came another set.

  Faster this time. Unsteady.

  I risked a glance past the edge of the alcove.

  Flames.

  A flicker of orange light rounded the corner, licking across the far wall. Then came the shouting—panicked, echoing, chaotic.

  The orphanage was on fire.

  Smoke began curling down the ceiling like spectral fingers. I could already hear the dormitory doors being thrown open, the thunder of boots, the shrieks of terrified children.

  A flood of movement surged into the hallway, bare feet, nightclothes. Adults barking orders they couldn’t enforce. Children dragged each other by the wrist, screaming names to no avail.

  I stood still as it all rushed past me, frozen.

  Something twisted in my gut—guilt, maybe. Or something that used to be guilt, replaced by the crooked feeling of opportunity.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  They wouldn’t count carefully. Not tonight. Not here.

  A poorly funded orphanage wouldn’t sweep the cinders for the bones of a boy no one cared for.

  I could disappear. An empty bed, scorched slippers, and a charred scrap of cloak—enough for them to believe I had burned with the rest. Faking a death in fire was easy. Fire left no truths. Only ash.

  And in that ash, I could be reborn.

  No identity. No records. No name left in the Sanctum ledger.

  It's not like they'll mourn me anyway.

  I slipped into the crowd, blending in just long enough to vanish down a side corridor. I could feel the disapproval of the stars weighing on me.

  Coward, they whispered. Traitor.

  I didn’t disagree.

  The east wing was already half-consumed. Roof beams sagged overhead, creaking under the fire's slow burn. Smoke rolled along the ceiling in waves, instantly burning my lungs. I ducked low, drawing the cloak tight across my mouth, and moved.

  A hallway. A prayer room. Another hallway. I passed a cracked mirror where the Ember Monks used to chant, now reflecting only smoke and flame.

  A wooden beam cracked behind me, then collapsed in chunks of burning wood. Scorching embers kissed the side of my face, too close; I had to hurry.

  I kicked in a door, one of the old storage rooms, and entered quickly. It was empty, save for a few broken crates, rotted linens, and a pile of discarded orphan uniforms. Perfect.

  I tore a strip from my uniform, hastily laying it out on the crate. Then I tried to drag the whole thing into the hallway, to make it look like I’d collapsed trying to escape. It didn’t budge. Too heavy. Maybe I was just weak.

  Another beam creaked and crashed behind me, sending a gust of embers into the air. That was my cue.

  I glanced back once at my improvised body double.

  It was half-assed, but that didn't matter.

  The heat clawed at my back as I ran towards the nearest exit, my lungs desperately needing fresh air.

  And then—

  A boy stumbled into view.

  Six, maybe five. Barefoot. Eyes red from the smoke. He was coughing so hard I thought he might collapse.

  He didn’t scream.

  Just… reached.

  I looked at him. Really looked.

  Thin. Burnt sleeve. One slipper.

  He shouldn’t have been here. He should’ve already been herded with the others.

  And now, he was going to die for it.

  My pulse spiked.

  I couldn't stop. Not here. Not now. If I carried him out, he would remember me. If I stayed a second too long, I’d burn with him. But if I just walked away—

  I gritted my teeth, scanned the hallway.

  There—a corridor branching right, the smoke thinner in that direction. It led toward the infirmary. I'd snuck that way once, months ago. It had a window, half-shattered, just wide enough for a small body to slip through.

  I turned and moved.

  The boy whimpered behind me.

  I kept running.

  But something twisted in me.

  I looked back at him.

  He had a look on his face like he'd already been forgotten. Like the world had decided he wasn’t worth saving.

  It tore me, I couldn't admit it, but I probably made the same face the day my parents left me—though I couldn’t remember it.

  Ahh fuck this.

  I turned back.

  Making sure to keep my head low.

  I doubled back through the smoke and lowered myself beside him. Without a word, I lifted him by the waist and pulled him close. He was lighter than he looked.

  He clung to me instinctively.

  I carried him down the side corridor, every step increasingly difficult in the heat. The corridor narrowed. There, at the end, the infirmary's window.

  I knelt.

  Lifted him.

  "Go out this way," I rasped.

  He hesitated. I pushed him through before he could change his mind.

  I heard a soft thud, he must have landed in the mud.

  I backtracked, running back to the storage room. I kept running, but every turn led to another dead end. The flames were faster than I’d expected.

  Every exit was sealed, swallowed by the fire.

  I was being herded like prey.

  The smoke was thickening, it clung to my throat like hands choking me. The corridor ahead swam in and out of focus. The walls blurred.

  My legs buckled against a toppled bench, and I barely caught myself on the wall, still free from the flames.

  Behind me, another beam crashed down with a shriek of iron. The heat surged forward in a wave, blistering the back of my neck.

  I was running out of time.

  Out of air.

  Out of time.

  And I had no idea where the hell I was going.

  Regretting my stupid rescue attempt, I forced myself to calm down.

  I closed my eyes.

  If I was coming from the east wing, the basement stairs should’ve been just past the storage quarter, behind the broken mural of the Zodiac constellations.

  The boiler room was below that.

  And the ventilation system, if it hadn’t collapsed with the rest, led straight out to the cliffside of the mountain.

  I could use that.

  I would use that.

  It was a gamble. A desperate one at that.

  But it would have to be enough.

  I turned on instinct and made a beeline for the stairwell.

  Every breath felt like inhaling razors. My boots slipped on the ash-slick hardwood.

  I made it to the mural, the Twelve Zodiac constellations, carved into the stone like guardians of order.

  It was consumed by flames, Sagitta had disappeared. Draco was missing its head. The stars that once watched over us were bleeding soot, their light buried under ash.

  Somehow, that felt right.

  I descended, practically jumping the steps. I hit the bottom—half-falling, half-diving into the corridor that fed into the boiler chamber.

  The door was already cracked open. Bent. It screeched when I pushed it, metal grinding metal.

  Inside—

  Hell.

  A wave of steam burst through the doorway.

  I screamed.

  It wasn't out of fear.

  This was raw, helpless agony.

  I stumbled back, feeling the scalds on my skin.

  The air glimmered.

  It was hard to tell what was real anymore.

  I pushed forward, blinking sweat from my eyes.

  There.

  The vent.

  I swiped the soot off the vent grill. It looked big enough, maybe.

  I crouched and began crawling. My knees scraped against the edges. My elbows throbbed with every inch. My breath echoed back at me, ragged and shallow.

  Behind me, the boiler let out a long, shuddering groan—as if something had finally cracked.

  And then the pressure changed.

  A low boom.

  A wave of heat slammed through the vent, chasing me like a second skin.

  I bit down on my lip and pushed harder.

  Almost there—

  The vent narrowed. My shoulders got stuck against the walls.

  Too slow.

  I couldn’t go back. I couldn’t—

  I thrust my legs as hard as I could.

  One last desperate heave, ribs compressing, skin tearing.

  And then I was out.

  Tumbling through the exit, into mud and bitter, bitter rain.