The noonday sun spilled softly through the orphanage's arched windows, lighting the freshly polished floors.
Eleven-year-old Kael sat in his wheelchair with the straight-backed pride of someone who refused pity. His legs, thin beneath neatly pressed trousers, lay still as stone. But his eyes—warm, bright, impossibly gentle—held a world brimming with more courage than most grown men possessed.
Beside him walked Natalie, a tiny girl with enormous spectacles and even bigger devotion shining in her gaze. She giggled at something Kael murmured, a private joke between two small souls who clung to joy where others wouldn't bother searching.
"You aren't hungry?" she asked, brown curls bouncing as she matched her steps to the wheels of his chair.
"Just milk today," Kael replied lightly. "I want to save room for your boring book club later. Can't get through them without munching on something."
"Boring?!" she gasped in scandalized delight, swatting his shoulder. "One day, when you become a famous professor, you'll thank me!"
Kael smiled, imagining that—imagining standing before a classroom, walking confidently without help—his brothers cheering him on…
Professor.
Doctor.
Lawyer.
Those were the words Jordan repeated to him like a prayer. Words that meant a future far bigger than this small, cold orphanage.
"I'll get your milk!" Natalie declared, already sprinting ahead.
He watched her disappear into the bustling mess hall—his heartbeat lighter because she existed.
But light is a fragile thing when shadows lurk nearby.
Greg and his two shadows—boys older by only a year but cruel enough to seem decades ahead in wickedness—stepped into his path. Greg tilted his head, smirking down with a wolf's curiosity.
"Well, isn't this special?" he drawled. "Little prince in a chair sending his girl to fetch milk. Can't reach it yourself?"
Kael kept his chin high. Silence was his armour curated especially for idiots like Greg.
"Oh wait," Greg continued with a mock gasp, "you can't."
Laughter erupted like spitting fire. Kael's knuckles whitened against the wheels. He inhaled slowly—counting like Jordan had taught him when anger tried to take the reins.
No violence, Kael.
We rise by the mind, not the fists.
You are meant for greatness.
Natalie returned, breathless and triumphant—holding that small carton like a prized gift.
"There—fresh and cold!"
Before Kael could thank her, Greg snatched the carton. He tilted it theatrically—and poured the milk over Kael's head. White rivulets traced down his cheeks like mock tears. Natalie gasped, choking back a cry.
Greg leaned in close, foul breath touching Kael's ear. "Hope your brain works better than your legs."
It did. That was the only reason the big old fool was alive.
More laughter spilled across the hallway before they sauntered away, victorious in their pettiness.
Kael didn't look after them. Didn't give them the satisfaction. He blinked milk from his lashes, repeating the vow that anchored him:
Be better. Be brilliant. Be strong—with your heart.
This was for Jordan and Askai...
Natalie rushed to dab at him with trembling hands.
"It's fine," he murmured, grasping her wrist gently. "Really. I'll clean up. Go eat. Please."
Her eyes glimmered with indecision—but she nodded, giving his shoulder one last squeeze before hurrying inside.
Kael wheeled himself toward the bathroom—each rotation stiff and frustrated. One more year. Then he would be back with Askai and Jordan.
Once inside, he closed the door. Milk soaked into his shirt, sticky and cold. He tried to lift himself toward the sink—slipping, his fingers barely brushing the faucet.
His breath came fast—embarrassment, anger, helplessness swirling like a storm in his chest.
He was wiping weakly at his hair when the door creaked open behind him.
Greg.
Kael froze.
The older boy stepped inside, swaying like a nightmare. He nudged the door closed with his heel.
"Didn't thank me for the bath," Greg sneered. "Where are your brave big brothers now? Probably hiding—just like you. Cowards, all of you."
Something inside Kael—so carefully held together by Jordan's love and Askai's steady affection—snapped.
There was this one rule the brothers had lived by.
You don't mess with family.
He grabbed the nearest thing—a floor wiper—and struck.
The wet thud of the handle slamming into Greg's groin was followed by a high, broken gasp. Greg doubled over, hands flying to protect what was already lost.
"And this," Kael hissed through clenched teeth, "is for calling them cowards."
He rammed his forehead upward with every ounce of fury in his small frame.
Cartilage shattered and blood spattered. Greg's eyes went wide—shock transforming into terror—before they rolled back… and he collapsed at Kael's feet.
Kael's threw away the wiper and it clattered against the floor.
He was the third brother. He knew how to defend his people, even their names.
Kael sat there breathing hard, pulse roaring in his ears. His fist—clenched tight—trembled.
Professor. Doctor. Lawyer.
He repeated it like a Mantra.
But as he stared at Greg's crumpled form, he felt something rising inside him—something that tasted like victory mixed with survival.
A faint smile flickered on his face interrupted by Natalie's frantic knocks that rattled the thin door.
"Kael? Kael, Are you there?!"
He inhaled sharply—forcing his breath to steady, burying his emotions further deep inside him. With effort, he maneuvered forward and unlocked the door.
As it swung open, Natalie's wide, anxious eyes swept over him—and then flicked to the floor behind him. Greg lay unconscious, blood streaked from his nose. But Natalie did not scream.
Instead, her gaze returned to Kael… full of knowing, full of fierce loyalty. She had always known he was brave. Strong. A boy whose heart outgrew his broken body.
Kael looked away, ashamed of the violence… and yet, not regretting it.
Natalie's expression changed suddenly—excitement blooming like sunlight through storm clouds.
"Kael," she whispered breathlessly, "your brother, Jordan is here."
Everything inside him jolted to life. His face lifted, radiant with hope and anticipation—
Jordan was here.
But then, as quickly as it had flickered bright, the light in his eyes dimmed. He looked down at his milk-soaked shirt… his useless legs… the mess.
"I—I can't go out like this," he murmured, humiliation threatening to choke him.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, as if remembering a secret. She thrust something from behind her back—fresh gym clothes neatly folded. "I brought these. Don't worry."
Kael blinked at her in stunned gratitude.
Without another word, Natalie stepped inside and locked the door. She set the clothes aside and gently guided his wheelchair into the bathroom.
"Head down," she ordered softly.
He obeyed.
Natalie turned on the faucet, warm water cascading over his hair. Her small hands carefully smoothed milk away from his skin, rinsing through the strands like a ritual of comfort. Kael took a cloth and water, wiping the sticky remnants from his arms and shirt.
There was a quiet intimacy in the tiny bathroom—two children fighting their own battles against a world too large.
"Is he alone?" Kael asked quietly, blinking water from his lashes.
"Your brother?" she nodded. "Seems so."
Kael let out a breathy laugh. "Askai must be waiting at home. He always says the orphanage smells like boiled cabbage."
Natalie smiled at that, wringing water from a strand of his hair. "You love them a lot… don't you?"
His answer was immediate, unwavering.
"They're everything."
She swallowed, glancing at the limp stillness of his legs. Guilt tugged her features downward. "You're lucky," she murmured. "Even if you're… even if…"
Her voice faltered.
Kael gently shook his head, finishing for her with quiet conviction:
"I would still count myself the luckiest boy alive—even if I lost both my hands—so long as I had my brothers."
Natalie's breath hitched at the sheer truth of it—the way his affection burned brighter than any pain he carried.
She pressed a fresh towel to his forehead, her eyes misting. "You deserve the world, Kael," she whispered. "And one day… you'll have it."
He smiled—a small, determined upturn of lips that hinted at the man he would grow into.
"Not without them," he said.
They finished cleaning in silence—Natalie helping him change into the new clothes while Kael tucked away every trace of the wounded boy who had entered that room.
When they finally opened the bathroom door, Kael's heart pounded—not from fear, but from anticipation.
Jordan waited outside somewhere. Home waited.
And Kael, rolling forward with his chin lifted high, carried a heart full of brilliant hope despite the humiliation of the foregone moments.