Chapter 43 – Names and Numbers

  Early Morning – Fluffy’s Quarters, War Rabbit Guild

  The quiet hum of the War Rabbit Guild’s hall echoed down the corridor. Soft golden light filtered through the frosted windows, casting warm reflections across the stone floor. The room was cozy, yet still carried the air of uncertainty surrounding the mysterious human who lay recovering on the bed.

  The gentle aroma of buttered bread and spiced tea filled the room, weaving around the scent of the old wooden beams and faint echoes of distant voices. The door creaked open, and Lola, ever cheerful, stepped inside. Her paws padded lightly across the floor as she carried a wooden tray, her ears twitching in time with her humming.

  "Thought someone might be hungry,” she said, her voice light with amusement as she set the tray down on a nearby table. “You’re lucky the cooks like you, Fluffy. Told them it was a recovery meal.”

  Fluffy glanced up from her seat on the floor, leaning against the bed with her legs crossed. Her tail flicked lazily behind her. She grinned wide.

  "You’re the best, Lola! I owe you carrot cake."

  Lola arched a playful brow.

  “You owe me three. Try not to break the patient again.” She turned her gaze to Seven, assessing him briefly, her voice softening. “You’re tougher than you look. Glad you made it.” With a small flick of her tail, she stepped back out, her humming retreating down the hallway.

  Seven watched the door close behind her, eyes still half-lidded from exhaustion.

  “Was that… normal?” he asked, his voice rough from days of silence.

  Fluffy’s ears perked up in amusement, and she popped a piece of bread into her mouth.

  “For Lola? That was reserved.” She looked over at Seven, picking up a bun from the tray and offering it to him. “Eat. You’re still pale.”

  Seven hesitated, looking at the food with an unspoken wariness. He accepted it, though, chewing it slowly as silence hung between them. He swallowed the bite reluctantly, his expression distant.

  “I’m fine,” he muttered, though the words lacked conviction.

  Fluffy didn’t buy it. She set the bun back on the plate with a quiet clink.

  “No, you’re not,” she said bluntly. “Even your frostbite had frostbite.”

  Seven took a deep breath, leaning back against the bed as he closed his eyes. The room was warmer than the world outside, but it was still cold inside him. He felt weak—his mana still low, his body recovering too slowly from the long stretch of survival he had endured.

  Another silence. But it wasn’t comfortable. Not yet.

  Fluffy spoke again, quieter this time, her voice more gentle than before.

  “So… what were you even doing out there? Wandering that far into the wilderness alone?”

  Seven’s eyes fluttered open, looking distant. His gaze drifted toward the window, lost in the swirling wind outside. His mind wandered back to that dark stretch of cold, to the isolation, the silence.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Anyone out there missing you?” Fluffy added softly, her ears flicking with concern. “Family? Friends?”

  Seven’s fingers tightened around the bun, as if holding on to a last shred of something. He bit his lip, looking away.

  “No one’s waiting for me,” he said, the words hollow, flat. “Not anymore.”

  Fluffy’s ears dropped slightly. She didn’t press further, though the sadness in her voice was evident when she spoke again.

  “Alright then. Starting fresh.” She stood up and offered her hand with exaggerated formality, her usual upbeat demeanor returning. “I’m Fluffy—War Rabbit Guild member extraordinaire. Master of short swords and bad carrot jokes.”

  Seven blinked at her outstretched hand. For a moment, he hesitated. The touch of unfamiliarity stung, but he slowly raised his own hand, shaking hers lightly.

  “You can call me Seven.”

  Fluffy’s brows furrowed slightly. She cocked her head, unsure.

  “That your nickname or your actual name?”

  Seven exhaled slowly, the tiredness catching in his voice.

  “I don’t remember my real one.”

  Fluffy paused, her expression softening. She let the moment linger, feeling the weight of his words.

  “Seriously?” she asked, voice quieter now.

  Seven nodded slowly, his eyes distant.

  “It’s like there’s a wall in my head. I’ve got bits and pieces of things—scraps, feelings, instincts. But nothing that connects. Nothing concrete. Just... the number. Seven. It’s all I’ve got.”

  Fluffy took a deep breath. She considered him for a moment, then offered him a genuine smile.

  “Well, Seven’s a good name. Short, mysterious, and only slightly creepy. Like a brooding ranger in an old tale.”

  Seven couldn’t help but chuckle—just barely. It felt like a relief to hear something more playful, something that didn’t carry the weight of survival.

  “I’ve heard worse,” he muttered, the smile not reaching his eyes, but it was there.

  Fluffy leaned back on her cushion, watching him. Her smile lingered, more thoughtful this time. She was trying to understand him, piece by piece, even though she knew nothing about his past, his world, or why he was here. But he was real. She could tell that much.

  “Well, Seven,” Fluffy said, her voice quieter now, “glad you’re not a frostbitten squirrel anymore.”

  Seven smirked, leaning back against the pillow, allowing the light chatter to settle into a comfortable silence.

  For now, there was only the soft warmth of the room and the quiet presence of someone who seemed to care—even if he couldn’t quite bring himself to trust it just yet.

  “I guess I should thank you,” he said quietly.

  Fluffy looked up, her tail flicking slightly, her grin playful again.

  “I’ll take ‘thank you’ as a win. Just don’t expect me to be nice all the time.”

  Seven’s lips twitched into the faintest of smiles.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, his voice steady but laced with something unspoken.

  For now, at least, the silence wasn’t so suffocating.

  Scene Shift – City Hall: Lord Deogon’s Office

  The morning light streamed through a great arched window, spilling across the polished surface of a grand mahogany table. Stacks of parchment reports sat neatly aligned, ink still drying on the latest council decrees. Beyond the glass, the city of Novastra sprawled in muted winter hues, steam curling from the distant Aetherworks towers.

  The heavy wooden doors creaked open. Miss Hopps entered with the sharp, measured step of someone who had already weighed every word she was about to say. Her red hair was tied in a strict knot, the crimson sash of her Guildmaster’s uniform immaculate. She came to attention and saluted crisply.

  “Lord Deogon,” she said, her voice steady but urgent.

  Lord Adrianus Deogon V looked up from his papers, setting aside a quill tipped in silver. His golden-brown eyes narrowed in interest.

  “Leader Hopps. You don’t often make unannounced calls this early. I assume this is more than a routine report.”

  She stepped forward, placing a folded, mana-sealed note onto his desk.

  “We recovered a human survivor on the outskirts—near the Aku border.”

  One of Deogon’s brows rose.

  “Not just any stray, I take it?”

  Hopps’s jaw tightened.

  “No, sir. He brought down an Arctic Frostbearer—alone. He’s injured, but the skill and grit required for that… He’s trained. Highly capable. Potentially dangerous.”

  Deogon leaned back slightly in his chair, fingers steepled.

  “The War Rabbit Guild does not usually involve itself with lone drifters. Why this one?”

  “Because,” Hopps said, her gaze holding his, “he’s not from any village in our records. His equipment is… unique. A mechanical sidearm. Armor of unknown make. The engineers are dismantling nothing—only examining, at my order. They’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Deogon’s tone sharpened.

  “You’re suggesting he’s not from these lands?”

  “I’m suggesting,” she replied carefully, “that he may be connected to whatever has been shifting the balance beyond the walls. And if so—he could be either a weapon or a warning.”

  The chamber fell into silence for a heartbeat. Deogon stood, walking to the tall window. His hands clasped behind his back as he looked out over the coastal skyline.

  “You understand what this means, Miss Hopps. If the War Faction catches wind of him, they’ll demand his exile. Or worse—public execution. They’re still agitating for a harder stance against outsiders, especially humans without lineage ties to Novastra.”

  “I know,” Hopps said firmly. “But sending him back out there is a death sentence. He survived weeks in territory we’d call unrecoverable. That makes him valuable. I propose keeping him under Guild jurisdiction—not as a guest, but as a monitored asset.”

  Deogon turned, studying her in silence for several seconds.

  “You want to keep him… and you want my political cover to do it.”

  “I want Novastra prepared for what’s coming,” Hopps countered. “This man might be a threat. He might also be a key. Either way, I don’t intend to let the War Faction decide his fate before we know what we’re dealing with.”

  Deogon’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile—one without warmth.

  “Then present him to the council as an ongoing case study. A training opportunity for your younger ranks, perhaps. That will buy you time. But remember…”

  He stepped closer, lowering his voice.

  “You’re balancing on a blade’s edge, Hopps. And the Council? They’re sharpening it.”

  Her expression didn’t waver.

  “Understood, my Lord.”

  “Then proceed,” he said, returning to his desk. “Quietly. If you fail to control this, the War Faction will have all the leverage they need.”

  Hopps saluted again before turning on her heel and striding out, already calculating the next steps to keep Seven alive—whether he liked it or not.