Alari quickly settled into a routine. Every morning, the boys and girls who weren’t old enough for the more intense labor, including Alari, would spend the day doing the household chores. That took the better part of the day, since they did everything by hand. However, the remaining time was spent homeschooling the children.

  He was eager to learn how this world differed from Earth. The most stark contrast was the system: at age fourteen, children would awaken to this strange interface that granted them a set of improvements and quantified their abilities. A talent, the generic term for any improvement the system gave, could be almost anything: attributes such as Strength or Agility, Skills ranging from esoteric to mundane, and Feats that provided various unique effects.

  When Mina mentioned various magical talents, Alari was immediately interested. However, his excitement quickly gave way when she couldn’t provide much detail, since neither she nor her husband, his father, had any magical aptitude. When she added that it was extremely rare, and only occurred among the noble families closer to the midward line, he nearly threw an age-appropriate fit.

  The worst realization came during a lecture on classes. In this system, a Class wasn’t some unalterable path, but more of a starting direction. It granted several talents that aligned with the Class's goals and alternative ways to earn Talent Points. From that point forward, a person could invest those points however they saw fit. That meant there was a near-infinite number of possible builds, which, in Alari’s opinion, was an excellent system. Unfortunately, Class Talents accounted for a large share of a person’s total Talent until they had accumulated significant Talent Points. The problem was that available classes were based on what a person experienced during their first fourteen years of life. That meant, unless he did something drastic, he would get a farmer, laborer, rancher, or another similar Class. For that reason, most children who weren’t living on a farm would be enrolled in an apprentice program around the age of ten.

  When Mina had finished her explanation, Alari asked if there was a school he could enroll in. He could tell by her sad expression that it wasn’t possible. She explained that the closest university was in Lanika, the city around a hundred kilometers darkward. And even if they had lived closer, the cost would have been prohibitive. Even for families with far greater means, it was a significant expenditure.

  The topic naturally shifted to the political and geographical. They were in Esnia, one of the larger kingdoms that had recently broken away from the empire after the last emperor's death. On this world, called Ouras, lightward and darkward were cardinal directions, replacing east and west. Similarly, things he associated with time were considered places in this world: the noon and eventide lines were the points where plants stopped growing on the lightward and darkward sides, respectively. Not surprisingly, they weren’t far from the noon line. Everything lightward of the noon was called the wastes.

  When the topics shifted to more mundane things, Alari grew bored. He had been through basic schooling once before, and it hadn’t been challenging the first time, at least academically. He constantly questioned why things worked the way they did, only to get nonsensical or dismissive answers. His own contributions were met with glares, eye rolls, and uncomprehending stares. He didn’t blame his siblings; no one wanted to be lectured by a toddler. He tried to explain his situation: that he was a reincarnated being who had already lived over thirty years. Unfortunately, his proclamation was met with the same disregard that any older sibling or parent would have for a child's fantastical, nonsensical tale.

  His new family wasn’t stupid, but they were uneducated. Even if they were, Alari doubted anyone here could make sense of everything he knew. He wasn’t claiming to be the most intelligent person; he just had an advantage, coming from a world that seemed hundreds, if not thousands, of years ahead in technology and understanding. He was especially curious about how the system and magic would lead to innovations that deviated from Earth’s. However, for some reason, that didn’t appear to be as widespread as he would have expected, at least according to Mina. Perhaps the threat of monsters and the lack of hospitable land had stymied progress? The other distinct possibility was that the less privileged didn’t have access to anything magical, which would be consistent with only certain nobles gaining classes related to it.

  As the days turned into months and the months into years, Alari grew restless. At this point, he had extracted everything his parents knew about the system and the world. His relationships were frayed, at best. He had been excited to have so much family, but he found it hard to relate to any of them. He had become an outsider before he even realized what he was doing. It stung, but he didn’t know how to fix it.

  Eventually, when he was eight, he was deemed old enough to contribute to the farm. Farming was hard. That hadn’t surprised Alari, but his expectations had been off by an order of magnitude. On Earth, he had considered himself hardworking, but if that was true, he didn’t have a word for what these people were.

  Every morning, they woke, ate a moderately substantial breakfast, and then worked nonstop for the rest of the day. Not the kind of menial labor that was tedious but doable; it was back-straining, continuous effort, with the sun beating down without reprieve. Alari suspected the family was as large as it was just to have enough hands to do all the labor.

  Alari did his best, pushing himself to contribute like his siblings. Each night, he went to bed sore and exhausted, only to wake up the next morning, feeling a bit worse than he had the day before. Perhaps that was how everyone felt: slowly worn down by not quite having enough time or sustenance to fully recover. His father, Jurgen, certainly was burning out. Despite being in his early thirties, he looked nearly twice that, with sallow skin, pox scars, and a vacant stare. He never said much, only an occasional sentence or two during dinner.

  Alari knew if he had more time and energy, he could make substantial improvements to everyone’s lives. However, he did manage to make one simple improvement when he was frustrated with the daily chore of hauling water. Near the canyon brook, there was a small strand of tamarisk trees. Seeing the supple wood, he realized a simple yet effective improvement could be made. Getting strange looks from his siblings, he tested the wood before settling on a suitable branch. He spent what little free time he had in the days that followed, balancing it and whittling grooves to hold the buckets under tension.

  Unfortunately, after shaping and notching the wood, the structure couldn’t support the load and snapped after a few test runs. However, it had worked, if only briefly. The second iteration was made from a slightly thicker branch. After several test runs with no signs of fracturing, he considered it a success. After several trips, he noticed the weight was leaving marks on his shoulder. To mitigate this, he also added a bit of cloth padding.

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  When it was done, he had a functional yoke that distributed the weight from two buckets. His family watched with perplexed expressions, which gradually transitioned to curiosity as they saw the results. When they tried it, their skepticism gave way to enthusiasm. After that, the comments about his strange behavior ceased, as if they were careful not to offend him.

  Alari never truly grew accustomed to this life. Perhaps his greatest advantage, the knowledge from his previous life, was also a curse; he didn’t have a child's adaptability or naivety. He hated the ceaseless sun; he had developed a consistent sleep schedule and sense of time without it, but it still felt wrong. He despised working so hard, only to just barely scrape by. In his past life, he had always thought that those who hadn’t succeeded simply hadn’t worked hard enough. Now, he knew that wasn’t true.

  Despite not outwardly complaining, or at least rarely doing so, he could tell the others sensed his discontent. It was yet another thing that set him apart, further driving the wedge between them.

  Very little broke the monotony. There were no seasons to break up the year, and they very rarely went anywhere. On the few occasions where they had visited a town to sell their meager excesses, it hadn’t been to a proper city. It was just a small waystop that had a few houses and a smattering of craftsmen. It was akin to the towns on Earth whose sole purpose was servicing highway travelers. A single merchant ran a general store, and while Alari didn’t have an excellent grasp on this world's economy, he suspected the price they were quoted wasn’t much better than what a bandit would have given. Unfortunately, they didn’t have an option, and Jurgen accepted the meager coins with only a hint of annoyance. They hiked back without stopping to sleep, making for a very long day.

  Only once did a visitor pass through. The man, by this world's standards, was newly awakened with a Knight Class. If he hadn’t proclaimed as much, Alari would have never guessed; he looked more like a simple traveler, with worn clothing and a large pack. Only his sword, which looked to be of dubious quality even to Alari’s untrained eye, set him apart from the farmers carrying their wares to the nearest village. He was slightly more well-nourished than they were, but was otherwise unremarkable. While Mina had derided adventurers as foolhardy, even she had admitted they were necessary to keep monsters from overwhelming civilization. So, she was respectful towards their guest and extended him every courtesy, offering him a hearty meal and a place to stay.

  Something about him was unsettling. He didn’t say or do anything too crass, but his eyes often lingered on his younger sisters the way a wolf might look at a piece of meat. The atmosphere grew tense, but no one said anything. When Alari looked to his parents, Mina barely looked to be holding back tears, and Jurgen had his fist balled under the table. Still, they didn’t say or do anything. Fortunately, nothing came of it. However, Alari sensed that, had he wanted to take advantage of someone, no one would have been able to stop him.

  Apart from that notable exception, the only time Alari interacted with anyone outside his immediate family was on the rare occasions when they helped their neighbors. Unfortunately, they were much like his siblings: either they had heard of his strange behavior, or they picked up on it in moments, and he was immediately ostracized. He began to question his self-worth. To die alone once was tragic, but a second time? Maybe something was wrong with him?

  The years he spent as a farmhand were the most miserable of both of his lives. Were it not for the opportunity for something to change when he awakened, he might have given up. As it was, if he didn’t immediately collapse from exhaustion, he would cry himself to sleep.

  As his fourteenth birthday neared, his mood brightened. He wasn’t happy, but for the first time in years, he wasn’t melancholic. That changed to apprehension as the days turned to hours; what if he didn’t get a decent choice? What if these past few years were representative of his time in this new world? He didn’t think he could make it if that were the case. Mina seemed to sense his mood and approached him when he was alone.

  “I promised to give you advice about your Class and Talents,” she said, a hint of apprehension in her voice, as if she was forced to deliver bad news.

  “It’s alright; I’ll figure it out,” he said.

  She shook her head, “You shouldn’t have to figure it out, but I think we both know I can’t help you.”

  “What do you mean?” Alari asked. He had been thinking as much, but he hadn’t expected her to come out and say it.

  “I could give you the same spiel I give your brothers. Tell you which Class you can expect to choose from and which you should take. I can tell you what talents to prioritize and in what order. However, we both know that wouldn’t be right for you. Of all my children, you are the first I’m saying this to: you should pick whatever gives you the best opportunity to get off this farm, to make a life for yourself somewhere else.”

  “What if I only get choices that don’t suit me?” Alari asked, his voice cracking a bit as he verbalized a fear he had avoided.

  “I won’t lie; that is a possibility. However, there are some classes that aren’t based on the experiences you have had. Instead, they are based on some exceptional characteristic of a person. They are fairly rare, so it isn’t usually worth discussing, but I think you will likely qualify for one. If even half the things you’ve said are true, you might have some truly unique options that no one has ever seen.”

  “Why are you telling me this now?”

  “I hoped things would change; that you would grow to accept your life here. I didn’t want to see you go, to walk down a path where you might risk your life or experience hardships that surpass those you have faced so far.”

  “So what changed?”

  A tear streaked down Mina’s cheek. “I know you are not happy, and that is one of the most painful things for a mother. I want you to find inner peace and have a family of your own. You are my son, and I love you.”

  Alari didn’t say anything for a while. He knew what he should say; this woman had given birth to him and raised him as best she could. Unfortunately, having the mind of an adult and a mother from his previous life, he had never considered her in the same way. Even with his first mother, he hadn’t been able to say those words, but he had at least called her ‘mother’. Mina was always just Mina.

  “I know,” he said after an awkward pause.

  Mina nodded. There was no judgment, and if there was any hurt or disappointment, she didn’t show it. In that moment, Alari knew she meant what she said, and he hated himself for not feeling the same way.

  Even with the exhaustion that threatened to overtake him, he was too excited and nervous for sleep to overtake him. Instead, he simply sat there, trying to meditate and steady his breathing. At some point, one day had passed to the next, and there still wasn’t anything to indicate the system's awakening. A new fear began to creep into his mind: what if his unique status as an otherworlder was more of a disadvantage than he had thought? What if it meant he had missed his chance at awakening, and he would always be handicapped?

  Just when he was beginning to give credence to that sense of dread, his mind was flooded, as if he had gained a new sense.