Panic set in. The regeneration had healed my skull, but the room was still a crime scene.
The blood.
If his—no, my—little sister saw this, she would scream. The neighbors would come. And explaining how a man with a smashed skull was standing perfectly fine would be impossible. I remembered from the memories that she left for the manor at the crack of dawn to scrub floors.
I had to move. Now.
I scrambled around the room, using a ragged cloth and a bucket of stale water to scrub the floorboards. The wood was old and dark, which thankfully hid the worst of the stains, but I didn't stop until the metallic scent of iron had faded. I shoved the bloody rags deep into a hidden crevice in the wall and threw myself back onto the straw mattress.
My heart was pounding, but I forced my eyes shut. The original [Name] is a lazy drunkard, I reminded myself. If I'm found awake and cleaning at 5:00 AM, they'll think I've lost my mind. I have to play the part.
Exhaustion took over, pulling me into a heavy slumber.
But it wasn't a peaceful sleep. I found myself floating in a void, surrounded by swirling mist. A voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere at once. It spoke in a guttural, ancient language—tongues that should have been lost to time—yet the meaning bloomed clearly in my mind.
"It is your wish that has been granted."
The presence felt immense, ancient.
"You wished for a world where you could use your skills freely. That bargain is struck. You now possess the Body of Restoration. Your wounds shall knit, and poisons shall not hold you. You will no longer fall prey to the stupor of alcohol."
Not getting drunk? I thought in the dream. That sounds useful for a man whose body is addicted to ale.
"More paths will unlock on your journey," the voice faded, "Create. Build. Live…"
"Brother?"
The ancient voice was replaced by a timid, trembling one.
My eyes snapped open. The dim morning light was gone, replaced by the orange hue of the setting sun. I slept through the whole day? It seemed the previous owner's lethargy was strong.
I sat up, blinking. Standing by the bed was a young girl, thin as a rail, with rough, chapped hands that looked far too old for her age. My sister.
She flinched when I moved, a reaction that sent a pang of guilt through my chest. She reached into her apron and pulled out a few copper coins—pennies, barely enough to buy a loaf of bread.
"Here," she whispered, extending her trembling hand. "This is from today… It's all they gave me."
She was giving me her wages. She expected me to snatch them and run to the tavern. I looked at the coins, and then at her fearful eyes, and I realized just how much work I had to do to fix this life.