Dawn had not yet fully reached the village.

The sky remained pale, suspended between night and morning, as though it couldn’t decide which it belonged to.

Inside a modest wooden home at the edge of the settlement, an elderly woman slowly opened her eyes.

Her name was Ana.

To the villagers, she was Lady Ana.

To the children she had raised with her own hands…

She was simply Granny Ana.

With a quiet groan, she pushed herself upright, one hand pressing against the small of her back.

“Still here…” she murmured with a tired smile.

There was no disappointment in her voice.

No surprise.

Only gratitude for another day.

⸻

The village still slept.

Outside, only the soft chirping of insects and the distant roar of a waterfall broke the silence.

Ana draped a worn shawl over her shoulders before making her way into the kitchen.

The old wooden floor creaked beneath every step.

Waiting over a small fire was a large iron pot she had prepared the night before.

She lifted the lid.

Steam escaped into the room.

She stirred the soup slowly, tasting it with a wooden spoon.

A moment later, she reached for a pinch of salt.

“Too bland.”

She smiled to herself.

“Leo’s going to complain.”

A quiet sigh escaped her lips.

“…Why am I talking to myself like that’s a surprise?”

She chuckled softly.

Those little troublemakers always found something to complain about.

And somehow…

She loved them even more because of it.

⸻

Her orphanage wasn’t large.

Fifteen children.

Sometimes sixteen, depending on the season.

Some had been abandoned before they were old enough to speak.

Others had arrived after learning far too early that the world didn’t always keep its promises.

None of them were perfect.

None of them were quiet.

And not a single one of them ever remembered to wipe their muddy shoes before running inside.

But they were hers.

Every last one of them.

⸻

Ana walked down the hallway, gently opening each bedroom door.

“Good morning.”

No response.

She smiled.

“I know you’re awake.”

A groan echoed from the first room.

A pillow came flying out of the second.

From the third—

THUD!

Someone rolled completely out of bed.

“…Ow.”

Ana covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.

“You’ll all complain when breakfast gets cold.”

Silence.

Then…

The orphanage exploded into life.

⸻

Within minutes, children raced through the hallway.

Someone nearly slipped.

Someone else chased after a missing shoe.

Another insisted they had already brushed their teeth.

“You brushed yesterday,” Ana replied.

“…That still counts!”

“It absolutely does not.”

⸻

The dining hall quickly filled with cheerful chaos.

Bowls clattered against the wooden tables.

Benches scraped across the floor.

Voices overlapped until no one could tell who had started arguing first.

Leo stared suspiciously into his bowl.

“…Why is it always vegetables?”

Without even looking up, Ana answered,

“Because you’re still alive.”

“That’s not an answer!”

“It is if you think about it long enough.”

Around the table, several children laughed.

Ana smiled to herself.

I knew he’d complain.

⸻

Leo dramatically leaned back in his chair.

“I’ll never understand this place.”

Across from him sat Tanya—a sweet-faced girl whose innocent appearance fooled absolutely no one.

Without warning…

She grabbed a piece of bread and shoved it straight into Leo’s mouth.

“Then stop talking.”

“MMPH—!”

Leo flailed wildly.

Tears streamed down his face.

“GRANNY!”

He finally pulled the bread free.

“SHE’S TRYING TO KILL ME!”

Tanya crossed her arms.

“You were talking too much.”

“You almost killed me!”

“I almost improved breakfast.”

The room erupted into laughter.

⸻

From the far end of the table, Will let out a long sigh.

Unlike Leo and Tanya, he rarely spoke unless he absolutely had to.

But somehow…

Those two always managed to drag him into their nonsense.

“You two are impossible.”

He rubbed his forehead.

“It’s barely sunrise.”

“Can you stop causing problems for five minutes?”

Leo and Tanya looked at one another.

Then burst into laughter all over again.

Will groaned dramatically.

Ana simply watched them.

She never tried to stop moments like these.

This was how they expressed themselves.

This…

Was family.

⸻

After breakfast came chores.

A universal enemy among children.

Water buckets were carried from the well.

Laundry was hung beneath the morning sun.

Floors were swept.

Beds were made.

Or…

Made well enough that Ana eventually gave up correcting them.

As she watched the children work together, her smile never faded.

She wasn’t supervising.

She was simply making sure everyone was okay.

⸻

By midday, the village had fully awakened.

Ana gathered her basket.

“I’m heading to the market.”

Several children waved dramatically.

“Don’t be gone forever!”

Leo shouted.

Ana laughed.

“I’ll try my best.”

Tanya pointed at Leo.

“And don’t burn the orphanage down while she’s gone.”

“I wasn’t planning to!”

“That’s exactly what someone planning it would say.”

“I hate all of you.”

“No, you don’t,” Will muttered.

Leo sighed.

“…You’re right.”

⸻

The village wasn’t large.

But it was alive.

The baker greeted everyone while covered in flour from head to toe.

The fisherman returned carrying the morning’s catch over one shoulder.

The rhythmic clang of the blacksmith’s hammer echoed down the streets.

Outside a small shop overflowing with dried herbs and flowers, the village herbalist waved enthusiastically.

“Lady Ana!”

“Good morning.”

“Taking care of the little tornadoes again?”

“When do I ever stop?”

The herbalist laughed.

“Fair point.”

⸻

At the bakery, the baker handed her two fresh loaves.

“These just came out.”

“They smell wonderful.”

“They’ll smell even better if Leo doesn’t eat one before lunch.”

Ana laughed.

“You know him too well.”

“He reminds me of my younger brother.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

The baker placed a hand dramatically over his chest.

“…That hurt.”

⸻

At the market, Ana purchased what little the orphanage could afford.

Fresh vegetables.

Milk.

Fish wrapped neatly in cloth.

A sack of grain.

As she paid, the merchant smiled warmly.

“You feed more children than the kingdom’s army.”

Ana accepted the basket with a grin.

“Then perhaps the kingdom should hire me.”

“If they did…”

“They’d finally have someone competent.”

Both of them laughed.

⸻

By late afternoon, children could be seen playing throughout the village.

Some chased one another through open fields.

Others skipped stones across the nearby stream.

The sound of laughter carried gently on the breeze.

Ana paused outside the orphanage, watching them.

Not because she feared something would happen.

But because moments like these never lasted forever.

And she had learned to treasure every one.

⸻

As the sun began sinking toward the horizon, Ana picked up her basket once more.

“I’ll be back before dark.”

“Don’t get lost!” Tanya shouted.

Ana smiled over her shoulder.

“I live here.”

“That doesn’t guarantee anything!”

More laughter followed her down the road.

⸻

She stepped onto the familiar forest path.

It was one she had walked hundreds of times before.

Wild herbs.

Medicinal flowers.

Fresh spring water.

Everything the orphanage needed could usually be found near the waterfall.

It was peaceful.

Comforting.

Safe.

⸻

The deeper she walked…

The quieter the forest became.

Birdsong faded.

The breeze slowed.

Even the air itself felt strangely still.

Ana frowned.

Something…

Felt different.

Then—

A cry.

She stopped.

Another cry echoed through the trees.

Small.

Fragile.

Not an animal.

Not an adult.

A baby.

Ana slowly lowered her basket.

“…Hello?”

Silence answered.

Then…

Another cry.

Coming from somewhere beyond the trees.

Near the waterfall.

For the first time that day…

Granny Ana stepped away from the path she had always known.

And unknowingly…

Toward the moment that would change every life in the village forever.