Chapter 2: New Life, Old World
Mornings in Lowen's Reach start long before sunrise. Roosters call, chimneys breathe out trails of smoke, and the first clatter of buckets and boots ripples through the muddy streets. Most villagers rise slow and grumbling except Mira Wynter, who always moves fast, like sleep is a trick she's never needed.
Alder wakes to the scent of woodsmoke and porridge, the low hush of his mother's voice as she talks to herself while she works. Days blur together: thick wool blankets, warmth and safety, his mother in her faded blue dress, singing as she cleans and boils herbs, always within reach.
But Alder is restless. At night, when Mira finally sleeps, the world stretches out silent and unfamiliar. He cannot walk or talk, but his mind drifts, replaying scenes of some "before": blinking city lights, faces he can't recall, laughter and traffic and cold rain, the memory of loneliness sharper than hunger. Sometimes, he focuses hard enough to almost reach those other places, but always the shadows of the thatch roof pull him back.
The System is always there, a silent passenger.
[Task ongoing: Survive your first week. No threats detected.]
[Skill: Observation (Passive) unlocked by default. You see and remember more than most.]
He tests it, focusing on the smallest things: the flicker of a candle, the rhythm of Mira's footsteps, the way the door shifts when the wind blows strong from the east. All of it, filed away a secret part of him ticking, always watching.
Days pass, the routine holding steady. Mira's hands are rough, her patience worn thin by long hours healing scrapes, splinters, and, lately, a rash of strange fevers no one can name. Alder squints, realizing even now that her care to others is returned mostly with suspicion.
The village is safe, but never quite welcoming. Mira had Alder on her own, and in Valedar, that's enough for neighbors to keep their distance. Whispers follow their every trip to the market.
By the third week, Alder can roll onto his stomach, which he does often just to test his muscles. Mira laughs, watching him wiggle and grumble, and yet her eyes always dart to the window, as if expecting someone or something out there.
One afternoon, Mira takes Alder into the market square. The day is bright and windless, rare for autumn. Carts overstuffed with apples, loaves, and bolts of dyed linen crowd together. The village's rune-stone stands at the square's center, waist-high and shaped like an unfinished star, its surface weathered and streaked with moss.
Mira greets the baker, keeps her voice quiet, and rocks Alder in her arms. People notice the baby's dark hair and sharp gaze; a few smile, most pretend not to stare.
Alder listens. He absorbs everything.
"There's the boy," someone whispers.
"He's too still. Too quiet."
"Is he right in the head?"
"They say she found him under the rune-stone."
Mira's arms tense. She whispers to Alder, not caring if people hear: "Pay no mind to them. People fear what they don't understand."
Alder thinks: That much, at least, hasn't changed from the world he remembers.
As winter draws near, life grows harder. Mira spends more time out, trading her skills as a healer for meat or flour. Often she returns tired, cheeks flushed, and sits Alder near the fire while she mends old clothes or reads quietly from a battered book of local tales.
At night, sometimes, Mira talks to him as though he were grown. "Your father was brave," she says once. "He had reasons to leave, but they were good ones. I hope you'll get to choose your reasons too."
Alder watches her face, memorizes every line, every sigh.
The System remains.
[Observation skill upgraded: Strong Memory.
You retain and process detail beyond your years.
Reward: None yet.]
[Task: Survive infancy.
Target Progress: 7%]
He scowls inside his own head. Seven percent in all these weeks? He distracts himself by focusing on the room: roof leaks, a loose floorboard by the hearth, Mira's knife tucked under the breadbox, always sharp as new.
It isn't until a storm night, as they both sleep, that something changes. Alder wakes to a prickling in his chest, a sense that air pressed too heavy on his lungs. He peers through his lashes to a flicker at the door: a thin line of cold blue light spilling along the floorboards. Footsteps squelch in the mud outside, stealthy and slow.
The System stirs.
[Threat detected. Unknown presence at the threshold.]
Mira stirs, too. She sits upright, quiet and alert, her hand gripping the knife.
"What do you want?" she calls softly through the dark.
No answer. Just breathing. Heavy. Wet.
Alder's pulse thunders. In his old life, danger sometimes meant only embarrassment, a lost job, or a broken heart. Here, the worst outcome is death worse than death, maybe. He holds the pendant, feels its coolness, and tries to will it to work, to save them both.
Outside, the rune-stones flare the blue light now coming through the window as if the stars themselves have moved to look in.
[Passive Skill: Stealth Enhancer activated.]
[Your presence fades from human perception.]
The person at the door mutters, shifts. Something in their voice is shaky. "Wynter... we only want to talk..."
Mira stands with Alder in her arms. "No one here wants your trouble. Leave now."
For a long moment, nobody breathes.
Alder listens, focusing with his upgraded memory, burning every sound into his mind. He hears the voice soften, step back, and then vanish entirely as a new gust of rain douses the lights from outside.
The door stays shut. Mira doesn't sit back down for hours.
When morning comes, Alder can almost sense a new tension in her. She's more distant, more careful. The world, already uncertain, feels smaller.
Winter closes in hard. Food grows scarce, and Mira, desperate, travels farther each day. Alder, now bigger and crawling, explores their tiny cottage. He discovers the crack in the wall behind the bed, the smell of dried herbs, the rough-woven tapestries that mute the cold at night.
More and more, his mind drifts elsewhere:
"…for a double espresso, please. Sorry I'm late, boss…"
He knows what it is to wait, to want, to remember normal things. In this world, though, wanting is dangerous. So he listens, watches, and lets the days pass.
Spring comes in fits and starts. Lowen's Reach wakes up slowly, groggy from snow and gloom. Children chase each other in the square. Mira makes new friends, trades with a young farmer for milk. Alder, just walking, toddles after the chickens, sometimes tripping as he chases his shadow.
When nobody's watching, he holds the pendant. Sometimes it warms in his hand, and a strange feeling pulses up his arm.
[Passive Skill: Pendant Resonance.
You are attuned to hidden magic.
Further growth possible.]
[Main Task: Continue to survive. No new threats detected.]
As the world outside comes alive, so does Alder. He doesn't speak nobody expects much from a child so young. But his eyes miss nothing.