It has been a month since I first met Maria under the oak tree.
Our meetings have become a routine, a secret ritual carved into the slow, lazy days of summer. Every couple of days, when the sun is high and my chores at the workshop are finished, I make the trek up the gentle slope of the hill. We don't really do much. Mostly, we just sit. I listen to the wind rustling through the leaves, and she reads from that heavy leather-bound book, occasionally pausing to explain a theory on mana flow or elemental composition.
It's peaceful. For a guy who died in a rainy alleyway and woke up in a world of monsters and magic, this quiet hill has become my anchor.
I am sitting under the shade of the massive oak, leaning back against the rough bark. The early afternoon sun is filtering through the canopy, dappling the grass in shifting patterns of gold and green. I gaze out toward the lake at the bottom of the slope. The water is still today, acting like a mirror for the fluffy white clouds drifting overhead.
"Percy!"
A voice calls out from down the hill, breaking the silence.
I look up. Maria is making her way up the path, holding her skirts slightly to keep them from brushing against the taller grass.
She looks different today. The stiff, buttoned-up navy vest and structured collar are gone. In their place, she is wearing a powder-blue summer dress made of light, airy linen. It's simple, but clearly high quality, with a delicate white ribbon tied neatly around her waist and lace trimming the hem. She still looks like a noble. She can't help that posture but she looks less like a miniature adult and more like a child enjoying the summer.
In her other arm, clutched tightly against her chest, is the book.
I wave back. "Maria!"
She reaches the top of the hill, breathing a little heavier than usual, a light flush on her pale cheeks. She stops in front of me, brushing a strand of white-and-grey hair out of her eyes.
"Sorry for keeping you waiting," she says, smoothing down the front of her dress. "I was just helping my mother with something in the study and lost track of time."
I shrug, smiling up at her. "It's fine. It's a nice day today. I didn't mind the wait."
She beams. It isn't the polite, practiced smile she gave me when we first met. This one reaches her eyes, crinkling the corners. She looks excited. Buzzing with energy.
"I was practicing with my mother earlier," she says, the words tumbling out a little faster than usual. "She was showing me how to properly concentrate when casting. How to visualize the blueprint in my mind before speaking."
She steps closer, her green eyes sparkling.
"And guess what?"
I tilt my head. "What?"
"I finally did it."
I sit up straighter, my interest piqued. "You did? You actually cast a spell?"
"I did," she nods vigorously. "My mother said it was perfect."
She looks down at the book in her arms, then gently places it on the grass next to me. She steps back, moving toward the edge of the shade where the sunlight hits the grass. She turns her gaze toward the sparkling surface of the lake at the bottom of the hill.
"Watch this."
She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes.
I watch her closely. Her demeanor shifts instantly. She straightens her back, her feet planting firmly on the earth shoulder-width apart. She raises her right hand, palm facing outward toward the water, her fingers spread slightly.
The air around us seems to grow still. Her brow furrows in concentration.
Then, she speaks. Her voice is clear and steady, cutting through the silence of the afternoon.
"Breath of the Sky, heed my command. Condense the air, bind the currents, and blow away that which stands before me."
Whoosh.
The effect is instant. A visible distortion ripples through the air in front of her palm, like heat rising off pavement. A sharp, concentrated ball of wind bursts forward, tearing through the grass in a straight line. It kicks up a cloud of dust and leaves, rushing down the hill until it slams into the surface of the lake.
Splash!
The water erupts, sending a spray of mist into the air and creating a series of ripples that distort the reflection of the clouds.
"Woah," I breathe out, looking from the rippling water back to her. "That was incredible, Maria."
She turns back to me, the serious focus dissolving instantly. Her face lights up with a bright, uncontainable excitement. She smiles, not the polite, noble smile, but a genuine, toothy grin of accomplishment.
"I've been practicing a ton every day," she says, walking back over to the shade. "The key is to focus. You have to close your eyes and concentrate. You need to close off all the noise and sound of the world."
She gestures with her hands, mimicking the shaping of a ball near her chest.
"As you speak the Incantation, you have to picture the spell in your mind the blueprint. You have to feel the mana inside of you, filling your whole body up like water. Then, you slowly start to form it, pulling it together, and then..." She opens her hands outward. "You release it."
I nod slowly, absorbing the information.
Block out the noise. Focus on the target. Channel the energy from your entire body to your fingertips. Visualize the path. Release.
That... kinda sounds like throwing a pitch.
It's the same mechanics. The wind-up, the grip, the channel of power from the legs to the arm, and the release point. It's all about flow and visualization.
"It took a while to get the feeling down," she admits, looking at her palm. "But it looks like I can finally start casting beginner spells."
She looks up at me, her expression proud but still retaining that humble, disciplined air her mother must have drilled into her.
"So, Percy," she asks, tilting her head. "What have you been up to?"
"Me?" I pause for a second, shifting my weight against the tree trunk. "Well, I was helping Roxas build a dining table for the Swersons. It's been a lot on Roxas lately. A lot of people have been asking him for different things chairs, cabinets, repairs. But he always puts the same amount of detail into everything, no matter how small the job is."
"Yeah," Maria nods in agreement. "Your father has done some amazing work for us. I can see how much effort he puts into it. As well as for the other people in the village, I'm sure."
She moves to sit back down. She carefully smooths the back of her powder-blue linen dress, making sure it doesn't bunch up, and tucks her legs gracefully to the side as she settles onto the grass. She rests her hands in her lap, looking at me with curious green eyes.
"Do you think you want to be a carpenter like your father?"
The question hangs in the air.
I look at her, ready to give a quick answer, but the words get stuck in my throat. I stop and think.
What do I want to be?
I'm in a brand new world. For the past five years, it has been super peaceful. I have loving parents, a warm home, and a village that feels safe. Carpentry is a good life. It's honest work. I could take over the shop, build a reputation, and live comfortably until I'm an old man. I could be happy.
But...
I look out at the horizon, past the lake, toward the jagged peaks of the mountains in the distance.
I am in a freaking fantasy world.
There is magic here. I saw a massive wyvern fly over my house a few months ago. I just watched a girl shoot wind from her hand. There are adventurers who travel the world fighting things I can't even imagine. The possibilities are endless. In my last life, I dedicated everything to baseball, and it ended in a wet alleyway before I could even really live.
Do I really want to just live a peaceful life again? Or do I want to see what is out there?
I ponder this, staring blankly at the grass. A minute ticks by. I completely forget Maria is sitting right there.
"Percy?"
I blink, snapping back to reality. "Oh, sorry."
Maria is leaning forward slightly, watching me closely. "No, you're alright Percy. It seemed like you were really lost in thought."
I let out a sigh, running a hand through my messy blonde hair.
"To be honest with you... I don't know what I actually want to pursue in the future."
Maria watches me for a moment, then a soft, reassuring laugh escapes her lips. She leans back against the tree, looking up at the leaves.
"No need to pressure yourself with that," she says lightly. "We have plenty of time."
Later that night.
The house is dead silent. The only sound is the settling of the timber beams and the faint rustle of the wind outside.
I am lying in my bed, staring up at the ceiling. The moonlight cuts through the window, painting pale blue strips across the wooden planks. I trace the grain with my eyes, but my mind is far away.
I can't sleep. Maria's question is still echoing in my head.
"Do you think you want to be a carpenter like your father?"
I roll over onto my back, sighing into the darkness.
What should I do with this life?
It's the question I've been avoiding. I've been given a second chance. I am living out the scenario everyone back in my old world dreamed of waking up in a fantasy world with a clean slate. I could be anything. There are so many paths branching out in front of me.
I could pursue magic like Maria. I could try to become a swordsman though, how do you even start that path? Do you just pick up a stick and swing it? I could try to be an adventurer like the ones in the stories, traveling from town to town, fighting frost-breathing lizards.
Or...
I could just stay here.
I could stay in Brent. I could learn the trade from Roxas, inherit the shop, and live a quiet, peaceful life. There is honor in that. Roxas is happy. Sylvia is happy. It's a safe life, filled with the smell of sawdust and warm bread. After how violently my last life ended, maybe safety is exactly what I should be chasing.
But as I close my eyes, a memory flashes behind my eyelids. It's sharp and sudden, piercing through the calm.
The rain. The bridge. The cold metal of the medal in my hand. My voice screaming into the storm.
"DAMN IT, OLD MAN!"
My chest tightens. The grief is still there, a dull ache that never really goes away.
"We were supposed to go on more crazy adventures together."
Then, the memory shifts. The rain clears, replaced by the warm, artificial light of our cramped living room back in Japan.
I was eight years old.
My dad was standing by the kitchen counter, holding a large glass jar. It was an old pickle jar, scrubbed clean, with a piece of masking tape stuck to the front. On it, written in his messy scrawl, were the words: ADVENTURE FUND.
"Check it out, kid," he had said, his eyes shining. He dropped a handful of coins into it. Clink. Clink. Clink. "I put my overtime pay in. We're getting closer."
"Where are we going?" I had asked, looking up at him from the floor where I was doing homework.
"America," he grinned. "Next summer. We're going to see the Grand Canyon. We're going to watch a Major League game. It's going to be epic."
We saved for a year. We ate cheap noodles. We skipped the movies. I watched that jar fill up, inch by inch, representing a world outside our small apartment.
Then, the water heater broke.
I remember the sound of the plumber talking in low tones. I remember my dad's shoulders slumping. I remember him walking over to the jar, unscrewing the lid, and pouring the adventure out onto the table to pay the bill.
He caught me watching. He forced a smile, ruffling my hair.
"Don't worry, kid," he had said, though his voice sounded tired. "There's always next year. The canyon isn't going anywhere."
But we never went.
"Next year" turned into high school. High school turned into training camps. And then... the accident.
He worked his whole life for a "later" that never came. He played it safe, he did the responsible thing, and he died on a wet highway without ever seeing the world he wanted to see.
I open my eyes, staring back at the moonlit ceiling. My hands are clenched into fists under the blanket.
What would he want for me?
If he were here right now, looking at this world with wyverns in the sky and magic in the air would he tell me to stay in the village and build chairs? Would he tell me to play it safe?
No. He'd probably be the first one packing a bag, grinning ear to ear.
A feeling starts to bubble up in my chest. It starts small, but it spreads quickly, chasing away the hesitation. It's a mix of adrenaline, excitement, and a steely resolve.
Conviction.
That's the word.
I sit up in bed, swinging my legs over the side. My bare feet touch the cool floorboards.
It's settled.
I have a whole second life ahead of me. I have time to rest when I'm old and grey. I have time to be peaceful later. But right now? I have a brand new world sitting on my doorstep, waiting to be seen.
I'm not going to wait for "next year." I'm not going to put my dreams in a jar.
I'm going to get stronger. I'm going to learn everything I can. And when I'm old enough, I'm going to leave this village and find out exactly what this world has to offer.
"Just watch me, Dad."