A bit over a week into his new life, David sat at the table, his legs swinging idly beneath him as he picked at a piece of flatbread, trying to keep his mind occupied.

  The warm glow of the hearth filled the small wooden hut, the flames flickering against stone-covered firepit, but they didn’t bring him comfort.

  He was growing restless. Yes, he had had some lessons with Aura, but that was just reading stories.

  Meanwhile, she kept disappearing into her shed for hours at a time, to work on alchemy no doubt, and he wasn’t even allowed to look.

  Currently, Aura was at the stove, stirring a pot of soup, her movements precise but lacking their usual flow. Her optimistic refinement, which David had grown rather accustomed to, was absent.

  His eyes drifted to the blacksmith, who sat at the other end of the room, sharpening a blade. His knowledge was less interesting, though David had never worked metal with his own hands.

  Bert did, and his secrets were free for David to view. Weirdly enough, the man also carried a different air that evening - Each stroke of the whetstone seemed heavier than the last, the scraping sound merging with the crackling of fire, filling the otherwise quiet space.

  Occasionally, Bert would glance at the door, his jaw tight, as though expecting someone to burst through at any moment.

  Something was off.

  David got to know them enough through the past week, that even he could recognize such blatant expressions of stress.

  The way Aura's hand lingered on the edge of the pot after she stirred, her gaze distant, or how the blacksmith’s fingers occasionally gripped the blade too tightly, ending up all white.

  He considered asking what was wrong, but his instincts told him to hold back.

  If the cause was something he should have already known, that could invite questions of its own. He didn’t want a repeat of the Sophie situation.

  Still, the tension in the room was suffocating. He tried to delicately prod his brain for some flashbacks. He didn’t want to break out in sweats out of nowhere, but he felt like he should have known whatever this was.

  A headache split his head, and a hotness enveloped his brain. The memory slipped in before he could think twice about it.

  His body witnessed similar sights dozens of times. Stress, anxiety in the evening. A rush and preparation in the morning. Sleeping through the whole day in a cellar… And then relief. Sometimes grief.

  Aura turned suddenly, carrying a steaming bowl of soup to the table. She set it down, bringing David back to the present.

  She smiled at him, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Eat up, Marco,” she said softly. “You’ll need your strength.” She hasn’t noticed his state.

  “For what?” The question slipped out before he could stop it.

  Aura bit her tongue, realizing she said that part out loud. She hesitated, her hand pausing on the back of his chair. She exchanged a glance with Bert, who shook his head slightly.

  “Oh, there’s going to be a longer night tomorrow, so you’ll be probably pretty bored inside.” she said after a moment, her tone forcedly cheerful. She ruffled his hair, but the gesture felt mechanical – well, that part he didn’t mind.

  David frowned but didn’t press further yet. If that was all there was to it, why would they be so stressed? If they didn’t want to tell him, he would figure it out himself anyway.

  For now, he focused on the borak soup. The purplish-red vegetable was a staple in their diet. It was kind of like a beetroot merged with a potato… But the taste was all over the place. It was sweet, starchy and with acidic undertones. It wasn’t bad, he actually quite liked it, but it did little to chase away the unease that had settled in his chest.

  After dinner, the routine felt rushed.

  Aura tidied up the dishes with quick, deliberate movements, while Bert disappeared into the smithy muttering something about having enough weapons to share.

  David sat near the fire, pretending to fiddle with a wooden toy he’d been given earlier in the week. In truth, he was watching for any signs or clues, piecing together what he could from their behavior.

  It wasn’t just stress—it was preparation. Aura’s quiet urgency in the way she polished the special brass vial thrice, the blacksmith’s hardened focus that continued even outside of his smithy...

  Something was coming, and they were bracing for it.

  When Aura finally noticed him watching, her expression softened, though her eyes remained shadowed. “Time for bed,” she said gently, taking his hand and guiding him toward the small bed he’d come to think of as his.

  As she tucked him in, David searched her face for answers, but she avoided his gaze, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “Sleep well, Marco,” she whispered, her voice trembling just enough for him to notice. He was on the verge of asking her directly – but hesitated.

  She gave him no second opening, quickly turning around to leave.

  David lay awake long after she left, his eyes closed, so Aura wouldn’t notice. The house creaked softly around him, the sound of footsteps and muted voices coming from the smithy.

  Whatever was happening, they didn’t want him to worry.

  And yet, despite the gentle fire crackling soothingly nearby, as he closed his eyes and tried to drift off, a gnawing sense of dread kept him anchored to the waking world.

  The longer he couldn’t sleep, the more he regretted not speaking his mind. But what could he have even said? ‘I’m a reincarnated adult man, tell me all your secrets?’. He silently laughed at himself.

  David stirred awake to the soft creaking of wood. Morning light filtered through the window, but it wasn’t the usual pale white—this light was warmer, richer, casting the room in an unusual yellow hue. He blinked groggily; his thoughts slow to catch up as both the smells and sounds of the crafting district filtered in. It’s… livelier than usual.

  Curiosity pried him from the warmth of his blanket. He slipped off the small bed and padded to the door, his bare feet brushing against the cool wooden floor.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  As he peeked outside, his breath caught. He saw Aura’s silhouette against the open front door to the neighboring building, her figure framed by the peculiar golden light – but it wasn’t just her.

  The sky was awash in a yellow so vibrant it felt surreal. The enormous moon hung in the sky, dominating the heavens in a slow, deliberate movement, its edges already encroaching on the sun. The scene was alien, awe-inspiring, and more than a little unnerving.

  “What is…” he started, but the words dried up in his throat.

  He started walking towards Aura and she glanced back at him “Oh, you’re up, Marco?” she said.

  She noticed his puzzled expression. “The Goddess is preparing to rest.” She waved at the sky.

  Goddess… resting? David frowned. The armored guard also mentioned it at the trader. Maybe it was important after all?

  Aura turned away and stepped toward the shed, where alchemical tools and materials were neatly arranged. She moved with purpose, her hands already reaching for vials and containers. “You can stay out here for a bit,” she said over her shoulder, her voice tight with distraction. “But don’t wander off.”

  His eyes drifted back to the sky. The yellow light felt heavy, unnatural, and yet he couldn’t stop staring.

  Was this the source of all that fear? What’s the big deal? It was just an eclipse—an explainable phenomenon.

  David glanced back towards the shed where Aura was working. She was bent over a table, carefully measuring colorful powders into bowls, almost as if she were counting them grain by grain.

  He walked up, clutched at her dress, as he was used to doing by now, and asked, “What are you doing?”

  “Not now, Marco,” she said sharply, her eyes never leaving her work. The edge in her voice stung, and for a moment, David felt a little pained.

  She paused, as though realizing the harshness of her tone, and turned to give him a brief, apologetic look. “Sorry. It’s just… there’s a lot to do. I’ll explain later… I’ll be doing something – difficult.”

  She turned briefly and ruffled his hair—a gesture that seemed more like muscle memory than genuine affection, as though trying to reassure him without pulling herself away from the task at hand.

  David watched her for a moment, unsure how to respond and for the first time in this world he felt… ignored.

  An image of a tall, cold woman crossed his mind, sending a shiver down his spine. “Why are you here? Go back to studying” a phantom voice echoed in his head. Not the first time a supposedly parental figure didn’t have time for him.

  Aura’s movements, usually measured and graceful, were hurried. The whole situation bothered him, and he really wanted some answers. The vision of getting turned away twice in a row stopped his hand mid motion.

  David stepped back, swallowing the lump in his throat. Why do I even care? She’s busy. People get busy. It’s not like it matters. Still, the ache in his chest refused to leave.

  Fine. If she didn’t want to explain, he wouldn’t ask. Folding his arms, he turned on his heel and walked away, his steps heavier than he wanted them to be.

  The whole village was sparkling with energy. Everyone suddenly had something to do. Almost everyone.

  A group of kids crossed his path. A girl with pink hair waved at him. She was around his age. Uncertain, he awkwardly raised his hand… Too slow.

  The girl’s face scrunched up and she walked away from him. Who was that? But no matter how hard he thought, he couldn’t remember. Perhaps he needed to get more used to his body.

  The sound of emotional chanting broke his stupor, pulling him away from his internal dissonance. David turned, realizing he had walked almost all the way to the square.

  A group of villagers gathered on the plot of flattened land. They surrounded the tall wooden pole, which was adorned with carved symbols; some parts newly painted in stark red. A totem.

  The villagers swayed as they sang, their voices blending into a mournful, almost wailing dissonance, their faces painted with morbid determination.

  The words were pleading – asking their goddess to deliver them. It evoked in him grief, longing. Feelings he was… intimately familiar with. Did someone die? Was someone going to die? David thought, concerned.

  Some of the villagers waved bundles of herbs, some were holding clay bowls from which colorful flames sent smoke curling upward in thin tendrils.

  The chant was led by an old, shriveled man. Supporting himself on a long stick, he swayed in tune with the singing, his voice hoarse and loud.

  A priest? David shook his head. Probably just some old guy who knew the lyrics by heart.

  At first, he found himself intrigued, appreciating the cultural depth of their ritual. Everyone sang their own interpretation of the same words, deeply engrossed in the emotions. Every part seemed rich with meaning; important.

  But as he kept watching, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong about those people. David scratched his itchy arms and shook his head. Superstitious nonsense. He knew better. The eclipse was no divine omen, no sign of wrath or grace—just a natural phenomenon, something explainable, predictable.

  As if to interrupt his thoughts, a prickling sensation intensified on his skin and no scratching made it go away. Something started to shift in the air – the golden light began to take on a deeper hue, the transition gradual yet impactful.

  He rubbed his arms harder – the prickling sensation grew and could no longer be dismissed. Static? Anxiety? No, not quite. His smugness faltered. It couldn’t be… Could it?

  David lingered a while longer near the group of villagers, pondering the weird sensation. The longer he watched, the harder it became to ignore the unease seeping into his chest. Is their ritual making me allergic?

  It wasn’t a painful feeling—more like an itch beneath his skin that refused to go away. And it kept getting stronger.

  David frowned - With a frustrated sigh, he decided to test a theory. If this weird sensation was caused by the damn totem, or whatever was on it, all he had to do was move away. He turned on his heel and started walking, leaving the chanting villagers behind.

  The prickling didn’t let up. No matter how far he wandered—Even all the way back home - past the smithy, or by the drying racks of the tanner’s yard—the sensation remained constant. It wasn’t tied to any specific spot or object.

  He passed by the shed where Aura worked, pausing to glance through the open door. She was hunched over her workbench, focused on some leather-bound book and oblivious to his presence.

  The blacksmith, meanwhile, stood by the forge, hammering away at glowing metal. Neither of them seemed to care about him. Rude.

  Not sure if happy or sad, that no one was paying attention, David moved farther out. He headed toward a small tree on the edge of the village, just by the palisade, hoping to get some peace and quiet.

  Once he reached it, he saw a new part of the village in front of him. The palisade was connected to about 50 meters of dirt fortifications.

  The mound of earth was uneven, parts of it still loose, logs half-buried. A work in progress.

  A group of people toiled there, unaffected by the general craze that seemed to take hold of everyone.

  “Used to be just goblins.” One said as he shoveled.

  “Yeah. Annoying little shits, but now… Ehh. Goddess damn them all.” another responded.

  David listened in from a distance. Goblins? Something worse? Just great.

  “Chins up, boys - trust in Brenn. Two years on the earthwork, and we’ll know peace again.” A larger woman chimed in.

  Again? There was some story to uncover here - the commander he saw at the traders’ seemed to be central in it. It was pivotal to understand as much as possible.

  David, torn between dangers and unknowns on multiple fronts, was starting to panic. He shook his head sharply. None of that matters now.

  He turned away from the workers. Focus.One thing at a time.

  First, the goddamn prickling.

  He sat down in the tree’s shade, the rough bark pressing against his back, and flexed his hands, his brow furrowed in thought. Maybe it’s on me somehow? Like a residue or powder? I’m getting to the bottom of this.