"Is this a dream or reality?!" I asked myself, confusion still swirling in my mind. I still couldn't believe my current situation—being in another person's body. That's pretty creepy, not gonna lie. When you think about it, it's such a breach of privacy. And to think, once you die, your body is now being used by some other person you didn't even know existed, and they're in your body? Talk about overuse, am I right?
I walked out the doors of the hut. My first thought, when I first gained consciousness, was that somehow I had died in my original world, my soul left, and I might've been reincarnated into the world of my own story. But I could be wrong. Maybe this is my original world but in the past, or a completely different world entirely that I had no idea ever existed. In any case, I can't say for sure until I gather more information.
My legs were still shaky and unstable as I stepped out. The sun hung low in the western sky, a molten disk of orange and amber, lazily descending toward the earth's embrace. Its dying light spilled across the heavens in a rich, honeyed glow, turning the sky into a canvas streaked with fire and tenderness. Wisps of white clouds, like drifting feathers, caught the light and blushed gently—some peach, some rose gold, others edged with faint lilac shadows, cradled by the deepening blue of the upper sky.
Beneath that breathtaking dome stretched a vast field of ripened wheat, the stalks tall and proud, their heads heavy with the promise of harvest. They swayed and danced in the soft breath of the evening wind—each gust sending shimmering waves across the golden sea, as if the earth itself was sighing in its sleep. The rustling of dry stalks sang a whispering lullaby, steady and serene.
In the very heart of the field stood a scarecrow—old and weathered, dressed in a faded flannel shirt and a tattered straw hat. Its arms were outstretched like a guardian in quiet vigil, casting a long, lonely shadow across the moving wheat. Bits of straw peeked from its sleeves and boots, fluttering slightly with the breeze. Crows dared not draw near, not out of fear, but almost out of respect—this was not their hour.
Beyond the field, the silhouettes of trees rose like watchful giants, their leaves burnished with shades of copper and crimson. Here and there, the sharp, quaint roofs of distant cottages broke the horizon—smoke curling from chimneys, lazily spiraling into the painted sky. The houses were still, peaceful, caught in the golden spell of the hour.
Everything—earth, sky, wind, and wheat—was steeped in color and calm. It was a moment suspended between seasons, between warmth and cold, between day and night. Autumn was whispering goodbye in every detail. And in that moment, the world did not move with haste. It breathed. Slowly. Beautifully. "This is a surprisingly pleasant sensation," I thought to myself. "This feels… nice," I murmured, enjoying the cool dampness.
Then I heard it again – that mournful sighing sound, calling the name Aira. It sent a ripple of curiosity down my spine. "Who is Aira? Who's calling her? And why?" My thoughts raced, but much bigger, more pressing questions consumed me. "Where am I? How did I get here? And, most importantly, why am I in the body of a young girl? What in the world is happening? Is this real, or am I just imagining things? Is this one of those situations where you get full consciousness of your dreams? Am I dreaming right now? Am I asleep?" I pinched myself again to check, and it hurt. So, I was sure I wasn't dreaming, at least.
No. Then let's not lose all hope. I tried to remember everything that happened to me before this situation. The last thing I remembered was being in my room, engrossed in a story. I'd gotten up to grab some food, and that's when things got weird. Supernatural stuff started happening all around my apartment—dark corners even though the light was on, all my devices stopped working, the rapid change in room temperature, etc. Terrified, I'd crawled into bed, pulling the blanket over my head. Then, a blinding light had erupted from my laptop, and the next thing I knew, I was here, in this new body. That's all I could recall. Maybe there's something to do with that light, but I'll get to that later. For now, I need to assess my current situation.
Suddenly, a thought, no, an idea popped into my head. "Did I just get reincarnated into another world? Like in those anime, manga, and novels, some of which I used to write?" The possibility was exhilarating. "Could it be that I died in my old life, and now I'm reincarnated into a completely different world? A medieval one, perhaps? And maybe… maybe this world has magic!"
My heart began to pound with a thrilling mix of excitement and disbelief. "Just imagine! Someone like me, reincarnating into a magical world! Me, wielding magic in the palm of my hands, casting spells, becoming a master sorcerer, going on adventures, fighting monsters, maybe even one day facing the main boss and saving this world! My true destiny awaits!"
Then, just as quickly as the fantasy bloomed, it withered. "Yeah, that's so not happening," I scoffed at myself. "It's just so predictably childish, an outline of more stories than I can count. Even if I have been reincarnated into a world of magic, there's no way I'd be responsible enough to save it. You can count me out!" Why would I put my own life at risk for people I'd never even known existed like five minutes ago? Hell no. For now, I need to get some food, as this new body is still hungry. I'm seriously not going to die again this easily from starving.
I looked around. A vast wheat field stretched out before me, a golden sea rippling in the dying light. I walked towards it and then stopped right in front of it. A dark thought crawled up to my brain: I could easily get lost in there. I'm kind of embarrassed to speak it out loud, a secret I always kept hidden from everyone: I'm actually really afraid of entering long grass like these wheat crops. It's nothing personal, but when I was a kid, I saw a 13+-rated dinosaur movie where a raptor came out of long grass. I know these silly dinosaurs don't exist anymore, but I still got traumatized as a kid, and neither I nor my parents had the money to get me a therapist.
Then a thought crawled into my mind, "Where would I even go?" I mused. "Where should I go anyway?" No, this wasn't right. "I should go back to the hut where I first woke up in this new body. To be honest, I internally knew that I was just making excuses, but I was going to go through with it as long as I don't have to enter that wheat field. At least in that hut, there's nothing dangerous in there, besides that awful smell of manure."
Just as I turned to head back, that same sighing sound echoed again, the man calling Aira. I froze. This time, the sound was incredibly close. Then, the wheat crops directly in front of me rustled, and a young woman emerged. She looked about fourteen or fifteen, with brown hair knotted together and a simple grey skirt that gave her a classic farm girl look. Her face, when she saw me, was a mixture of surprise and fear.
She rushed towards me, her worry palpable, and gently but firmly took my hands in hers. She spoke to me in a foreign language, one I'd never heard before. I must have looked utterly bewildered, because she paused, a confused expression on her face, and then she spoke again, still in that same worried tone. I didn't understand a word of it, but then, somehow, a few words clicked: "Dummy" and "let's move."
"Is she calling me a dummy?" I wondered, even as she tightened her grip and started to drag me along. As I stumbled behind her, I realized we were heading back the same way, towards the hut. Her familiarity with me, the way she interacted, it suggested a close bond between her and this body's previous owner. I wonder what that relation could be. This body's features are completely different from hers, so I don't think they are related to each other. Maybe they are friends or something. But can she slow down a little? I'm still getting used to this body, and I don't think I could keep up with her for much longer.
But then, as we hurried along, a voice from behind us called out, telling us to stop in that same foreign language, but this time, I understood it clearly! She instantly stopped, and so did I. I recognized the tone – it was the same man who had been calling out Aira. Did he finally find her?
We turned to see a man, older than her, perhaps seventeen or eighteen. He had brown eyes, brown hair, and wore a light blue shirt with brown pants. A gardening tool was wrapped in cloth around his waist. They looked alike; maybe they were related. A smug smile played on his lips as he looked at us and said something in that foreign language. Why was this happening again? Why could I understand sometimes and not others?
I looked at the girl beside me. Her face was etched with pure terror, and she kept her head down, avoiding his gaze. Before I could fully grasp what was happening, he was right in front of me. He said something that I understood perfectly: "Let's go, Aira." He gripped my hand with his fist, a painful vise, and then spoke something else in that incomprehensible language. He started dragging me in a completely different direction, forcefully. It hurt! I tried to tell him to stop, but only muffled sounds escaped my lips.
As he pulled me away, he spoke again, in that foreign tongue, and somehow, the words formed meaning in my mind: "You are in great trouble."
"What is going on?!" I internally screamed. "This is definitely not an ideal situation for me. And why can't I speak? Why can I sometimes understand this foreign language that I've never even heard or known before? Where exactly am I?!" My mind reeled, a jumbled mess of fear, confusion, and a terrifying sense of helplessness.
He gripped my frail, still-shaky hand, his fingers digging into my dry skin as he dragged me across the swaying wheat field. "Ugh, it hurts!" His hold on my arm was tight, painful. I wanted to scream, to protest, to yank my hand free. But no words came out. Only a choked gurgle, a desperate mumble. Panic surged. "What's happened to my voice? Why can't I speak?!" I tried again, straining every muscle in my throat, trying to force out a scream, a screech, anything! But it was as if I'd gone completely mute. Terror choked me. Had this new body always had this disability? Was I ever going to speak again? I had no idea what was going to happen to me, being forcefully dragged away, against my will, across the narrow pathway between the wheat fields.
All the while, the other girl, the one who emerged from the wheat, followed silently behind us, her head bowed, not uttering a single word. She just kept her gaze fixed on the ground, a somber shadow. Then, I saw it: a house, nestled amidst the green, and he was pulling me straight towards it.
We arrived before a house that looked like it had been plucked right out of the 1800s. It was small, surprisingly so, I thought. "It'd be a squeeze even for two people to live in there!" Its walls were a patchwork of materials – brick, stone, and timber – giving it a rustic, almost haphazard charm. The roof, a neatly conical stack of thatch, looked ancient, as if it had weathered countless storms.
As we reached the entrance, he finally let go of my hand. I paused for a second, gazing at the quaint, old-fashioned dwelling. But then, a sharp, tingling sensation erupted at the back of my head. Before I could even register what was happening, I felt the sting of impact. Turns out, while I was distracted, he'd snuck behind me and flicked me on the back of the head. I quickly clapped my palm over the stinging spot, rubbing furiously to alleviate the pain.
I whipped around to face him, my eyes blazing. He had that infuriatingly smug smile plastered across his face. Fury, pure and unadulterated, boiled in my veins. In that moment, the only thing I could think of – and it's a terrifying thought, considering I'd only just met him – was severing his head from his torso and playing football with it, then feeding his body to the dogs.
But as I was mentally plotting his gruesome demise, he said something. And then he raised his hand, pointing a finger towards the already open door of the house. I glared at him, a death glare that would have curdled milk, and thought, "Well, I clearly didn't understand anything he just said to me." It was so frustrating! Why could I sometimes mysteriously understand this foreign language, like I'd been speaking it all my life, and then, at other times, become a complete illiterate, just as I was supposed to be?
Recalling the way he pointed at the open door, I figured he must have told me to go inside. "But is it really safe to enter this strange house?" I mused, a fresh wave of apprehension washing over me. Before I could ponder further, he started pushing me from behind, urging me towards the door. Then, he spoke again, and this time, I understood him perfectly. "No matter how much time you waste, it's useless."
As he propelled me forward, a reluctant resignation settled over me. "Maybe I should just go inside," I thought. This man, despite his arrogant personality, hadn't actually tried to harm me in any significant way. Plus, that girl, who was still silently trailing behind, didn't seem worried. So, I figured, I'd probably be fine. The truth was, I had no way out of this situation. My control over this new body was still imperfect; my limbs were shaky, I could barely walk, let alone run from him. And just by looking at him, I knew he could easily catch me. My best bet to escape would be to bolt into the wheat field, but I was terrified of getting lost in its vastness. So, left with no other choice, I resigned myself to his command and stepped inside the house.
The second I crossed the threshold, a wave of nostalgia washed over me, a profound sense of familiarity. It was as if I had been here countless times before, even though I knew, logically, I'd never set foot in this place in my life.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, what now?" I thought, still reeling from the sudden onslaught of this… rural, medieval family. Just as I was processing being part of all this, the man with the sharp features called out, a name I hadn't heard before, yet somehow understood: "Elsie!"
The other girl, the one who'd emerged from the wheat field and followed us silently, stepped into the house, her gaze still downcast. She moved to stand beside me, her presence a faint warmth in the otherwise cold room. The man then launched into a rapid-fire monologue, a torrent of words I mostly couldn't grasp. But even without understanding the language, the tone was unmistakable. It was a lecture, pure and simple. His eyebrows were furrowed, his jaw set, and he punctuated his points with sharp gestures. "He's definitely scolding us," I thought, feeling a blush creep up my neck.
Then, his voice shifted, becoming straighter, more serious. This time, I knew it was important, simply by the sheer gravity in his tone. Elsie, beside me, gave a quick, almost imperceptible nod, her shoulders slumping further. I looked at her, her face a picture of remorse, then back at the man's stern expression. A jolt went through me. Without even thinking, I started nodding vigorously too, agreeing with whatever impassioned speech he had just delivered. Better safe than sorry, right?
After my enthusiastic performance of agreement, he said something else, and this time, a single word pierced through the linguistic fog: "mother." And then, just like that, he turned and left the room, his footsteps echoing on the hard floor.
The woman, the one with the calm but cold face, got up from her stool. She approached me, her movements deliberate, and gently took my hand. She led me towards what I now realized was a bedroom. And oh, what a mess it was! Clothes were strewn everywhere, blankets were askew, and a general air of disarray hung heavy. It was clearly a kids' room. My eyes scanned the room, noting the four distinct, lumpy looking beds. "Four beds?!" I thought, exasperated. "So there's one more kid somewhere I haven't even met yet, and I have to share this tiny room with three other people? Great. Just what an introvert like me wanted!"
Then, the woman pulled out a large, woven basket. My eyes widened in alarm as she reached out and started to take off my clothes. I tried to protest, to pull away, to say anything, but I was completely frozen with shame. My entire mind raced, frantically searching for the right social protocol for a girl in this kind of situation. My internal alarms were blaring, but my body wouldn't obey. In moments, my clothes were in the basket, leaving me in just my undergarments. All I could think was, "After getting undressed by a complete stranger for the first time, I don't feel nice or happy. The word violated comes to mind."
She then turned and left the room, the basket of my clothes clutched in her hand. I tried to call out to her, to tell her to stop, to at least close the door, but again, no sound escaped. She was gone. The only thing I could think was, "At least she could have closed the door! Now anyone might just walk in while I'm in this state!" I looked around frantically, but the only things I could find to cover myself with were the clothes I'd just been wearing.
Just as despair started to set in, the woman returned. In her hands was a small, wooden tub filled with water, and a white cloth. My mind, in a desperate attempt at humor, thought, "She's not going to give me a bath, is she?" But then, she dipped the cloth into the water and waved her hand, beckoning me closer. "Oh, no. She really is going to give me a bath." Horror, absolute horror, washed over me.
Somehow, I endured the mortifying experience. After what felt like an eternity, she was putting new, fresh, albeit coarse, clothes on me. Then, she left the room again, carrying the tub of now-dirty water. The moment the door clicked shut, the only thought echoing in my head was, "Now, no matter what, this has to be a dream, or I might just kill myself before this day is over."
The last sliver of sunlight vanished, and night descended, cloaking the world in darkness. I made my way back to the main room. The two men were there, still talking in that unintelligible language, though I swore I caught a familiar inflection every now and then. The two women (the cold-faced one, and now, I assumed, Elsie's mother) were busy in the kitchen area, preparing food.
And then, I saw him. The last member of this strange, new family. Tucked away in a corner, playing with some crude wooden toys, was a small boy, no older than seven. He was utterly absorbed in his play. I cautiously approached him. He looked up, his eyes wide and mesmerized. In that moment, a strange surge of sibling protectiveness washed over me. "As the older sibling, I must show off my ultimate skill!" I thought, a mischievous grin playing on my lips.
I extended my hand and performed the finger-splitting trick I'd learned from YouTube videos in my previous life. His eyes widened even further, a silent gasp escaping his lips. He was completely amazed.
The aroma of dinner filled the small house, a welcome scent after the day's bewildering events. My stomach growled in anticipation. Finally, food. I sat down at the wooden table, my new "family" around me. Bread, still warm and crusty, was passed around, alongside bowls of what looked like soup and stew.
I took a spoonful of the stew, expecting a burst of comforting flavor. Instead, my taste buds were met with something… not great. It wasn't bad, not exactly, but it was incredibly bland, almost watery. The vegetables were mushy, and the meat was scarce and tough. The soup was equally unimpressive. "Well, this isn't exactly Michelin-star dining," I thought, barely suppressing a grimace. My old life's cravings for pizza, or even a simple packet of instant noodles, hit me with a pang of nostalgic hunger.
Despite the uninspiring meal, I ate. I was starving, after all. I chewed slowly, forcing myself to swallow each bite. The family ate in relative silence, a few murmurs exchanged in that foreign tongue I still couldn't consistently understand. The little boy, the one I'd mesmerized with my finger trick, ate with gusto, smearing stew around his mouth. Elsie, the quiet girl, ate methodically, her eyes still downcast, though I noticed a faint blush on her cheeks when her mother glanced at her. The older man and woman ate with an air of stoic practicality, as if this meager fare was simply sustenance, nothing more.
I watched them, trying to gather more clues about this new life. They seemed… ordinary. A simple, hardworking, rural family. No signs of magic, no grand quests, just the mundane reality of a difficult existence. The thought of my earlier fantasies – wielding spells, fighting monsters, saving the world – seemed impossibly far-fetched now, almost ridiculous.
After dinner, the table was cleared. The women, Elsie's mother and Elsie, went about their tasks with practiced efficiency. The little boy, still clutching his wooden toys, curled up near the hearth. The two men moved to another corner, their deep voices a low murmur, still engaged in conversation. I sat there, feeling like an alien, an intruder in this strange new body and this unfamiliar home. The silence stretched, occasionally broken by the crackle of the unlit hearth or the rustle of straw as someone shifted their weight.
My mind drifted back to the light from my laptop, the blinding flash. It felt like a lifetime ago. Was I really here? Was this my new reality? The bland taste of the stew lingered on my tongue, a tangible reminder of the difference between my old life and this one. This was far from the exciting, magical world I'd dreamed of. This was just… hard. And I was mute, stuck, and utterly at the mercy of strangers.
The last scraps of dinner were cleared, and a heavy silence settled over the small house. My eyelids felt heavy, not just from exhaustion, but from the sheer mental strain of the day. The woman, who I now presumed was Elsie's mother, gestured towards the bedroom, her expression unreadable. I followed, along with Elsie and the little boy, who was already yawning widely, rubbing his eyes. The older boy, the one with that stupid smug smile, didn't join us. I assumed he slept elsewhere, or perhaps he stayed up later as he was older. He was still engaged in whatever mysterious conversations he had with the father.
Inside the cramped bedroom, the four lumpy beds were spread out, each a meager pile of straw and thin blankets. Elsie took one, the little boy another, and their mother settled him into his bed, carefully tucking the small boy in. She then looked at me, a silent invitation to the remaining bed. I moved towards it, my bare feet padding softly on the worn floor. The idea of sharing such a small space with three other people was enough to make my introverted self cringe, but at this point, my options were non-existent. After she tucked all of us in bed, she turned off the oil lamps, which were the only source of light in the dark room, and then she left, slowly closing the door as she went out.
I thought that now they'd start misbehaving, playing, and making sounds, but to my surprise, sleep claimed them all with surprising speed. The little boy was out almost instantly, his soft snores filling the quiet room. Elsie, too, seemed to drift off within minutes, her breathing evening out. It was disquieting, their ability to just switch off like that. I wished I had this ability to fall asleep the second you hit the bed.
I lay on my own straw mattress, the scratchy fabric against my skin, staring up at the low, timbered ceiling. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and unwashed bodies, a far cry from the fresh linen and air conditioning of my old apartment. My mind, however, refused to shut down. It replayed the day's events: the blinding light, waking in this strange body, the bewildering mute spells, the wine stain, the lecture, the humiliating bath, and now, this shared, uncomfortable bed.
"This has to be a dream," I desperately clung to the thought. "Just a really vivid, prolonged dream. I'll close my eyes, and when I open them, I'll be back in my own room, my own body, my own world." The idea was a comforting mantra in the face of the overwhelming reality. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the familiar scent of my room, the feel of my soft mattress, to return. My eyelids pressed together tightly, holding onto that last sliver of hope, convinced that when they next fluttered open, this bizarre, medieval nightmare would be over.
"Right, bathroom. Gotta find a bathroom," I mumbled to myself, the sheer novelty of being able to mumble almost distracting me from my urgent need. I stepped out of the bedroom, the main living space now a little brighter in the growing dawn.
My eyes scanned the small house. There was the main room with the table and hearth, and the bedroom I'd just vacated. That only left… well, not much. I started my search.
First, I peered into what looked like a small pantry or storage room off the main area. It was crammed with sacks of grain, dried herbs hanging from the rafters, and a few earthenware pots. Definitely no bathroom here. "Strike one," I thought, my bladder protesting.
Next, I pushed open a rickety door that led to what I assumed was the kitchen. It was just as rustic as the rest of the house, with a stone counter, a small fire pit for cooking, and a few wooden utensils. Elsie's mother was already there, humming softly as she stirred something in a pot over the embers. She glanced at me, a fleeting, unreadable expression on her face, but didn't speak. "Definitely not a bathroom in the kitchen," I confirmed, backing out quickly. "Strike two."
Finally, I tried a third, smaller door near the back of the house. It opened into a narrow, dark space, barely more than a glorified closet. A few tools leaned against one wall, and the air was musty. "Nope, not here either," I sighed, feeling a flicker of desperation. "Strike three."
My mind raced. Three rooms, no toilet. Where in the world did these people… My thoughts trailed off as I looked out the back door, which was slightly ajar. Beyond it, I saw a small, dilapidated wooden shack.
Hesitantly, I pushed the door open wider and stepped outside into the cool morning air. A few steps away from the house, there it was. A tiny, rickety wooden room, barely big enough to turn around in, with a crudely cut giant hole in the ground. No flush, no porcelain, just… a hole. And judging by the earthy smell, it was exactly what I suspected.
My face must have been a picture of horror and disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me," I whispered aloud, the words tasting foreign on my tongue. "This is it? This is the bathroom?" The luxurious convenience of modern plumbing, of a clean, private toilet, hit me with a wave of profound appreciation. Here, it was this rustic, unceremonious shack, or, as my mind grimly processed, "otherwise, it's the wilderness."
My immediate need still pressing, I swallowed my pride and quickly utilized the rustic facilities. The sheer reality of my new life was hitting harder with every passing hour. This wasn't some romanticized fantasy; this was gritty, unglamorous, medieval living.
My stomach churned, the bland taste of last night's stew threatening a return. With no other option, I resigned myself to the fate of the small, dark, wooden shack. The darkness inside wasn't the main problem; my eyes could adjust to the gloom. The real issue, the one that made my eyes water and my throat tighten, was the horrible smell of manure that hit me like a physical blow. It was potent, overwhelming, and almost made me throw up right then and there.
My former life, with its pristine porcelain and fragrant air fresheners, felt like a distant, impossible dream. I swallowed hard, forcing down the nausea. I had no choice. Clapping a hand over my mouth and nose, I quickly did what I needed to do, trying to breathe as little as possible.
Afterward, as I straightened up, a new wave of dread washed over me. I instinctively reached for the familiar roll of toilet paper, but my hand met only empty air. Panic, cold and sharp, began to grip me. My eyes darted around the tiny, dim space, searching. Nothing. No paper, no leaves, no cloth, just… dirt.
Then, in a corner, my gaze fell upon a small, wooden bucket. My heart hammered against my ribs as I peered inside. It was filled with what looked like dry corn husks, the kernels long gone. A horrified realization dawned on me, chilling me to the bone.
"Oh, no. Please don't tell me," I whispered, my voice barely a tremor. "Please, no." The silent plea was desperate, a last-ditch effort to deny the horrifying truth. The dry, rough husks. The empty bucket. The unspeakable purpose they clearly served. This was it. This was the absolute, undeniable bottom of the barrel. My luxurious, modern life now felt a million light-years away.
"What are you talking about, chores?!" I thought to myself. I mean, I always knew I'd have to do them since I got reincarnated as a farm girl, but still! I hadn't even brushed my teeth or eaten any breakfast yet! But before I could protest, Elsie, with surprising strength for her slender frame, dragged me towards the back of the house and into a small, fenced-off area. The air was thick with the familiar, unwelcome scent of animals and… more manure. My heart sank. This was it. Farm chores begin, and at that moment, my mind, body, and soul all just wanted some food in me and nothing else.
My first task, as demonstrated by Elsie with an exasperated sigh, was to feed the Bristlehen. She wanted me to distract them while she collected their eggs. "Bristlehen?" I thought. Is that what they call a chicken here, or does this world have completely different animals that are like chickens? I couldn't help but wonder why they'd give a name like "Bristlehen" to some farm animals; they sounded like some kind of demons. And boy, was I right!
The second I entered that little coop, they swarmed around my feet, clucking excitedly, as I awkwardly tossed handfuls of grain from a heavy sack. The feel of the dry, dusty grain on my hands, the incessant pecking at my ankles, and the sheer audacity of these feathered demons was enough to make me shudder. "I hate this! I hate Bristlehen!" I thought, suppressing a groan. But when I carefully observed them, I realized there was something clearly different about these Bristlehen that distinguished them from the chickens I knew back in my world. How did I not see this obvious detail? They were huge, like two or even three times larger than the chickens back in my world! And I'm pretty sure they could easily tear me apart if they wanted. They looked like chickens on steroids, but I wondered how much they would weigh since they were so much bigger than regular chickens. My question was quickly answered when one of them jumped from the ground and landed on my head. The sheer weight alone made me dizzy. It was just an estimation, but these things must be 15 or even 20 kg each! After that Bristlehen left my head, and since Elsie had collected all the eggs, I left that place as soon as possible. Coming out, I breathed in the fresh air and let out a big sigh. Boy, that was a lot of work, but I thought I was done for today.
But then Elsie came. She said something, and though I didn't fully understand, I distinctly heard "eggs" and "breakfast." "Ah, finally!" I thought to myself. When I looked at those eggs, just like the birds, they were much bigger than I expected. We went into the house for breakfast. Elsie handed the basket of eggs to her mother and walked towards the storage room.
At the same time, I thought to myself, but I still haven't brushed my teeth! But then I saw Elsie coming out of the storage room with a toothbrush in hand, and I thought with relief, at least they have toothbrushes in this world! But then I thought, why would she come out of the storage room with a toothbrush? It's usually found in a washroom or even a bathroom!
Then a shocking realization struck me. "Wait, don't tell me!" I rushed to the room I assumed was the storeroom, and when I did, I searched every corner and finally found what I was looking for: a door! I entered it with anticipation and excitement bursting in my heart, and what I saw on the other side of the room made me so happy, then fueled me with absolute rage: "You've got to be kidding me! There was a fucking proper bathroom in this house all along!"
I learned that this house had a bathroom all this time, with a tub and wooden toothbrushes, a stool, pipes, and everything a proper bathroom should have, with running water! And then I thought, what was that other room I thought was the toilet? "Don't tell me it was actually a compost bin!" I seriously went to the compost bin and did my business there! When I remembered the horrors, I didn't want to think about it. This time, I went to the proper bathroom. At least that will never happen again, I hoped. So I just decided to get things done and eat. And about the past? At least I wished I could forget it.
Then I reached to grab my toothbrush, but I paused because there was a big problem. As you know by now, this house has six people living in it, if you include me. And I just saw Elsie take a toothbrush, so there should be five toothbrushes left, but there were only four of them here. So that means one other person was brushing their teeth right now, and that wasn't my concern. My problem was that I didn't know which one of the four brushes was mine! I can't just choose one at random; that's disgusting! So I had an idea: I'll just check if the top of the toothbrush is wet or not. If it's not used, the one which isn't used yet must be mine. As I took one out, I saw some writing on the lower portion of each toothbrush in some foreign language, and all four of those toothbrushes had something written on them. When I read it aloud, it said: Mira, Toren, Joren, and Aira.
My new name! There, I realized these were the names of the rest of the family members, but I didn't know whose name was whom. "Mira" looks like a girly name, so I guess it must be the mother's name. "Toren" must be the father, and "Joren" must be the elder brother that I hated. I just took my toothbrush and brushed my teeth. After I brushed my teeth, I went to the dining room to eat my breakfast, which was bread, eggs, and a glass of milk.
As I sat there, picking at my bread and eggs – which, thankfully, tasted much better than the horrifying stew from last night – I had nothing to do but observe. My eyes drifted around the small dining room. The window glass had some kind of spot, probably a clump of dust, that I hadn't noticed before. And a clock! A plain, wooden clock on the wall, ticking softly. Was that clock always there? How did I just see it now? My mind was still so overwhelmed by everything.
Then, Mira, the woman I now assumed was the mother, spoke. "Want some more bread, Aira?" she asked, her voice calm as ever.
"Oh, no, thank you, I'm good," I replied, the words flowing out easily. And then it hit me: I was speaking! Not just muttering or mumbling, but full, coherent sentences in this foreign language! And not only could I speak it, but I understood it much more clearly than before. It was like a switch had flipped overnight.
"How did I get so good at it so fast? Like, in just a night?" I thought to myself, a new wave of bewilderment washing over me. But then, an assumption, a theory, you could say, popped into my head. I had a dream, a strange, fragmented one, where I somehow relived parts of this body's previous owner's life. Maybe the dream has something to do with it. As in that dream, she learned to speak, read, and write this language, and now, so can I. So now this language is going to be my new native language, I guess.
Then a sudden, jarring thought. "Wait a minute! If I really got all her memories, I didn't see Mira or Toren as the parents who gave birth to me." This was a huge, gaping hole in my understanding. If they weren't her biological parents, then why was I living in this house like I was their daughter? The memories of this girl were still so blurry, like trying to see through a fog, so I couldn't conclude anything for sure. But I think there really is something to my thought. This wasn't just some random family I was plopped into. There was a reason I was here, a reason they called me Aira, and a reason my memories of my supposed parents were… absent. It felt like a puzzle piece was missing, a crucial part of this new identity. And until I found that piece, I wouldn't truly understand who Aira was, and by extension, who I was in this strange, new world. The breakfast, the familiar routine, it was all a thin veneer over a very unsettling mystery.
After I finished my breakfast, which was a welcome change from the bland stew, I pushed back my chair and started to get up from the wooden dining table. My plan was to, you know, just leave. Find some quiet corner, maybe try to figure out what was going on with these blurry memories. But before I could even take a step, Mira, the mother, stopped me dead in my tracks.
"Where do you think you are going?" she asked, her voice calm but with an underlying firmness that left no room for argument. I paused, my mind blank. What was she trying to say? Did I do something wrong? My new language skills were apparently still a work in progress when it came to understanding subtle cues.
Then, she simply pointed her eyes at the plates on the table. "Aren't you going to clean these off?" she said.
"Oh, so that's what she wanted me to do," I thought, feeling a little foolish. I picked up my plate, then Elsie's, then the little boy's, and handed them to her. She took them from my hands, stacked them, and without a word, started washing them in a basin of water. Well, that was easy enough.
I started to leave again, figuring my duties were done, when suddenly, Elsie burst into the dining room. She was in a hurry, practically vibrating with urgency, and wearing some kind of uniform. It looked like a simple tunic and trousers, a bit rough but clean.
"Come on, Aira! Don't do this again to me!" she practically pleaded, her voice a rush. "I don't want to arrive late to school again just because of you! I know you don't like the school, arrive late on your own, but please, can you just put on your uniform and get to school early this time, please?"
My mind absolutely screeched to a halt. School?! This world has school too? What kind of fantasy medieval world is this? It just kept surprising me, throwing me for a loop with every new discovery. First, the proper bathroom, and now school? By the looks of it, I guess I had to go to school again. "Oh, what a drag," I thought to myself, letting out a deep sigh of boredom. This school better be different from my old world's, that's for sure. The thought of sitting through lectures, even in a different language, was enough to make my phantom writer's hand twitch. My old school days were a blur of deadlines, caffeine, and the desperate yearning for freedom. Now, here I was, potentially reliving them in a rough-spun uniform, being nagged by a teenage farm girl. Fantastic. Just absolutely fantastic.
I sighed and pulled on the school uniform Elsie had practically shoved into my hands. It was nothing like the cute, pleated skirts and stylized blazers you see in anime. This was just... regular. Blended. A drab, coarse tunic and some trousers, probably made from the same scratchy fabric as my new "peasant girl" dress. "Well, I guess I can't start complaining until I actually get to the school," I mumbled to myself. I mean, after the compost bin incident and the sponge bath, my standards were rapidly plummeting.
Elsie, still looking like she was running late even though we'd just started, was already at the door. I followed her out of the house and onto the dirt road that served as the village's main artery. It was rough and uneven, making every step a minor chore for my still-unfamiliar feet. I stumbled a bit, my eyes on the ground, trying to avoid any rogue rocks or puddles.
"Hey, where do you think you're going?" Elsie's voice cut through my thoughts, a hint of impatience in her tone. "The school's that way!"
I looked up, a sheepish grin probably plastered on my face. "Oh, sorry! Took the wrong road by mistake," I mumbled, though inwardly I was thinking, Right, Aira, best to just follow her from behind for now. I was still trying to get my bearings in this confusing new world.
As we walked, my gaze drifted across the fields. Finally, I saw something that looked genuinely medieval: cows grazing peacefully in a field. "Finally, a regular medieval scene," I thought, a small spark of relief. Two curved horns, just like a regular bull or cow. Nice. Normal.
Then, one of them lifted its head and looked directly at me. And that's when I saw it. A third, forward-pointing horn above its nose.
My internal "normal medieval scene" alarm blared. "Yep, not a regular cow," I thought, my brief moment of normalcy evaporating. "Totally a fantasy creature." Of course, why would anything be normal in this place? First Bristlehen, now… horned cows with extra horns. What's next, flying pigs? Don't tempt fate, Aira.
I just kept moving, trying to pretend I hadn't just seen a bovine with an identity crisis. Soon enough, a building started to materialize ahead of us. As we got closer, its outline became clearer. It was sturdy, made of rough-hewn stone and timber, larger than any other building I'd seen in the village, but still simple, unadorned. This was it. My new school.
I let out a deep sigh of boredom, a long, drawn-out sound that probably earned me another exasperated glance from Elsie. "Sigh. This better be good," I thought to myself, already dreading the thought of sitting in a classroom again. After everything, the bodily changes, the farm chores, the corn husk toilet paper, the bland food, and the confusing language acquisition, the one thing I wanted least was a repeat of my past life's biggest drag: school. This new school better have something truly spectacular up its sleeve to make up for all this. Like, actual magic lessons, or maybe a dragon-riding club. A girl can dream, right?