[18 years before the Brevon Incident]
Deep in the night, in the heart of Shang Mu, the rain falls thick and heavy, pooling in the gutters and alleyways of the inner city. Few are out at this late hour, and even fewer are not on their way to the warmth and dryness of their homes. The roads are almost silent except for the occasional brave soul rumbles down one of the larger streets in a motor vehicle, lights blazing, and wipers working overtime.
A flash of lightning fills the sky, turning night to day for the briefest moment. In that moment, a keen observer would have noticed two cloaked figures scurrying down an alley in panic, carrying a moderately‑sized basket. A keener observer would have noticed two more cloaked figures, several blocks away, flitting from shadow to shadow in pursuit.
"They're getting closer," the female of the couple with the basket whispers in panic.
"We're nearly there," the male whispers back, his attempts to remain calm falling short.
"But what if‑"
"Next block. Then we can run."
A peal of thunder rolls through the streets. The couple peek out from the alley, ducking back at the sight of headlights. Once the vehicle is past, they dash out onto the street and down the next alleyway, stopping outside a dimly‑lit door.
"This is the place," the male whispers.
"I don't want to," the female protests.
"We have no choice: this is the only way."
The female places the basket on the doorstep, ensuring its cargo is suitably covered. The male bangs loudly on the door three times, then the couple sprints back to the street and flees, never looking back. Seconds later, the other two cloaked figures sprint past in pursuit, totally ignoring the alley as they chase the fleeing couple.
As their footfalls fade into the distance, the door opens. An elderly gentleman peers out into the alley, looks both ways, and sees nothing. With a sigh, he reaches to close the door, but halts when the basket's cargo starts to cry.
"It wouldn't be the first," the gentleman sighs as he looks down at the basket. "Let's get you out of the rain." He picks the basket up and takes it inside, closing the door behind him. He takes the basket to his office, leaving it on the desk, and returns a moment later with a bottle of warm synthetic baby milk and a fresh diaper.
"OK, let's get you fed and changed." The gentleman carefully removes the waterproof cover and pulls back the blanket: the sight of the heart‑meltingly cute fiery orange female fox kit with rich red hair nestled within brings a tear of sorrow to his eye. "Why anyone would want to abandon you, I'll never know," he sighs as he offers the bottle to the infant. The kit is reluctant at first, but hunger wins, and she is soon suckling calmly. As she feeds, her eyes open, revealing them to be a lively and vibrant cyan.
Relieved the infant is feeding well, the gentleman spots a note tucked into the side of the basket. Curious, he carefully extracts it and unfolds it with one hand, the other steadying the bottle. As he reads, his expression grows darker, reflecting the tragedy laid out by the words on the paper:
We are in mortal danger, and we only wish for our daughter Hanna to have a chance at a normal life. Please take care of her for us, and when she's old enough, let her know we love her more than anything else in the world, and that we are deeply, deeply sorry we can never be there for her.
Thank you,
Mike & Kathy Skarlett
"Such a tragic tale," the gentleman sighs as he finishes the note. "Don't worry though, young one: this orphanage will care for you. Welcome to your new home, Hanna Skarlett."