"Wake up, boy! Dawn's already here."
The sharp voice of the inn's wife sliced through my half-dreaming state like a blade. My eyes snapped open to the dim glow of morning seeping through the cracks of the storage room door.
I sat up quickly, my body protesting with a dull ache. My limbs felt heavy, and my back was stiff from sleeping on the thin straw mat. In my previous life, I could sleep on jagged rocks and rise without a single discomfort. Now, even a mat left my muscles sore.
"Don't just sit there like a stunned duck," she snapped again from outside. "The dishes won't clean themselves!"
"Yes, ma'am," I replied automatically, pulling myself to my feet.
I stepped out of the storage room, blinking against the soft golden light spilling through the dining hall windows. The inn was quiet, but the scent of freshly baked bread and simmering broth filled the air. My stomach growled, but I ignored it.
The kitchen was warm and humid. Piles of wooden bowls and clay cups filled the washing basin. The inn's wife thrust a rag and brush into my hands.
"Wash them well. Any leftover grease and you'll redo them all."
"Yes, ma'am."
I began scrubbing, dipping the dishes into hot water and scrubbing them with trembling hands. The heat bit into my fingers, and my wrists ached from the repetitive motions. Before, my hands could crush boulders with ease. Now, they trembled under the weight of soaked wood.
As I worked, the innkeeper entered, carrying a sack of potatoes over his shoulder. He glanced at me scrubbing away and let out a quiet hum.
"She's strict, but her food's the best in the village," he said with a small smile. "Endure it, boy. Hard work builds strength."
Strength… I used to think strength was power. Magic. Flames. The ability to command armies and erase mountains with a single strike. But this… this was a different kind of strength.
By the time I finished, the sun had fully risen. My arms burned with exhaustion. I wiped sweat from my forehead, feeling it drip down my cheek. The inn's wife inspected the dishes one by one. After what felt like hours, she finally nodded.
"Hmph. Decent enough," she said curtly. "Go out back. The innkeeper needs help chopping firewood."
Chopping wood. That should be easy, I thought. Back then, I could cleave entire forest groves with a single swing of my tail. But when the innkeeper handed me the axe, I nearly dropped it from the weight.
"Careful," he chuckled, steadying it in my hands. "Use your whole body, not just your arms."
I planted my feet, raised the axe shakily, and brought it down onto the log. The blade embedded itself half an inch deep. My arms trembled violently. The innkeeper chuckled again.
"Try again. Breathe with the swing."
I gritted my teeth and raised the axe once more. Sweat dripped into my eyes, and my shoulders burned. But I swung again. And again. And again.
By midday, my body felt like it was falling apart. My palms were red and blistered. My back screamed with pain every time I straightened. Yet, as I placed the last chopped log onto the stack, a small sense of pride flickered within me.
"Good work," the innkeeper said, patting my shoulder with his large, calloused hand. "Wash up. My wife saved you some stew."
I blinked. "She… saved food for me?"
He chuckled softly. "She's strict, but she's not heartless."
Inside, a small bowl of thick stew simmered on the stove. The inn's wife handed it to me without a word, her sharp gaze looking away awkwardly. I sat at the corner of the kitchen and tasted it.
The warmth spread through my chest instantly. The rich flavour of root vegetables, bits of salted pork, and fragrant herbs was unlike anything I ever tasted in my past life. Back then, food was just fuel to maintain power. Now, it felt… comforting.
I finished every drop, my body shaking with relief. As I placed the empty bowl down, I felt a smile tug at my lips.
This human life… it was humiliating. Weak. Painful. But… it had warmth that my old life never had.
As the sun set, I helped sweep the dining hall and close the wooden shutters. Outside, the cicadas sang their evening song, and a gentle breeze cooled the humid air.
I sat by the window, looking out at the orange sky darkening into twilight. The villagers were returning to their homes, carrying baskets of harvested vegetables and laughing softly with their families.
This is… the world I never understood.
I clenched my hands tightly. They were small, blistered, and red. But they were hands that worked for food, for survival, and someday… perhaps for someone else's sake too.
"Tomorrow," I whispered to myself, "I'll swing that axe without trembling."
For now, that was enough.