Sol stepped out into the morning air, the heavy clay jar resting against his hip as if it were made of hollow wood.
The morning slapped him awake... cool, damp, and carrying that heavy, earthy smell of wet soil and wood ash. The ground outside was uneven, a patchwork of trampled dirt, scattered bones, and drying herbs hanging from sticks.
Looking at the primitive sight, he couldn't help sigh, "it really is a primitive world."
And remembering that Lyra used to go at dusk or sometime even at night to fetch water... He frowned just thinking about it. The nights here weren't peaceful. They were fucking alive… crawling, howling, hunting. The idea of Lyra walking out in that darkness, jar in hand, surrounded by who-knows-what… yeah, it didn't sit right with him.
So, now that he could walk around calmly again, he decided to fetch water first.
But still feeling the weight of jar. he frowned, shifting the jar in his grip. He remembered picking it up inside... the big one, the one that usually took two hands and a lot of grunting to haul to the river.
He lifted it up to eye level with one hand. It came up smooth, weightless. He blinked, surprised.
"Huh," he muttered, bouncing it lightly in his palm. "Either I'm on steroids, or this jar went on a diet."
He tested it again, swinging it like a pendulum. Nope. Still light. It felt like holding a basket of feathers, not dense, fired clay.
He grinned, shaking his head. "Maybe gravity is on leave today. Or maybe... I'm just built different now."
He didn't dwell on it longer. There was no manual for reincarnation, and standing around testing physics wouldn't fill the jar. He slung it comfortably under his arm and stepped out toward the trail.
The path to the river was carved into his brain... the old Sol's memory guiding his feet. He took one last glance back at the hut... simple, small, held together by mud, straw, and stubborn effort... and turned toward the village.
Their home sat near the outer ring of the settlement. The "Poor Zone," if he had to name it.
It wasn't the pretty center area where the Chief's family and the elite hunters lived, with their sturdy wooden beams and decorative skulls. This was the outskirts. Here, the huts leaned a little more precariously. The roofs were patched too many times with mismatched reeds. And the firelight from the central bonfires didn't quite reach here at night.
That's what poverty looked like in this world. You lived close enough to count as part of the tribe, but far enough away that if something came crawling out of the dark, you served as the first line of defense... or the appetizer.
He kicked a loose rock, watching it skitter into a ditch. "Expendable," he muttered. "Front-row seats for extinction."
He sighed, then a small, cynical smirk touched his lips. "Guess that's me now."
Still, part of him didn't mind it. The edge of the village meant more peace, fewer prying eyes. He could move, think, and plan without being under someone's thumb.
He slowed down as he walked, seeing the surroundings properly. The road he was walking on, wasn't really a road. Just flattened earth, packed by countless bare feet. Huts of straw, wood, and bone lined either side.
And it wasn't a huge village compared to the cities he was used to, but it sprawled wider than it looked.
As he walked deeper into the settlement, the village woke up around him.
Every few huts, he saw life. Women grinding something in heavy stone bowls with a rhythmic clack-clack. Men squatting by small fires, scraping animal hides with sharpened bone tools, their muscles corded and tense. Kids ran around half-naked, chasing a round lump of stitched hide that barely counted as a ball, their laughter shrill and happy.
It was primitive, yeah. But it wasn't the filthy, mud-caked misery the documentaries back home always showed.
The air was clean, crisp, rich with the smell of smoke and wildflowers. The people weren't filthy either; their skin glowed with health and oil, their rough clothes were worn but washed.
"We really got lazy," Sol thought, watching a woman casually lift a log that would have given a modern gym-goer a hernia. "Out here, everything is a workout."
He passed a group of older men squatting near a communal fire pit. They were roasting something long and shiny on a stick... a fish, or maybe a lizard. The smell was savory, halfway between charcoal and river weeds.
One of the men, a toothless elder with skin like tanned leather, looked up. His eyes widened slightly.
"Alive after all, huh?" the elder grinned, gumming a piece of meat.
"Barely," Sol replied, giving a tired, respectful salute.
The man laughed, shaking his head, and murmured something to his companions. Sol caught the drift of the whispers trailing him.
"Lyra's boy?"
"Thought the fever took him."
"Spirit must favor the weak ones sometimes..."
He pretended not to hear, keeping his gaze forward, muttering a generic greeting to anyone who made eye contact.
The further he walked, the more the huts thinned out. The beaten earth gave way to grass and roots. Trees began to replace walls, their massive canopies filtering the sunlight into dappled patterns on the ground.
The path curved downward, following the sound of rushing water.
And then, the river opened up.
The path dipped down into a wide clearing where the jungle pulled back, letting the sunlight spill across the water like molten gold.
It was breathtaking.
The river was wide, calm, and shockingly clear... like liquid glass weaving between smooth, white stones. He could see the pebbles glittering at the bottom ten feet down. Sunlight bounced off the surface in blinding ripples. Birds with iridescent feathers circled overhead, crying out in high, clean notes.
He just stood there for a moment, letting it wash over him. The smell of wet soil, the coolness of the spray on his skin, the sheer, unpolluted vitality of the place.
On the upper bank, people were filling jars and pots with practiced efficiency. On the lower bank, women scrubbed clothes against flat rocks, laughing between splashes. Children splashed in the shallows, their joyful shrieks echoing off the water.
It was peaceful. It was vibrant.
"Okay," Sol exhaled, watching the current flow. "Maybe this world isn't all nightmares."