We finally reached the school building. It wasn't the grand, imposing structure I half-expected from fantasy novels, nor the sleek, modern concrete blocks of my past. It was... practical. Solid stone walls, a thatched roof that looked surprisingly well-maintained, and windows that were more like narrow slits, probably to keep out the elements. This was clearly a place built for function, not aesthetics.
Elsie, still buzzing with a low-level anxiety about being late, tugged me towards the heavy wooden door.
The heavy wooden door groaned open, a sound that echoed through the quiet morning and seemed to announce our tardiness. Inside, the air was cool and still, thick with the scents of dust, old wood, and a faint, almost metallic tang that was vaguely like chalk. My eyes darted around, trying to absorb every detail of this new, unexpected reality.
The main room was vast and dimly lit, illuminated by the sparse light filtering through the narrow window slits. Several long, rough-hewn wooden tables and equally rough benches filled the space, giving it the feel of a communal hall more than a traditional classroom. At the front, a single, slightly elevated desk faced the rows of benches, and behind it, a large, dark chalkboard loomed. No projectors, no smartboards, no ergonomic chairs – a familiar pang of longing for the conveniences of my past life resonated within me.
A handful of children were already scattered across the benches. Some whispered conspiratorially, their heads close together, while others meticulously scratched on small slates with what looked like charcoal sticks, their young faces etched with concentration. They varied in age, from children who appeared barely older than the little boy in my new family to some who seemed to be Elsie's age, perhaps a bit older. There was no clear division into grades or subjects, no neat rows or designated learning areas. It simply looked like… a room where learning happened. Or, at least, where attempts at learning were made.
Just then, a figure emerged from a small door behind the elevated desk. He was a tall, thin man, his spectacles perched precisely on the bridge of his nose, and an expression that screamed 'serious business'. His simple, dark robes and the large, worn book clutched in his hand completed the picture of a classic, no-nonsense schoolmaster, straight out of a historical drama.
He looked up as we entered, and his gaze, sharp and assessing, landed on us. Or rather, on me. Elsie, seemingly anticipating his displeasure, immediately bowed her head, mumbled a hasty apology, and quickly slid into a vacant spot on one of the benches. I, however, found myself frozen, caught in the direct beam of his stern attention.
"Aira," he said, his voice deep and resonant. It wasn't a question; it was a statement, a thinly veiled accusation that resonated with authority. My new name, spoken with such gravity, sent a chill running down my spine. This was clearly not a good start. My mind raced, frantically trying to recall any memory fragments of "Aira" and her relationship with school. Given Elsie's earlier comments about "Aira's usual tardiness," I guessed it wasn't great.
He gestured with his book towards the empty benches, a silent command that left no room for defiance. My legs felt like lead, heavy and reluctant, but I forced myself to move, my rough uniform rustling with every hesitant step. I picked a spot towards the back, hoping to blend in, to become as invisible as possible.
As I sat down on the hard, unyielding bench, the schoolmaster cleared his throat, and the hushed whispers in the room died down completely. A profound silence descended, broken only by the faint scratching of charcoal on slate from the more diligent students. He began to speak, and to my surprise, I understood every word. He wasn't speaking the local dialect I'd been struggling with, the one filled with unfamiliar cadences and peculiar inflections. He was speaking a more formal, almost academic version of the language, clear and precise, each word articulated with deliberate care.
He started lecturing about the importance of diligence and punctuality, his gaze sweeping over the students, lingering just a moment too long on me. My cheeks flushed, a warmth rising despite the cool air. Great, so I'm already the tardy, troublesome one, solidifying my reputation before I've even truly started.
Then he moved on, picking up a piece of chalk with practiced ease and turning to the large blackboard. He began to draw symbols, intricate lines and swirling patterns unlike any alphabet I'd ever seen. They seemed to hum with an almost ethereal quality, catching the dim light in a way that made my breath hitch. He spoke again, his voice now imbued with a different kind of intensity, describing the symbols, their meanings, and their mysterious applications.
My initial boredom, a self-preserving mechanism against the mundane, vanished, replaced by a sudden, intense curiosity that prickled at my skin. This wasn't arithmetic or history as I knew it. This was… something else entirely. Something ancient and powerful, hinted at in the very curves of the chalk on the board, in the way the symbols seemed to almost glow. My earlier, cynical thoughts about a "magical world" being childish now seemed less ridiculous, less a fantasy and more a tangible possibility.
As he continued, a word echoed in my mind from my previous life, a word I'd written about countless times in my own stories, a core concept in the fantastical worlds I had built: Mana.
Could this really be it? Could this medieval, peasant life, so far removed from anything I had ever known, be about to get a whole lot more interesting? My mind reeled with possibilities, the dusty, quiet classroom suddenly brimming with an unexpected potential.
My eyes were glued to the chalkboard, where the schoolmaster was meticulously drawing those intricate lines and swirling patterns. My heart had actually started to pound with a fervent excitement, a drumbeat against my ribs. Mana! Magic! This is it! This is where the story actually begins! I could almost feel the power tingling at my fingertips, a nascent energy ready to unleash spells and… well, maybe not save the world, but at least make this arduous peasant life a bit more bearable. Perhaps I'd conjure up a self-cleaning mechanism for that perpetually malodorous outhouse, or summon a never-ending supply of pizza. A girl could certainly dream.
The schoolmaster cleared his throat, a sharp, resonant sound that cut through the silence of the room. His stern gaze swept over the attentive faces of the children before he tapped the chalk against the board, pointing to a particularly elaborate swirl that looked like a coiled serpent eating its own tail. "As you can see," he droned, his voice flat and uninspired, a stark contrast to the arcane beauty of the symbols, "this represents the concept of 'three hundred and forty-seven.' Note the subtle curve here, denoting the tens, and the double loop for the hundreds."
My jaw, I swear, almost hit the rough wooden bench with a resounding thud. Numbers? All that intricate, mystical-looking calligraphy, those swirling patterns that had promised ancient secrets and forbidden power, were just… their version of math? My hopes, which had soared higher than a Bristlehen on steroids (a creature I'd only just learned existed, incidentally), crashed back down to earth with a sickening, audible thud. This wasn't some ancient runic language of power; it was just a different, ridiculously complicated way to write "347." My grand dreams of becoming a master sorcerer, wielding elemental forces, dissolved into the grim, dusty reality of… medieval arithmetic.
The boredom, which had momentarily been banished by the thrill of supposed magic, now returned with a vengeance, bringing its ugly cousins: disappointment and profound existential dread. My head slumped onto my hand, my gaze unfocused, as the schoolmaster continued his lecture on the complex nuances of their number system. He went on about units, tens, hundreds, thousands, his voice a droning buzz that mingled with the faint, mundane sounds of the village outside – a distant dog barking, the clatter of a cart, the murmur of unseen lives. It was all so agonizingly, depressingly normal. Or, rather, normally boring.
"Three hundred and forty-seven..." I repeated in my head, the supposed magic of the symbols draining away, leaving behind only the dull weight of mundane education. This is not what I signed up for, I thought, a familiar whine building in my brain. I didn't get dragged into another world, humiliated by bodily functions, and forced into back-breaking farm labor, just to do math again! My old life's aversion to numbers, always eclipsed by my fervent love for words and stories, resurfaced with full, undeniable force.
I glanced around the room, a desperate survey for a kindred spirit in this intellectual purgatory. Most of the other children were diligently copying the symbols onto their slates, their brows furrowed in concentration, their tongues often peeking out in intense focus. Elsie was one of them, her small hand moving with meticulous care as she recreated a complex sequence, completely engrossed. Even the little boy, the one I'd impressed with my simple finger trick back at the farm, seemed to be following along with wide, attentive eyes, his head tilted in earnest absorption. Was I truly the only one who thought this was an absolute travesty? The only one whose internal monologue was screaming in protest?
The minutes stretched into an eternity, each tick of an imaginary clock amplifying the monotony. My mind drifted, fantasizing about my old laptop, the boundless internet, anything to escape this mind-numbing reality. I tried to focus on the numbers, tried to make sense of the strange curves and lines, to find some redeeming quality in their elaborate design, but my brain simply refused to engage. It was just… numbers. In a different, more annoying font. And the thought of spending my days deciphering this arcane system of counting made the prospect of mucking out the pigsty seem almost appealing.
Suddenly, the schoolmaster's voice sharpened, pulling me from my internal rebellion. "Aira," he said, and I flinched, my head snapping up. His spectacles glinted in the dim light as his gaze fixed on me, unwavering and disapproving. "Perhaps you can demonstrate your understanding of the principle of addition, using the symbols for twenty-four and fifty-one?"
My blood ran cold. Addition? Using these baffling squiggles? I stared at the chalkboard, then at my blank slate, then back at the schoolmaster's expectant face. My mind was a complete void, not a single one of those elaborate "numbers" having registered beyond their initial, disappointing reveal. Elsie subtly nudged my arm, her eyes wide with silent warning, but it was no use. I was trapped.
"Well, Aira?" the schoolmaster prompted, a hint of impatience creeping into his deep voice. The other children had stopped writing, their eyes now on me, a mixture of curiosity and pity on their young faces. This was it. My grand entrance into medieval education, culminating in immediate, public humiliation. I swallowed hard, desperately trying to conjure some explanation, any explanation, for my utter blankness. But all I could manage was a helpless, pathetic silence.
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. My mind remained a blank, a vast, empty expanse where numbers and their swirling symbols refused to coalesce into any semblance of understanding. Elsie's subtle nudge, the hopeful look in the little boy's eyes, even the schoolmaster's stern gaze—nothing could conjure the knowledge that simply wasn't there.
"Well, Aira?" the schoolmaster prompted again, his voice now laced with an unmistakable impatience. The other children had stopped writing altogether, their attention fully on me, a mixture of curiosity and thinly veiled pity on their young faces. This was it. My grand entrance into medieval education, culminating in immediate, public humiliation. I swallowed hard, desperately trying to conjure some explanation, any explanation, for my utter blankness. But all I could manage was a helpless, pathetic silence.
The schoolmaster's face, already stern, hardened further. He pushed his spectacles up his nose, a gesture that seemed to emphasize his exasperation. "If you would have just paid attention in my previous classes," he spoke, his voice no longer just impatient but now sharp, cutting through the quiet room, "you would have known." He paused, letting his words hang in the air like a judgment. "Now, stand outside until the end of the class."
My cheeks burned, a fiery blush spreading across my face. The humiliation was a physical ache, throbbing in my temples. I scrambled to my feet, the rough fabric of my uniform rustling loudly in the sudden stillness of the room. I didn't dare meet anyone's gaze, particularly not Elsie's. With my head bowed, I shuffled towards the heavy wooden door, each step a testament to my public failure. I felt every eye on me as I reached the entrance, pulling it open with a soft creak.
I stepped out into the cool morning air, and the door swung shut behind me with a definitive thud, its sound echoing the finality of my banishment. I was alone, standing in the narrow, dusty space outside the classroom, the faint sounds of the schoolmaster's droning lecture now muffled and indistinct.
For a moment, a strange calm settled over me. I took a deep breath, letting the surprisingly gentle breeze brush against my face. The sky above was a soft, clear blue, and the morning sun, though still climbing, was already casting warm, inviting light over the simple school building. "Wow, it's kind of nice outside," I thought, a fleeting, almost detached observation. "Such a lovely day." The unexpected beauty of the morning was a stark contrast to the oppressive atmosphere within the classroom.
But then, the calm facade shattered. It wasn't a gradual erosion; it was an explosive burst, like a dam breaking under immense pressure. The frustration, the humiliation, the crushing disappointment—it all erupted in a silent, furious roar within my head. "Who the f*ck does that asshole think he is?!" The thought was raw, unfiltered, a primal scream of injustice. "I don't deserve this!"
And the "magic." The phantom promise that had briefly ignited a spark of hope. "Magic, my ass! Where is the magic I was expecting? Where the hell is it?! I want magic now!" The words churned in my mind, a bitter litany. I had been pulled from my life, dropped into this confusing, challenging world, forced to adapt to a reality that was nothing like the fantastical tales I'd envisioned. My expectations, fueled by a lifetime of novels and games, had been utterly, spectacularly dashed.
"This entire world that I got reincarnated to is a giant mind-f*ck!" The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow. The endless chores, the unfamiliar customs, the constant struggle to understand—and now, this humiliating foray into a seemingly mundane education system disguised as something mystical. It was all a cruel joke.
A fierce, rebellious resolve solidified within me. "I'm getting out of this school." The thought wasn't a fleeting wish; it was a firm decision, an unwavering declaration of independence. There had to be something more. There had to be actual magic, adventure, something that made this absurd existence worthwhile. And if this dreary school wasn't going to offer it, I would find it myself.
The sting of humiliation fueled my legs as I bolted through the small corridor, my rough uniform rustling with every frantic step. The front gate, my escape route, loomed in the distance. Freedom. That's all I cared about. But as I sprinted closer, a cold dread washed over me. The gate was secured with a heavy, unyielding lock. Its rusty iron bars, thick as my wrist, mocked my desperate dash.
"Is this a school or a prison?" I muttered to myself, my breath coming in ragged gasps, misting slightly in the cool morning air. The stone walls surrounding the compound were impossibly tall, built for defense more than education. They stretched upwards, reaching perhaps fifteen feet, far too high for a child like me to even attempt to climb, not that I possessed any climbing skills to begin with. My hopes plummeted, my frustration boiling anew, a bitter taste in my mouth. I slammed a palm against the unyielding gate, the clang echoing hollowly in the quiet yard.
Just as despair threatened to consume me, a flicker of something unexpected crossed my mind. It wasn't my memory, not truly. It was as if a dusty, forgotten scroll had unfurled in my consciousness, revealing fragmented images of this very school. Lessons, classrooms, the layout of the rooms—it was all there, albeit somewhat unclear, like looking through a smudged window. And then, a sudden, blinding flash: the answer to the schoolmaster's question. "Twenty-four plus fifty-one equals seventy-five!" The symbols for it, the method of combining the swirling lines and subtle curves, it all clicked into place with startling, infuriating clarity.
"Wow, I just got the answer!" I thought, a bitter, ironic laugh bubbling up, a sound lost to the empty courtyard. "Go me!" When I desperately needed that memory, when my pride was on the line, when I was standing there like a mute idiot, there was nothing. But now, after the punishment, after being cast out and branded a dunce, this crucial information chose to reveal itself. It was almost comical, if it weren't so utterly, profoundly infuriating. I clenched my fists, shaking them at the invisible forces that governed this new existence. I cursed my luck, the universe, and whatever fickle, malevolent force decided the timing of past-life revelations.
Lost in my internal tirade, consumed by the burning injustice of it all, a faint sound pricked at my awareness. A soft, almost whispered rustle in the bushes to the far right corner of the schoolyard. It was distant, barely audible over the thumping of my own heart and the ringing in my ears from my furious sprint, yet I heard it distinctly. This body, despite its peasant origins and seemingly endless propensity for tripping, certainly had some surprisingly sharp senses. My head snapped towards the sound, my anger momentarily forgotten, replaced by a sudden, intense curiosity.
The bush moved again, a deliberate shifting of leaves and branches, as if something was carefully pushing through it. My eyes narrowed, straining to see past the dense foliage. Whatever it was, it was concealed. But the movement was undeniable. Something was in there, and for the first time since this morning's crushing disappointment, I felt a genuine, compelling pull to investigate. It was a chance, perhaps, to escape the mundane, to find something—anything—that wasn't about medieval arithmetic or farm chores. The unknown beckoned, a more enticing prospect than standing here fuming at a locked gate.
The rustling in the bushes was faint, almost teasing, drawing me closer. Each step I took was deliberate, my curiosity overriding the lingering frustration from the classroom. As I reached the dense foliage, I extended my hand, my fingers brushing against the cool, damp leaves, ready to part them and reveal the source of the mysterious sound.
But before I could move the leaves aside, a sudden, more pronounced rustle erupted from deeper within the bush, making me pause. My gaze sharpened, curious and alert. Then, a small, cream-colored head popped out, framed by the vibrant green leaves. It had striking sapphire blue eyes that peered out with an almost comical innocence.
"Oh, you little cutie!" I cooed, my heart instantly melting. It looked precisely like the most adorable Siamese kitten I had ever seen, its face perfectly proportioned, those wide, innocent eyes fixated entirely on me. I took a tentative step forward, my hand instinctively reaching out, ready to offer a gentle scratch behind the ears. I simply couldn't stop myself; the urge to pet the tiny creature was overwhelming.
But as my hand moved and was about to make contact, something else came into view. A thick, muscular tail, dark brown at the tip, swished slightly, disturbing a few fallen leaves on the ground. It was entirely too robust for a kitten, far too substantial and powerful for such a small, delicate head. My brow furrowed in confusion, the initial wave of "aww" replaced by a prickle of unease. That tail... it looked more like something from a lizard that was covered with fur. I was genuinely surprised to see such an incongruous appendage.
Before I could fully process the glaring discrepancy, the creature emerged completely from the verdant cover of the bush. My breath hitched in my throat, a sudden gasp escaping my lips. It wasn't a cat at all. What stood before me was a miniature raptor, its lithe, agile body covered in fine, short cream-colored fur. Darker brown fur marked its limbs and ran along its powerful, reptilian tail. Its hind legs were unmistakably dinosaurian, ending in sharp, curved clawed digits that gripped the earth with an almost predatory grace. Yet, despite the undeniable predatory anatomy, its head, with those captivating, doll-like blue eyes, remained utterly endearing, almost comically so.
It tilted its head slightly, those huge, innocent eyes still locked onto mine, a silent question in their depths. The juxtaposition was jarring – the predatory form of a raptor with the irresistible, wide-eyed gaze of a baby doll. My heart was still pounding, a frantic rhythm against my ribs, but the initial fear had been replaced by an overwhelming sense of bewildered fascination. It was a creature straight out of a dream, a half-cat raptor hybrid, standing there in the dusty schoolyard. At that moment, I genuinely didn't know what to do. My mind, usually quick to categorize and analyze, simply reeled in the face of such impossible existence.
Before I could even process what I was seeing, or decide what to do with my still-outstretched hand, the creature, the captor, ya that's what i call it now, emerged completely from the bushes. Its lithe, compact body was undeniably adorable, its movements quick and almost sassy. It weaved around my legs, rubbing its cream-colored fur and that surprisingly thick, furry tail against my shins, a purr-like rumble emanating from its small chest. My hand, still suspended in the air from my aborted attempt to pet what I thought was a kitten, remained frozen for a moment before slowly lowering.
Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the raptor darted back into the dense foliage, a flash of blue eyes and creamy fur disappearing from view.
"Wow," I whispered, the sheer audacity of the creature, its playful rub, and its sudden disappearance igniting a spark of reckless determination within me. "I don't care what the social protocol says, I'm going in those bushes to follow that… captor." My internal voice echoed with a fierce resolve. "I don't care, I will follow it to the depths of hell even if I have to." The dull ache of disappointment from the math lesson, the humiliation of being kicked out of class, all faded into the background. This was an adventure, a genuine mystery in a world that had, until now, seemed stubbornly mundane.
Without another thought, I pushed aside the thick, leafy branches of the bush where the creature had vanished. The leaves, surprisingly soft, parted easily, revealing not just more foliage, but something far more significant: a hole in the stone wall of the school. It was roughly circular, its edges worn smooth, clearly a long-standing feature, not a recent break. The bush had completely concealed it, acting as a perfect, leafy curtain. The opening was big enough, just barely, for a child like me to fit through.
My heart pounded with a renewed excitement, this time untainted by false hope. This wasn't just following a bizarre creature; this was an escape. A secret passage. The possibility of something truly interesting finally manifesting in this bizarre new life.
The allure of the unknown, embodied by the strange captor, was a siren song I couldn't ignore. This wasn't just about curiosity; it was about escape. A visceral need to be anywhere but within the suffocating confines of that stone school, with its droning lessons and frustratingly archaic numbers. My heart still hammered from the earlier rush, but now it was a drumbeat of anticipation, not anxiety.
Without a moment's hesitation, I dropped to my hands and knees. The opening, initially daunting, proved to be just large enough. I squeezed through, the rough stone scraping against my uniform, the scent of damp earth and unseen life growing stronger. It was a tight fit, demanding a bit of wriggling and a whispered grunt of effort, but the promise of freedom propelled me forward. For a fleeting second, I worried about getting stuck, but the sheer desperation to leave the school quickly banished that thought.
I stumbled out of the hole, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the softer, dappled light that filtered through a canopy of leaves. Gone were the neatly trimmed, albeit dusty, school grounds. Instead, I found myself on the edge of a dense, ancient-looking forest. Towering trees, their trunks thick with age and draped in moss, loomed overhead, creating a natural cathedral of green. The air was entirely different here—fresher, cooler, carrying the rich, earthy scent of damp soil and decaying leaves, mingled with the sweet fragrance of unseen blossoms. Birdsong, vibrant and varied, filled the air, a stark contrast to the stifling silence of the classroom.
I was finally outside the school.
A profound sense of relief washed over me, so potent it almost brought tears to my eyes. The rigid stone walls, the oppressive atmosphere of "learning" that felt more like punishment, the memory of the schoolmaster's stern face—all seemed to recede, becoming distant echoes. This forest, wild and untamed, felt like a breath of fresh air after being suffocated.
The true reason I wanted to follow that bizarre creature, the adorable but decidedly non-feline raptor, became crystal clear in that moment. It wasn't just about seeing something cool; it was simply about getting out of that stinky school and taking my mind off things. Off the humiliation, off the baffling numbers, off the crushing reality of my new, seemingly un-magical life. The little dinosaur-cat was merely the catalyst, the furry, blue-eyed key to my temporary liberation.
I took a deep, shuddering breath, filling my lungs with the clean forest air. My muscles, tense from sitting on the hard bench and then from the dash, slowly began to relax. A faint, almost imperceptible rustle further into the trees drew my attention. The raptor. It was still out there. And for the first time in a long time, a genuine, unburdened smile touched my lips. The world, for all its oddities, suddenly seemed full of possibilities beyond medieval arithmetic.
Just as I started to feel that familiar sag in my shoulders, a faint, almost melodic chittering sound reached my ears from deeper within the woods. It wasn't bird song, nor the rustle of leaves in the wind. It was a distinct, high-pitched call, almost like a happy trill. My head snapped up, my senses instantly alert. That had to be it.
I pushed further into the trees, ducking under low-hanging branches and navigating around gnarled roots that snaked across the forest floor. The chittering sounded again, closer this time, accompanied by the gentle rustling of unseen movement. And then, there it was.
The raptor stood on a mossy fallen log, its cream-colored fur almost blending with the dappled sunlight. It tilted its head, those sapphire blue eyes locking onto mine with an uncanny intelligence. When it saw me, it let out another soft chitter, a clear invitation, then turned and bounded off the log, disappearing into the denser parts of the forest.
It was leading me. Where, I had no idea. But a thrill, sharper and more exhilarating than any school lesson could offer, shot through me. This was it. This was the adventure I craved. And for the first time since I'd woken up in this strange new world, I felt a flicker of genuine hope that maybe, just maybe, I was finally heading somewhere interesting.
The captor, with its strange, chittering call, led me deeper into the forest. Sunlight, once dappled, now struggled to pierce the increasingly thick canopy, casting long, dancing shadows that made the path ahead seem mysterious and a little daunting. The air grew cooler, carrying the damp scent of ancient earth and unseen moss. I followed, ducking under gnarled branches and stepping over exposed roots, my rough uniform snagging occasionally on low-hanging brambles.
With every step further from the school, a creeping sense of frustration began to tug at me. "Should I just go back to the school?" I wondered, the thought a small, unwelcome whisper in the back of my mind. The woods were becoming denser, the path less defined, and the initial thrill of escape was starting to battle with a rising unease. What if I got lost? What if this creature led me into trouble?
Yet, despite this being my first time in this particular patch of wilderness, a peculiar sensation washed over me. It felt… familiar. As if I had gone through this path many times before, navigated these very twists and turns. A powerful sense of déjà vu, so strong it felt less like a feeling and more like a fragmented memory, settled over me. It was disorienting, adding another layer of strangeness to an already surreal day. Was this another trickle from "Aira's" past, or just my mind playing tricks on me in this bizarre new world?
Regardless, I pressed on. My stubbornness, a trait that had both helped and hindered me in my previous life, kicked in. I had come this far. I wanted to see this to the end, to understand the mystery of the captor and whatever lay beyond the trees.
Just as I rounded a particularly large, ancient oak tree, its bark furrowed with centuries of growth, the dense foliage began to thin slightly. And there, nestled in a small clearing still some distance away, was a hut.
It was a small, rustic structure, crafted from rough-hewn logs and topped with a steeply pitched, thatched roof that looked surprisingly well-maintained, almost as if someone cared for it. A thin wisp of smoke curled lazily from a stone chimney, disappearing into the leafy canopy above. My steps slowed, my brow furrowing in confusion. A hut? In the middle of this seemingly untouched forest, far from any discernible path or village? Why was it here?
Before I could ponder the unexpected discovery further, the captor, which had been trotting a few paces ahead of me, suddenly left my side. With a joyful chitter, it bounded forward, its powerful little legs carrying it swiftly towards the hut, disappearing once more amongst the trees bordering the clearing. It was clear now; the hut was its destination, and by extension, perhaps, mine. What, or who, awaited us there?
It took me a long moment to decide whether I should follow the raptor towards the hut. Caution warred with curiosity. My mind replayed warnings from old fairy tales – secluded cabins in the woods, witches, dangers. But then, the memory of the schoolmaster's stern face, the suffocating boredom of arithmetic, pushed through. Anything was better than that.
With a deep breath, I set off across the clearing. As I got closer, the details of the hut came into sharper focus, and I began to visualize its immediate surroundings more clearly. The front lawn, though small, was surprisingly well-kept, almost manicured. There were no overgrown weeds, no fallen branches, just neat, green grass. The log walls of the hut were clean, free of grime or decay, and the thatch on the roof was tightly woven, showing no signs of disrepair. The curl of smoke from the chimney, gentle and continuous, confirmed my growing suspicion: someone was definitely living here. This wasn't an abandoned dwelling.
A flicker of humor, morbid as it was, crossed my mind. "Okay, so at least I don't think this cabin belongs to a murderer who eats children's flesh," I thought to myself, a wry smile touching my lips. The neatness, the cared-for appearance, spoke of a peaceful, perhaps even kind, occupant.
I moved silently towards one of the small, square windows, careful not to disturb anything. Peeking through the slightly grimy pane, the interior of the cabin looked surprisingly cozy and vintage. Rough wooden furniture, a stone hearth with embers glowing softly, shelves lined with jars and what looked like dried herbs. A single, intricately woven rug covered part of the dirt floor. It exuded an aura of warmth and lived-in comfort, dispelling any lingering fears of a sinister inhabitant.
Just as I was about to pull back, a soft, ethereal sound reached my ears. A humming voice, unmistakably a woman's, drifted from the back of the hut. It was quiet, almost a murmur, yet remarkably clear and incredibly melodious. The sound was oddly enchanting, drawing me in. My heart, which had just settled, began to pick up pace again, this time with a mix of anticipation and wonder. Who was this woman, and what kind of magic did her voice possess? Without conscious thought, I found myself moving around the side of the hut, drawn by the beautiful sound.
The humming, a gentle, ethereal melody, drew me further around the side of the hut. My steps were silent, cautious, propelled by a mixture of curiosity and a strange sense of peace the music invoked. The air here was even fresher, carrying the faint, sweet scent of damp earth and growing things.
As I rounded the corner, the sight that greeted me was unexpected and beautiful. It wasn't just a patch of wild forest floor; it was a meticulously tended vegetable garden. Rows of vibrant green leaves, budding flowers, and plump, colorful vegetables stretched out, basking in the filtered sunlight. The soil was dark and rich, clearly well-worked.
And in the very center of this verdant haven, seated in a sturdy, wooden wheelchair, was an old woman. Her back was to me, but her posture was upright, dignified. Her hands, gnarled and seemingly strong, moved with practiced ease amongst the plants, gently tending to them. It was from her that the enchanting melodious humming emanated, a continuous, soothing stream of sound that filled the small clearing. And right beside her, perched on the edge of a raised garden bed, was the captor, its cream fur a stark contrast to the deep greens of the vegetables. It wasn't moving, simply sitting there, as if keeping watch.
I took another quiet step forward, captivated by the scene, by the unexpected tranquility of this hidden sanctuary. My eyes darted between the old woman, her rhythmic movements, and the strange creature that had led me here. It was a tableau of peace and mystery, far removed from the mundane world I knew.
But then, my foot landed squarely on a cluster of dry leaves. They crunched loudly underfoot, the sharp crack echoing disproportionately in the quiet garden. The humming instantly ceased. The old woman's movements stilled.
Slowly, deliberately, her head turned. Her eyes, though shaded by the brim of a wide-brimmed straw hat, seemed to pierce the distance, landing directly on my hiding spot. Her voice, no longer humming, was clear and surprisingly strong, cutting through the stillness like a finely honed blade.
"Who's there?" she spoke out loud, the question hanging in the air, filled with a quiet authority that left no room for evasion. The captor beside her let out a low, almost imperceptible chitter, its sapphire eyes now fixed on me too. I was caught.
My heart leaped into my throat, a sudden burst of adrenaline making my limbs stiff. There was no hiding now. Swallowing hard, I stepped out from behind the last cluster of bushes, my rough uniform feeling suddenly conspicuous against the vibrant backdrop of the garden.
"H-hello," I stammered, my voice barely a whisper, feeling like a clumsy intruder. The old woman's face was wizened, etched with a lifetime of sun and wind, but her eyes, when she finally looked directly at me, were surprisingly bright and clear, a deep, knowing blue that seemed to take in everything at once. She regarded me with an unreadable expression, a mix of surprise and something else I couldn't quite decipher. The captor hopped off the garden bed and padded silently to her side, its head tilted, its blue eyes also fixed on me.
The silence that followed stretched, feeling like an eternity. I braced myself for scolding, for questions, for demands to know why I was trespassing. But none came. The old woman simply continued to gaze at me, her expression slowly softening, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching the corners of her lips.
"Well, now," she finally said, her voice still strong but now gentle, "it seems you've found your way here, little one." Her eyes flickered to the captor, which let out another soft trill. "And brought a friend with you."
A friend? She knew about the captor? And she wasn't angry? Confusion swirled in my mind, pushing aside my earlier fear. This was not how I expected this encounter to go. Not at all.
I didn't know what I should say now. My mind raced, trying to formulate a coherent response, but my tongue felt heavy and useless. What do you say to an old woman in a wheelchair with a pet captor who seems to know you, but you don't know her at all?
Then, a soft, warm laugh bubbled up from the woman, a sound as melodious as her humming. "Oh, Aira," she chuckled, her voice laced with an affectionate teasing. "Why are you acting all weird today?"
At that moment, all I could think was: Wait, does she know me? What? How? The implication hit me like a physical blow. She must be an acquaintance, perhaps even a close one, with this body's previous owner. My carefully constructed facade of being Aira, just a clumsy country girl, felt like it was crumbling.
What should I do now? I have no idea what to do here. Panic flared in my chest. She knew me—well, not me, but the previous owner of this body. If I replied something wrong, if I said anything that was out of character for "Aira," she might get suspicious. The memory of my struggles with the local dialect, the unfamiliarity with every custom, every person—it all rushed back. This woman knew the real Aira. She would see through me in an instant.
Oh, I wish at this moment I could get some of Aira's past memories right about now of this woman. The thought screamed in my head, a desperate plea. This could be incredibly useful right about now. It was frustrating beyond belief. All those fleeting, fragmented images of the school, so useless a few minutes ago, yet nothing about the people Aira clearly knew. I felt exposed, vulnerable, caught in a web of unknown relationships. What should I say? How do I respond without giving myself away? My mind raced, searching for any flicker of familiarity, any hint of how "Aira" would behave with this gentle, but clearly perceptive, old woman.
My mind scrambled for anything, any small detail. I could play dumb, pretend to be shy, or feign a sudden headache. But her eyes, those intelligent, piercing blue eyes, seemed to see right through me. It was like she was waiting for me to break character.
"Lost your tongue, dear?" she asked, a gentle smile now fully blooming on her face, softening the deep lines around her eyes. The raptor let out a soft whine, nuzzling its small head against her knee. "It's alright. Come closer. You look like you've seen a ghost... or perhaps just a very curious little friend." She gestured towards the garden path with a gnarled hand, inviting me in. The warmth in her voice, coupled with the endearing presence of the raptor, began to chip away at my panic, replaced by a cautious optimism. Maybe, just maybe, I didn't have to play a role after all.
I took a hesitant step forward, then another, until I stood just a few feet from her wheelchair. The scent of fresh soil and blooming herbs was stronger here, a comforting embrace. The raptor, seeing me approach, let out a soft chitter, a sound that oddly conveyed welcome. It hopped down from the garden bed and padded over to my feet, rubbing its furred body against my leg with an almost purring rumble, just as it had by the school wall.
The old woman watched this interaction, her smile widening. "Ah, so he likes you. That's a good sign. He doesn't take to just anyone." She paused, her gaze thoughtful. "You know, Aira, I was just thinking of you. I had a feeling you'd be along today. The spirits often whisper to me." Her eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief, or perhaps something more profound.
My brain stalled. "Spirits?" Was she a seer? A witch? And again, the casual familiarity of "Aira." How much did she know about the real Aira? My fingers twitched, a nervous habit. I felt a surge of desperation for any information, any clue about my predecessor's life, especially concerning this enigmatic woman. But the memories remained locked away, a frustrating blank slate. All I could do was try to appear as natural as possible, despite the chaos raging in my mind.
Before I could take a single step further, before I could even formulate a clumsy question or attempt a fake smile, the sharp, insistent peal of the school bell cut through the quiet forest air. It rang high and clear, echoing through the trees, a jarring reminder of the world I had escaped. Both the old woman and I heard it, our heads tilting slightly in unison.
Her smile faded a little, replaced by a knowing look. "Oh, looks like your class just ended, dear," she said, her voice tinged with a subtle understanding. "You should go back, otherwise you might get punished. You know how your school Master Elara gets about truancy."
That's what I needed. An excuse. A reason to flee this increasingly complicated situation without seeming rude or suspicious. "I will be leaving now!" I blurted out, without wasting a second, my voice perhaps a little too eager. I bowed my head quickly, a gesture I hoped conveyed respect and not just a desperate need to escape. Then, I turned on my heel and practically sprinted back the way I came, towards the hidden hole in the school wall, not daring to look back.
The old woman watched my hasty retreat, her bright blue eyes following my disappearing figure until I was swallowed by the dense foliage. A faint, puzzled frown creased her brow. "Weird," she murmured to herself, her gaze shifting to the captor, who was now looking up at her with its own curious, sapphire eyes. "Normally, Aira would just complain about going back to school and try to stay with me as long as she could, but today she got out of here without any complaining." She stroked the captor's head, her fingers gently ruffling its cream-colored fur. "What's happened today, I wonder. Such a strange day today is becoming. What do you think, Curu?" she asked the raptor, who, now named Curu, let out a soft chitter in response.
Her attention then shifted. "Oh, I forgot! I haven't fed you today, have I, Curu? Are you hungry? I should get you something to eat, shouldn't I?" She pushed the wheels of her chair, turning towards the hut's entrance. The front steps, however, posed an obvious barrier for a wheelchair. But as she reached them, she simply moved her gnarled hand upward, a subtle gesture in the air. Without a sound, the entire wooden wheelchair, with her seated in it, levitated smoothly upwards, floating effortlessly to the top of the staircase. She drifted gracefully through the doorway and out of sight.
At the very same time, completely oblivious to the brief, effortless display of what could only be magic, I reached the familiar cluster of bushes by the school wall. I plunged through them, found the hidden hole, and squeezed through it with renewed urgency. A moment later, I was back inside the school grounds, breathless but unnoticed, as if I had never left. The sounds of children shuffling around, ready for the next lesson, were a welcome, mundane reality after the surreal encounter in the forest.
I landed softly on the other side of the hole, scrambling to my feet. The dry, earthy scent of the forest was instantly replaced by the familiar faint smell of dust and old wood from the school grounds. The sounds of children shuffling around, a murmur of voices, and the distant clatter of something heavy were a stark contrast to the quiet of the woods. I was back.
I quickly pushed the concealing bush back into place, as if sealing away the fantastical interlude I'd just experienced. My heart was still thrumming, a mix of adrenaline and bewilderment, but the immediate crisis of getting caught outside had passed. No one seemed to have noticed my absence, or my clandestine return. The schoolyard was sparsely populated, indicating that the bell had indeed signaled the end of a class period, allowing me to slip back in amidst the general movement of students.
The mundane reality of the school hit me with a dull thud. Just moments ago, I was facing down a creature I could only describe as a raptor-cat i call captor, being spoken to by a mysterious old woman, and discovering a secret passage. Now, I was just another tardy student on a dusty schoolyard. The stark difference between the two worlds was jarring.
"Spirits often whisper to me," the old woman's voice echoed in my mind, a peculiar phrase that lingered. And then there was that odd creature, that raptor-cat, who seemed to be her companion. It was so unlike anything I'd ever imagined. My earlier cynical thoughts about a "magical world" still wavered on the edge of possibility, but nothing definitive had confirmed it. That creature, though, was certainly something.
A whirlwind of thoughts spun in my head. Who was that woman? How did she know "Aira"? What was that animal? And if such bizarre creatures existed, why was I stuck doing medieval math? The boring, mind-numbing lessons seemed even more unbearable now, a prison to my burgeoning curiosity. I glanced back towards the wall, a phantom itch to return to the forest and the mysteries it held. The school suddenly felt smaller, duller, a mere illusion compared to the vibrant, secret world just beyond its walls.
My legs, still burning from the sprint through the woods, carried me back to the designated punishment spot by the classroom door. I leaned against the rough stone wall, heavily panting, my chest heaving. The cool air was a welcome balm to my flushed face. Quickly, I started to dust off any stray leaves or dirt that might have clung to my rough uniform from my forest excursion, meticulously patting down my clothes to make it look like I hadn't moved an inch from this spot. I tried to calm my breathing, forcing my face into what I hoped was a picture of resigned boredom, not breathless excitement.
Moments later, the heavy wooden door creaked open, and the schoolmaster emerged. His stern gaze swept over me, lingering for a beat longer than necessary. I held my breath, trying to keep my poker face intact, despite the wild adventure I'd just had. He studied my slightly disheveled appearance, my still-racing heart, and the desperate attempt at nonchalance. He just sighed, a long, drawn-out sound that spoke volumes of his weariness with "Aira's" usual antics.
"Next time, just make sure to pay attention in class, alright?" he said, his voice flat, devoid of real anger, perhaps just resignation. He gestured towards the open classroom door with a flick of his hand, a silent command for me to go back inside and take my seat.
As I started to shuffle towards the door, a smug feeling began to bubble up. He doesn't suspect a thing! I am so sneaky! I thought, a triumphant grin threatening to break through my carefully maintained poker face. I was almost through the doorway, basking in my undetected genius, when his voice, sharper this time, cut through my self-congratulation.
"Oh, and Aira?"
I froze, one foot still hovering.
"Take off that leaf on your head."
My blood ran cold. My hand shot up, fingers brushing against something delicate and distinctly leafy nestled in my hair. I said nothing in return, too mortified to even stammer an excuse. My face burned as I walked the final few steps to my bench, head bowed in utter humiliation. I removed the offending leaf, a vibrant green, perfectly shaped oak leaf, and internally screamed into the void of my mind. So much for sneaky.
I slid onto the hard wooden bench, trying to make myself as small and invisible as possible. Elsie glanced at me, a silent question in her eyes, but I avoided her gaze, my cheeks still hot.
Another teacher, a woman with a kind but tired face, entered the classroom. She carried a single, worn scroll and announced, "Today, children, we will continue our studies of our kingdom's history, focusing on the lineage of the First King and the Great Unification."
I couldn't have cared less at that point. My mind was still replaying the old woman's knowing smile, the raptor's affectionate rub, and the tantalizing, unconfirmed possibility of magic. History? Lineages? My focus was already firmly fixed on the secret hole in the wall and the wild, unpredictable world that lay just beyond it.
I slid onto the hard wooden bench, trying to make myself as small and invisible as possible. Elsie glanced at me, a silent question in her eyes, but I avoided her gaze, my cheeks still hot.
Another teacher, a woman with a kind but tired face, entered the classroom. She carried a single, worn scroll and announced, "Today, children, we will continue our studies of our kingdom's history, focusing on the lineage of the First King and the Great Unification."
Blah, blah, blah, my mind droned.
the history teacher's voice a distant hum. My attention wasn't on the scroll or the droning recitation of ancient kings. It was on trying to make sense of everything I'd seen in this bizarre new world by comparing it to the knowledge of my old one.
The sheer weirdness of it all was baffling. On one hand, the architecture of the school, the rough-hewn tools, the basic farming methods back at the family farm, the communal hall classroom, even the lack of basic sanitation with that outhouse – it all screamed 1800s, maybe even earlier. The clothes were simple, made of coarse fabrics, and the general way of life felt like something out of a historical reenactment.
Yet, there were these strange, jarring inconsistencies. Elsie's clothes, though simple in cut, were surprisingly well-stitched, almost too neat for the supposed era. And that wooden wheelchair the old woman used, deep in the forest – it was remarkably functional, almost too well-engineered, its design efficient and precise in a way that defied the overall primitiveness. Then there was that raptor-cat, a creature that defied all biological understanding from my old world, implying either fantastical elements or a completely different evolutionary path I couldn't comprehend.
It was like this world's scientific progress was completely messed up. In some cases, it looked like the early 1800s, with simple tools and a lack of basic technology. But then, in others, there were these sudden leaps, like the engineering or even biological understanding was suddenly in the 1900s, or even beyond, without any of the foundational steps in between. It didn't make any sense. No steam engines, no electricity, no complex machinery, but what felt like advanced understanding in niche, unrelated areas. It was as if some parts of their knowledge had stagnated for centuries, while others had inexplicably surged ahead, creating a bizarre, frustrating patchwork of development.
This is just... numbers," I thought, picking at a loose thread on my rough uniform. "But if they have numbers like this, and they know about things like sanitation, then their scientific progress must be all over the place." I started mentally sifting through everything I'd seen and experienced in the last day.
On one hand, the houses were basically medieval. Mud, straw, wood. No electricity, no running water in every home, just that one central well and a bucket bath. The farming methods seemed ancient, too—manual labor, large, possibly mutated, chickens, and pigs wallowing in mud. That reeky compost bin outhouse was definitely a step back to the Dark Ages, if not even further. So, in many ways, this world felt like the 1800s, or even earlier.
But then... there was that proper bathroom at the house. The one with a rudimentary piping system and even wooden toothbrushes. That felt distinctly more advanced than a typical medieval setting, almost creeping into the early 1900s. And the language itself, the way they structured their sentences and the vocabulary they used, felt surprisingly refined, not at all like the rough dialects I'd expect from a purely agrarian, pre-industrial society.
And the school! They had a dedicated building for learning, and a formal curriculum, even if it was just boring math. That implied a level of societal organization and a valuing of education that seemed inconsistent with the general rural squalor. It was like their scientific and technological progress was a completely messed-up, patchwork quilt. They could grasp advanced concepts in some areas, almost touching on the early 1900s, while still living with the everyday realities of the 1800s.
This thought, this glaring contradiction, now consumed my internal monologue. I found myself staring out the narrow, slit-like window, lost in thought, tracing the distorted reflections of the classroom within the imperfect glass. And then I saw my own face staring back, the face of Aira. Her youthful features, framed by loose, dark hair, seemed to hold a silent question. This was my reality now. And this reality was a chaotic, perplexing mess of incongruous technology and whispered hints of the supernatural. Was this world built on different rules of physics? Or was there some hidden force, something akin to what I'd always called "magic," that influenced certain aspects of their development, explaining these bizarre leaps?
"Aira!"
The sharp, sudden sound of my name, laced with distinct exasperation, jolted me back to the present. My head snapped around. The history teacher stood before my bench, her kind face now creased with clear annoyance. She pointed a stern finger at the blackboard, where she'd been drawing a rudimentary timeline. "Were you paying any attention at all, child?" she asked, her voice tight. "Perhaps you can tell us the name of the First King's eldest son?"
My mind, still reeling from raptor-cats and anachronistic technology, was utterly blank. The blankness was far worse than the arithmetic now. This was the history of this world, a history I needed to know to survive, and I knew absolutely nothing. My silence stretched, a testament to my ignorance. The teacher's lips thinned.
"See me after class, Aira," she stated, her voice quiet but firm, a clear dismissal and another punishment. My shoulders slumped. It seemed no matter how many secret passages I found, or how many bizarre creatures I met, the mundane frustrations of this new life were inescapable. I spent the rest of the class period staring at the scratch marks on my desk, the words of the history lesson a meaningless drone against the clamor of my own thoughts. The day, it seemed, was determined to be a relentless series of humiliations and unanswered questions.
The history lesson eventually ground to a halt, a merciful end to what felt like an eternity of mental torture. As the teacher dismissed the class, the usual afternoon chaos erupted – benches scraping, children chattering, the collective sigh of relief. Elsie, ever diligent, quickly packed her slate, but before she could leave, she shot me a worried glance, her eyes flicking towards the teacher. I just offered a weak, tight-lipped smile in return. I knew the drill.
The other students filed out, their footsteps echoing down the narrow corridor. Soon, it was just me and the history teacher in the dimly lit classroom. She didn't look angry, just… disappointed. It was a look I was becoming intimately familiar with in this new life.
"Aira," she began, her voice soft, "you usually have a keen mind, even if you are prone to daydreaming. But today… you seemed miles away. Is everything alright?"
The question hung in the air, loaded with a concern I hadn't expected. How could I explain? Oh, you know, just trying to reconcile your medieval society with the fact that I'm from the future and found a secret passage to a magical raptor and a potentially magical old woman. Yeah, that wouldn't fly.
I mumbled something about being tired from farm chores, a flimsy excuse that even to my own ears sounded unconvincing. She sighed, her gaze softening slightly. "Well, I can't let your studies fall behind, Aira. You'll stay for a half-hour after school today, and we'll review the First King's lineage. No games, no distractions. Understood?"
I nodded, my stomach sinking. Another punishment. The irony was, I'd been planning to sneak back to the forest anyway. Now, my escape was delayed, a familiar chain of events in this strange, restrictive new existence.
The half-hour stretched on, agonizingly slow. The history teacher, to her credit, was patient, her voice a gentle murmur as she repeated names and dates. But my mind was a restless sea, churning with the day's discoveries.
The school's dull grey walls seemed to press in on me. My thoughts kept circling back to the raptor-cat and the old woman. The warmth in the woman's voice, the way she knew 'Aira', the affectionate rub of that strange creature – it was all so compelling. And the contradictions of this world still screamed in my head. Advanced engineering in a seemingly primitive society. A world that felt both archaic and oddly… sophisticated in unexpected ways. It didn't fit. None of it did.
Was the old woman merely eccentric, or was there something more to her 'whispering spirits'? And that creature, the raptor-cat, what was it? My imagination, long fueled by fantasy novels in my old life, began to churn. Was this the hint of the magic I'd so desperately hoped for? The kind that didn't involve complex symbols for numbers, but perhaps actual spells, or hidden powers?
The bell finally rang, startling me from my reverie. My half-hour was up. "Go on now, Aira," the teacher said, a faint smile on her face. "Try to get some rest."
I mumbled a quick thank you, grabbed my slate, and practically flew out of the classroom. The setting sun cast long shadows across the schoolyard, painting the mundane stone walls in hues of orange and purple. But my eyes were already fixed on the corner where the bush concealed my secret passage. This time, there would be no going back to the farm just yet. The forest, and its mysteries, called to me with an undeniable urgency.
The schoolyard was almost deserted now, the last few stragglers heading home. I wasted no time. My feet pounded across the dusty ground, heading straight for the familiar clump of bushes by the wall. I glanced around quickly – no teachers, no curious students. Good.
I dropped to my knees, pushing aside the thick leaves. The hidden hole seemed to beckon, a dark promise of adventure. Without a second thought, I wriggled through the narrow opening, feeling the rough stone scrape against my shoulders one last time. The air on the other side was instantly cooler, richer with the scent of damp earth and pine. I was out.
My feet pounded across the dusty ground, heading straight for the familiar clump of bushes by the wall. I glanced around quickly – no teachers, no curious students. Good. The secret passage beckoned, a dark promise of adventure.
But as I reached the edge of the bush, a different thought stopped me dead in my tracks. The sun, though still visible, was sinking fast, casting the schoolyard in long, stretching shadows. It was already evening. If I went into the forest now, I'd have to navigate my way back in the dead of night. The thought sent a chill down my spine. This wasn't some well-lit city park; it was a dense, forest, filled with unknown creatures and unseen obstacles. The magic, if it existed, could wait. I didn't fancy getting lost or worse, encountering whatever else lurked in the darkness.
And then, another, more practical concern asserted itself. My encounter with the old woman was still a gaping hole in my understanding. I had no idea what kind of relation this body's previous owner had with that old woman. Was she a friend? A relative? A mentor? If I stumbled back in there, completely ignorant of Aira's past interactions, I could easily reveal myself, and then who knew what consequences that might entail.
A spark of an idea ignited. The last time I'd needed crucial information about this world, about Aira's life, it had come to me in a dream. My initial memory of waking up in this body, and even that sudden flash of the arithmetic answer earlier, had felt like fragments surfacing from a deeper well.
"Maybe I'll regain this body's previous memory in my dreams, like the first time," I muttered to myself, a new plan forming. It was a safer bet than venturing into a dark, unknown forest.
So, instead of pushing through the rustling leaves to the hidden hole, I turned on my heel. With a sigh of resignation that was part disappointment, part relief, I walked towards the main gates of the school. They were no longer locked, allowing me to pass through easily. The thought of dinner at the farm, and the possibility of answers in my sleep, was a far more appealing prospect than facing the perils of the forest after dark. The mysteries could wait until tomorrow.