Grandpa Max let me live with him when he found out I was an orphan. Days bled into weeks, and my life slowly settled into a rhythm I never thought I'd have again. A rhythm that was, for the first time in both my lives, not dictated by spreadsheets, heart monitors, or the sound of my stomach growling.
Home was now a creaky little cabin at the edge of the woods, where the walls whistled on windy nights and the floorboards groaned like an old man's knees. Family… well, my family… was a single person: Grandpa Max. A grumbling, scarred, half-broken knight who complained about everything but never once told me to leave.
It wasn't glamorous, but it was ours.
Grandpa was a master of the blade. He could cut firewood so cleanly the logs looked like they'd been split by magic. He swung a sword with the kind of casual grace that made it seem like part of him. Meanwhile, I was a master of… the cleaning cloth. I polished, swept, cooked, and scrubbed until the cabin shone. If he was a storm, I was housekeeping. Together, we made a surprisingly effective team.
One morning, the cabin smelled heavenly. Fried eggs sizzled, and golden toast crisped over the fire.
"Grandpa! Breakfast is ready!" I called, careful not to burn myself.
He shuffled out of his room, hair sticking up at odd angles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Then he froze in the doorway, staring at the neatly set table, steaming plates, and spotless shelves.
"Boy," he said, voice gruff but surprised. "You really are something else. How do you do all this? You're only eight."
I shrugged, sliding the plate onto the table. "Let's just say I've got experience. A lot of… bachelor living."
Not that I could explain the truth that in my past life, I was basically a forty-year-old accountant married to his microwave.
Grandpa sat down, fork in hand, staring at the food like it might vanish. Then, with a grunt of approval, he dug in.
As we ate, I watched him. For a man who grumbled constantly, he sure ate with gusto.
"So, Grandpa," I asked between bites, "what's on the agenda today? Chopping wood? Hunting rabbits? Going fishing? Please tell me it's fishing. I look great in a fishing pose."
He finished his coffee, wiped his mouth, and jerked a thumb toward the door. "A horde of beasts was spotted on the other side of town. I'll take care of it."
I froze, fork halfway to my mouth. "Take care of it? As in… kill them? Wait... you really were a knight? I thought you were just a professional grumbler."
He chuckled dryly, reaching for his old sword on the wall. The blade was nicked and worn but still sharp. "Former knight. Half-decent one at that."
"Why you, though? Shouldn't the town have knights or adventurers?"
"This town's too small. No knights, no guild, no adventurers passing through. Just me." He strapped the blade to his waist. "I kill them, sell the beast crystals. That's how I earn."
And just like that, he was gone.
While he was away, I threw myself into chores like a man on a mission. I swept the porch, scrubbed the dishes, and reorganized the shelves (again). I caught sight of myself in a cracked mirror hanging crookedly on the wall.
I leaned closer. Dark brown hair matching my brown eyes, skin healthier than it had ever been in my first life. My cheeks still had that boyish roundness, but there was color in them now, life.
"Wow," I whispered, running a hand across my smooth cheek. "I do look good cleaned up. Way better than… well…" I winced at the memory of my past-life reflection: balding, tired, permanently in 'spreadsheet face.' "Definitely an upgrade."
I flexed in the mirror, holding the broom like a sword. "Fear me, beasts! I am Alden the Sweeper, bane of dust and destroyer of cobwebs!"
The broom slipped out of my hand and clattered to the floor. I sighed. "Okay, maybe not bane of anything yet."
By the time the sun dipped low and painted the trees gold, Grandpa Max returned. His boots were caked with mud, his clothes carried the faint smell of smoke and ale, and his shoulders sagged.
"Welcome back," I said, stirring a pot of stew. "Please tell me you didn't bring goblin friends for dinner."
"All dead," he muttered, lowering himself onto the porch with a sigh.
"Good. I'm not ready to cook goblin yet. I don't even know if they pair better with salt or garlic."
He smirked, shaking his head, then sat outside with a bottle in hand. Not rowdy drinking, like the kind I'd seen in the streets. His was quiet, thoughtful. Almost… reverent.
I hesitated before stepping onto the porch. "Grandpa, you're not… drinking too much again, right?"
He looked up, eyes tired but clear. "No, kid. Just… a little." He gestured to the spot beside him. "Sit."
I obeyed, plopping down next to him. The night air was cool and fresh, filled with the scent of damp earth and the soft chorus of crickets.
"So," I asked, nudging him with my elbow, "how was the extermination? Not too hard? Goblins didn't gang up and steal your lunch money, did they?"
"It was nothing," he said with a deep sigh. "Just goblins." His gaze wandered to the dark line of trees.
Silence stretched between us. Then curiosity pushed me to speak. "You really were a knight, huh? But… why live out here all alone?"
For a moment, I thought he wouldn't answer. Then he drew a long, shaky breath.
"Yes," he said quietly. "I was a knight. A captain, actually. In the Royal Knights of Atlas."
My jaw dropped. A captain? My grumpy, drunken, broom-sword-rescuing Grandpa was once a captain in the kingdom's most prestigious order?
"Whoa," I whispered. "So, basically… you're a total badass?"
Grandpa let out a humorless laugh. His eyes glistened in the dim light. "If I was a badass, maybe my family would still be alive."
My breath caught.
He continued, voice breaking. "I was away on a mission. Saving strangers, protecting people I didn't even know. And when I came back… my wife and children were gone. Killed by beasts. I wasn't there to save them." His hand trembled as he lifted the bottle. "I abandoned the kingdom after that. Couldn't wear the armor anymore. Couldn't bear the weight."
The air grew heavy, the forest itself holding its breath.
I didn't say anything. What could I? Instead, I stayed there, sitting beside him, letting him know he wasn't alone.
After a while, he wiped at his eyes. "But you, boy… when you showed up, something changed. I don't know how, but your presence… it makes the weight easier. I still feel guilty. I always will. But with you here… it's bearable."
My chest tightened, warmth flooding me. He didn't know it, but I understood. My "Aura of Belonging," that strange ability, was at work. It wasn't magic or mind control, but it calmed people. Gave them comfort. Made them feel safe and connected.
Later that night, lying on my straw bed, I thought about his words.
In this world, some were born with extraordinary gifts—mages, healers, beast-talkers, warriors with strange bloodlines. I wasn't a fighter. I wasn't strong, not yet. But maybe the universe had given me something else. A small, quiet gift.
Not flashy. Not powerful. But mine.
My own way of protecting the people I cared about.
Maybe… just maybe… this was why the universe spun the wheel and dropped me here.