I - The Web calls forth a new hero.
The late afternoon sun covered the orphanage courtyard in warm light, stretching across the stone paths spreading a soft glow on the faces of children running through corridors and gardens. Laughter with hurried footsteps filled the air as they made their way between the halls and corridors, their voices mixing with the distant ringing of church bells.
A gentle spring breeze carried the scent of fresh jasmine flowers, rustling the leaves of an old sycamore tree that stood near the iron gates. Pigeons fluttered along the rooftop, cooing softly as they watched the children below. One pigeon suddenly took flight, its wings flapping as it flew up higher, giving a view of the orphanage from above. The building, old and weathered, sat quietly in the city of Paris with its name carved into the old arch above the entrance —Saint-Croix Orphelinat—these words reminded everyone that this place was more of a limbo than a home.
Below, beyond the courtyard walls, the sounds of the city carried on, snippets of conversations in French, laughter, the loud ding of a bicycle bell, and the low rumble of a passing bus. A man greeted someone with a casual “Bonsoir,” while another voice, quick and impatient, muttered something about being late. A child called for their mother, their words disappearing into the noise of the streets.
But inside these walls, the world felt smaller. A place of waiting. Of uncertainty.
Children came and went, some lucky enough to leave with families who wanted them. Others, like Thomas, simply stayed. Year after year. He had been here for as long as he could remember, moved from a temporal home in a southern city near the Mediterranean Sea, never staying anywhere long enough to belong.
Thomas sat on the edge of the courtyard fountain, his fingers running along the rough, cool stone. The water behind him trickled softly, a steady rhythm that usually calmed him, but not today.
Across from him, an older boy stood with his arms crossed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His sharp eyes watched Thomas like a cat playing with its prey. The teasing started like it always did. A low voice, just loud enough for him to hear over the laughter and shouts of the other kids playing nearby “No real last name, no real family. Not even your friends stick long enough around you, do they?” He stiffened, his fingers curling against the stone. And just stared at the ground, willing himself to ignore it, but the words settled in his chest with a heavy weight.
It is not the first time he heard these words, and they always hurt. The boy took a step closer, tilting his head, waiting for a reaction. When Thomas didn’t give him one, the smirk widened.
Then came the shove.
Thomas didn’t think. His body moved on its own. His fist connected hard with the other boy’s face, a sharp crack echoing through the courtyard. The older boy staggered, eyes wide with shock, before lunging at him.
Shouting erupted around them as they crashed to the ground, rolling over the rough stone. Adrenaline surged through Thomas, drowning out everything but the fight. Arms swung, legs kicked, fists clenched tight. He felt the sting of a scrape burning across his cheek, the sharp, metallic taste of blood on his lip. The fight ended as quickly as it began.
Rough hands grabbed them, yanking them apart, forcing the world back into focus.
“Enough!”
Sister Anun’s voice was calm but firm. She was one of the few at the orphanage who never seemed to lose her cool. Unlike the others, she didn’t scold him or raise her voice. She simply took his wrist and led him inside. In the infirmary, she pressed a damp cloth to the cut above his brow, dabbing gently.
The coolness stung, but her touch was careful, almost kind. She sighed, watching him for a moment before speaking “Don’t be angry, kid. God works in mysterious ways.” Her voice softened. “Besides… You are a miracle child, Thomas.” She paused and winked, pressing the cloth a little firmer. “Shouldn’t be telling you this…But I still can’t believe you were the only survivor of that horrible wreckage. The Lord must have kept his eye on you. I pray one day, a good family will too.”
Thomas didn’t say a word. He was surprised to learn this, eyes widening and then just stared at the floor, letting her words settle in his mind.
You are a miracle child… this sentence echoed in his mind as he walked up the stairs. That thought stayed with him long after he left the infirmary.
The other kids glanced at him as he made his way across the room and didn’t say anything when he climbed into bed that night. He barely even noticed them. Lying on his back, he let his eyes follow the cracks in the ceiling, his mind turning over sister Anun’s words again and again until he fell asleep.
That’s when the strange dreams began.
Thomas found himself walking down a dark path, surrounded by a world that felt both real and unreal. Soft blue flames flickered along the edges of the path, spreading an eerie glow. With every step he took, they pulsed, shifting as if they were alive.
Sometimes, the flames twisted into strange shapes forming symbols that floated in the air, constantly changing as he got closer to them, almost trying to speak to him, before flickering back into blue flames. The deeper he walked, the stronger a strange feeling grew inside of his chest that this place was familiar.
Not just in a distant, dreamlike way, but something deeper, connected to something much older. It felt like it had always been part of him, even though he had never seen this place before.
There was no ground beneath his feet, yet he could hear the soft crunch of leaves and twigs as he moved, and the ground felt firm under his shoes. It made no sense, but it was a dream, it didn’t need to make sense. When he looked up, the sky stretched endlessly above him, filled with constellations unlike anything he has seen in the night sky.
They pulsed with an uncanny light, glowing in rhythm with his heartbeat, as if the stars themselves were alive, watching, waiting. Then, for a brief moment, they all shimmered in unison, as threads of luminous white energy started linking them together in an intricate, almost delicate formation, it looked like an immense, celestial pattern woven across the heavens. The web-like structure flickered, pulsing as though reacting to something, before dissolving into the night, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.
With each step, the path ahead became clearer, as the dream itself was sharpening, pulling him deeper into its mystery. Then, without warning, Thomas realized that he wasn’t alone on this path. shapes of people began to appear at the edges of his vision, materializing from the darkness like ghosts stepping into the light. They looked human, yet not entirely.
Some were tall, others short, their forms changing as they moved. They wore robes, armor, tunics and clothing from different eras, different places. Some drifted near, while others lingered in the distance, watching in silence. He tried to focus on their faces, but when he did they were blurred, concealed beneath a shimmering dust that glowed like tiny stars.
He ran closer to one and tried to meet their eyes, closing the gap between them. The figure leaned back ever so slightly, and the light fractured across the space, hiding their face completely. A few began to point in his direction.
Others whispered in hushed tones among themselves, speaking a language that tugged at something deep inside of him. It felt familiar, like a word on the tip of his tongue, yet impossible to grasp.
From somewhere further behind him, a low, deliberate breathing cut through the noise… then, beneath it, a rasping laugher echoed, cold and hollow, like the dead whispering from stone.
Thomas turned and froze, there it was… a silhouette carved out of the dark, its edges jagged and unnatural. The head tilted in a way no living thing should, then it stepped forward suddenly, quick enough to make his chest tighten.
Instinctively, he turned to run. His legs felt heavy at first, but something within him pushed forward—an urgent pull that refused to stop. The farther he went the faster he got, the air began to hum with energy, soft and electric, and with every step, tiny blue sparks crackled to life around him.
They popped and fizzled like miniature fireworks, swirling through the air before vanishing. Thomas didn’t look back— he pushed forward, his steps pulling more of them into existence. At first just a handful, then dozens, then hundreds. The sparks grew in size, flashing in bursts of red, blue, gold, and white, twisting and circling him. They wrapped around his arms, his chest, winding upward until a spiraling vortex of light that enclosed him. Each movement fed their power, the glow sharpening, pulsing… until, in a single heartbeat, the colors exploded outward, swallowing everything in a brilliant, blinding flash.
As the final sparks faded, Thomas stood in a quiet meadow beneath two moons. The nearer one was small and pale, with soft craters, similar to the moon he knew. Behind it was a second moon… larger, with a darker, shadowed surface, moving more slowly across the sky as if keeping a patient watch. They hung almost in line, the bright moon’s light brushing gently over the dark craters of its greater twin.
He glanced over his shoulder to check if that shadow was there… but no one was there. A strange calm settled over him, the kind that felt almost unreal. In the middle of the grass stood a large, soft bed, its sheets moving gently in the night air. He got closer and climbed onto it without hesitation, sinking instantly into its warmth, and drifted into a deep, unbroken sleep. For once, there were no restless thoughts, no tossing or turning… only stillness.
The morning light streamed through the orphanage windows, sending long beams across the wooden floors. The usual sounds filled the air, children laughing in the courtyard, the distant ringing of the church bells, and sister Anun calling for breakfast.
Thomas now twelve years old sat at his desk in the classroom, staring at an open book in front of him, though he wasn’t really reading. The same routine, the same day. Nothing ever changed.
Then, from the corner of his eye, he noticed something unusual. A man and a woman stood just beyond the doorway, speaking quietly with one of the sisters. The man had sharp features, dark hair neatly combed, he wore a crisp white shirt, a blue-and-yellow striped tie, and a simple yet well-fitted coat. His posture was straight, serious, but his brown eyes held warmth beneath the surface. The woman beside him had soft features, wavy chestnut hair that framed her face, and there was a quiet grace about her. She wore a navy blue coat with a red crimson scarf wrapped around her neck, her expression warm yet observant.
He had seen this before many times, more visitors looking for a child to adopt. The younger kids always sat up straighter when they came, trying to look their best, hoping today was the day someone would pick them.