Missing Kids II

Hubert stirred from his light slumber. Years of experience as a Wanderer had trained him to wake at the slightest change in his surroundings. He sat up, stretching his stiff muscles, and looked around their makeshift camp.

"Time to wake up," he called out, his gruff voice carrying easily in the still morning air. "We need to head back to town."

Marin responded almost immediately, her eyes snapping open as she reached for her weapon out of habit. But as Hubert's gaze swept across the camp, he realized something was amiss. Turai's sleeping spot was empty, his pack gone.

"Marin," Hubert said, trying to keep the worry from his voice, "have you seen Turai?"

The woman frowned, scanning the area. "No, I haven't. Wasn't he just here last night?"

Hubert nodded, his brow furrowing. "Aye, he was. But now..." He trailed off, already moving to search the perimeter of their camp.

As he circled back, something caught his eye - a piece of paper, folded hastily and tucked beneath a small rock. With a sense of foreboding, Hubert picked it up and unfolded it.

The letter, written in Turai's hurried scrawl, read:

"Hubert, Marin, I'm sorry to leave like this, but I couldn't shake off the terrible feeling. Something's wrong at the orphanage - I can sense it. I've had these premonitions before, and they've always been right. I couldn't ignore it this time. I've gone back to check on them. Don't worry about me, and don't feel obligated to follow. This is my burden to bear. I'll be back before the next mission.

- Turai"

Hubert read the letter twice before handing it to Marin. He watched as her expression shifted from confusion to shock, and finally settled on a mix of hurt and concern.

"Why didn't he wake us?" Marin asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "We could have helped him. We're a team, aren't we?"

Hubert sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. "The boy's got a good heart, Marin. He didn't want to implicate us in what he probably sees as his personal problem. He's trying to protect us, in his own way."

Marin nodded slowly, understanding dawning in her eyes. "So, what do we do now, Hubert? We can't just let him face this alone, whatever 'this' is."

A small smile tugged at Hubert's lips. "Of course not. We help Turai, that's what we do. Whatever challenge he's facing, we'll be there to support him."

With their decision made, they quickly broke camp and set out, following the faint trail Turai had left behind. The boy was skilled, but in his haste, he'd left just enough signs for experienced Wanderers like Hubert and Marin to track.

Fortune seemed to smile upon them as they emerged from the forest onto a well-traveled road. In the distance, they spotted a carriage approaching.

"Let's see if we can catch a ride," Hubert suggested. "We'll make better time that way."

As the carriage drew near, they flagged it down. The driver, a middle-aged man with a weathered face, looked at them suspiciously.

"Please," Marin said, her voice filled with genuine concern, "we need to get to town as quickly as possible. Our son... he's run off, and we fear he might be in danger."

It wasn't entirely a lie, Hubert thought. In many ways, Turai had become like a son—at least to him—during their short time together.

The driver's expression softened. "Alright, hop on. I'm heading that way myself, and I can pick up the pace a bit."

Grateful for the man's kindness, Hubert and Marin climbed aboard, their thoughts racing ahead to what they might find in town.

Meanwhile, Turai had already reached the outskirts of the town. His heart pounded in his chest, partly from the exertion of his long night's journey, but mostly from the fear of what he might discover.

As he rounded the corner to the street where the orphanage stood, Turai's worst fears were realized. The building, once a sanctuary for him and so many others, now stood in ruins. Windows were shattered, the door hung off its hinges, and debris littered the street.

With trembling steps, Turai approached the wreckage. His mind raced with possibilities, each more terrible than the last. Were the children inside? Had they been taken? Or worse...?

"Goddamned bastards! Didn't I make myself clear enough? Huh?!" Unable to contain his anguish any longer, Turai let out a soul-wrenching scream that echoed through the empty streets. The sound, filled with pain and fury, reached the ears of Mrs. Benson, who had taken shelter in a nearby house.

"Turai?" She emerged, her face a mixture of relief and sorrow at the sight of Turai. Without hesitation, she rushed to him, enveloping the boy in a tight embrace.

"Turai, oh thank the gods you're safe," she whispered, feeling the anger and pain radiating from him. "Shh, it's alright. Take deep breaths, child."

Slowly, Turai's fury subsided, replaced by a cold determination. He pulled back from Mrs. Benson's embrace, his eyes scanning the area for any clues.

"What happened here?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "Where is everyone?"

Mrs. Benson's face fell. "Come inside," she said softly. "I'll tell you everything."

In the relative safety of the neighboring house, Mrs. Benson recounted the terrifying events that had transpired. She told Turai of the men who had stormed the orphanage, of how they had taken several of the children, and of the cryptic words they had left behind.

With each word, Turai's resolve hardened. He remembered the plea of the youngest orphan, begging him not to leave, and guilt threatened to overwhelm him.

"This is my fault," he muttered, his fists clenching at his sides. "I should have been here. I could have protected them."

Mrs. Benson, seeing the torment in his eyes, tried to reassure him. "No, Turai, it's not your fault. You couldn't have known. We should organize a search party, alert the town guard-"

But Turai was already on his feet, shaking his head. "No, Mrs. Benson. I'll go alone. I'll bring them back - all of them. I won't return until I do. You all can set up a party atyour convenience."

"But Turai," Mrs. Benson protested, "it's too dangerous. You're just one boy against who knows how many-"

"I'm not just a boy," Turai interrupted, his eyes blazing with determination. "You of all people know that. I have to do this."

She knew. She'd always known since the very first day she picked him up. She knew he was completely different from every other kid in almost all aspects that mattered. Before she could say another word, Turai was out the door, his mind set on a destination. He had a lead, a place to start his search, and nothing would deter him from his mission.

As he disappeared into the bustling town, Mrs. Benson could only watch, her heart heavy with worry for both Turai and the missing children.

"Dear gods, please see him through." She silently prayed for their safety, hoping against hope that Turai's abilities would be enough to bring them all home.