Khisa stepped hesitantly out of the small hut, his heart pounding. The events of last night were still fresh in his mind. Would he find a world just as terrifying as the one he had woken up to?
But what he saw was... ordinary.
Won sat under the shade of a large tree, weaving mats and chatting in hushed tones. Young n gathered their spears, preparing to take the cattle for grazing. Children ran barefoot through the dust, their laughter ringing through the morning air.
The sight caught him off guard. He had expected more hostility, suspicion—sothing. Instead, life moved on, as if his arrival had been nothing more than a ripple in a vast river. A sense of calm settled over him, the village's rhythm lulling his nerves. Hadn't this been the kind of peace he longed for in the city? A world where people weren't just surviving but living?
He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. A small smile tugged at his lips.
"Khisa! Are you feeling better?" a young girl chirped, no older than nine. Her clothes were thin, just like his, but her eyes shone with unbothered joy.
He nodded, mirroring her smile. "Yeah, I think I am."
Thanks to the system, he spoke the language fluently, though the words still felt foreign on his tongue. He'd learn their nas in ti. But for now, playing like a child again didn't seem like such a terrible idea.
As he joined the other kids, a thought lingered in the back of his mind. Could he really protect this world? Their innocence, their joy—it all felt so fragile. A silent vow ford within him.
I won't let anything take this away.
"Khisa, your father is calling."
His mother's voice rang out from the largest hut, pulling him away from the children's laughter. His heart skipped a beat. He hadn't spoken much to his father yet—not since waking up in this strange new life.
Taking a deep breath, he jogged toward the hut, stepping inside cautiously.
The room was dimly lit, the scent of burning wood hanging in the air. Seated on a slightly elevated chair was his father, Lusweti, the village chief. The flickering light cast deep shadows over his stern face. There was an unshakable strength in the way he carried himself, the kind of presence that commanded respect without needing to ask for it.
Khisa straightened his back. "You called, Father?"
His father studied him for a long mont, his sharp eyes searching for sothing in his son's face. Did he suspect sothing was off? Did he know this wasn't really his son?
"Does your head still hurt?" Lusweti asked at last, his voice rough like the bark of an ancient tree.
Khisa blinked. He had expected a lecture or a test, not concern.
"No," he answered, shaking his head. "I'm alright."
A slow nod. Then, his father exhaled deeply, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. "Good. Your mother was worried sick. I am glad the ancestors showed rcy."
Ancestors. The word felt foreign to Khisa's modern mind, but there was reverence in his father's tone that made him hesitate before dismissing it.
"You are my only son," Lusweti continued, his gaze turning firm again. "You will inherit my position one day. To take care of this village, you must be both strong and wise."
The weight of those words pressed down on Khisa like a boulder. He had been a lawyer in his past life, not a leader of n. He didn't know how to rule a village, how to make life-and-death decisions. But he would learn. He had to.
A slow grin stretched across his face. "Don't worry, Father. I'll be an even better ruler than you are. Just wait and see."
For a second, silence filled the space between them. Then, to his surprise, Lusweti let out a loud, rumbling laugh.
"You little fool," he chuckled, shaking his head. Before Khisa could react, a heavy hand smacked the back of his head—not hard, but enough to make him stumble forward.
Khisa rubbed the spot, grinning. His father patted his shoulder, his touch lingering.
"We will see about that, idiot." The warmth in his tone was subtle, but it was there. "Now go to your mother before she drives mad with her worrying. You were playing the whole day while she nearly lost her mind."
Khisa laughed softly, ducking out of the way before his father could swat him again. He had expected only harshness from this man, but what he found instead was care—buried deep, but unmistakable.
His mother, Nanjala, wasted no ti smothering him the mont he stepped out of the hut.
"Oh, my son! I thought the spirits had taken you!" she cried dramatically, wrapping him in a tight embrace.
Khisa stiffened at first. In his past life, affection had been rare. His parents had never been the type to show warmth so openly. But this... this was different. This was love, unfiltered and overwhelming.
Slowly, he let himself relax into her embrace. Maybe this wasn't so bad either.
That night, Khisa lay on his uncomfortable mat, staring at the thatched roof above him. The world outside was vast and full of dangers. His father was right—he had to be strong.
He closed his eyes. "System?"
A soft chi echoed in his mind.
[What can I do for you today, Khisa?]
"What is the best way to help the village?"
Despite his skills as a lawyer, he knew next to nothing about survival, agriculture, or engineering. How could he take a struggling village and turn it into sothing greater?
[You have access to my knowledge database, but your growth depends on your ability to apply it. I can provide guidance, techniques, and even instructional visuals, but I cannot build for you—I cannot lead for you. Progress must co from your own hands.]
Khisa frowned. "So, no shortcuts?"
[No shortcuts. But with ti and effort, even a single idea can change the future.]
He exhaled, thinking. "Where do I start?"
[You need to bring progress. Right now, this village is vulnerable. If an enemy ca, they could wipe it out with little effort. I suggest starting simple—teach them how to make bricks. Once they trust your knowledge, you can introduce bigger ideas.]
He smirked. "That doesn't sound simple at all."
[You have . Anything you need to learn, I can teach you. But rember, knowledge alone is not enough—you must earn their trust.]
A chuckle escaped him. "In that case... you need a na."
The system was more than a tool—it had a voice, a presence. Calling it simply 'System' felt... wrong.
"How about Ayaan? It ans 'God's gift.'"
For the first ti, the system's voice softened.
[That is a beautiful na, Khisa.]
Sothing in its tone was different. Almost... human. Khisa smiled, letting his exhaustion pull him into sleep.
Tomorrow, everything would begin.
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