The fire crackled, its glow painting shifting patterns across the faces gathered around it. The trees loomed tall and silent in the night, the stars above a cold scatter of silver against a sea of black. The group had made camp for the night along a quiet stretch of road, still days away from Solmaria's towering white walls.
Leon sat with his back against a log, his katana resting nearby. The others lounged around the fire — Darius nursing a bottle, Selene combing through her midnight hair, Iris tending to the cooking pot, and Velis half-asleep with her head in Lyra's lap. Even Sylva sat close by, her brown gaze reflecting the firelight.
It was Gaius who spoke first. "Hey, Leon. You've been in this world for a while now, but you've never really told us about the one you came from."
All eyes turned to him.
Leon blinked, caught off guard. "Huh?"
Kieran grinned, leaning forward. "Yeah, c'mon hero. What's this mysterious land of yours like? You always dodge the question. Time to spill."
Even Sylva tilted her head slightly, and that alone was enough to tell him there was no way out.
Leon sighed, raising his hands in defeat. "Alright, alright. It's… called Japan."
The word felt strange on his tongue after so long.
Selene's purple eyes glittered with curiosity. "What's it like?"
He hesitated a moment, then started. "It's an island nation, a lot smaller than most of your kingdoms here, surrounded by the sea. We had huge cities with buildings so tall they touched the sky. Roads filled with moving carriages, only they ran without horses — machines we called cars. At night, the streets would be lit with colorful lights, signs everywhere. People rushing through it all like time was chasing them."
Velis made an exaggerated face. "Sounds exhausting."
Leon laughed quietly. "It could be. But it had its good parts too. We had festivals, temples older than the cities themselves. Food stalls on streets where you could eat until you dropped. Seasons that painted the land — cherry blossoms in spring, fireflies in the summer, crimson leaves in autumn, snow in winter."
Iris leaned forward. "And you… what did you do there?"
"I was a high school student," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "We spent our days in classrooms, studying everything from history to mathematics to sword arts, though that last one was more… traditional. I'd wake up early, go to school, hang out with friends after class, play games, read manga… it was simple. Safe."
Lyra frowned thoughtfully. "It sounds like a world without war. Without demons."
Leon nodded slowly. "Yeah. We had conflicts, but not like this. No blood-soaked battlefields. No summoned heroes. No demon lords."
Silence settled for a moment, broken only by the soft crackle of fire.
Selene grinned, breaking the quiet. "So… you mean you came from a world where you weren't already a badass warrior?"
Leon snorted. "I was just a kid. I'd never killed anyone before coming here. Didn't even think I could."
The admission hung heavy for a breath.
Kieran whistled low. "Damn. Makes it even crazier how you handled yourself against that Blood Herald."
Sylva's voice, soft as the wind, reached him. "You miss it."
He glanced at her, startled by the certainty in her tone. And then he shrugged. "Some parts, yeah. But… there are things here I wouldn't trade for anything."
Velis yawned. "Like us, right?"
Leon smirked. "Well, most of you."
They laughed, and for a while, the night felt light. Easy.
Leon told them stories of towering cities, of trains that moved faster than any mount, of food they'd never heard of, of comic books and summer festivals, of a world without magic but filled with wonders of its own.
And one by one, their questions came — endless, curious, amazed. And for the first time since he'd fallen into this world of swords and blood, Leon spoke of his home. Of a world lost to him, but not yet forgotten.
It was a good night.
And when the fire burned low, and the others began to drift to sleep, Leon found himself staring up at the stars.
For once, they didn't seem so far away.
* * * * *
The first thing Leon noticed was the smell.
The fire had burned down to embers in the center of camp, a warm, pulsing glow in the half-dark. A cool breeze stirred the tall grass, carrying with it the scent of rain that had yet to fall. Leon shifted, the stiff ache of half-healed bruises waking with him, and he groaned softly as he pushed himself upright.
Around him, the camp was already stirring.
The adventurers who had joined them as escorts — the Hollow Blades — were returning from their dawn recon. Silent as shades, their figures emerged from the mist like watchful wolves.
Krevic of the Hollow Blades passed by the fire without a word, grey eyes catching Leon's just long enough to exchange a mutual, wary nod. Jorik Flintbone, a hulking scarred brute, let out a grunt as he dropped a heavy leather satchel beside the firepit, its contents clinking like metal bones.
Leon rubbed his eyes, feeling the ghost of sleep still clinging to the corners of his mind. It had been a late watch the night before, and though the night was quiet, his dreams had not been.
"Morning, Leon."Iris's voice cut through his haze as she passed him a roughly carved wooden bowl.
The scent hit him before he saw the contents — thick, rich stew, the broth dark and oily with wild herbs, chunks of wolf meat floating amid tubers and thick roots. Strange cuts of monster meat Leon couldn't name, but which smelled better than anything he'd eaten in days, simmered within it.
He blinked down at it, surprised. "You cook monster meat?"
Iris gave a small, proud smirk. "Waste not. Besides, wolf makes a damn fine stew if you know how to do it right."Selene, seated nearby, snorted a laugh. "She knows how to do it right."
Leon dug in and, to his shock, it was good. Rich, smoky, with an almost peppered bite that lingered pleasantly on the tongue. He made a small sound of appreciation, and Iris's smirk widened.
"Thank the cook properly, Leon," she teased, then cast a glare toward the others. "Unlike some people who shovel it down like starving pigs."
The rest of the camp had begun waking by then. Lyra, half-draped in her cloak, was bleary-eyed and disheveled, one arm still clinging to a deeply asleep Velis who was curled against her shoulder like a dead weight.
"Velis," Lyra groaned, shaking her. "Wake up. You little demon, we're moving soon."
No response.
"I swear if you don't get up—"
Kieran laughed from across the fire. "Let the kid sleep. She earned it after last night."
That earned a round of dry chuckles. Even Darius, seated with Gaius nearby, allowed a half-smile to ghost across his weathered features.
The mood felt lighter than it had in weeks.
Breakfast passed in quiet contentment. The adventurers traded murmured reports about the road ahead — clear, for now. The Hollow Blades were efficient, their presence a constant, unsettling reminder that danger was never far.
Leon ate his fill, cleaned his blade by habit, and shouldered his pack. The wagon creaked to life as Selene and Gaius secured the supplies.
Just a few more days, Leon thought to himself, gazing out toward the pale line of dawn cracking against the dark horizon.
Solmaria.
He didn't know what waited there.But at least it wasn't here.
* * * * *
Later that night.
The campfire crackled low, its thin, wavering light doing little to push back the oppressive dark that settled around them. No stars hung overhead tonight, only a thick blanket of mist that clung to the trees like a funeral shroud. The air was cool, sharp with the scent of damp earth and old wood.
The Crimson Vow sat huddled around the fire, their shadows long and flickering against the tents and wagon nearby. Plates scraped clean of the evening's meal lay scattered in the dirt, and somewhere, a wolf howled far off into the ink-black woods.
It was Lyra who spoke first, her voice light, carrying a hint of mischief.
"Alright," she grinned, leaning forward, "since none of you bastards can carry a tune worth shit, how about a story instead? One rule: you've got to tell us how you got your first scar."
Kieran snorted, tipping his drink toward her. "Trying to bait Velis into telling you how she lost a tooth when she was six?"
"She didn't lose a tooth," Iris deadpanned. "She ripped it out herself. Said it was 'annoying.'"
Velis grinned from where she lay half-curled in a blanket, silver eyes gleaming in the firelight. "And it was."
Laughter rippled through the group, easy and real, and for a moment the war, the blood, the dead things left behind seemed far away.
"Fine," Darius grumbled, taking a long swig from his flask. "I'll start."
The firelight cast deep shadows across his weathered face as he pulled back his sleeve, revealing an ugly, jagged line running from elbow to wrist.
"Border skirmish in Dravengard," he began, his voice quieter now. "We were holding the line against demon raiders. Bastard with a hooked glaive got me good. Thought my sword arm was done for."
He paused, taking another drink. The others waited, sensing something heavier behind the words.
"We buried seventy that night," Darius finished, eyes on the fire. "Burned what we couldn't carry. Still hear them sometimes. In the wind."
Silence held for a beat.
"Shit," Kieran muttered, breaking it. "You win, old man."
A few strained chuckles followed, and then—
"I killed a man when I was nine."
The words came soft, unforced. All heads turned toward Sylva. She sat with her knees drawn up, eyes reflecting the flame's glow.
"He tried to take something from me. I buried a dagger in his throat."
No apology in her tone. No shame, either. Just the facts, as if speaking them aloud made them lighter.
Leon felt the weight of it. The truth of this world. The cost of survival.
"Guess it's my turn," he said, managing a half-smile.
They looked at him, expectant.
"I… don't have one."
A few brows rose.
"Not like yours," Leon went on, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. "Back home, in Japan… scars weren't the kind you could see. I had a friend. Bright, loud, stubborn as hell. She—she got sick."
His voice caught. The fire crackled.
"Doctors couldn't fix it. We were kids. And I hated how powerless I felt. That's my scar. Watching someone you care about fade, and not being able to do a goddamn thing."
No one spoke for a long time.
Then Velis, bless her sharp tongue, broke the silence.
"Okay, new rule," she said, flicking a pebble at Leon's boot. "Next time we play this game, drinks first."
Laughter again, softer this time, but no less sincere.
The fire burned low. The mist crept closer.
And the Crimson Vow sat a little nearer to one another, carrying their scars in the quiet, unspoken way only those who've bled together understand.