He had died once for no reason at all. It wasn't metaphoric or some dramatic turn of phrase; his first life had truly ended. His body didn't remember it, but his mind did, and that memory was enough reason to get started early. He had to stay busy, or his mind wandered.The kitchen table was too small, so he also used the counter. Papers overlapped in uneven stacks, corners held down by a mug, a set of keys, a book he hadn't opened. Pencil marks filled the margins. Nothing was neat, but it all followed an order he understood alone.He worked from left to right then top to bottom. Food intake, then storage decay without preservation methods, all needed a plan.He erased a number and rewrote it smaller. He didn't like how that looked, so he redid the entire column. The second time still didn't look perfect, but he kept it anyway. His mind churned with thoughts of past inefficiencies, each uneven column representing lives ruined, opportunities squandered. It gnawed at him, this need for precision that could make or break a future. But there was too much to do.Outside, the neighborhood woke in pieces. A garage door lifted. A car started and idled too long. A dog barked once, and someone took out the trash. They were normal neighborhood sounds, and they were all unfamiliar to him after all this time.He turned the page to a different filled page.This sheet was worse. The numbers overlapped; corrections were stacked on top of each other. As he prepared to tear it free, he paused. His thumb brushed against the paper, smudging ink across the surface. It was a small touch, yet it spoke volumes of the mounting strain he felt. Despite the hesitation, he tore it free and started again. It was hard to remain focused sometimes.Too much grain in one place always rotted, its smell a sour tang that clung to the air, announcing its decay well before it could be seen. The texture changed from firm and dry to soft, damp, and clumped, inviting tiny invaders. Too little, and it took too long to move. Smaller, more numerous silos would be more efficient.He noted it in the margin and moved on. The map came next.He didn't try to make it accurate. He sketched shapes instead. Mountains first, heavy lines boxing in a wide basin. A lazy river cut through the valley. Three large tributaries fed it. He marked the passes that mattered and left the rest blank.It was a map of a place that didn't exist yet, but would have to materialize soon. With only twenty-something days to prepare for this safe zone, every line and curve took on vital significance. Each decision etched into the paper was a race against time.The basin was large enough to grow inward before pushing out through the passes. That mattered; it would limit the early fighting. Early borders killed settlements faster than enemies did, due to competition.He circled the basin once more and, with a deep breath, made a silent vow. Though it had eluded them in the past, he promised himself that this time, this place, would not fall due to the same mistakes. This valley wasn't just strategic land; it was a promise of a future in which their sacrifices would have meaning. Leaning back, he felt the madness recede a little.That region had been considered safe. It had water, stone, and good farmland. Iron, coal, and the difficulty of the monsters were lower than in the surrounding regions, minus a few outliers, but those could be avoided.It had also been full of people who refused to agree on anything that mattered.Five human lords had tried to share it last time. None of them had wanted to give up authority. They duplicated defenses, argued over trade routes, and delayed decisions until delays became losses. They worried about the scraps of power they could gain by competing amongst themselves instead of what they could gain by looking outward. By the time they realized it wasn't working, the problems had grown teeth.He tapped the page once and closed the notebook. That wouldn't happen again if he could help it. Footsteps crossed the hall.His sister stopped at the edge of the kitchen. "Jesus, again?"He looked up at his sister. It was a blessing to see her again like this.It had been almost ten years since he'd gotten a letter about her death. Every moment with her now deserved his full attention.She stepped closer, glanced at the papers. "What are you planning?""Something," he said, smiling. "You'll find out what for soon."She studied him for a moment. Her clothes looked a little too threadbare. Her cheeks could have been fuller. After their parents died, it had been difficult to support them both. They had no other family that could help. He had been forced to leave university early to support them both, and it only barely worked. He barely remembered those days now, after twenty years over there."You've been doing this every morning," she said softly."There's a lot to cover," he said. "Not a lot of time."She didn't argue. "Eat something," she said instead. "You've been forgetting.""You go first. I'll finish this and join you," he said, nodding toward her. "You'll need the calories for class later."She moved to the stove, pulling food from a fridge that needed restocking."I'll get groceries today," she said, calling back.She hesitated, then added, "When are you going to explain why you have me learning how to fight? You still haven't really explained it. It's summer break. I wanted to go to the beach. Unless the world ends, big bro." He rolled his eyes, but smiled while doing it. They were the same complaints she'd made before.In her last life, she'd been a famous adventurer. She had been powerful and decorated. Humanity had looked up to her as a hero. One of humanity's pillars after ten years.She complained now, but he knew she enjoyed the training."I'll tell you," he said. "I just need you to trust me a little longer."It was the fifth time he'd said it.He finished the column and set the pencil down carefully. His hands were steady. He noticed because they hadn't been there last time. His grip had slipped whenever he wrote for too long.He pushed the thought aside and opened a thinner notebook.He wrote the title and stared at the page. Things not to do againLeverage.Delay.Assume.Don't be passive. He finished writing it, then flipped the page. Early failures He filled it without stopping.Each line came with a memory. A settlement was destroyed. A story posted to the player forum about monsters overrunning their walls. Panic spread faster than the truth in the early days, as raids took people into forests and caves. They never returned. Lords turning their soldiers on their own people. It was chaos and a perfect example of humanity. The clock on the stove clicked forward. He checked it and stood, rinsing his hands at the sink. He dried his hand with the towel, then glanced at his reflection out of habit.There weren't the scars or stiffness he remembered. No sign his body remembered anything at all. Physically, he was fine.He turned away."Twenty-three days," he said quietly.It sounded right, and there wasn't enough time to do what he wanted to do.When the announcement came, people would freeze. Panic would spread. The rioting and looting would start. Some would wait for instructions. A few would treat it like an opportunity.He would have to treat it like a schedule, and the clock was ticking.Back at the table, he reorganized the papers, stacking related pages together, sliding others aside. He opened a clean sheet and began writing everything he could remember from the early days, nearly twenty years ago.Last time, they'd ended with a handful of fortified strongholds. Armies broken by fighting and the other races. Region bosses are rampaging. Humanity had died piece by piece. When he had died, it had only been a matter of time until they were defeated.He glanced at his sister once more while she ate. Then kept writing. There was work to do.
