After that terrifying night, everything slowly went back to how it used to be.
The engagement between Al and Nayala Valendra was officially called off.
The decision was met with quiet relief by most of the Virellano family members—though none of them openly said a word about it.
The next morning, the Valendra family left the Virellano residence without much fuss.
Nayala, who had already recovered, left for the capital with Lysha, Al’s sixth sister, to continue their studies at Indorosia University.
Their departure brought a new atmosphere to the house—quieter, more spacious.
Sarah, the second sister known for her sharp tongue and knack for creating tension, also left for the capital to work on her latest film.
With Sarah gone, the Virellano home became more peaceful than ever for Al.
Now only Father, Mother, Aurielle, Vianna, David, and Al remained in the house.
Al knew... this peace wouldn’t last.
It was April 14th. A warm and quiet morning.
Al woke up lazily. He stared at the ceiling for a moment before finally moving.
Then, he picked up his phone and made a call.
"Prepare everything. We’re leaving this morning," he said calmly before ending the call and glancing at the door.
Hopefully they won’t ask too many questions, he muttered inwardly.
He headed to the family room.
After breakfast, just as the family finished their meals, Al—who rarely woke up early—showed up.
He then shared his plans with his parents.
"I need to attend a school program for the next three days.
Some kind of training and observation for scholarship students," he said casually.
His father merely nodded, too focused on the business news on his tablet.
His mother glanced at him for a moment, then gave a soft smile.
"Take care of yourself. Don’t push your body too hard."
No hugs. No probing questions.
But Al didn’t mind. He was used to it.
All he needed was their blessing—even if it was just a few light words.
Or more accurately, just enough to make sure no one questioned his absence over the next three days.
With that, Al left home.
But his destination wasn’t school.
The route he took was completely different.
Instead of heading toward the school gate, he wandered through the city streets until he reached the outskirts—a place nearly forgotten by time.
There stood a modest but sturdy building, painted white with green iron gates, and surrounded by a fairly spacious yard.
Behind its humble appearance, the place held a significant part of Al’s past.
Malika Makazhar Orphanage.
An old orphanage that still stood strong after receiving support from the Alasia Foundation’s Indorosia branch.
In his hands were two large bags filled with toys and boxes of children’s favorite snacks.
As he opened the gate, a burst of laughter and cheerful shouts greeted him.
The children ran out, hugging his legs, tugging at his hands, fighting for his attention.
Several of the caretakers smiled warmly at the sight.
It was a simple—but heartwarming—scene.
Yes, this was once Al’s home.
Back when he was just a child who had no idea who he really was.
Every day, he was teased by the older kids.
Sometimes they bullied him, sometimes they stole his food, most often they disturbed his sleep.
Every afternoon, the caretakers would lift his tiny body and hug him like a living doll.
"We just can’t stop playing with you. You’re the cutest child in the world," they said as they pinched his cheeks.
Even during study time or chores, the hugging never stopped.
But it didn’t bother Al.
Because in those moments, he could feel genuine warmth and love.
"Beautiful memories..." Al whispered with a faint smile.
At the end of the hall, a middle-aged woman with brightly dyed red hair welcomed him with a half-dramatic hug.
"AL, DARLING! You’re getting taller, and even more handsome! Oh dear, the kids are gonna fall in love with you!"
That woman was none other than Mother Corla—
The current head of the orphanage. Eccentric, brutally honest, but undeniably kind-hearted.
They talked for a while.
About the children, the orphanage’s needs, and... old memories.
Then, Al excused himself and headed to the back of the orphanage.
There, beneath a large tree that shaded the western garden, stood a simple gravestone.
Covered in a bit of moss, but still intact.
The morning breeze blew gently, as if preserving the solemnity of the place.
That name was carved by hand.
Al knelt down and greeted her. His eyes began to well up.
The old woman who first found him—a tiny baby wrapped in cloth, left at the orphanage gate on a stormy night.
She was the one who cared for him, fed him, taught him, and protected him—
Shielding him when others crossed the line, whether it was the older kids who bullied him or the caretakers who couldn’t stop treating him like a doll.
For years, she was the brightest light in Al’s life.
But when Al vanished for four long years...
And eventually returned...
She had passed away in her sleep—leaving the world without ever knowing what happened to the child she loved so deeply.
Tears slowly fell down Al’s cheeks.
He couldn’t hold them back.
Not because he was weak—but because the guilt ran too deep.
"I’m sorry... I didn’t get to be there at the end, Mother..." he whispered.
"But no matter what, you’ll always be the best person I’ve ever had."
A cold wind suddenly swept by.
From behind him, soft footsteps approached.
Al wiped his face and turned.
Beyond the trees, seven figures in black uniforms stood in formation.
Their hoods covered their faces, but their aura was unmistakably familiar.
Among them, a perfectly built woman stepped forward.
She removed her hood, revealing sharp features and a respectful gaze.
"Master," she said softly but firmly.
And in the next moment, they vanished with the morning breeze.
Not long after, Mother Corla stepped out the back door, holding a plate of Al’s favorite snacks.
But Al was already gone.
"That boy disappeared again, huff..." she sighed, walking toward Mother Angelia’s grave.
A letter was pinned to the headstone.
Mother Corla read it and smiled.
"Angelia... the boy’s all grown up now.
You’d be so proud of him."