It’s Vance

The burgeoning cascade of noise—a symphony of chatter intertwined with laughter and ease—was the first thing Vance awoke to. However, drawing from years of experience, he did not immediately alert his caretakers to his state. Instead, he chose to continue feigning slumber.

Mentally focusing, Vance tried to glean information from his surroundings, quickly distinguishing three distinct voices—one familiar and two unfamiliar.

"Balgur, don't you think the Corps was a little quick-footed in, you know, dispatching us here? Just us three? And why did they send this miserable wench alone with us? Does—"

The rambling male voice trailed off, its tone energetic, talkative—an unmistakable chatterbox. Vance recognized this much. And, as if on cue, before the mumbling madman could continue, a sharp female voice cut in.

"Astre, I am just as displeased to be here with you as Balgur is. Now, could you be quiet for once? Your voice is not as pleasant to listen to as you think." The words dripped with contempt, laced with reprimand.

"Oh? So the little silver princess has found her tongue?" Astre shot back, his tone mocking. "Funny, I can't say the same for your combat ability, culinary skills, or your ability to attract men."

"Astre!"

A voice grating to the ears audible rang out, interrupting the brewing argument. But the woman, rather than backing down, responded with a venomous retort.

"Aren't you one to talk? Speaking as if you're any better! You mock my ability to find a partner, but what about your inability to please women? The entire red-light district and NOVA Corps know about your shortcomings. Maybe you should work on your reach."

A burst of laughter, filled with disdain, followed.

Vance listened in disbelief, barely processing the absurdity of the situation. His head throbbed with a constant, prickling ache, but he could still pick out faint, unfamiliar terms uttered throughout their bickering.

Then, like a sudden downpour quenching a raging fire, the same voice from before-but more authoritative cut through the noise.

"Silence."

The word alone was enough to command attention. The speaker continued, his tone laced with amusement.

"Let's not give our not-so-sleeping beauty a bad first impression of our characters, shall we?"

A pause.

"Isn't that right, survivor?"

Had he been found out so quickly? But how was that possible?

Vance internally panicked, shuffling slightly on the makeshift bed he had been lying on all this time. The material shifted under his weight, and as he opened his eyes—after what felt like an eternity—he took in his surroundings.

A cramped tent. Simple, scattered possessions that likely belonged to his caretakers. Pain rippled through his body with every slight movement, a muffled groan of discomfort escaping his lips.

"Take your time," the authoritative voice reassured him, as if seeing his struggle through the dark material of the tent. "Your body is in quite a bad condition."

Slowly, Vance sat up, taking in the sight of his heavily bandaged body.

Then, with a deep breath, he took the final step—outside.

A blinding flash of sunlight assaulted his vision, forcing him to squint as he adjusted to the brightness. When his vision finally cleared, he took his first proper look at his rescuers—and his surroundings.

An empty clearing stretched out before him, nestled just beyond the ruins of a city. Near a modest campfire, three figures sat, their eyes curiously studying him.

They were clad in medieval armor—though each set was distinct, unlike any Vance had ever seen. Their weapons, cold steel and intricately designed, gleamed under the daylight. But his eyes were drawn to the one in the center.

A behemoth of a man, midnight dark blue-haired and monstrous in stature with matching eyes towered even while seated. To his side, a more slender male figure with short blonde hair and brown eyes sat with a relaxed posture. And then—her. The woman. The one he recognized. The one who had slain the green-skinned monster.

"Take a seat."

The woman—Cecilia—gestured to an empty log beside her.

"Shouldn't we introduce ourselves first, Cecilia?" the slender male opposite her spoke, standing up and approaching Vance in between words with rhythmic steps.

Short. Talkative. Outgoing.

That was the immediate impression Vance formed as he paired the voice with the figure.

"The name's Astre," the man said, motioning toward the towering brute and Cecilia in turn. "And these are my comrades—Balgur and Cecilia."

Vance hesitated for a moment, then forced a small, slightly strained smile.Unsure of how to respond before biting the bullet and uttering his original name.

"The name is Vance."

It was after this exchange that a thought resurfaced in Vance's mind, one that had been lurking in his subconscious ever since he had awakened.

How was he able to understand them so effortlessly?

The language they spoke—this dialect—was unfamiliar. It was not English. And yet, the words flowed from his mouth with ease.

Before he could dwell further on the mystery, Balgur spoke again.

"So, Vance," he said, his voice carrying a weight that demanded an answer. "Me and my squad have been wondering ever since we retrieved you—how did you survive the orc onslaught for so long?"

A thick silence followed, the question hanging in the air like a blade poised to strike.

And Vance knew there was no avoiding it.

I'm just as confused as you are," Vance said, breaking the growing silence and tension in the air.

"I see."

Balgur's tone was thoughtful, yet something in his voice carried an edge. "It's strange, though. We returned briefly to where you were found and discovered something… unsettling."

His gaze darkened as he continued.

"There were pieces of fabric, along with your blood and skin, embedded into a nearby wall—almost as if you had been forced into it."

A brief silence followed before Balgur finished his thought, his lips curling into a twisted smile.

"Dead."

The word hung in the air like a blade poised to strike.

Vance processed the revelation in silence, his mind racing. The way Balgur spoke, the subtle shift in his posture, the aura of menace creeping into his tone—Vance recognized these tactics. He had encountered men like him before. People in positions of power who knew exactly how to pry out the truth, whether through intimidation or force.

Astre, seemingly oblivious to the tension, cut in with a curious remark.

"Captain, you don't think he's some kind of abomination that managed to survive, do you?Or did he yk?"

Vance immediately latched onto the main implication. His expression remained neutral even though he was unsure of what astre was referencing in the last part of his words, however his voice was carefully measured despite this as he responded.

"Do you think of me as some sort of monster?"

Balgur let out a deep, hearty laugh, his broad shoulders shaking slightly.His hair slightly swaying in the process.

"If you were, you wouldn't be standing here, speaking—or even alive."

The way his eyes gleamed with barely concealed hostility made it clear that, should he have even the slightest reason to believe otherwise, things would have turned violent. The two massive one-handed axes strapped to his back glinted under the sun as he turned away, his heavy steps slow and deliberate as he returned to his seat.

It was then that the other two, who had been silent observers until now, seized the opportunity to rapid-fire their own questions—Astre in particular.

"So, Vance, right?" Astre leaned forward, curiosity evident in his expression. "You can't be any older than nineteen, yeah? Now that your city and home are gone, what do you plan to do?"

He gestured toward the ruins in the distance.

Following his gaze, Vance finally turned to face what remained of the city—his supposed home.

A hollow, dilapidated husk of what must have once been a thriving place.

And yet, he knew nothing about it.

His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to a place much further away.

To a world that now felt like nothing more than a fading dream.

"My Home."