By the time we returned from the fields, the sky was already fading into deep shades of orange and purple.Night was approaching slowly, like someone in no hurry to arrive.
My body ached.The labor of the fields had awakened muscles I had nearly forgotten existed.
Inside the house, the warm aroma of dinner filled the air.
Mara had prepared a simple stew — salted meat, root vegetables from the garden, small turnips, carrots, and a thick broth seasoned with dried herbs.Beside it, there was hard bread and a small bowl of coarse salt.
Simple.Yet, in this world, it was abundance.
We sat and ate quietly.The clinking of wooden spoons against the clay bowls filled the small space.Lina, always talkative, tried to brighten the meal with little stories about her day with the other children, the chickens, and things only she found fascinating.
After wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, my father looked at me.
"Tomorrow you can rest a bit, Torren," Erwin said in his calm voice."If you like, walk around, see what you wish. It's good to know the place where you live."
I nodded with a small smile.
"I'll do that."
We finished eating, washed the bowls, and retired for the night.Fatigue pulled me into sleep quickly.
I woke up before the first rays of light touched the thatched roof.The morning air was cold and dry.The village was still mostly silent, the few voices scattered and muffled.
I dressed and stepped out quietly.
Today, I would walk.By choice.To observe — and compare.
The memories of this body offered me a rough map of the village.I knew where the houses stood, where each craft was practiced, the familiar paths.But seeing them with my own eyes was different.
Reality brought details the memories didn't capture.The imperfections in the clay walls, the patched roofs, the dry branches hanging from nearby trees.The sleepy children dragging buckets toward the well.The women starting their morning routines, the men preparing their tools.
Everything was… the same and yet different.
I first passed Balric's forge.The embers were still low, waiting for the day's work to begin.
Further along was Saria's house.Lysa was already hanging freshly washed cloths, adjusting them with automatic care.
The butcher's shop still closed, but the strong scent of meat and smoke hung heavy in the air.
The same places my memories recalled — but now filled with colors, textures, and sounds that only direct sight could give.
I continued my walk.Soon I reached the healer's house.
It was... different.
Bundles of herbs dried on ropes stretched across the front.Clay jars of varying sizes sat on makeshift benches; some were tied shut with cloth, others simply covered with loose boards.The smell was a strange mixture: damp earth, roots, something sweet, and beneath it, a sharp bite that stung faintly.
Inside, I heard voices arguing.
"I said two drops, Tiber! TWO!" an older voice scolded.
"But they were small drops!" another, higher-pitched, replied.
Suddenly, a loud sneeze burst through the conversation.
"That was pepper, you idiot! Not ginger!"
Another voice coughed violently, struggling for breath.
"The smell was similar!"
I couldn't help but smile.Not out of mockery, but at the almost comical scene.They tried—limited, but trying.
In the yard, a one-winged, limping chicken pecked at the ground as if perfectly accustomed to the organized chaos.
Someday... I may need to study proper medicine myself, I thought.But not yet.
I moved on.
I passed several more modest homes where farming families were preparing for their work.Men sharpening sickles, women folding woven baskets.
As I approached the central well, a villager greeted me with a wave.
"Good morning, Torren!" he called. "The air feels good today, huh?"
I recognized his face from the inherited memories — a farmer named Garet.
"Good morning, sir Garet," I replied with a small smile.
He returned to his work, adjusting some sacks of seed near the well.
I approached the well and gazed into the clear water reflecting the slowly brightening sky.
I breathed deeply.The morning's scent was a blend of wood smoke, damp earth, and the gentle fragrance of nearby flowers.
My eyes caught one small flower near the edge.
White, with tiny, well-formed petals swaying softly in the breeze.I knelt down, observing it closely.
The scent was faint.Familiar.
For a moment, my chest tightened.
In my previous life, my wife had loved these flowers.We had kept some on the small balcony of our apartment.
I closed my eyes briefly.The ache of longing came fast—but short.I gently patted my own cheek, taking a deep breath to push the weight away.
This is my life now, I reminded myself.This is where I am.
I stood up, adjusting my tunic, and continued walking.
There was still much to see.Much to learn.And the day was only beginning.