"Dinner's ready, Van!" called Leonette from one of the windows of their house, "my father's been working you to the bone, and you still have to polish your gun for hours. It's like you love your toys more than me!"
It hasn't been hours, dear, thought Van as he placed his third creation on a rack. Sit tight, Valorous, I'll be back shortly.
"Father!" a little girl called, "We won't eat without you, hurry up!"
"I'm coming, I'm coming," he said apologetically to whoever could hear.
What's happening, where am I?
He stood up, stretched, and headed into the small house. A humble structure it was; the door didn't quite shut all the way, and it creaked like an old ship, but the ones he shared it with made it a palace fit for royalty.
A puddle of rainwater reflected his face. A scruffy, beard grew wildly, and his belly, once lean and hard, was getting round and smooth. Ah, Van thought unbothered, too much sitting, I suppose.
Inside the house, Leonette placed the plates and pots on the table. Lyndis helped, taking the cups out of a cabinet with a badly warped door. She looks just like her mother.
"It smells so good," said little Vanessa as she tugged at his sleeve, "mother is such a good cook!"
These children ... How do I know their names?
Van took a seat, Leonette smiled at him, and he smiled back.
"Grandfather is late again," announced Vanessa, "I'm so hungry."
"Be patient, Nessa" said Lyndis, years sororal bickering obvious, "or be quiet for a moment. You're so annoying."
"Am not!" retorted Vanessa.
Someone knocked on the door, and Van rose to answer.
"I'll get it," he said quickly with a stupid grin on his lips.
Behind the door stood father, King Vance, though he looked far from a king in his threadbare hose and shirt.
"Vandal," his father said warmly as he embraced him, "ah, my son, I've missed you."
Vanessa jumped and hugged Vance. Van, concerned, stood by to make sure the weight of his daughter didn't drag his father to the ground.
"Easy there, little one," said Vance, giggling, "I'm not as strong as I used to be."
This can't be father ... he's so ... happy.
Together they ate dinner. Leonette talked about Renford's adventures overseas, his talents making him a wealthy merchant. Vanessa teased Lyndis about some boy she fancied. And father talked about his own father. Though old and frail, he was content with seeing his great-grand-children grow and play.
No ... this can't be right.
The world seemed to shift before Vandal's eyes.
"Van," asked Leonette, worry heavy in her voice, "is something amiss?"
He ignored the question and turned to his father.
"Father," he said softly, "grandfather ... he is alive?"
"Still alive?" Vance repeated, taken aback. "Of course! Oh Van, how bold of you to ask." He guffawed and went back to his meal.
The curtains of the dream began to rise.
No ... I want to stay ... I want ...
The candle at the center of the table lost its flame and only darkness surrounded him. The joyful conversation ceased and Vandal was alone.
The candle reignited itself, its cankered light blue and bright. In the stew below, the meat and vegetables rotted. The reflection wasn't his own.
"Ah," the false face began, "what a lovely home, with lovely children and a lovely wife. Do you think Nu would be jealous?" It was that bastard, Cordis, his laughing green eyes irking him. "Don't you forget about us and our little world, gunner. You can't escape reality forever."
His eyes snapped open, and he awoke in a bedroom. It only took a few seconds to remember that he was in the midst of battle. He rolled, and fell, hitting the hard, wooden floor beneath, realizing he was once on a bed. Leonette had been in his hands. Eyes still groggy from sleep, he still readied himself for a fight.
Ladnavia was fast asleep on the big bed they shared, her chest rising and falling with each breath.
He aimed his long gun at her. It's over if I do it, thought Van, let's hope you don't somehow land back in Aventyne.
When her eyes flicked open, they were already on Van, as if she had been gazing at him through her eyelids all this time.
She smiled derisively.
In one motion, it appeared, she rolled off the bed and flung a throwing knife. The sharp point was aimed at his last eye, but he spun, the steel ending up in his shoulder. He sucked in air as he felt the blade bite.
He fired his long gun, the bullet going through her hat, and shattering a big window behind her.
She tossed her crossbow out of the opening and flipped out of the room, her vanquished hat in one hand.
Van flew to the window and saw Ladnavia trying to mount the Simurgh. He fired his last two shots. One almost hitting Ladnavia, the other, this one with an ice bullet and a fire gem to touch the banfrow. It burrowed into the lawn at Ladnavia's feet.
But this combination, of fire and ice, had a certain effect, one that Ladnavia perhaps was not quite aware of.
The bullet gave off a plume of vapors and burst like a tiny bomb. Vandal could see that the blast almost knocked her off her feet. She gripped on the Simurgh's feathers to keep her from falling as she screamed a curse. Through ripped clothes, she was bleeding where the shards had cut her. Had Van just one more shot, he could have ended it. Reloading at the moment was pointless; he would never finish in time. To cover her retreat, she fired a bolt at the gunner. She really hated that eye of his and, had Van not sidestepped in time, the bolt would have blinded him completely.
As Van pulled the knife free from his shoulder, he saw Ladnavia take off on the Simurgh. Dark clouds gathered above, ushering a light rain.
Van saw her looking at him. She stuck her middle finger through the hole of her hat and made an exaggerated frown at him.
Damn it, cursed Van silently, the world separates us all once again. If she finds Nu before I do ...
The rain intensified and sent torrents in through the broken window.
VANDAL'S INVENTORY
BULLETS : 5 / 12
BANFROW : 30%
10% used per shot
ns 18.68.41.141da2
