Chapter 8 - The Night Sky

“Grandpa Pete, so…”

“Grandpa Pete! Grandpa Pete!”

Overly excited by the next step in their life, the orphans jumped over to the old man waiting for them with a tender smile outside the town hall. He patted the children who were inundating him. Each trying to explain to the man who had taken care of them for years what the council had chosen for them, the children were overwhelming Grandpa Pete. And yet, in this joyous atmosphere, his seemingly smiling eyes betrayed a certain sadness. Dellons would often spy this complicated emotion in the old man.

Dellons’ eyes met the eyes of the director of the orphanage. The child cast his eyes to his left and tightly clenched his fist. Because of the strength used, his fingernails dug into the palm of his hand, inflicting brief pain.

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The children came back to the orphanage to spend their last night in the orphanage. As the younger children crowded around the 10-year-olds, the children boasted about their Martial Spirits. Mark and his Double Spirit, Gérôme and his Blacksmith Hammer, Nance and her Midnight Hawk... The younger children were excited throughout the whole evening. In the sleeping hall, the children did not seem to realize that the sun had fallen and the moon was rising, as they continued talking well into the night. Mark fell asleep first, followed by a constant trickle of children embracing their dreams.

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As the moon majestically dominated the night sky, Dellons could not fall asleep. He looked at the children of various ages in dreamland, their infantile faces illuminated by the soft moonlight.

A certain red-hair’s mouth was wide open, as drool dripped out his mouth onto a towel that he grasped very tightly. Mark had been found clenching this towel in an alleyway crying 8 years ago. Since then, Dellons had never seen Mark sleep without the towel.

Raising his head revealed a delicate and immature face. The jet black stared at the ceiling for a second, before moving to remove the little angel sleeping on his left arm. The 4 year-old frowned as Dellons softly put him back on his futon. Having tiptoed out of the hall, the child softly opened the front door and laid down on the grass.

In his mouth was a strand of green grass. He chewed it slightly and let the bitterness gradually spread into his mouth. Dellons spat the grass out after a while. Facing the sky, he whispered:

“What did I do to deserve this?”

The mellow light and silent night pierced his heart. His lungs were constricted by an imaginary pressure and Dellons could not help but breathe heavily.

Raising his white palm to block the moon, only letting some moonlight pass through the gaps of his fingers, Dellons sighed lightly. He lazily pulled his hand back and, as his arms started to hurt from being put up, he put both of his hands behind his head absentmindedly.

Preoccupied to the extent of being unaware of his surroundings, he did not realize that a certain old man was approaching him.

“Little Dellons, it’s already quite late. Why are you out here?”

Only the sound of frogs croaking answered him. The director sat down next to the boy and stroked his head gently. Tears started welling up in Dellons' eyes and his young arms wrapped around the caretaker.