Chapter Text
Ever since he'd been brought here, the camp had been a whirlwind of activity. From dawn to dusk, a wide variety of strange figures came and went, moving with purpose and haste. Bracers, Church Sisters, police officers, nurses, even some young volunteers with little actual skill; all of them had the same fire in their eyes, the same smell of righteous indignity wafting off of them.
Van couldn't help but observe them secretly, from time to time. They always reacted the same way when they saw him – the pity in their eyes couldn't have been more blatant if they'd written it on their foreheads. He didn't like the way they shifted guiltily or tried to tone down their voice when he was nearby.
He doubted most of them knew his name, but they all clearly thought the same thing of him: a victim. He was far from the only one, of course. Every day, with every new hideout or lab discovered, more and more children flooded into the camp. Only a few left, returned in the arms of their horrified yet relieved families. Most were stuck here, like him.
That's not to say they wanted anything to do with him. The people who did this to them hadn't been interested in getting them to know that others like them existed, let alone meet them. The few he kids he had supposedly known while in that hell – those who came out alive, at any rate – seemed deathly afraid of him. Van didn't know why, or why he didn't remember meeting them, and he didn't care.
The little crate he was hiding behind shifted. Van jumped back to hide behind a tent, but he was too slow. The familiar figure of a grinning priest made itself known once more.
"There you are, Van. I've been looking all over for you," he said jovially, putting the large crate on top of his shoulder as if it weighed nothing at all. "I was this close to asking the Bracers to mount a search and rescue operation."
"Father Barkhorn," Van replied, his attempt at politeness rather forced. "Whatever do you need me for? I didn't do anything, I was taking a nap."
Gunther Barkhorn was a strange man, especially for someone who was supposed to be a priest. His weird sense of humor and his incredibly bulky build both looked rather suspect at his age – and Van had already seen him in action, and knew he was even deadlier than he looked. All the same, he was possibly the only man in this damn camp who didn't treat him like he was made of glass, a fact Van appreciated.
"Actually, I've got some good news, my boy. Remember how I said you looked awfully familiar?" The man somehow managed to look even more pleased with himself than usual.
"I told you a thousand times, Father, it's just a coincidence," he groaned in reply, looking away with a grimace. "I'm a blasted orphan, not the son of anyone important."
Some kids back at the orphanage had liked to imagine that they were secretly the bastard children of important politicians, big celebrities, or rich businessmen; that their parents would gloriously return someday to claim their lost sons and daughters and bring them home.
Van had always known that was bullshit – though he hadn't learned that word until later. Most of their parents were probably poor, too young, or dead. If any of them did become rich, they sure as Gehenna wouldn't come back for their bastards after so long, they had images to keep and stuff.
"Is that so? And what if I told you that the little blood test I ran came back positive?" Barkhorn dropped the crate and came down to a knee, his eyes level with Van's own. "That I know who your father is and he's on his way here?"
It was like being splashed with a bucket of cold water. Van couldn't believe his own ears, and he had to shake his head just to stop freezing up. That would be far too convenient a scenario, that kinda thing doesn't happen outside of storybooks made for children, and he's already fourteen.
"Old man, that kind of joke ain't okay!" He shouted back once he found his own voice. His heart threatened to explode out of his chest, but he forced himself to stay calm. He wouldn't let his hopes get up for any stupid joke.
"I'm not joking," the priest replied, his smile finally replaced with a firm expression. "I know it's a lot to drop on you, lad, and you've been through too much already. But this is serious, especially given who your dad is."
It was all Van could do to stay in one place. He wasn't sure if he was more tempted to run away or to punch the old priest. The last time he'd been adopted, it had been just an excuse for those bastards to experiment on him. Given that this was the man who abandoned him in an orphanage, he doubted he'd be that much better.
"What, is he some big shot from Edith? He gained a conscience when he heard the kid he didn't care about for a decade got hurt?" Van forced himself to scowl. He wouldn't let himself hope, couldn't allow himself to be vulnerable like that again.
Father Barkhorn looked over his shoulder before pulling Van closer and whispering in his ear.
"His name's Victor S. Arseid; he's the Viscount of Legram, over in Erebonia. An honorable and powerful man." Barkhorn's voice was stern yet approving. A ghost of a smile appeared on his face again.
Van was in no position to notice, of course. All he could think about was the name, and how stupid it was that their initials matched. Then the second part of the statement hit him, along with a wave of laughter he could not possibly contain.
"A Viscount? You mean, I'm a noble?" Van's incredulous voice could probably be heard all over the camp.
"Aye, and it's not like the old families here in Calvard," the old priest mused, closing his eyes. "Erebonia's nobility still holds considerable power. If he decides to name you as his heir, there's a chance you'll be ruling over Legram one day."
At that revelation, the dam fully broke, along with what remained of Van's composure. He thought back to his time in the orphanage, to Elaine and Rene, and the sheer irony of the situation caused him to cry and laugh in equal measure. His knees could barely hold him up; the only reason he didn't eat dirt was because the priest caught him in his arms and held him tightly.
"Damn it, Father," he said wetly. "Let go, I'm…fine."
"You're not fine, Van. You won't be for a while, but that's okay. I haven't known you long, but I know you're strong enough to get through this," the priest said, rubbing his back. Barkhorn's white beard made his face itch. "Are you ready to meet Lord Arseid?"
"What, you gonna tell him to go back to Erebonia if I say no?" Van chuckled, tears still flowing down his cheeks.
"I'll punch him in the face if that's what it takes." The old man laughed heartily. "Still, I doubt it'll be necessary. Victor is a man of his word, you'll see. Tell him not to push and he won't."
Van nodded into the man's shoulder. He was still skeptical, yet he couldn't see any reason not to meet the man. At least, to get an explanation out of him. He didn't exactly have a home to go back to, anyway. Even if he kinda wanted to see Elaine and Rene again…