Chapter 41: Derek, Saphir and Glen

The mess hall was at the heart of the barracks.

As soon as she stepped inside, she was struck by the warmth.

Nothing like the cold of the locker room.

The room was huge, with long solid wooden tables marked by time, by blows, by shared meals. Hanging lamps cast a soft golden light, contrasting with the raw stone walls.

Weapons were hung here and there, mixed with souvenirs: trophies, pieces of armor, strange objects brought back from missions.

Around the tables, the men wore relaxed military attire: fitted camo pants, dark tank tops or tight t-shirts. Beneath the fabric, their silhouettes were clear, shaped by hours of training—broad shoulders, strong backs, arms lined with carefully maintained muscle.

It was a living place.

Noisy. Human.

"Well, it's about time! " Argy called when he saw her enter, already seated. " I was about to come get you!"

All eyes turned toward her.

Blanche felt tension rise... then almost immediately fall.

There was no hostility. No suspicion.

Just... curiosity.

And something else. Welcome.

She spotted Nicky immediately.

Lounging easily in his chair, wearing dark camo and a slightly stretched black t-shirt at the shoulders, he had that soldier's look that hid discipline behind relaxation. His forearms rested on the table, marked by lean but solid muscles—those of someone used to fast, repeated movements.

He gave her a wide, warm, sincere smile. She returned his greeting, almost relieved to see a familiar face.

Nicky radiated an incredibly soothing energy. Always relaxed, always ready to joke, he seemed to be the group's social heart—the one who connected everyone.

Blanche sat next to Argy, still a little stiff.

She didn't have time to observe more.

"Holy fucking shit!"

The voice cracked through the room.

She turned her head.

The man who had spoken was... impressive.

Tall, broad-shouldered, a true tank. He wore a sleeveless military top that revealed massive arms, built from intense training, every movement making dense muscles shift under his skin. His bright blue hair clashed sharply with everything else, and his cerulean eyes stared at her with unsettling intensity.

Around him, his aura rippled: midnight blue, turquoise... streaked with unstable red filaments.

He seemed both shocked... and deeply unsettled.

"You know her? "asked another voice, harsher.

Blanche turned toward him.

Everything about him was tense. Controlled. Sharp.

His black military jacket was perfectly fitted, fastened with precision, highlighting a solid build without a single flaw. His straight posture and impeccable bearing revealed years of strict discipline. His Venetian blond hair was perfectly in place, his blue-gray eyes ringed with orange studied Blanche with almost hostile coldness.

Even seated, he radiated natural, almost crushing authority.

His black and orange aura vibrated like a beast ready to strike.

" Yes, " Saphir answered after a pause. "We'll talk about it later."

Derek didn't take his eyes off him, clearly dissatisfied... but said nothing.

"That's Saphir, Glen's familiar, and this is Derek," Nicky introduced casually." And you're Neige, right?"

Blanche nodded, a bit tense.

Then—

"Hot stuff coming through!"

An elf burst into the room, carrying a gigantic bowl with effortless ease.

His black shirt was rolled up to the elbows, revealing slender but firm forearms shaped by precise, repeated movements. His camo pants followed his every motion fluidly.

"You could warn people before yelling, "Derek grumbled. "And it's not even a hot dish."

" And you could smile once in a while," the elf shot back without slowing down.

Then he looked up.

Time seemed to freeze.

Blanche forgot to breathe.

Kysten.

No mistake possible.

Same face, same presence. Same aura... strange, deep, almost unfathomable. Something ancient, dangerous... and yet fascinating. So her partner at the Gala had been a player too...

She stared at him for a second too long. Then, as if nothing had happened, he smiled at her.

A calm smile. Controlled.

Mysterious.

"Hey, " he said cheerfully.

Argy nudged Blanche.

"Hey... " she finally replied.

"Excuse her, "Saphir added with a slight smirk. "I don't think she's ever seen an elf before."

Blanche stayed silent, watching him. Familiars weren't bound by secrecy. Which meant the man must know who she was in Epsilon.

"No problem, " Kysten/Glen replied with a small laugh." And since we finally have a woman under this roof..."

He stepped closer.

"The honor is yours."

He served her a plate.

And not just any way.

Every movement was precise. Fluid. Almost ceremonial.

The plate was... beautiful.

Colorful. Balanced. Far from the "salad" announced.

"Thank you, " Blanche murmured.

Saphir abruptly stood up and left the room, leaving behind a surprised silence.

Blanche frowned slightly. She had guessed right.

But for the others, his reaction was rather strange.

The meal quickly resumed, though.

And little by little... the tension faded.

Conversations resumed. Laughter too.

Glen—whom she identified as the official cook—gave instructions between bites, organizing tasks with formidable efficiency.

Nicky explained how the barracks worked: missions, rotations, training... but also daily life.

Because that was it, in the end.

Not just a military base.

A home. A place that had to be maintained, cleaned, secured.

Argy and Nicky talked nonstop, sharing stories, laughing at nothing. Derek chimed in sometimes, often to correct, sometimes to complain. Saphir, absent, left a strange void. And Glen... watched.

In silence.

Blanche, meanwhile, listened.

Observed.

And, against all expectations...

She relaxed.

These men were strangers.

And yet—

She felt... safe.

Accepted.

As if, without understanding why, she knew she had nothing to fear here.

Even Derek, with his hard gaze, wasn't a threat. Just... a barrier.

Even Kysten, with his mystery, wasn't dangerous. Just... unfathomable.

And Argy...

Argy was an anchor.

A reference point in this chaos.

As for Nicky, he was the soul. Argy's friend, Glen's boyfriend, a troublemaker who loved teasing Derek—who, contrary to what one might think, was actually amused by it.

She let out a soft breath.

Maybe...

Maybe it would be okay.

Even when the conversation drifted to the orcs—their worrying advance toward the north—the atmosphere didn't completely break.

A tension passed.

Then faded.

Because here...

They faced things together.

And for the first time since waking up—

Blanche no longer felt alone.