At the peak of midnight.
The orphanage was quiet, with everyone sleeping soundly, dead tired after the day's work.
The dim glow of lanterns casting long shadows against the worn wooden walls across the streets.
Electricity and gas were only accessible to the rich and nobles who could afford them.
Gare pushed open the creaky door and stepped inside, his boots making no sound against the cold stone floor. The air was thick with the scent of dust and candle wax.
Across the orphans in the front yard, a lone figure swung his sword in the dim light. Baret's muscles tensed and relaxed with each precise movement, the blade cutting through the air with a soft whistle. Sweat clung to his skin, but he showed no sign of stopping.
"You should take a rest," Gare said casually, watching the relentless swings.
Baret didn't even glance at him. "Resting won't let me achieve what I am aiming for," he muttered, his voice low and distant.
A faint childish voice interrupted. "What do you aim for?"
