The sun felt like it would never set.When it finally kissed the horizon, the moon rose—cold and distant—and for a heartbeat, hope flickered. Yet it didn't matter. The moon wasn't salvation; it was simply a quieter cruelty, a pale reflection of the same burning god that ruled the day.The land still smoldered.The air still shimmered.And even the shadows seemed feverish.
The ground baked beneath them, cracked and blistered, a scabbed sea of dunes that swallowed sound and sanity alike. Every breath burned. The steam that rose from the sand was alive, hissing against their skin, whispering of death and delirium.
In this place, even thinking of hunting was suicide.No one could raise their weapon long enough before exhaustion dragged them to their knees.And anything that could survive this heat was something best left undisturbed—a creature so far beyond them it could crush the party without ever noticing they existed.
Their only mercy—their one fragile tether to life—was Himmel's subspace key.Inside it, time stood still. The meat of slain beasts rested untouched, preserved in a cold that defied the world's madness. Every strip of flesh was as fresh as the day it was cut, a gift that mocked their suffering.
And so they waited beneath the rock—half-buried, half-boiled—passing hours that felt like centuries.The only thing left to do was talk.
"Soooo, who want's to talk about their life story." Texan's voice cracked the silence, more out of desperation than curiosity. He shifted in the sand, digging the ditch deeper to stretch his legs, his tail flicking grit across Himmel's boot.
Winter raised her hand lazily, a faint grin tugging at her lips. "I can go first. I mean, you know… team bonding, right?"
The group nodded, too heat-dazed to resist conversation.
She drew a long breath, her voice calm, grounded. "Hmm… where to start. Well, ironic to my name, I was born in the western dunes. My mom took me along with her for work."
Texan perked up, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Wait—no way. I'm sorry, I totally understand."
Winter gave him a deadpan stare. "No, I wasn't a prostitute. I know your kind takes that job since you don't have to worry about giving birth. Nah, my mom was a bandit—and I always hung with her. We robbed caravans and other shit."
The orc woman pulled her bow and arrows close, fingers brushing the smoothed wood reverently."This was my mother's. She died three years ago. From old age."
The silence that followed was heavy. Even the desert seemed to listen.Winter herself was only twenty. Young for an orc—but by human years, her eyes had already seen forty winters.
"She told me to do better than her," she said quietly, the sand glittering like glass shards in her reflection. "And I'm almost there. She died level three. If I survive the Wild Lands, I'll fulfill her last wish."
Her hand tightened on the bow. Himmel watched her knuckles pale in the moonlight.
Then Winter looked straight at him. "I'm jealous of you. You're barely even an adult, and you're already so much stronger than me—better than me in everything."
Himmel caught his axe by the handle, tossing it once into the air, the blade flashing like lightning. "I guess you're right. Question—how long did your mother take care of you?"
"What? My whole life, I guess. Until she died." Her brow furrowed. Confusion, then irritation.
"Most orcs don't have that privilege," Himmel said, eyes distant. The crackle of static danced faintly across his shoulders. "They get thrown into battlefields. If you don't have your first kill by five, you're dead. Too weak to earn your meal."
He leaned forward, his voice heavy but calm. "I had family until I was eight. After that, I was banished. I worked for every scrap of food. Yeah, I'm lucky I've got talent, but that's not why I'm here. I didn't even use my lightning until now."
The words were meant to reach her, but Winter's glare only sharpened.
"But you have that ability! You were born a dark orc—you get lightning! If you weren't born with that, you'd be nothing!"
Her words cracked through the air like a whip. Himmel froze. The silence afterward pressed like heat.
He inhaled, slow, controlled. "Do you know who Quince is?"
"No. Who's that?"
"Do you know who Recon is?"
"What are you going on about?"
"Quince was an orc so powerful and beautiful that even the king could've faltered before him. And Recon was a divine beast who could cure any disease."
Winter tilted her head. "Yeah? And where are they now?"
"They're dead. A random weak kobold stabbed Quince from behind with a blade made of a metal kings could only dream of seeing. And Recon died in the pits—because he wanted to be worth more."
"Damn."
"What I'm trying to say," Himmel continued, staring into the dim firelight, "is that this world gives you everything—then burdens you until it takes it back."
Winter's voice softened. "What's yours?"
Himmel chuckled weakly. "Ha. That's what scares me. I haven't found out yet."
The wind outside moaned through the dunes, scattering grains like falling ash.No one spoke.The silence was thick, awkward, almost sacred.
"I'm a noble," Vanessa said finally. Her voice cut through the quiet. She sat cross-legged, needle in hand, patching torn cloth. Sparks from the fire flickered against the metal thread she worked with.
"But—you're stitching clothing?" Tyler asked, brows raised. His tone carried that faint, smug lilt of someone too used to being right.
She didn't even look up. "Yeah. The maids taught me my manners. They taught me hard work, respect, and more."
He smirked. "Did they also teach you how to clean and cook and fold clothes?"
The group stiffened.Himmel's eyes flicked between them, quiet but watchful. He wanted to step in—but something told him to wait.
Vanessa's needle paused mid-stitch. The firelight caught the blade of her gaze. "Tyler," she said softly, "didn't your parents divorce because your father had an affair with a barista?"
The air froze.
"Didn't your mother put your entire inheritance on a horse race and lose?" she continued, her voice steady. "Oh wait—was that your sister? Oh no, she became a whore on the streets. I bet your dad fucked her thinking she was some random prostitute."
Tyler's grip on his staff tightened. His lips moved, muttering old syllables—dark words Himmel recognized too well.
Before the first spark of spell work ignited, Himmel's hand lashed out. A slap—then a sharp zap. The air filled with ozone as Tyler's spell died with a crack of blue light.
"Look," Himmel said firmly, his voice calm but edged. "You don't have to be friends. But you're sure as hell not going to fight." He pointed at Vanessa. "You're going to apologize for bringing up the past." Then at Tyler. "And you're going to treat Vanessa like any other person. You're the medic—no bias, no grudges. Got it?"
The two glared, but neither argued.
The night grew still again—until Texan scooted closer to Himmel with a smirk. "Like taking care of kids, huh?"
"Ughhh, tell me about it. They're all older than me. Can't believe I've gotta settle their drama."
"Himmel, you're the leader." Texan clapped him on the shoulder. "You should be used to this. You led me, Recon, Gumbo—even Abbot for a while."
Himmel's eyes lifted toward the burnt-orange sky. The stars shimmered faintly through the haze. "Yeah… but you're the only one alive."
The words hit Texan harder than any blow. He blinked, realizing—every squad he'd led before this, every comrade under his watch… all gone. Gumbo, Recon, Abbot, All the orc in the war with his parents. Every, single, one.
"I'm not that good a leader," Texan said quietly. "I doubt I'd do good now."
"Yeah, yeah, you're right. But third time's the charm, right?"
Himmel laughed—raw and unguarded, his voice echoing through the ditch. The others stared for a heartbeat, then joined in, chuckling softly. His laughter wasn't proud. It wasn't strong. It was foolish, tired—and real.
And somehow, that made it perfect.