The two bodies on the floor had long since begun attracting flies. The child shooed them away, and they rose like a thin wisp of buzzing smoke only to settle again on the dried blood. The child gave up after awhile, dazedly wandering back upstairs to where his sister hanged from the ceiling. Hey eyes, glazed and unseeing, mirrored his own. It was dark, and the child wept. His only comfort was the faint light his friend gave off as she soothed him with her song. Her name was Reesha; Reesha told him she was his Guardian.

The child’s name was Thomas. It was the day after his parents had died that his sister had hanged herself; her name was Sherri. His parents were merely “Mommy” and “Daddy”, and they had been dead for less than two weeks now. But not much less. After they’d died he grew fearful of the dark, and wandered through the house flicking light switches, convinced that what he was afraid of could not harm him if the lights were burning brightly all the time. In a few hours he had blown a fuse, not knowing what’d happened, and Thomas hid in a corner and bawled, and that was when Reesha appeared to him for the first time. She was a white griffon, with green swirls patterned down her wings and back.

With a low, indignant rumble, his stomach reminded Thomas how hungry he was, bringing him back to the present. He stumbled back down the cold wooden stairs, almost sobbing in terror as the house creaked and sighed in the cool night air, but then he had reached the kitchen. He pulled open the refrigerator and the sickly-sweet smell of rotting food hit him like a slap and he reeled away, retching dryly. The smell reminded Thomas of his parents, sprawled face down in the next room with the flies eating them and the maggots and the blood…He began to cry again, sat down on the kitchen floor and poured out his misery in meaningless wails.

Reesha appeared with that soothing golden light, and his wails subsided to quiet sniffles. She gazed at Thomas affectionately, who wonder again how her eyes could be so fiercely protective and gentle at the same time. Presently she began to speak, in that same calming lilt that she sung in.

“Thomas, you have to leave this place soon.”

The boy almost started to cry again. His voice shook as he questioned her.

“I can’t tell you right now, but you’ll have to be on your way and on your own by tomorrow’s first light.”

Thomas could feel the tears welling back up under his eyelids. He uttered little more than a mute squeak of fear. Reesha began to whisper soothing instructions to him, and then faded away.

That night, Thomas changed his name.

The Hekshanian running the orphanage was getting old. Her joints ached with arthritis, and her once healthy fur had lost its original luster. She moved slowly whenever she could, rarely leaving her dirty, cluttered office except for emergencies. Still, she carried herself with a sort of stern grace, even for her age.

A loud crash shook plaster from the ceiling. The old Hekshanian heaved a great, exasperated sigh and stood, eyes straying heavenward. Oh, but of course, she thought bitterly, there’s no one up THERE to help me now, in these desperate times.

Painfully hurrying up the rickety staircase, the Hekshanian pushed the door to the beds open and shouted to make herself be heard over the dreadful din. The mass of orphaned aliens huddled like a single, seething screaming entity broke apart and scrambled towards the far wall. As wild as they were, they still held a certain respect for the adults. The only one left was a young Human with a cut on his lip and a rapidly blackening eye. His nose was bleeding freely, and his face and arms were covered with scratches. Bruises glared darkly and angrily through garments reduced to little more than tattered strips of cloth. He was crying, she saw, but he stubbornly wiped the back of his hand across his eyes and bit his tongue.

“Craika, what’s been going on here?”

A few children—the younger ones—sniffed quietly. Many shuffled their feet and seemed interested in the dust on the floor. The Human stared at the mottled group reproachfully. A tall Hekshanian shivered, and said hesitantly, “He’s a Human. The Rulerists killed our parents. He’s one of them.” He spat the last word out like an insult.

A low murmur ran through the group of aliens. Very few of them had been spared the scene of mass murder, with their parents as victims. Very few. The old Hekshanian rolled her eyes heavenward once more. “When you judge him for what his species has done, you’re no worse that the Rulerists, don’t you see? You let him be, he hasn’t done anything…” The yet she hadn’t spoken hung in the air like a bad omen.

More shuffling. The Human stood suddenly, and several of the nearer orphans jumped, but he had only crossed the room to his bunk and silently pulled on a pair of loose jeans. Ribs showed through the remains of his shirt, pushing against a pathetically thin frame. The floor was once again the center of attention.

He came back to the Hekshanian with a pad and pen clutched in his hands. He scribbled a short note in messy letters, tore the page off and handed it to her.

I’m not angry, Miss Liana.

Miss Liana the Old-Hekshanian-Keeper-of-Orphans sighed. A butterfly alighted on the windowsill outside and she was momentarily fascinated by it; blissfully ignorant thing didn’t have a care in the world, probably, except for where the next goddamned flower was. As it wondered away, some remote part of her mind wondered why it was still out so near winter.

“I don’t care whether YOU are angry or not, this is not the sort of deed that I allow to go unpunished. Who started this?”

The orphans answered for him, their voices high and insistent.

“—was him, the—”

“—jumped on Rinn—”

“—I didn’t say nothing—!”

The elder Hekshanian frowned at them, and the frantic babble gradually faded away. The floor had had its fifteen minutes of fame, and now everyone was looking at the Human boy and Miss Liana. The Human looked stonily across the room at the orphans as Liana turned to him and asked, still frowning, “Is this true?”

The boy’s eyes never left the assorted aliens as he nodded yes. The Headmistress was taken aback even as she motioned him to the door. Never before had a child so openly admitted to a fault.

He’s different, she mused. Very different.

FILE NAME: NASHIDE KANGEN
Age:13
Height:5’
Weight:88 lbs.
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Eye Color: Gray
Hair Color: Black

COMMENTS: Method of arrival unto Hekshano unknown. Parents are apparently deceased. Subject is mute; however, he houses no physical disabilities, so the problem appears to be psychological. Perhaps emotional stress. Subject is educated enough to read and write and calculate. Possible kleptomania, subject was found with many stolen items. Items have been returned, of course; depression is definite. Possible schizophrenia.

Nashide slept uneasily that night, as visions of fire and blood mingled with the rattle of gunfire and the screams of many voices. Sight and sound blended together as if they were a unified sense. Images and vague shapes swam in and out of focus, faces leered grotesquely at him from the shadowy recesses of his mind. The ground—if it was really there—seemed unsteady beneath his feet; his body seemed boneless and rubbery. With a soundless explosion of light, the ground turned solid and the suddenness of it threw him flat, face-first. A heavy weight settled onto his back and he cried out, with a voice he always had in the world of his dreams. It resonated in his mind, more beautiful than he had ever imagined, and faded away. The ground beneath his nose smelled of freshly baked bread, a golden light illuminating the slender blades of grass. A voice sounded in his ears, quiet, calm, and with enough force to make his skin tingle. Beside it, his own voice was nothing.

“Hello again, Thomas.”

Nashide scowled. That’s not my name!

“It is, Thomas. You ought to remember. Do you know who I am?”

Nashide searched his mind, and unearthed what he had once tried to bury.

Reesha!

“Hello again, Thomas. Or if you prefer it, Nashide.”

Nashide, who was once Thomas, remained silent. He wanted nothing more to leave, except perhaps to hear more of that voice.

“Nashide, you have to go again. You have to leave here. Another exodus, if you will.”

Nashide frowned. Leave again? But…why?

That soft, golden voice was making him drowsy, but Nashide heard every word it spoke. Every word Reesha uttered was like a starburst of light in his head, as his dream allowed.

“This place will fall tomorrow. Nashide, you’ll have to leave tonight, while it is still dark. Gather you possessions and go.”

There may have been more, but the dream seemed to be dissolving; the weight was gone from the child’s back and he stood. With a lurch of fear, he felt eyes and turned, and the ground shattered like glass and he was falling, falling—

—only to awake, bathed in cold sweat, the chill breeze from an open window raising goosebumps on his bared chest. He didn’t hesitate in swinging himself off the bunk. Throwing on a shirt as he went, Nashide crept downstairs and paused. The Headmistress was still asleep. Heart pounding with every creak the old apartment made, he found what he was looking for: the old closet where all the things the orphans had been found with were kept. A moments rummaging and he was reunited with his old and battered pack.

Back upstairs, it was a short matter to stuff his few belongings into it. Clothing, paper and pen were hastily crammed into the backpack. The clips made almost no sound as they snapped shut.

Something on the bunk caught his eye. It seemed as if a yellow snake writher on the sheets, elusive and twisting. Screwing up his eyes against its illusionary movement, it was a small length of time before Nashide realized just what it was.

A gold amulet, shaped like a miniature griffon, had formed itself from the air and light and was now lying on the bed. He stared, bewildered, and heard something as faint as the wind.

Nashide Kangen…

Without another thought he snatched it up and hung it around his neck. The amulet was warm, as if it had been held tightly for sometime. If felt comfortable, resting against his chest.

Nashide shouldered his pack and strode towards the door. Something made him stop, and he turned. He stared solemnly around at the children. He wished.

You can’t save them, Reesha had said.

Nashide saluted, and was gone.

That following morning, few people cared that Nashide was gone. The Headmistress was frantic, though, and insisted that they search for him. Strange as Nashide’s disappearance was, even stranger was that the orphanage couldn’t find any of his files, on paper or on computer file. It was as if he had truly disappeared for good.

Two hours later, went that part of Hekshano was in flames, they cared even less.