The first thing Jaune felt was the heat.
It seared his skin like an open flame, pulling him out of unconsciousness with a brutal insistence. His throat was dry, his lips cracked, and the taste of salt clung to his tongue. When he opened his eyes, he was greeted by the blinding sun hanging in a cloudless blue sky.
He was alive. Somehow.
Coughing weakly, Jaune tried to push himself up, but his limbs felt like lead. The sand beneath him shifted, hot and rough against his hands. He squinted, trying to make sense of his surroundings. Endless dunes stretched in every direction, the horizon shimmering with heat.
How did I get here?
His last memory was of the Silver Gull—the Hunter, the dive into the freezing waters of the bay. After that, nothing. The sea had spat him out onto this desolate shore, and he'd been lucky enough to survive.
For now.
"Don't move too much," a voice said, low and calm. "You'll waste what little strength you have left."
Jaune's head snapped toward the sound, his body tensing despite its weakness. A figure knelt beside him, silhouetted against the sun. As his vision adjusted, he saw a man with deep tan skin, a worn scarf wrapped around his head to shield him from the heat. His eyes were sharp and calculating, but not unkind.
"You're lucky we found you," the man continued, holding out a flask. "Drink."
Jaune hesitated for a moment before accepting it. The water was warm, but it was the most glorious thing he'd ever tasted. He drank greedily until the man pulled it away.
"Slowly," he said. "You'll make yourself sick."
Jaune coughed and nodded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Where am I?"
"The outskirts of Vacuo," the man replied. "You're a long way from wherever you came from."
Vacuo. The name struck a chord. It was the furthest region of the continent, a harsh, desert land where survival meant adaptation and strength. He'd read about it in history books—how the people of Vacuo lived without the luxuries of other kingdoms, thriving in a land that tested them at every turn.
"Found him!" another voice called out.
Jaune turned his head to see more figures approaching, their outlines blurry in the heat. There were four of them in total, each dressed in loose, practical clothing that matched the desert's ochre tones. Their faces were covered with scarves, but their weapons—curved blades, bows, and clubs—were easy to spot.
"Don't get too excited," said a woman as she came into view. Her voice carried the same sharpness as her narrowed eyes. "He could be trouble."
"Look at him," the man beside Jaune said, gesturing to his weakened state. "He's barely alive."
"That doesn't mean he's harmless," she shot back.
"Relax, Naeem," the man said, turning back to Jaune. "We're nomads, travelers. We found you washed up a mile from here. It's rare for the sea to spit anything out this far inland."
Jaune frowned. "How long have I been here?"
"Maybe a day, maybe more," the man said with a shrug. "Time's a little slippery out here."
The woman, Naeem, crouched beside them, her piercing eyes scanning Jaune's face. "What were you doing out there, stranger? You don't look like a sailor."
Jaune hesitated, his mind racing. He wasn't about to tell them the truth—about the ruby, the heist, or the Hunter. These people might have saved him, but trust wasn't something he could afford.
"Shipwreck," he said finally, his voice hoarse. "I was a passenger. Got caught in a storm."
Naeem's expression didn't change. She clearly didn't believe him, but she didn't push the issue.
"Storm, huh?" another nomad said, this one younger and wiry, with a bow slung across his back. "Well, whatever your story is, you're lucky we found you. This desert isn't kind to lost souls."
The man who had first helped Jaune stood, extending a hand to him. "We'll take you back to our camp. Get you back on your feet."
Jaune stared at the hand for a moment before taking it. The man pulled him up, steadying him when he swayed on weak legs.
"Thank you," Jaune said, meaning it.
The man smiled faintly. "Name's Tavian. If you're planning to survive out here, you'll need to learn fast."
The camp was nestled in the shade of a rocky outcrop, a small cluster of tents and supplies spread out in a semicircle. Despite its temporary nature, it felt surprisingly organized. The nomads moved with practiced efficiency, tending to their animals, sharpening their weapons, and preparing food over a small fire.
Jaune sat near the fire, cradling another flask of water. His strength was slowly returning, but he still felt the lingering ache of the ocean's wrath.
Tavian sat across from him, sharpening a curved blade with a whetstone. "You're lucky we found you when we did. Another few hours out there, and the sun would've finished what the sea started."
Jaune nodded, staring into the flames. "I appreciate it."
"You'll have to earn your keep if you stay with us," Naeem said as she approached, arms crossed. "We're not a charity."
"I don't plan on being a burden," Jaune replied, meeting her gaze.
Her eyes lingered on him for a moment before she nodded. "Good. Tavian can show you the ropes tomorrow."
As night fell, the temperature plummeted, and the nomads gathered around the fire. They spoke of their journey, their plans to trade with the settlements further inland. Jaune listened quietly, absorbing the rhythm of their lives.
But his mind kept drifting to the ruby, now safely hidden in his pack. It had brought him this far, but it had also brought nothing but danger.
He looked up at the stars, brighter and clearer than he'd ever seen before. Vacuo might have been harsh and unforgiving, but it was also a place where the rules were different.
Maybe this is my chance to start over, he thought.
But deep down, he knew the past wouldn't let him go so easily.