To the West, the Maritime Dukedom controlled the trade routes and the pirates.
And in the center, the Royal Capital, the golden cage where the Emperor sat on a throne of lies.
But there was a sixth slice. An anomaly.
Mira's hand moved to the side of the circle, drawing a jagged shape that looked like a scar.
The Archduchy.
It didn't belong to the four cardinal directions. It was a roving, semi-autonomous power, a military force that answered only to the Emperor, and sometimes, not even him.
And outside this pie?
Mira drew frantic squiggles around the circle.
Monsters.
Beyond the borders lay the Dark Forest, a continent-spanning jungle infested with demons, mutated beasts, and things that defied the laws of physics.
There were tribal forces that worshiped dark gods. Three other Empires were pressing in on the borders, waiting for a moment of weakness to snap up territory.
It was a world of constant war. A world where human life was cheaper than the bread the children were currently stuffing into their mouths.
'And I am a shrimp,' Mira thought grimly, sketching a tiny, pathetic dot in the middle of her messy map. 'A shrimp swimming in a tank full of sharks, leviathans, and krakens.'
The commotion in the hall grew louder. Mrs. Gable, the Head Matron, was waddling through the aisles, smacking the back of a boy's head who had dropped a spoon.
"Eat properly!" she hissed, her voice a strained whisper. "The Grand Archduke will be here within the hour! If I see a single stain on those tunics, you will all sleep in the stables for a month!"
The Archduke.
The charcoal snapped in Mira's hand.
That was the reason for the beef stew. That was the reason for the scrubbing.
***
Rumors traveled fast in an orphanage, mostly because the older kids were used as free labor in the administrative offices.
The Emperor had ordered a "Territory Inspection." It was a political move, a way to remind the remote regions that the Crown was watching. The Archduke, the Emperor's sword, was making his rounds.
But there was a second, more personal motive.
The Archduke was heirless.
He was a man of immense power, vast wealth, and terrifying reputation, yet he had no children. The gossipmongers said he was cursed.
Others said he was too busy slaughtering demons to find a wife. Whatever the reason, he had been visiting orphanages across the empire for the last six months.
He was looking to adopt.
But not just any child. He had rejected hundreds. He didn't want a charity case. He didn't want a weeping accessory to improve his public image. No one knew what he wanted.
Mira looked up from her drawing, her dark eyes scanning the room. She saw the hope in the eyes of the other children. The older ones were practicing their curtsies and bows. The younger ones were being told to smile and look "adoptable."
They didn't understand.
Mira rubbed her eyes. The room was bright, sunny, and loud with the chatter of the living.
But to Mira, the room was crowded with something else.
She blinked, and the "Spirit Sight" overlaid itself onto reality.
Hanging from the rafters, swinging gently like grotesque pendulums, were the gray, translucent figures of previous orphans who hadn't survived the winter.
Standing by the fireplace was a headless maid, scrubbing a spot of blood that had dried twenty years ago. Crawling under the tables, unseen by the laughing children, were small, twisted spirits of starvation, their mouths sewn shut.
The noise of the living was deafening. But the wailing of the dead? It was a constant, high-pitched tinnitus that never went away.
"I'm cold," the headless maid whispered, her voice echoing in Mira's mind.
"Mommy? Where is mommy?" a spirit boy wept near the window.
Mira shuddered and squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the vision away. She focused on the physical sensation of the rough floor against her stomach.
She couldn't let anyone know. If the Matron found out she could see ghosts, she would be sold to a circus or burned as a witch.
In this world, "Divine Beings" existed, and "Holy Magic" was real. Anything that fell outside the sanction of the Church was considered heresy.
'I need to leave,' Mira decided, her resolve hardening. 'I can't stay here. When I turn ten, they send the unsold girls to the textile factories. I won't survive the lung rot.'
The Archduke was her ticket out.
She didn't care if he was a tyrant. She didn't care if he was a villain. She needed a shield. She needed a sponsor with enough money to buy her books, enough power to keep the church away, and a house big enough that she could find a quiet corner to sleep in.
But how? How does a six-year-old shrimp catch the eye of a whale?
"He's here!"
The shout came from a boy perched on the windowsill.
"The carriage! It's the Black Carriage with the Golden Crest!"
Panic erupted in the small, crowded room.
Mrs. Gable clapped her heavy hands. "Places! Everyone in your place! Line up by height! Smallest in the front, tallest in the back! Wipe your mouths! Spit out the bread!"
The chaos was instant. Children scrambled over benches. The teachers ran around straightening collars and smoothing hair.
Mira didn't rush. She slowly rolled up her drawing, tucked the charcoal into her sock, and stood up. She dusted off her knees, her face settling into a mask of bored innocence.
She waddled over to the line of the youngest children. She stood next to a girl named Lily, who was trembling so hard her teeth chattered.
"Boohoo, I-I'm scared," Lily whispered. "They say he eats bad children."
Mira looked at Lily, then reached out and held her hand. "It's okay," Mira said, her voice soft and childishly lisping. "He probably only eats medium-sized children. We are too small. Not enough meat."
Lily blinked, confused, but stopped shaking.