Author Puff: Hello everthying I have rewritte it becaus I think it was very Bad but now I changed it give Feedback to me when I should change something and I try to make it better.
Morning light spilled gently over the fields, warming the wooden rooftops of Date Village.
A soft breeze carried the scent of soil and crops, and birds chirped overhead. The day felt ordinary, yet quiet in a way that made every sound sharper, every movement noticeable.
I sat up on my bed, stretching my small limbs.
I was five years old. My name was Arashi.
I lived in a little village called Date Village. I didn't know why it had that name—maybe it was just a coincidence, or maybe it meant something about fate.
I thought about my previous life, the people I had known… and how I had never had a girlfriend. Not that it had been a problem. But maybe fate had other plans this time.
Sometimes, in quiet moments before the day began, I thought of my old life.
Of parents I would never see again, of friends long gone.
It was strange, thinking about them as memories rather than people I could reach.
I did not dwell on it, for dwelling would do no good.
Instead, I focused on the here and now—on my father, the village, and the life I had been given.
Sometimes I tried to make friends with children my age, tried to laugh and play like they did. Most of the time, it didn't work. They whispered or looked away, unsure what to make of me. I paid it little mind; their confusion was their own, and it did not concern me. Still, I kept trying in small ways, if only for my father's sake.
"Arashi."
My father's voice came from outside.
"Yes, Dad."
I stepped into the morning air. Alaric was already at work, sleeves rolled up, movements precise and practiced. His posture was straight, but there was a weight to him that had nothing to do with age.
"You slept well?" he asked.
"Yes."
He nodded once. That was enough.
We worked side by side in the fields.
The labor was heavy, especially for a child's body. My arms ached, and my breathing grew uneven as the hours passed. I adjusted my grip and kept moving.
Alaric slowed his pace slightly.
"You don't need to keep up with me," he said.
"I know," I replied. "I'll stop if I can't."
He studied me for a moment, then nodded.
"Tell me if it becomes too much."
"I will."
As we carried harvested crops toward storage, I noticed the villagers' reactions.
Adults greeted me with quiet respect, or a small nod. They seemed to sense something in me that the children could not.
The children, on the other hand, avoided me. They whispered when I passed, glancing my way with curiosity or unease. I paid them little mind; their confusion was their own, and it did not concern me.
During a short break under the shade of a tree, I remembered the stories I had heard over the years:
Black magic, dragons, powerful ancestors—tales passed down by the village elders, whispered around fires or in bedtime stories. Children said dragons had once walked the land, and that some humans had mastered strange powers called magic.
At first, I thought they were just stories—like the novels I used to read in my old life. But curiosity gnawed at me.
That night, after the work was done and the village grew quiet, I tried meditation.
I had read about it in old novels I had brought from my previous world, and the stories in the village only made me more curious.
I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing, as the stories had suggested.
A faint pulse stirred at the edge of my mind—magic, perhaps, though I could not control it.
My arms ached and my legs were stiff, just as they should be after a long day in the fields.
Yet… the effort felt lighter than I had anticipated. Not by much, just enough to notice.
I did not think about it. I only observed, analyzing the sensation without naming it.
Later, lying in bed, the warmth of the day lingered in my muscles.
I noticed it as something ordinary, nothing remarkable.
Magic existed, of that I was certain, yet this was not a feeling I could name or control.
All I knew was that tomorrow I would get up again, and I would continue, as I always had.
The sun lowered, painting golden light across the fields. Shadows stretched lazily over the soil.
Alaric adjusted his movements as we finished the last row. He observed me quietly, careful and precise.
I felt the soreness in my arms and legs, but it didn't break me. I endured it. Slowly. As I always had.
That evening, Alaric sat alone at the table after the meal, staring at the dim lantern light.
He remembered Hikari—my mother—her pale smile, her fragile hands, the quiet strength she carried until the end.
If I lose him too…
His fingers clenched around the edge of the table.
"Please," he whispered into the dim room.
"Let me protect him."
Authors Puff: I Hope it feels better to read give now give me Feedback about it is it better now of is ist Bad.