"Zar, get up," an anxiety-induced feminine voice echoed through his mind. It took Zar five seconds to realize he wasn't dead but transmigrated.
His eyes fluttered open to a dimly lit cabin. The wooden walls were rough, and the air smelled of earth and damp wood. He glanced at his surroundings and noticed blood on his wrists. The realization struck him—he had taken over a body with the same name.
The voice belonged to a young woman, her face pale and eyes wide with concern. "Zar, are you okay?" she asked, her English tinged with an accent he couldn't quite place.
He slowly rose, his muscles aching. The body felt different, less refined and weaker than his previous one. He estimated his height to be around 5'5" or 5'6". He looked at the woman and tried to focus.
"I'm... fine," Zar replied, testing his voice. It felt foreign yet familiar. He looked down at his wrists, the blood stark against his pale skin. The cuts were fresh, hinting at a desperate or troubled past. Zar inwardly cursed his fate to neve have loving parents.
The woman, who introduced herself as Anya, guided him to a small table where a bowl of water and a cloth lay. "Here, clean yourself up," she said, her voice steadying.
As Zar washed the blood away, he noticed the cabin's rustic simplicity. The furniture was hand-carved, and various farming tools leaned against the walls. Outside, through a small window, he could see vast fields stretching into the distance.
An older Man with a long beared and a ruffled face entered the room. The man, burly with a kind face, and the woman, warm and gentle, looked at Zar with concern and relief. "Zar, thank the heavens you're awake," the man said, his voice gruff but affectionate. Zar instantly became worried if his father was this dwarf like orc of a human his good looks were defenitely gone.
"We were so worried," the woman added, embracing Zar gently. "I'm your mother , Anya and this is your father, Mikhail."
Zar nodded, playing along. He had no memory of these people, but their kindness and concern were genuine. "Thank you, as you can tell I believe i lost some of my memories," he said simply, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and unease.
Over the next few days, Zar slowly adapted to his new environment. Stone Brook Village was indeed rural, with most inhabitants engaged in farming and simple crafts. Despite its simplicity, there was an underlying sense of harmony and balance with nature that intrigued him.
Zar wasn't helping his father, Mikhail, with farm work yet, but he was working out in his room when he got the chance. During these times, he would ask them questions about himself and their past. He seemed to be in a good mood to them, and they were delighted but nevertheless cautious.
One afternoon, while rummaging through a chest in his room, Zar found an old, leather-bound diary. Its pages were filled with strange symbols and writings he couldn't understand. As he flipped through it, he realized this original body had been a cultist of some sort.
The diary was filled with dark thoughts and references to suicide and reincarnation. Zar's heart ached with pity for the boy who had inhabited this body before him. "Maybe he succeeded in his plans, or maybe he failed and now I'm here," Zar thought. The symbols and language were foreign to him, but he felt confident that, given time, he could decipher it.
The evening came, and Zar was rooted in his place, eagerly asking questions about books and history. Mikhail was prompt in answering every question to the best of his ability.
"When was I born?" Zar asked.
"Fourteen years ago, on the 3rd cycle," Mikhail replied.
Zar nodded thoughtfully. He was rather smart, maintaining his past IQ, but he believed intelligence was no longer a tangible concept, merely mindsets people could be born with. "Twelve cycles to measure the months," he mused. "Their system is similar to my Earth's, and this planet is also called Earth. Possibly a parallel universe. Maybe I didn't transmigrate but simply traversed timelines or something of the sort. And there is some type of energy here that is abundant, something that wasn't present on my Earth."
Mikhail and Anya told him stories of immortal cultivators and knights stronger than beasts and monsters, of alchemists who could concoct pills and elixirs, granting lifespans against fate and strength beyond imagination. Mikhail warned Zar that this information was unknown to the villagers and that he shouldn't run his mouth.
"When I was younger," Mikhail continued, "I was in the war between two sects that govern the East and the West. We fought against the prestigious academy known for fostering kids aged 13 to 18, allowing them to choose a path. The academy permits sects and other factions to draft students, though the final choice lies with the students.
We naturally lost; the academy is backed by every sect. Those two sects are no more. Us farmers and civilians were merely fodder and kept our lives by surrendering.