It was the third month of the Nabrarian rainy season when Luna and Stephen were orphaned.
Death had always been a nebulous entity that pawed at the door. They lived in Arlington Square, after all, and the death of an immigrant was not so unusual nor uncommon as to cause much of a fuss. Even so, while they had known death as surely as they could breathe, it wasn’t until their father’s whaling ship never returned to shore that they felt death. They barely had time to process the tragedy before the spinning factory burned to the ground, their mother one of dozens of workers still inside.
There wasn’t much Luna could remember from when they got the news. What Luna did remember was the way Stephen’s face crumpled with grief, before it was replaced by realization and panic. What Luna did remember was the way her brother stood up straighter as his expression settled into grim determination. What Luna did remember, as Stephen hugged her tight while she sobbed into his shoulder, was his whispered promise to protect her.
If she knew then just how far Stephen would go to fulfill that promise, Luna would have rather preferred to follow after their parents.