The glistening ivy remained intertwined in a passionate dance with the wasteful wallflowers, as if they were forbidden lovers suspended in time. Their dazzling hues nuzzled each other affectionately, the gray bricks behind them amplifying their vibrancy.

Silverman sighed, forcing his gaze away from the foliage creeping on the drab wall in front of him. The excited, high-pitched voices of his wife and the caretaker of 'Tender Hands Orphanage' were audible as they talked inside. He started pacing slowly, taking in the dullness of the place which was magnified by the angrily thundering clouds in the sky.

Since it was day time, most students were in the classrooms. The air was rife with the faint collective voices as the unfortunate children sang along with their teacher. A part of him had been saddened by the fact that he and his wife could never have a child of their own. However he had to admit, the satisfaction of adopting one in need seemed gratifying.

He crossed his arms in front of his chest and gazed into the courtyard in the middle of the building. It was a simple, rather lacklustre one with nothing but a massive tree in the centre of unkempt grass. Not a single ray of sunshine illuminated the emerald as the tempestuous skies raged above like a monster preparing for combat. The courtyard was bordered by the four massive dilapidated buildings of the orphanage.

He glanced at his wristwatch. It had been a quarter of an hour since his wife had started discussing matters of the adoption with Miss Whitman. He had considered themselves lucky. The heavily pregnant woman had staggered into the orphanage mere weeks ago and would soon deliver the baby they were to adopt. The poor mother was a young girl. She had clarified she wanted nothing to do with the baby when it came.

As he was gazing unseeingly into the courtyard, he suddenly spotted a small figure walking towards the middle of the ground. The figure sat on the grass under the tree with a wooden board that he could hardly carry in his skinny arms.

Silverman gazed as the child started scribbling something onto the board. The sky above rumbled angrily. The first drops of rain were already starting to descend. The lightning seemed to increase manifold all of a sudden. The drops of water were falling harder and faster, steadily growing in pace and intensity, like a serpent was slowing rising from a deep slumber and preparing to strike the earth with devastation.

He called out to the child, knowing that sitting under a tree under such a storm was far from safe.

"Hey! Hey, get inside!" His yells were almost drowned under the deluge of the resounding thunder. A streak of lightning split the sky and lit up the earth for a few seconds. Silverman saw the pale skin of the child as he remained engrossed in his sketching, astoundingly unbothered.

He walked closer, but his voice was hardly audible over the gradually rising storm. The raindrops pelted harder towards the ground. Silverman ran to the other side of the corridor and decided to go outside and escort the child in. The temperature around him was dropping rapidly, and he was stupefied as to how the boy still hadn't lifted his head from the drawing board. His own breath came out in thick fog in front of his face, his teeth almost chattering.

Just when he had decided to step out, however, he stopped dead in his tracks. The boy finally lifted his head and gazed up at the wide canopy, through the gaps of which huge water drops were falling on him. He didn't look the least bit scared of the massive storm. His face remained impassive, almost as if...he was bored. Silverman stood stunned, his eyes disbelieving as the canopy of the tree bent lower. Not from the weight of the storm, but like it was bending lower to protect its refugee. It lowered its branches as if pulled magnetically by some unseen, unearthly force.

The child squinted at the dark leaves, his face almost entirely obscured by shadow as the tree bent further. He watched, bewitched, as finally, no raindrops could penetrate the thick tangle of green. The child went back to his work nonchalantly.

He gazed at the astonishing scene in front of him for a few more minutes. The storm raged on mercilessly. The cold air was blowing hard. The icy wind had started to make him shiver as if the gods of the skies were determined to drown the ones on the Earth under a tide. And yet, the child didn't seem to be the least bit concerned. And it was then that he realized.

Nuvue.

No one apart from someone with powers over forces of nature could do what the child had. And yet it made no sense. A Nuvue, in the mortal world? Living in this broken down orphanage?

"Hey!"

He called louder this time, and finally, the child stopped scribbling. He looked up slowly, his eyes dark. He gazed with an intensity that made Silverman shudder. He took a deep breath and spoke, "Come here, kid."

For a long minute, the child didn't move at all. He kept staring at him, and he thought perhaps the child wouldn't heed. Finally, the child stood up slowly, tucking the board under his frail arms and the pen in his pocket.

He walked towards him as he grew even more astonished. It felt like the child had an invisible shield around him. The drops of rain didn't seem to touch him, the raging wind didn't seem to hurt him. He walked towards him and stared. As he did, Silverman almost staggered backwards. He looked into the child's intense, matured beyond his years' eyes. He stood mesmerized as he came and stood in front of him, ogling with an innocent enough gaze.

Ira.

His brilliant purple irises stood in stark contrast to his dark brown hair that cascaded down his pale forehead. He had dark lashes that made his eyes look even more enigmatic than the stunning colour. The venomous amethyst identical to the Flower of Ira, one of the most potent poisons in Obscura, the parallel world to which Silverman belonged.

The boy was astoundingly beautiful, and yet somehow a charade. At that moment, he knew, this was no mere human child.

"What is your name, son?" he asked gently.

The child gazed up at him and then spoke in a voice barely above a whisper, "Ezekiel."

Silverman nodded at the child. "Ezekiel." He tried to smile reassuringly, but something about the child was off-putting. Even his name sounded oddly alien on his tongue, as if, just like the presence of a Nuvue in the mortal world, the name itself was also forbidden. "How old are you, Ezekiel?"

By his height and expressive, bright eyes, Silverman guessed that he couldn't have been more than five years old.

The boy didn't say anything. He kept the drawing board on the floor, leaning it against the wall. "Eight," he spoke quickly, rushing into another sentence in the same breathe. "I'm called Zeke. Are you here to adopt?"

He gazed at the child. Something about his staccato sentences and his rough accent was oddly unsettling. He seemed malnourished, but Silverman knew enough about the orphanage to know that children were well looked after. He was much smaller than children his age. Yet, he seemed to carry an aura that was unnerving. Almost intimidating.

He nodded before answering. "Yes."

Ezekiel started fidgeting at his place, shuffling his feet restlessly and looking at anywhere except Silverman as he replied shortly. "Okay."

He started picking up his drawing board as if the brief conversation was over for all he cared. Silverman's gaze faltered as it landed on the child's left arm where his oversized sleeves had exposed his skin for a second.

"Zeke?" he asked, straining to see better. His heart wrenched painfully when he thought he saw what looked like deep scars etched into his skin along with a more prominent dark mark that looked like a symbol. "What is that on your arm?"

The child's eyes widened and he took a step back, trembling slightly. Silverman was surprised at his sudden reaction. "Eze-"

"Why?" Ezekiel asked. "Why do you want to know?"

He gazed at the child steadily, his heart faltering. The boy seemed strangely suspicious and sceptical of him, his voice was suddenly loud. He took a deep breath and instead pointed to the drawing board. "What did you draw, Zeke?"

The boy's eyes widened, shining again with childlike innocence and he grabbed the drawing board. "You want to see?"

Silverman nodded. The boy lifted the board and held it in front of his chest, facing towards him. As he did, however, his too-long sleeves fell back again to reveal his skin and an imprint came into focus. There against his pale arm, roman numbers in the darkest red were inked and printed over a slightly raised background as if burnt into his skin.

'XIX'

He gazed at the numbers, unable to comprehend the significance of the characters against his pale arm. He looked at the drawing and saw in grayscale what appeared to be a tall derelict building. Even though his knowledge about art was limited, he could tell that the boy was extraordinarily talented at sketching. He was drawn in by the child and took a deep breath, trying to study him. "Zeke, what is your full name?"

He bit his tongue the moment the words had left his mouth. For all he knew, the boy could've been here since birth, which meant he was devoid of a surname. Devoid of an identity as tangible as the world demanded.

"Why are you interested?" the child asked, gazing intently. He placed the drawing board back on the floor.

Silverman shook his head. "Because..." he sighed, "you are no ordinary child, Zeke."

The boy stared at him for a while. "I know that seal," he said, pointing at the golden falcon etched on his breast pocket. It was a seal that he wore with pride even in the mortal world. "My mom used to draw one just like that." His eyes seemed to glaze over for a while before he continued, "Elman, she said."

Silverman's heart rate increased, his blood running cold as the pieces slowly started clicking into place.

"Ellerman," he corrected.

The boy shrugged. "Could be. "

He stared at the boy, stunned. Was this child, in this dilapidated orphanage, truly the son of the King of Evimeria? It was possible. However, how he ended up on Earth could be an entirely different story altogether. It was impossible for a mortal on Earth to be born as a Nuvue. At least half of the parentage had to have been a Nuvue at some point in their life, even if their powers had been ripped away later. Which meant that someone had begotten Zeke, perhaps unknowingly, someone from Obscura.

And Silverman knew it was the king himself. The enigmatic boy in front of him was the sinful fruit of one of King Augustus' misadventures. There was no other reason for him to be aware of the Ellerman House seal. Perhaps it was simply this realization or perhaps it was because Silverman was finally seeing the child clearly. His striking eyes- a Nuvue trait, his jaw- already sharp due to undernourishment, his chiselled features, characteristic dark hair and skin as pale as the full moon reflected the regality of the Noble House of Evimeria.

"Would you like to come with me, Zeke?" he asked gently.

Zeke's eyes widened, shining with childlike innocence. "Why?"

He took a deep breath. "Because I know your father, Zeke," he said. "You belong to Obscura."

Zeke didn't respond for a while. "I don't want to go to him," he said firmly. "But-" his eyes flitted to the mess hall behind him, "anything that takes me away from Toxic Tuesdays sounds good."

Silverman was stunned by the child's constant shifting of demeanour. He assumed Toxic Tuesdays referred to some unpalatable dish the mess served. He smiled and nodded. "You will be happy at Evimeria, your father's Kingdom."

The boy was quiet for a while as if deliberating. Suddenly, he piped up. "I feel safer with stars." The storm around them raged on ruthlessly so that he had to strain his ears to listen to the boy's soft voice. Zeke glanced upwards. "How many stars are there? In Evimeria?"

Silverman gazed into his open, striking eyes before replying slowly, "Uncountable."