Autumn deepened around Serenity Home, the trees bzing with color before surrendering their leaves to the increasingly chill winds. For nearly two months, Eris and Vance maintained their secret sanctuary in the woods, stealing away three or four times a week to practice and talk freely beyond Mr. Harrison's watchful eye.
These stolen hours became Eris's lifeline. Within the orphanage walls, everything continued to change. Lily, her st remaining original roommate, was transferred to a specialized program for gifted children, leaving Eris with two strangers in the room she'd once shared with friends. Staff rotations accelerated under Mr. Harrison's new efficiency policies, creating a revolving door of adults who barely had time to learn the children's names before being reassigned.
In this constant flux, only Vance remained steady, his presence a fixed point around which Eris could orient herself. Their friendship had evolved into something deeper than words could easily capture—a blend of mentor and student, brother and sister, two survivors clinging to the same life raft in turbulent waters.
Then came the letter.
Eris was studying in the library when Ms. Reynolds approached, her clipboard clutched to her chest as always.
"Eris, Mr. Harrison would like to see you in his office."
The summons sent a flutter of anxiety through Eris's stomach. Had they been discovered? Had someone seen them slipping through the fence? She followed Ms. Reynolds down the hall, mentally rehearsing excuses and expnations.
Mr. Harrison sat behind his desk, his military-precise posture unchanged since his arrival three months ago. His expression gave nothing away as he gestured for Eris to take a seat.
"Eris," he began without preamble, "we've received some news regarding your case."
Her case. Not her. Vance's words echoed in her mind: To the system, we're just cases to be managed.
"A letter arrived this morning from the police department in Westridge, a town about two hours north of here," Mr. Harrison continued, opening a folder on his desk. "They believe they may have identified you."
The world seemed to tilt beneath Eris. For a moment, she couldn't breathe, couldn't process the words. Identified. After nearly two years as just "Eris Kane," a name given to her by strangers, someone might know who she really was.
"How?" she managed finally. "Who am I?"
Mr. Harrison's expression remained professionally neutral. "The letter is from Detective Quinn of the Bureau of Breach Investigation. He's been examining old case files regarding an incident that happened around the time you were found. A young girl, approximately the same age, disappeared after her parents were..." He hesitated, gncing at Ms. Reynolds, who gave a small nod. "After her parents were killed during a catastrophic Breach containment operation."
Eris felt as if she'd been plunged into ice water. "Killed?" she repeated, the word feeling foreign on her tongue. "My parents were murdered?"
"We don't know if you are this missing girl," Mr. Harrison cautioned. "But there are simirities in the timing and circumstances that warrant investigation. Detective Quinn will be coming tomorrow to meet with you and possibly collect a DNA sample for comparison with the missing child's belongings."
The information was too overwhelming to process. Eris sat frozen, her mind racing but unable to grasp any coherent thought.
"This could be a positive development, Eris," Ms. Reynolds chimed in, her voice taking on the professional warmth she reserved for official discussions. "If we can establish your identity, there may be retives who've been searching for you. Perhaps even family members who could provide a home."
Family. The word hung in the air, tantalizing and terrifying at once. Could there really be people connected to her by blood, people who remembered her as she had been before the bnk ste of her hospital awakening?
"What was her name?" Eris asked suddenly. "The missing girl."
Mr. Harrison consulted the letter again. "Elena. Elena Nightshade."
Elena Nightshade. Eris turned the name over in her mind, searching for any flicker of recognition, any sense of familiarity. There was nothing—just another bel as foreign to her as "Eris Kane" had been when Nurse Chen first suggested it.
"Detective Quinn will be here at ten o'clock tomorrow morning," Mr. Harrison informed her, closing the folder with finality. "You'll be excused from school for the meeting. I suggest you prepare yourself for the possibility that this may indeed be your identity, but also for the possibility that it is not. Either way, this is a significant step in your case."
My case. Not my life. My case.
Eris nodded mechanically, hearing the dismissal in his tone. She rose from the chair, her legs feeling strangely disconnected from her body, and walked woodenly from the office.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of disjointed thoughts and conflicting emotions. She moved through dinner without tasting the food, responded to questions without hearing them, completed her evening routine by rote memory rather than conscious action.
Only one thought remained clear: she needed to tell Vance.
Their next scheduled meeting at the clearing wasn't until the following afternoon, after the detective's visit. Eris knew she couldn't wait that long. After lights-out, she y awake in her bed, listening to the steady breathing of her roommates, counting the minutes until midnight—the time she and Vance had established for emergency communications.
At precisely twelve o'clock, Eris slipped from her bed and padded silently to her window. Their rooms were on different sides of the building, but from certain angles, they could see each other's windows. Carefully, using the small penlight Vance had given her, she fshed the signal they had devised for urgent contact: three short bursts, a pause, two long.
Then she waited, counting seconds in her head. After exactly sixty, she repeated the signal. Another minute passed, heavy with anticipation, before she saw the answering fsh from Vance's window: two short, one long, two short. Message received. East stairwell. Five minutes.
The east stairwell was rarely used at night, located farthest from the staff bedroom and monitoring station. Eris returned the penlight to its hiding pce beneath her mattress and pulled on a sweater over her pajamas. With practiced stealth—a skill honed over nearly two years of orphanage life—she eased her door open and slipped into the darkened hallway.
The journey to the east stairwell required navigating two corridors and passing the girls' bathroom. Eris moved silently, staying close to the walls where the floorboards were less likely to creak. A night-light cast just enough glow to prevent complete darkness—a safety feature that now served as both help and hindrance to her covert mission.
She reached the stairwell without incident and eased the door open just enough to slip through. The space beyond was pitch bck except for the faint emergency exit sign casting a reddish glow at the bottom of the stairs.
"Vance?" she whispered into the darkness.
"Here." His voice came from the nding halfway down, barely audible.
Eris descended carefully, feeling her way along the railing. When she reached the nding, Vance's hand found hers, guiding her to sit beside him on the step.
"What's happened?" he asked, concern evident even in his hushed tone.
In the near-darkness, with only the distant red glow from below illuminating their faces, Eris told him everything—the letter, the detective's imminent visit, the possibility of discovering her true identity. The words tumbled out in a rushed whisper, punctuated by shaky breaths as the reality of it all crashed over her anew in the telling.
Vance listened without interruption, his hand still holding hers, a steady anchor in the emotional tempest.
"Elena Reyes," he repeated when she finished. "Does it feel like your name?"
Eris shook her head, then remembered he could barely see her in the darkness. "No," she whispered. "It feels like a stranger's name. Like they're telling me I might be someone I've never met."
"That's what amnesia means," Vance pointed out gently. "You are someone you've never met."
The simple truth of his statement hit harder than any ptitude could have. Eris felt tears welling in her eyes, tears she'd been holding back since Mr. Harrison's office.
"I'm scared," she admitted, her voice barely audible. "What if I am her? What if my parents really were murdered? What if I saw it happen and that's why I can't remember anything? What if—"
"Shh," Vance interrupted, squeezing her hand. "One step at a time. Meet the detective tomorrow. Listen to what he has to say. Then decide how you feel about it."
His pragmatic approach was so quintessentially Vance that it cut through Eris's spiraling fears, bringing her back to the present moment.
"And if I am Elena Reyes?" she asked. "If there are retives looking for me?"
There was a long pause before Vance answered, his voice carefully controlled. "Then you'll have what every kid here dreams of. A real identity. A real family."
Something in his tone made Eris look up sharply, trying to make out his expression in the dim light. "But I'd have to leave," she said, the realization dawning with sudden crity. "Leave Serenity Home. Leave you."
Vance's silence was answer enough.
The thought hit Eris with unexpected force. In all her desperate wishing to know who she was, she'd never fully considered what reciming her identity might cost. The idea of leaving Vance behind felt like contempting the loss of a limb—a fundamental piece of herself.
"I wouldn't just disappear," she promised fiercely. "Even if I had to go live with retives, I'd make them let me visit. Or you could visit me. We'd still see each other."
"Sure," Vance agreed, but there was a ftness to the word that belied the casual agreement. They both knew the reality of "keeping in touch" from the orphanage. They'd both seen the gradually decreasing frequency of Mei's letters, the promises of visits that never materialized as new lives and new connections took precedence over old ones.
"I mean it," Eris insisted. "You're my best friend. My only real friend. That wouldn't change."
Vance was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice carried a resignation that made him sound much older than his thirteen years. "Everything changes, Eris. That's the one thing you can count on."
Before she could argue further, a noise from the floor above sent them both into immediate silence. Footsteps—a night patrol by one of the staff members, most likely.
"We need to go," Vance whispered, releasing her hand. "Back to your room. We'll talk tomorrow after your meeting."
Eris wanted to protest, to finish their conversation, but the footsteps were drawing closer to the stairwell door. With a quick squeeze of Vance's shoulder, she turned and hurried back up the stairs, slipping through the door just as the night patrol rounded the far corner of the corridor.
As she made her way back to her room, Eris's mind buzzed with competing thoughts—excitement at potentially discovering her true identity warring with fear of what that discovery might mean for her retionship with Vance. By the time she slipped back into bed, no closer to resolving these conflicting emotions, the first hints of dawn were beginning to lighten the sky outside her window.
Detective Quinn was a tall, broad-shouldered man with salt-and-pepper hair and kind eyes that contrasted with his otherwise imposing presence. He arrived precisely at ten o'clock the next morning, carrying a worn leather briefcase and a demeanor of practiced professionalism softened with genuine empathy.
The meeting took pce in a small conference room rather than Mr. Harrison's office, with Dr. Foster present as Eris's advocate. Ms. Reynolds sat in the corner, clipboard at the ready, documenting every word—a human recording device for the official record.
"Hello, Eris," Detective Quinn greeted her, extending a rge hand. "Thank you for meeting with me today."
Eris shook his hand, struck by how small her own appeared in his grasp. "Mr. Harrison said you might know who I am," she said, bypassing pleasantries in her eagerness for answers.
A smile flickered across the detective's face. "Direct. I appreciate that." He sat across from her at the small table and opened his briefcase. "I've been working on a cssified case file for almost two years now. The Nightshade operatives—Orion and Selene, along with their seven-year-old daughter, Elena."
He withdrew a photograph and pced it on the table, turning it to face Eris. A striking couple in what appeared to be some kind of specialized armor stood in front of a training facility, a small girl with dark hair between them. The girl was ughing, her head tilted back slightly, her father's hand resting proudly on her shoulder. Both adults carried strange weapons that seemed to emit a faint glow even in the photograph.
Eris stared at the photo, her heart pounding, searching the child's face for any trace of familiarity, any spark of recognition. The resembnce was undeniable—the same oval face, the same dark eyes, even the small mole near her left eyebrow that Eris saw every day in the mirror.
But the ughing child in the photograph was a stranger to her.
"The Nightshades were ambushed during a high-level Breach containment operation on the night of March 15th, two years ago," Detective Quinn continued, his voice gentle but matter-of-fact. "Orion and Selene were two of our most accomplished S-rank Syers, but they were betrayed by someone within the organization. They were killed protecting a major city center from a catastrophic Breach. Elena disappeared during the chaos. There were signs of a struggle, evidence of Elena's tent Syer abilities manifesting under stress, and indications suggesting she was taken from the scene rather than killed there."
Eris continued to stare at the photograph, trying to reconcile the smiling child with the violence Detective Quinn described. "The date," she said suddenly. "When was I found?"
Dr. Foster answered this question. "March 18th, two years ago. Three days after the Reyes incident."
"And Westridge is how far from here?" Eris asked.
"About a hundred miles north," Detective Quinn replied. "The theory is that whoever took Elena may have been injured in the struggle—we found defensive wounds on Jorge Reyes that suggest he fought back—and was fleeing with her when they had the car accident that left you with amnesia."
It made a horrible kind of sense. The timeline, the physical resembnce, the complete absence of anyone looking for a child matching Eris's description at the time she was found. But still, she felt no emotional connection to the story, no sense of recimed memory.
"There's more," Detective Quinn said, reaching into his briefcase again. "This was found at the scene of the ambush, apparently dropped during the struggle."
He pced a small object on the table—a silver charm bracelet with a single charm: a delicate crescent moon that seemed to glow with a faint inner light.
Eris's breath caught in her throat. Without conscious thought, her hand moved to her neck, where a thin chain disappeared beneath the colr of her shirt. She drew it out slowly, revealing a silver pendant that had been with her since the hospital—a perfect match to the charm on the bracelet, with the same subtle luminescence.
"You recognize it," Detective Quinn said, watching her reaction closely.
"I had this when they found me," Eris whispered, holding the pendant between her fingers. "The nurse said it was the only personal item I had. No one knew what it meant."
Detective Quinn nodded, a mix of satisfaction and sorrow in his expression. "Orion Nightshade was not just a Syer, but also a craftsman of magical artifacts. He created these matching pieces for his family—a bracelet for Selene, a neckce for Elena. The crescent moon was their family emblem, and these pieces contain protective enchantments. That's why yours still glows faintly—the magic within it is still active, still protecting you."
The room fell silent as the implication settled. Eris clutched the pendant, feeling its familiar weight with new awareness. This small silver moon was no longer just a mysterious token from her unknown past—it was a deliberate creation, made by a father's hands for a daughter he loved.
"We'll need to confirm with DNA testing," Detective Quinn said, breaking the silence. "But given the physical resembnce, the timeline, and now the pendant... I believe you are Elena Nightshade."
Elena Nightshade. The name still felt foreign on her mental tongue, a stranger's identity being handed to her like an ill-fitting coat she was expected to wear.
"There's one more thing you should know," Detective Quinn continued, his voice growing heavier. "We've conducted an extensive search for any surviving retives of the Nightshades. Unfortunately, both Orion and Selene were only children, and their parents passed away years ago. There are no living blood retives who could cim guardianship."
The news hit Eris with mixed emotions. Part of her had anticipated the possibility of a new family, a new home—now that hope was extinguished. Yet another part felt a strange relief. She wouldn't be uprooted from the only life she remembered, wouldn't be separated from Vance.
"What happens now?" she asked, her voice small.
"The DNA test is a formality at this point, but necessary for official records," Detective Quinn expined. "Once confirmed, you'll be registered in our database as Elena Nightshade, which gives you certain legal protections and inheritance rights to your parents' estate. However, without living retives, your custody situation remains unchanged. You'll continue to stay here at Serenity Home until..."
He didn't finish the sentence, but he didn't need to. Until adoption. Or until she aged out of the system. The familiar reality of orphanage life remained her future, regardless of her newfound identity.
When Dr. Foster and Ms. Reynolds returned, Detective Quinn expined the next steps in the case—the DNA testing, the paperwork, the updates to her legal identity. Eris listened with half an ear, her mind still reeling from the revetions of the past hour.
Before leaving, Detective Quinn paused at the door and turned back to her. "Elena," he said gently, testing the name. When she looked up, he continued, "I've been investigating your parents' case for a long time. Finding you alive, knowing that at least their daughter survived... it means more than I can express. Whatever you remember or don't remember, just know that your parents were heroes. They saved countless lives, including yours."
With that, he was gone, leaving Eris—or Elena—sitting silently at the table, the silver moon pendant cool against her palm, its faint glow a reminder of parents she couldn't remember and a legacy she didn't understand.
Eris spent the rest of the morning with Dr. Foster, talking through her feelings about the detective's visit and the probability that she was, in fact, Elena Nightshade. The session left her emotionally exhausted but no closer to integrating this new information into her sense of self.
"It will take time," Dr. Foster assured her. "This is a profound revetion, possibly the most significant event in your life since the accident. Be patient with yourself as you process it."
Patience was precisely what Eris cked as she waited for school to end so she could meet Vance at their clearing. By 3:30, she was stationed behind the garden shed, watching for his signal. When it came—a fsh of movement at the edge of the boys' recreational area—she slipped through the loose fence board and made her way to their meeting pce.
Vance was already there, sitting on the fallen log, his expression unreadable as Eris entered the clearing. She'd been rehearsing what to say the entire day, but now, faced with his steady gaze, all her carefully prepared words evaporated.
Instead, she simply reached for the pendant around her neck and held it out for him to see.
"It was my father's work," she said simply. "He made it for me. My real name is Elena Nightshade."
Vance's expression remained carefully neutral, but Eris had learned to read the subtle shifts in his posture, the minute changes that betrayed his emotions when his face would not. The slight forward tilt of his head told her everything his voice would not.
"So it's confirmed," he said quietly. "You found your identity."
"DNA testing is still needed, but Detective Quinn is sure," Eris replied, letting the pendant fall back against her chest. "My parents were S-rank Syers. They were killed during a Breach containment mission. They were betrayed by someone."
Vance's eyes widened slightly—the most visible reaction he'd shown since she arrived. "S-rank Syers? Like, actual monster hunters?"
Eris nodded, a strange feeling washing over her. Until this moment, the revetion had been abstract, disconnected from her reality. But saying it aloud to Vance, seeing his reaction, somehow made it more concrete.
"The detective showed me a photo. They were wearing some kind of specialized armor, carrying weapons that glowed." She touched her pendant. "Even this has magic in it. See how it glows a little? My father made it as a protective charm."
Vance leaned closer, examining the silver crescent with newfound interest. "That's... incredible," he said, genuine awe in his voice. "So what happens now?"
"Nothing changes, actually," Eris said, surprising herself with the relief in her voice. "I don't have any living retives. I stay here at Serenity Home. I just... know who I am now. Or who I was, anyway."
The tension in Vance's shoulders visibly eased, though he tried to mask it with a casual shrug. "How do you feel about it?"
Eris considered the question carefully. "Strange. Like I've been given a story about someone else. I know these facts now—my name, my parents' names, what happened to them—but it doesn't feel like my story yet. I still don't remember anything."
Vance looked at her then, really looked at her, his usual reserve cracking just enough to show the emotion beneath. "You're the girl who survived," he said quietly. "The girl who built herself from nothing. The name doesn't matter as much as that."
His words struck a chord deep within her, resonating with a truth she hadn't been able to articute. She was a survivor. Whatever had happened to Elena Nightshade—the betrayal, the loss, the trauma that had wiped her mind clean—she had emerged on the other side and forged a new self from the ashes of the old.
"I'm scared," she confessed, voicing her deepest fear. "What if I never remember? What if I never live up to who they were—S-rank Syers, heroes?"
Vance shifted on the log, turning to face her more directly. "You don't have to live up to anything," he said with quiet conviction. "And you don't need to remember to honor who they were. You can do that by being who you are now."
"And who am I now?" Eris asked, the question that had haunted her for two years finally spoken aloud.
"You're Eris," Vance said simply. "Or Elena. It doesn't really matter. You're the girl who trains harder than anyone I've ever seen. The girl who never gives up. The girl who faced down Lindsay even when she was scared. The girl who stood up to my father when I couldn't. That's who you are."
The words hung in the air between them, startling in their directness. Vance rarely expressed himself so pinly, preferring actions to decrations. For a moment, Eris couldn't respond, too surprised by the simple statement and the vulnerability it revealed.
"The detective said my parents were betrayed," she said after a moment, her mind circling back to this disturbing detail. "Someone they trusted set them up to die."
Vance's expression darkened. "Did he say who?"
Eris shook her head. "No. Just that there's an ongoing investigation. I got the feeling there's a lot he wasn't telling me."
"Secrets within secrets," Vance murmured. "Typical of adults."
"What if whoever did it is still out there?" Eris asked, a new worry forming. "What if they find out I'm alive?"
Vance's protective instinct visibly kicked in, his posture straightening. "All the more reason to keep training," he said firmly. "If there are people out there who might want to hurt you, you need to be able to defend yourself."
"I'm just a kid," Eris protested. "These were S-rank Syers who were killed. What chance would I have?"
"You're their daughter," Vance pointed out. "The detective said you showed signs of having Syer abilities. Maybe that's why you pick up the training so quickly. Maybe that's why you're so good at this."
Eris looked down at her hands—small, childish hands that had nonetheless learned to block, strike, and defend with increasing skill over the past two years. Could there be more to her quick progress than just good teaching and diligent practice? Could she have inherited something from parents she couldn't remember?
"Even if that's true," she said slowly, "I wouldn't know how to use those abilities. I don't even know what they are."
"Then we'll figure it out," Vance said with characteristic determination. "Together. If you have special abilities, they'll manifest eventually. And when they do, I'll help you learn to control them, just like we've been doing with your combat training."
His confidence warmed her, chasing away some of the chill that had settled in her chest at the thought of unseen enemies. Whatever came next, she wouldn't face it alone.
"I need to get stronger," she decided, a new sense of purpose taking root. "Not just for self-defense now, but because someday... someday I might need to face whoever betrayed my parents."
Vance studied her for a long moment, then nodded solemnly. "Then that's what we'll work toward. I'll teach you everything I know. And when that's not enough, we'll find new things to learn together."
As the afternoon light filtered through the autumn leaves, casting dappled shadows across the clearing, they began to train with a new intensity—fueled not by the prospect of separation, but by a shared commitment to prepare Eris for whatever her newly discovered identity might bring.
The countdown to Elena Nightshade's future had begun.
