The sky had transformed into a deep, dark shade of blue. The sound of boiling water intermingled with the rush of the river and the occasional crackling of burning wood created a perfect camping atmosphere.

Weren't for the fact that I was coughing like crazy this would be a perfect night.

I was working on the water that would be set aside beside my bed for nighttime needs. Once done, I tidied everything up, extinguished the fire, and headed my way. The proximity of the river to the house worked in my favor, allowing me to return to my room without arousing suspicion, even with Dara's constitution. That said, it hadn't been a walk in the park. My body ached intensely, my lungs felt scorched, and my stomach seemed to be stabbed by countless needles.

And this is just for this one night… Tomorrow I'd have to do this again, and the next day too, and the one after it, and the next. “Surviving has always been a hindrance to living.”

I strategically placed the bowl next to my bed, ensuring it would remain hidden from Uncle's view. And got right at planning what to do for food. From what I understood, the way of the miller is quite the arduous one. Even with night approaching, there was no sign of Uncle's return. In the harvest season, it looked like resting was a luxury that none could partake in.

As I spent the time daydreaming, a realization dawned on me.

I don't know how to cook.

In my previous life, my culinary repertoire consisted of a total of five items: chocolate cake, rice, microwave popcorn, fried eggs, and instant noodles. Which meant that the only thing that I'd be able to make here, was fried eggs. And I didn't have the confidence that it would be the best meal to eat every day.

If I had known that I'd be sent here after dying I'd have used my efforts to learn useful survival skills. Sure, my brain was full of random trivia that could probably show itself useful, like the way to make a filter. But knowing how a fridge works doesn't mean I could build one. What do I have to do to get the necessary gas? How do I build a compressor? What are the coils even made of?

Actually, if I had known it, I'd just not have died. Or I don't know, asked God for a more powerful body. Not that I think they'd consider it, the God I met didn't strike me as a kind-hearted guy, evident from the absence of the promised infinite knowledge.

“I'm starting to think that they pulled a fast one on me…”

“What are ya jabberin' 'bout?”

Ack! My heart almost jumped out of my mouth. So I had to gulp it back down.

Dara's uncle was peeking with his head through a gap created by opening the door, his balding head, tired eyes, and dirty graying beard visible. How did he even open it without making a sound?!

As a rule, I never talked to myself in front of others. That's probably a lesson everyone inherently understood, but I had to discover how much of a weirdo they'd consider me firsthand. Learning from my mistakes was a rare occurrence, so I took pride in the times I did. Given the draining nature of maintaining close relationships, I just couldn't make myself care enough to try to learn from them. So, on those rare occasions when I did, I metaphorically patted myself on the back with a sense of accomplishment.

“N-Nothing much!” It's nice that I looked like a child, I don't think people would let a non-reason like that pass otherwise.

He opened the rest of the door, this time making the noise it was supposed to, and got closer to the bed, a steaming bowl in hand.

“You sure are chattin' up a storm today, ain't ya?” 

Sir, I said a total of four phrases in front of you. Was Dara's disposition that low? Now that I think of it, he didn't really remember having any conversations with this man. Talk about a pitiful child… 

“You reckon you'll manage to eat?”

“Yeah.”

With his calloused fingers, he placed the bowl carefully on my lap, and sat on the side of the bed, perhaps to check if I was indeed going to eat.

Inside the bowl was some kind of porridge, some pieces of yellowing vegetables, grains, and dry bread were soaked in it. Overall, it looked like a soup made from a child's nightmares.

He didn't look like he was going to give me a spoon, so I resigned myself to drinking from the bowl. I didn't trust the hygiene practices in this house, but if Dara had eaten from it, I reasoned it couldn't be too perilous. I just had to suppress these lingering thoughts and focus on the task at hand.

Yep, just as I thought, tastes like shit. Don't get me wrong, it didn't possess that peculiar, repulsive beauty like the innards of a sea cucumber that dreadful foods usually did. No, it was just plain bland. Like eating styrofoam.

“Hey, Uncle.”

“Huh?” He appeared genuinely surprised that I was addressing him. “What is it?”

“W-Why are you taking care of me?” Perhaps it wasn't a question expected from a typical six-year-old. Yet, I needed to know, even if it risked revealing my situation. While he may not mean much to me, to Dara, he was the only important person in his life, so the thought of abandoning him still tugged at my heart.

Death was very close to reality for me. After all, not only had my soul experienced it once, but this body had as well. And I doubted I could escape it a second time.

The old man's wrinkled face softened as he looked at me with something akin to nostalgia

“... Well, kiddo, life's got a way of tossin' some unexpected twists your direction, y'know?”

I know, right?! Don't even get me started!

“I had a boy once, spittin' image of you. When he… Well, when he couldn't stick 'round no more, all he wanted was for me to keep him company, not lettin' him be all lonesome-like,” he sighed, his eyes glancing away for a moment before meeting mine again. “When I saw folks leavin' you to your own devices just 'cause of some nonsense like ‘the sickness will nab you if you get close,’ couldn't help but think of him, y'know? Like, this could be him all over again.”

I nodded slowly. For some reason, I harbored this prejudice deep inside of me, thinking that there was no way that people from this kind of place could be genuinely kind,  they're doing what they can just to survive after all.

Perhaps, it doesn't matter which world or time you're from. Stupidly kind people can be found everywhere.

“Perhaps you'll even bounce back, so sometimes you just gotta do what needs doin'.”

“I see.”

“Hum… Never caught onto your way of speakin', reckon 'cause you're more the quiet type.”

“Y-yeah. That surely is it.”

He got up, tousled my hair with his dirty hand, took the empty bowl from me, and after saying, “Sweet dreams, sleep tight,” he left. Leaving me alone in the room illuminated only by the meager amount of light from the setting sun.

When it got dark enough, the nocturnal symphony would begin. The gentle flow of the river, the rhythmic croaking of frogs, and the subtle rustling of nocturnal critters. Occasionally, an owl's hoot resonated in the air. And sometimes, I'd hear other more ominous sounds, such as the haunting howls of wolves.

As a sheltered kid from modern times, I found myself fascinated by experiences like these, never before would I be able to hear a wolf howling so close. However, the memories of Dara within me were kind of terrified by it. Fortunately, since he had only lived for six years, his memories didn't have a significant enough impact to overshadow the eighteen years of my own experiences. This was likely why I didn't feel any noticeable changes in my personality, even after absorbing someone else's memories.

“Man… I want to use the bathroom.”