Aarav's first weeks in the village passed in a blur of new words and unfamiliar customs. Each morning, he woke to find Leya or another villager waiting to continue his education in their language. They pointed to objects, demonstrated actions, and corrected his pronunciation with surprising patience. His former programmer's mind, accustomed to learning new coding languages and systems, proved adept at recognizing patterns and building vocabulary.
"Vasha," Leya said one morning, pointing to a wooden bucket of water. Then she dipped her hand in and splashed a few drops on her face. "Vasha-tir," she added, making a drinking motion.
"Water versus drinking water," Aarav murmured to himself, noting the modifier. He was beginning to understand how suffixes and prefixes functioned in their language, creating a flexible system that could express complex ideas with relatively few root words.
By the end of his second week, Aarav could form simple sentences. His speech was halting and imperfect, but the villagers seemed to appreciate his efforts. Some, like Leya and Guraan, responded with encouraging nods. Others, particularly the broad-shouldered woman who had first warned him away—Maetha, he'd learned—maintained their distance, watching him with wary eyes.
In quiet moments, Aarav reflected on the strange absence of dreams. Throughout his previous life, his sleep had been filled with vivid dreamscapes—product of an overactive mind, his mother had always said. Here, nights passed in darkness, his consciousness simply vanishing between laying down and awakening. The void felt unnatural, as if some essential part of himself remained locked away.
During his third week, Aarav began participating in the village's daily routines. He joined groups collecting firewood, helped mend sections of the palisade wall, and assisted with tending the communal garden plots. The physical labor felt surprisingly satisfying in his new body, which responded with strength and endurance beyond what he'd known in his previous life.
"Ketha-nel," explained an elderly woman named Darra, showing him how to identify edible fungi growing on fallen logs. She demonstrated which ones were safe by touching them to her lips, then spitting into the dirt. "Vasha-ketha," she warned, making a retching gesture when pointing to similar-looking mushrooms with subtle differences.
Through these practical lessons, Aarav gleaned crucial cultural information. He noticed how younger villagers deferred to elders, how hunters received the most respect among men while healers and weavers seemed to hold equivalent status among women. He observed how food was shared, with specific portions reserved for different members of the community based on their contribution and need.
One evening, as the village gathered around the central fires, Aarav witnessed his first festival. The celebration marked the final harvest before winter—or at least, what he presumed was winter, though the climate seemed more temperate than harsh. Villagers wore colorful woven bands around their wrists and ankles, decorated with small bells that chimed as they moved.
"Shala-vey," Leya explained, showing him how to weave his own band from colored threads. "For good fortune," she added in their language, which he understood now with moderate confidence.
He watched as different groups performed ritualistic dances around the fires. Children skipped in circles, mimicking the planting of seeds. Young men and women enacted a stylized hunt, their movements telling a story of pursuit and capture. Elders sang deep, resonant songs that made the air itself seem to vibrate with meaning.
When a group of middle-aged villagers began a solemn procession, Guraan leaned close to Aarav. "They honor the varekai," he said in their language, his pronunciation deliberately slow for Aarav's benefit.
"Varekai," Aarav repeated carefully. "The word I heard before. What does it mean, exactly?"
Guraan considered for a moment, searching for simple words. "Blessed ones," he finally said. "Those who carry special gifts."
That night, Aarav dreamed for the first time since arriving in this world.
In the dream, he stood at the center of the village, but the familiar surroundings were overlaid with ghostly blue interfaces—translucent screens showing information in organized categories. Above each hut floated symbols indicating the number of occupants, their health status, and what appeared to be a measure of their contentment. Over the community garden, numbers hovered showing growth rates and yield projections. The palisade wall was highlighted in red, with specific sections marked as structurally weak.
When Aarav reached out to touch one of the interfaces, his fingers passed through it. He tried to speak commands, but the displays remained static, unresponsive to his attempts to interact. It was as if he were seeing a system designed for his use but locked behind an invisible barrier.
At the edge of his vision, a pulsing notification drew his attention: "Authority Level: Insufficient. Requirements not met."
He woke with a jolt, the morning sun filtering through the window of his hut. Unlike typical dreams that faded upon waking, every detail remained crystal clear in his mind. He pressed his fingers against his forehead, trying to recapture the sensation of seeing the world through that informational overlay.
"A game interface," he murmured to himself. "Like something I would have designed."
As his fourth week in the village began, Aarav's language skills had progressed enough for more substantial conversations. During a morning meal, he found himself seated beside a weathered man named Kovan, who tended the village's sheep.
"The blessing came to me as a boy," Kovan explained when Aarav carefully asked about the varekai. "I can feel the health of the animals. If one sickens, I know before any signs show." He tapped his chest. "I feel it here."
Over the following days, Aarav deliberately sought out others identified as varekai. There was Senna, a middle-aged weaver whose threads never broke and whose patterns were said to sometimes predict future events. Vordath, a young hunter whose arrows found their mark even in darkness or fog. Elissa, a quiet woman who could locate underground water sources by feeling vibrations through her feet.
"Some believe all strangers are varekai," Leya told him one afternoon as they gathered kindling in the safe area just beyond the palisade. "That is why some fear you."
"Am I varekai?" Aarav asked, struggling slightly with the pronunciation.
Leya studied him with her resin-colored eyes. "Perhaps. But your blessing has not shown itself yet."
Aarav thought of his dream but remained silent. If these "blessings" typically manifested as practical skills, what would it mean to have one that displayed information no one else could see?
Later that week, Aarav noticed inefficiencies in the village's water collection system. Rain and morning dew were gathered in shallow basins, but much evaporated before it could be used. Drawing on basic principles of physics, he constructed a demonstration model using clay pots, animal hides, and wooden troughs.
"Water flows downward," he explained to Guraan and several other villagers, showing how his arrangement created a passive collection system that reduced evaporation and filtered out debris. "If we build larger versions here, here, and here," he continued, pointing to strategic locations throughout the village, "we can collect twice the water with less effort."
His audience appeared skeptical, but Guraan nodded thoughtfully. "Make one full-sized version," the elder said. "If it works as you claim, we will consider more."
The project took three days of labor, with several villagers reluctantly assisting. When completed, Aarav's system channeled morning dew and rainfall into a central ceramic reservoir, covered to prevent evaporation. By the end of the first week, it had collected more water than the traditional methods, while requiring less daily maintenance.
"It works," Maetha grudgingly acknowledged, examining the clear water in the reservoir. "But how did you know it would?"
Aarav considered how to explain concepts like gravity, condensation, and surface tension without the vocabulary. "In my... homeland," he finally said, choosing his words carefully, "we study how water moves. This design uses that knowledge."
That night, he dreamed again of interfaces and data. This time, he could see resource flows throughout the village—who consumed what, where surpluses and shortages existed. A blinking indicator showed his recently constructed water system highlighted in green, with projections showing how it would improve village sustainability by 7% during dry seasons.
Again, when he tried to interact with the displays, text appeared: "Authority Level: Initial Recognition Achieved. Continued Progress Required."
During the fifth week, Aarav joined a training session with the village's defenders. Though not invited to participate, he observed closely, noting their techniques and formations—or rather, their lack of formal organization.
"You fight alone," he said afterward to Tordak, who appeared to lead the training. "Against many enemies, fighting together is stronger."
Tordak, a scarred man with arms like tree trunks, laughed dismissively. "Show me," he challenged.
Drawing on his knowledge of historical military tactics, Aarav arranged six younger defenders in a simple shield wall formation. He demonstrated how they could interlock their wooden shields and advance as a unit, protecting each other while maintaining offensive capability.
"Now attack them," he instructed Tordak and two other experienced fighters.
The demonstration began chaotically, but even with their inexperience, the shield wall effectively repelled the individual attackers. After several attempts, Tordak called a halt, his expression thoughtful rather than mocking.
"There is wisdom in this," he admitted. "But such tactics require practice and discipline."
"Yes," Aarav agreed. "But they multiply strength. Six defenders can hold against ten attackers."
Word of the demonstration spread quickly. That evening, Guraan summoned Aarav to the central meeting hut, where several village leaders had gathered.
"You bring strange knowledge," said an elderly woman Aarav recognized as Satha, who served as the village's head healer. "Knowledge that may benefit us as winter approaches."
Guraan nodded solemnly. "We would have you serve as advisor to Tordak on matters of defense, and to Vella on matters of water and growing."
Aarav recognized the significance of the offer—a position of responsibility, a place within their hierarchy. "I am honored," he replied, bowing his head as he had seen others do when showing respect. "I will serve with all my knowledge."
The following day, Aarav underwent a simple ceremony marking his new position. Guraan painted symbols on his forehead with ochre clay, while Satha tied a braided cord around his left wrist—blue for water, green for growth, and red for defense.
"Speak truth to those you advise," Guraan instructed him before the assembled villagers. "See with clear eyes. Think with an open mind."
Aarav repeated the words as directed, feeling the weight of each promise. He noticed Maetha watching from the edge of the gathering, her expression still guarded but less openly hostile than before.
Later, Leya explained the significance of his new quarters—a small but well-constructed hut closer to the village center, previously occupied by an advisor who had died the previous winter.
"It is a position of honor," she told him. "But also of responsibility. If your counsel proves wrong, the consequences fall on you as well."
That night, his dreams were more vivid than ever. The system interface now showed additional information—individual villagers' skills and potential, building structural integrity, resource depletion rates. He could see which defenders had the strongest combat aptitude, which fields would yield the most crops, which areas of the palisade needed reinforcement.
This time, when he tried to access specific information about defense strategies, a new message appeared: "Partial Access Granted: Advisory Level."
He woke with perfect recall of optimal patrol patterns, vulnerability assessments, and training regimens that would maximize the village's defensive capabilities.
A week into his new role, Aarav joined a small expedition beyond the palisade. Tordak led a group of six, including Aarav, to harvest a particular type of wood needed for reinforcing structures before winter storms. They ventured deeper into the forest than Aarav had gone before, following a narrow trail that wound between ancient trees.
"Stay alert," Tordak warned. "Neyar-shil hunt these woods."
Aarav remembered the warning symbols on Guraan's map. "What are neyar-shil?" he asked, keeping his voice low.
"Shadow-claws," Leya translated, having accompanied them as a gatherer. "They hunt by scent and move silently."
"Like wolves?" Aarav asked, trying to picture the threat.
Tordak made a dismissive sound. "Wolves we can fight. Neyar-shil..." He made a slashing motion across his throat.
They worked efficiently, cutting straight saplings and binding them into bundles. As they prepared to return to the village, a distant howl echoed through the trees—not the familiar call of wolves, but something higher, almost metallic in its resonance.
"Neyar-shil," Tordak hissed. "Move quickly, stay together."
As they hurried back toward the village, Aarav felt a strange pressure building behind his eyes. His vision blurred momentarily, then sharpened with startling clarity. Superimposed over the forest, he saw the same blue interface from his dreams—but this time, he was awake.
A pulsing red indicator showed movement approaching from their left flank, a distance counter rapidly decreasing. Without thinking, Aarav grabbed Tordak's arm.
"There," he said urgently, pointing through the trees. "Something approaches. Fast."
Tordak's eyes widened. "How do you—"
Before he could finish, a massive shape burst from the underbrush—a creature like an enormous feline, but with six limbs and skin that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Its eyes glowed with amber malevolence.
"Formation!" Tordak shouted, and the defenders quickly arranged themselves as Aarav had taught them.
The neyar-shil circled them, moving with unnatural speed. It lunged at a gap between shields, only to be driven back by coordinated spear thrusts. Snarling, it retreated, reassessing.
In Aarav's enhanced vision, he could see the creature's vital points highlighted, its movement patterns predicted by glowing trails. A suggested counter-strategy appeared before his eyes: "Enclose circle. Force retreat path toward village palisade. Alert guards."
"Close the circle," Aarav called out. "Force it toward the village where others can help."
Tordak shot him a questioning look but nodded sharply. "Do as he says!"
The defenders tightened their formation, angling their approach to herd the creature. The neyar-shil made two more attempts to break through before retreating along the very path Aarav's interface had predicted.
As they approached the village, warning horns sounded. The creature, finding itself confronted by more defenders at the palisade, gave a final screeching howl before disappearing into the forest.
"How did you know?" Tordak demanded once they were safely inside the walls. "How did you know it was there before any of us sensed it?"
Aarav hesitated, unsure how to explain what he'd experienced. "I... felt it," he finally said. "Like Kovan feels his sheep."
Tordak studied him intently, then clasped his shoulder. "Perhaps you are varekai after all."
That evening, the village buzzed with talk of the encounter. Aarav found himself the center of attention as Tordak recounted how his warning and strategy had prevented injuries or worse.
"The stranger sees what we cannot," the defense leader concluded. "His eyes pierce shadows."
Guraan approached Aarav as the gathering dispersed. "Now you understand," the elder said quietly.
"Understand what?"
"Vathis mer neyara. Keya shil varekai," Guraan replied. With his improved language skills, Aarav could now translate: "Darkness comes. The blessed ones lead."
Later, alone in his new quarters, Aarav stared at his hands, trying to summon the interface he'd seen in the forest. Nothing appeared, but he now understood that the ability wasn't just a dream—it was real, if unpredictable.
He picked up a piece of charcoal and began sketching on a flat piece of bark—a crude map of the village as seen from above. Unconsciously, he organized it like a strategy game interface, marking resource nodes, defensive positions, and population centers.
"Not just a game designer anymore," he murmured to himself. "Now I'm a player."
Outside, beyond the palisade, something moved in the darkness. The neyar-shil—or perhaps something else—watched and waited, as if sensing that the balance of power had shifted ever so slightly.
Aarav continued his mapping, unaware that with each stroke of charcoal, he was not merely recording the village but beginning to shape its future. In time, he would understand that his "blessing" was not merely to see, but to build—to transform this world using knowledge from another.
But for now, he was content to have found his first foothold on the long climb to leadership.