Ethan Vale paused at the edge of the village, his boots pressing into soft, uneven dirt, heart beating against his ribs like a hammer on an anvil. Before him lay Lornridge Village, small but alive, nestled at the base of rolling green hills. The sunlight caught the thatched roofs of its huts, making them glow faintly gold, and the gentle wind stirred the long grass, sending waves that rippled toward him like a welcoming gesture.
He swallowed, feeling both excitement and awkwardness knot together in his chest. After all he'd experienced—his life in the human world, the accident, the explosion, and the awakening in this strange new place—he had expected chaos. But what greeted him now was a serene, almost fragile peace.
He breathed deeply, letting the air fill his lungs. There was the faint scent of flowers, mingling with smoke from cooking fires and the subtle tang of woodsmoke from blacksmiths' forges in the distance. Somewhere, chickens clucked, and the soft babble of a stream joined the village's low hum of life. Everything was alive, but calm.
The system hovered silently at the edge of his perception, waiting for his command. He exhaled slowly.
"System," he said, voice steady despite the flutter in his chest, "display village information."
A translucent panel appeared before him, shimmering faintly with blue light:
Settlement Name: Lornridge Village
Population Estimate: ~150
Dominant Species: Human
Notable Guilds: Hunters' Guild, Craftsmen's Circle, Adventurers' Guild (inactive)
Trade Goods: Grains, herbs, tools, crafted woodworks
Threat Level: Low
Ethan studied it, blinking in quiet awe. Even simple information here carried weight. A peaceful village with guilds meant order, opportunity, and a network of people whose lives he could begin to explore.
He stepped onto the dirt path leading toward the village center. Each step brought the village into sharper focus. Small gardens bordered the homes, vibrant with flowers he didn't recognize: deep purple petals veined with turquoise, some that glimmered faintly in the morning light. Bees with iridescent wings drifted lazily among the blooms, buzzing a gentle, droning harmony.
Children darted across the path, laughing as they chased a brown-feathered bird. Their shoes were cracked, their clothes patched in mismatched squares, but their energy was raw and alive. Watching them, Ethan felt a small warmth in his chest, a flicker of the kind of simple joy he hadn't allowed himself in years.
Nearby, a silver-haired woman stirred a pot over a small fire, her hands moving with practiced grace. She wore plain, earth-toned clothing, and her sleeves were rolled up to reveal forearms strengthened by years of labor. When she noticed Ethan, she straightened, observing him with a mixture of curiosity and caution.
"Traveler," she said, voice calm and deliberate, "you do not appear to be from here."
"I'm… not," Ethan replied carefully, smiling slightly. "My name is Ethan Vale. I just… arrived here."
Her brow arched slightly, but her tone was warm. "Most who arrive do so with purpose. Some with destiny."
Ethan couldn't help but smile at that. "Destiny sounds heavy," he said, glancing around at the village. "I'm just trying to figure out where I am."
The woman chuckled softly, as though amused by his honesty. "You've already begun by standing here. This is Lornridge Village."
"Lornridge," Ethan repeated aloud, letting the word roll off his tongue. "It's… beautiful."
She shrugged lightly. "Beauty is everywhere. Few take the time to notice it."
Ethan nodded, taking in the surrounding sights: the gentle sway of tree branches in the wind, the faint trickle of a stream near the village's edge, the distant smoke curling from chimneys, the subtle scent of baking bread and herbs. This was a living world, a place where every detail mattered.
The woman—Maerin, as she later introduced herself—led him down a narrow path winding between gardens and stone fences. Along the way, the village hummed with activity:
A blacksmith hammered at his forge, sparks flying in golden arcs.
A baker kneaded dough, flour dust drifting like morning fog.
Farmers carried sacks of grain to carts, joking and laughing with one another.
Children ran between houses, chasing chickens or flying simple wooden kites.
Each moment felt layered, alive. Ethan noticed the way the shadows moved under the trees, the chirping of birds shifting as the sun rose higher, the subtle scents of woodsmoke, herbs, and fresh bread mingling in the air.
At the village center, several villagers had gathered beneath a sprawling oak tree. Maerin gestured toward them. "Ask them. They will tell you about this land better than I can."
Ethan stepped forward, cautious but curious. Three figures turned to him:
A tall man with sun-bronzed skin and wide shoulders, wearing a tunic dusted with flour.
A woman with warm brown eyes and a braid tied back with twine, carrying a basket of herbs.
A shy teenager clutching a satchel, eyes bright with curiosity.
"You're not from here, are you?" the tall man asked with a grin.
Ethan shook his head. "No. I… woke up near the fields outside the village."
The woman tilted her head. "Woke up? As in asleep?"
"Something like that," Ethan said slowly. "I'm trying to understand this world—where I am, how it works, the people."
"Well," the man said, chuckling, "you came to the right place. I'm Finn. This is Lysa, and that's Torin."
Torin peered out from behind Lysa, eyes wide with awe. "Explorers? Adventurers?"
"Yes," Ethan said cautiously. "I want to understand what guilds exist, how people survive here… everything."
Finn leaned back, relaxed. "Hunters, yes. They go beyond the plains for beasts. Adventurers explore ruins, fight monsters, seek treasures. Craftsmen build, craft, innovate. And there used to be an Adventurers' Guild, but it's mostly inactive now."
Lysa nodded. "Hunters are fighters. Craftsmen are builders. Adventurers… they bridge the gap between all things."
Ethan's mind raced. Builders. That was him. That was his path. Slowly, cautiously, he could start here—collecting materials, crafting tools, mastering skills. Growth would be measured, deliberate. But every step was meaningful.
He asked, "If I want to start… where should I go?"
Lysa smiled. "The Craftsmen's Circle. They meet near the east well, under the old oak. You'll find guidance there."
Torin's eyes sparkled. "They make incredible machines! I saw one once—it was huge!"
Ethan laughed quietly. "Then that's where I'll go."
Finn patted his shoulder. "Welcome to Lornridge, Ethan. May your discoveries be many and your path long."
Ethan nodded, gazing at the village once more. Everything felt alive—the children, the elders, the whispering wind, the smell of earth and fire. Every detail mattered. Every interaction mattered.