The morning was still cold.The scent of burning wood and fresh bread hung in the air as I stepped outside for the first time since awakening.
The small village square unfolded before me.Packed dirt formed crude paths, marked by wagon wheels and countless footsteps.At its center stood a sturdy wooden well, its rope creaking softly as a woman drew water.Simple homes of clay and straw stood in a loose circle around the square, their thatched roofs glistening with morning dew.
Children ran between the houses, chasing chickens and laughing freely.Women carried woven baskets filled with vegetables and salted meat, while the men stacked freshly chopped firewood.
I stood quietly, absorbing it all.
This is my home now.This is Vandren.
Lina's voice pulled me from my thoughts.
"Brother!" she called, running up to me with her usual energy.She grabbed my hand eagerly.
"Come on, I want to show you everything again!"
I smiled.
"Again," she said.To her, this was all familiar.To me, everything felt both strange and oddly familiar—as if I had lived it, yet hadn't.Memories I had pulled from this body's life filled in much of the landscape, but now I observed it fully aware, as myself.
"Let's go slowly, Lina," I said gently. "I want to see everything properly."
We walked together around the village.
Automatically, my mind started building a mental map.Old habits.I couldn't stop analyzing even if I tried.
Fifteen families.Roughly seventy people.Their houses were clustered around the central well for easy access to water.Their farmland lay further out, likely divided into modest plots.No pastures. No proper granaries. No livestock systems beyond chickens and a few goats.Subsistence living.
Vulnerable.But stable, for now.
We approached the forge.
The building was sturdier than most, with timber beams reinforcing the open structure.Heat radiated from the glowing forge at its heart.
Balric, the blacksmith, stood by the anvil, his broad frame hammering a red-hot piece of iron with steady rhythm.Sweat glistened on his bald head, his muscular arms moving with practiced ease.
Nearby, his wife Helna organized tools and scraps with efficient precision.Her eyes were sharp, constantly scanning everything as if always ready to act.
I pulled at my memories.Nights spent listening to Balric explain the art of shaping metal.Helna's fierce protectiveness over her children.Their place as one of the pillars of this small village.
And then, just behind one of the support posts, stood Laris.
She peeked out, eyes focused directly on me.
Her hair was tied back messily, a few loose strands framing her face.Her brows were slightly furrowed—an expression far too serious for a girl her age.She didn't speak. She simply watched me, evaluating.
She's always been like this, my inherited memories told me.A bit bossy, easily frustrated, protective.But now, seeing her with my own eyes, something else flickered beneath that expression——a tension I couldn't quite place.
Perhaps it was simply my overactive mind, still adjusting.Or perhaps... something more.
I smiled faintly at her, offering a small nod.
She didn't return it.Instead, she slipped behind the post again.
Further down, we stopped by the seamstress's home.
Saria, the widow, sat beneath a tree, her head down as she worked her needle skillfully.Her daughter, Lysa, folded clothes beside her with quiet focus.
The grief in Saria's eyes was always there, buried beneath her duties.Her husband and eldest son—both taken by bandits long before.
I offered a respectful nod as we passed, not wishing to intrude.
Finally, we reached the butcher.
Orlan stood outside his small shop, wiping his hands on a blood-stained apron.His frame was large and imposing, but his eyes softened when they met mine.
"Torren," he greeted simply, his voice low but kind.
Behind him, his wife Mira arranged herbs and jars of salt with her usual care.She offered me a gentle smile, always treating the village children as if they were her own.
They had no children, but Mira's warmth filled that void.
As Lina ran off to join her friends, I remained standing quietly in the square.
My eyes wandered across the village again, now seeing it with a different gaze.
Every corner whispered both limitations and potential.Primitive methods.Fragile structures.Gaps I could fill.
There is much that could be improved here. But slowly.One step at a time.No sudden changes. No suspicions.
A slight breeze carried the scent of earth and smoke.
In the distance, Laris glanced my way once more, her expression unreadable.For a brief moment, her eyes narrowed as if studying me—not like a curious child, but like someone trying to understand something far more complex.
I held her gaze for a second longer than I intended.And then she turned away.
Strange, I thought again.
But I said nothing.
I closed my eyes for a moment, breathing deeply.
The first day had truly begun.