As the days slowly turned into weeks, Leon gradually adapted to his new life among the Gnolls. The initial shock of his circumstances began to fade, but they never left. They were only replaced by a routine that anchored him in this foreign world.
The early hours in Borealis were always marked by a pale dawn that cast long shadows across the snow-laden ground. Leon adjusted his hood, pulling it tighter around his face, shielding himself from the gusts of wind that whipped through the twisted and broken trees.
Wrapped in layers of thick furs and rugged leather, each piece carefully chosen to fend off the biting cold that permeated the air, he began to chop wood, the axe becoming a familiar weight in his hands, now calloused from weeks of labour.
He recalled Varra making fun of him one time, “Careful, Leon! If you continue to chop wood like that, you’re going to become a [Woodcutter] !” She had called out, her laughter a wild, beast-like sound that bounced around them, making the air feel alive, warmer.
What had struck Leon back then wasn’t just her teasing, but the fact that she’d used the Common Tongue—French in his case—so well. In their world, everyone was born with the ability to understand Common, a universal language gifted by the mysterious Voice.
It was ingrained in their minds from birth. But knowing the words and actually speaking them fluently were two different things.
For most of her life, Varra had spoken only Gnollish—the rough, guttural language of her people. The words in Common were there, but without practice, they were hard to articulate. She had never needed to speak it before meeting Leon.
After he arrived, though, Varra had been determined to communicate better with him. Leon recalled her sitting by the fire with Kallia, who was more fluent in Common, working through the tricky sounds and awkward grammar. Kallia corrected her patiently, helping her navigate the challenges of speaking it aloud.
At first, Varra’s speech had been slow and cautious. She knew what she wanted to say, but getting the words out smoothly was the challenge. She would often stumble, frustrated by the gap between her thoughts and her tongue. But she persisted, night after night, lesson after lesson.
And gradually, her fluency had improved. With each passing day, her sentences flowed more naturally, her pronunciation sharper. She started to tease him in Common more often, delighting in her progress. It was her way of building a connection, bridging the gap between their worlds.
A way for her to truly understand him.
The rhythmic thud of his strikes comforted Leon, like a heartbeat that marked his days. No longer did he lie awake at night, crying for his lost family, instead, the pain of separation morphed into a dull, persistent ache—a reminder of what he had been forced to leave behind.
Leon had immersed himself in the tribe’s daily tasks, taking on any role he could to pull his weight. Skinning and gutting the animals they hunted had quickly became part of his new reality. Under Barg’s watchful eye, one of the tribe's seasoned [Butchers], Leon had learned the delicate process of butchery. It wasn't just about carving flesh; it was about understanding the animal's life, and respecting what had been taken.
The first time had been a disaster. The moment the knife had pierced the hide, and the pungent scent of blood and organs had hit him, Leon’s stomach had churned violently. His hands had trembled, his vision had blurred, and before he could have stopped it, he had stumbled back and vomited into the snow.
Barg, towering above him with his hulking gnollish frame, had erupted into a low, guttural laugh. The sound had echoed in the air, deep and rough, with a bestial rumble that seemed to come from the pit of his chest. Though no words were exchanged, Barg’s amusement had been clear, his sharp-toothed grin revealing no malice, just an understanding of how foreign all this was for Leon.
Despite the humiliation, Leon had kept at it, determined not to let his weakness define him. Over time, the nausea had faded, and been replaced by a hardened focus and a growing respect for the work.
He had also learned to weave sturdy tents from woods and furs, creating safe havens against the harsh winds. With every tent erected and every fire lit, Leon had felt a weird sense of belonging solidify within him.
He had started to see some of the Gnolls he met daily as, well… friends. And with every day that had passed, the Tribe had slowly begun to feel like—home. A home where maybe, just maybe, he could find his place.
Through all this, Leon soon reached [Suvivor Level 6]. The days of cutting wood, building yurts, and skinning animals had toughened him up. More than he ever thought possible. He felt more in phase with his own body than ever before, more…solid. He no longer stumbled or slipped, and his hands, once soft, were now hard.
His hair, once neatly trimmed, had grown out, and now he had to tie it back into a short ponytail, secured with a rough braid that Varra had shown him how to make. His beard had begun to grow as well, patches of dark stubble spreading across his jawline.
He didn’t know yet if he wanted to let it grow or shave it.
He had also learned from his lessons with Kallia that every Gnoll in Borealis was born into the world with the [Survivor] class, like an inescapable mark of the land's brutality.
The first time she had told him this, her warm voice had been filled with a strange mix of pride and warning.
“Here,” she had said, her paw tracing a path over a map she had drawn in the snow, “This land... it makes us all [Survivors]. You come to Borealis, you either learn to survive, or you die.”
Leon remembered staring at her, the gravity of her words sinking in. “Every Gnoll? They’re all born as [Survivors]?”
Kallia had nodded, her sharp eyes scanning the frozen landscape around them as if the land itself might challenge her claim. “Yes. Born into the world with it. Not by choice... but because the land demands it. Even a cub, fresh from the womb, has to fight the cold, and the hunger. We live, only if we are strong.”
Two weeks after his arrival, as he prepared for a hunting trip with Varra, she started asking him about his world, no longer able to contain her curiosity. “What are cities like in your home?” she asked while they gathered supplies.
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“They’re huge,” he replied, trying to convey the bustling life of human society. “Tall buildings made of stone and glass, crowded with people. We have markets filled with foods from all over, and you can find anything you want.”
Varra listened intently, her ears twitching with interest. “And do you have animals? Like the ones we hunt?”
“Yeah, but dogs and cats are our common pets. We have farms with cows, sheep, and chickens too,” Leon explained, a sense of pride filling his chest as he spoke of his former life. It felt good to talk about his world, even if it felt distant now.
Varra’s eyes narrowed slightly as she considered his words. “And do the races in your world live together well? Or do you fight, like the Tribes?”
Leon paused, unsure how to explain. “Well, where I come from... it's only—humans. And yes, sometimes, we…fight.”
Varra stopped in her tracks, blinking in confusion. “Only humans?” she repeated, her voice low with disbelief. “All your people are the same? How many of you are there?”
Leon scratched his head, realizing how bizarre this might sound to her. “Uh, yeah, mostly. And, well, there’s a lot of us. How many are in your tribe?”
Varra snorted, clearly thinking his answer would be small. “We are not large. Two thousand, maybe three thousand Gnolls. Some tribes are bigger, but ours is strong.” She nodded with pride. “Once, I went to the Conclave of Tribes, where I saw more Gnolls than I could count. They said there were a million Gnolls there.”
Leon nodded, impressed. “That’s a lot of people. But where I come from... we have millions in a single city.”
Varra’s jaw dropped, her eyes wide with shock. “Millions... in one place? How is that possible? Do you not fight for space? For food?”
Leon chuckled, though he understood her confusion. “It’s complicated. But in my world, there aren’t just millions. There are billions of humans.”
Varra stared at him blankly, then shook her head. “I do not know this ‘billion.’ Is it more than a million?”
Leon nodded. “Way more. A billion is a thousand million.”
She blinked, her expression a mix of disbelief and amazement. “A thousand million?” Her voice cracked slightly as she tried to wrap her mind around the number. “How can so many live together? Your cities must stretch beyond the horizon.”
“They do,” Leon said with a small smile. “Some of them, anyway. But it’s not just one place. We have entire continents filled with people.”
Varra scratched at her chin, her brow furrowed. “And how do you get from one city to another? You must have huge caravans to move so many.”
Leon grinned. “We have something called airplanes. They’re like giant metal birds, and they fly people from one city to another in hours.”
Varra stopped walking and let out a loud bark of laughter. “Metal birds? Flying through the sky?” Her sharp, guttural laughter echoed around them. “Now you’re just telling tales.”
Leon shook his head, still smiling. “I’m serious. They don’t flap their wings like birds, but they use engines—machines that generate power—to keep them in the air.”
Varra squinted at him, clearly skeptical. “And what about speaking to each other? If you have so many people, how do you find each other, speak to each other?”
“We have phones,” Leon explained, knowing how ridiculous it would sound. “Small devices that let us talk to someone instantly, even if they’re far away.”
Varra’s ears flattened, and she gave him a dubious look. “Talking stones? Now I know you’re making fun of me.”
Leon couldn’t help but laugh. “I promise, I’m not. We call them phones, and you can use them to talk, send messages, even see the person you’re talking to on a screen.”
Varra shook her head, muttering under her breath. “Your world is strange, Leon. Metal birds, talking stones... What’s next? Magic that writes itself?”
Leon hesitated. “Well, actually, we have something called the internet. It’s like... a collection of all the knowledge in the world. You can look up anything you want, anytime.”
Varra glanced at him, eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. “This ‘internet’ sounds like magic.”
Leon shrugged. “Maybe it is, in a way. But it’s how we learn, communicate, and even buy things without leaving our homes.”
The Gnoll shook her head slowly, still processing what she had heard. “I will never understand your world,” she said, her tone amused but respectful. “But... perhaps that’s for the best.”
Leon smiled softly. “Yeah, maybe.”
After a quiet moment, his curiosity got the better of him. He shifted slightly, looking at Varra with a thoughtful expression. "I’ve been meaning to ask… the names I hear around here, in your language—they seem to mean more than just… names. Do they carry something special? In Gnollish, I mean.”
Varra’s ears perked up at the question, her gaze turning more serious, though a small smile played on her lips. “They do. Names in Gnollish aren’t just names. They’re tied to the essence of a person, who they are, their story, their role, their nature. But… it’s not something every outsider gets to know. Whether or not a Gnoll shares their name with not-Gnolls is a choice, a matter of trust.”
Leon nodded, absorbing the explanation. “What about yours?”
A hint of pride lit up her eyes as she replied, “Varra means “Windswept” in Common.”
Leon grinned. “Fitting.”
He then chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "You know, I was actually going to ask you what Kraka’s name means, but... after what you just told me, I think I’ll hold off on that."
Varra’s grin widened, her blue eyes glinting with amusement. “Probably for the best. His Gnollish name is something only he can decide to share with someone—not Gnoll.”
Leon nodded, leaning back. “Yeah, makes sense. But thank you for sharing yours—for trusting me.”
As their conversation faded into silence, Leon’s thoughts wandered back to all he had learned since arriving in Borealis. Varra wasn’t the only one curious about his world—he had been just as eager to absorb everything he could about this strange, wild place.
Kallia and other Gnolls had shared pieces—stories of Borealis with him, revealing a world far more complex than he had initially imagined.
He had learned that Borealis was just one of six continents, each teeming with countless species, many of which had vanished from history, leaving only whispers and ruins behind them.
The Tundra, where he now lived, was dominated by Gnoll tribes, but there existed several coastal cities down in the South, and they were different from here—bustling with life, full of humans and other races coexisting in ways he hadn’t yet seen.
The Tundra Gnolls, which was how they preferred to be called by other races, didn’t like those places. And weirdly, he began to understand them.
Back in his world, Leon had always felt like…a lion in a cage, confined by expectations and rules that never quite fit him. There had been... problems—issues he hadn’t been able to escape. Issues he had created. Issues he still didn’t know how to deal with. It weighed on him.
But here, in these wild lands, that weight seemed to lift, if only slightly. Maybe it was the open skies, the unforgiving land, or the way the Gnolls lived with such raw intensity—it all made him feel more alive than he ever had before. More able to breathe.
Maybe here, he would be finally able to live without his—disorder.
As they prepared for the hunt, Leon glanced at Varra, her powerful form leading the way through the snow. Together, they moved silently through the icy landscape, their footsteps barely a whisper in the vast, frozen wilderness.
And each step felt like a step closer to finding his place—not just in this tribe, but in this world.