Chương 8: Byd

Spring arrived in full force. The snow was gone, the roads had turned to mud, and the adults spent longer and longer hours in the fields. Even Alia, still frail after her illness, was now expected to watch the cows despite looking as though a strong breeze might carry her away. All of which meant Mark was spending most of his time alone again. On warmer days, he tried to take a few steps in front of the house, feeling a small surge of pride whenever he managed a dozen steps before landing on his backside.

On colder days, he did the same inside the hut, except he also bumped into every piece of furniture along the way, cursing his terrible coordination. As for his attempts to understand mana, either all the heroes in stories were born geniuses, or he was exceptionally bad at it. He could sense it, but moving it remained entirely beyond him. Well, just as he hadn't been reborn into a royal or aristocratic family, he hadn't become a genius either. Still, he refused to give up.

Unfortunately, there had also been what Mark could only describe as a regression, though perhaps it was simply a change. At some point, the strange wisps of mist surrounding his family had disappeared. He had no idea what to make of it. Had learning to perceive mana changed something? Or had his perception simply shifted, allowing him to see deeper at the cost of whatever he had once glimpsed on the surface? Another question without an answer.

One day, Mark wandered around in front of the house, eyeing the gate and wondering whether he could make a run for "freedom" before Sari noticed. Then the heavy wooden door creaked open from the outside. His mother appeared in the doorway, hunched beneath the weight of a basket packed with wrapped bundles. One of them immediately stole Mark's attention. Meat. In his previous life, it had been a normal part of his diet. Here, it hadn't appeared on the menu once since the end of autumn.

In recent weeks, he had been eating solid food more often, and he was already thoroughly sick of stale bread that had to soften in his mouth before his few useful teeth could manage it. His mother smiled when she saw him, handed the bundles to Sari, and then picked him up, beaming.

"Today is your special day, isn't it?" she said in the same tone adults used with small children and pets. What special day? As she carried him inside, she hummed softly. He hadn't seen her in such a good mood in a long time. Together with Sari, she began preparing the meal, and a pleasant smell quickly filled the room, making his mouth water so much that he couldn't focus on anything else. His brothers and father returned earlier than usual, and before the food was even ready, all three went to wash at the well.

That alone told Mark something unusual was happening. Normally, the family only made such an effort before their Sulday visit to the temple. About an hour later, the table was set, and he couldn't remember the last time he had seen such a feast. The rest of his siblings sat like a pack of hounds, licking their lips every few moments.

"We thank you, Sul, for these gifts," Terry began, joining hands with Mari and Sari, who in turn took hold of the other children.

"We thank you for the sun that nourishes our crops and for the reason that sets us apart from the Beasts. We also thank your consort, Mal, for all her abundance and for every child she grants strength to and protects from becoming Abyss-touched."

"We thank you," the rest echoed in unison.

"And now, before we eat, we will officially welcome the newest member of our family, who has survived six seasons without showing the mark of the Abyss. Does anyone have a name to suggest?" Terry asked. When no one spoke up, he cleared his throat.

"Very well. Then from this day on, he will be called Byd." Everything happened so quickly that Mark had barely begun processing the existence of six seasons, Beasts, and Abyss-touched before the important part hit him. He was going to be called Byd. What kind of name was that! Now he knew who had named all his brothers: Wod, Dod, Zed. He had no idea how Terry, who knew hundreds of stories, could give his children names that sounded better suited for livestock.

The absurdity of it all, and the thought that he would be called Byd for the rest of his new life, completely threw him off. He had to do something. He looked first at Terry, then at his mother, took a deep breath, and... started crying. The entire family stared at him in disbelief. He was known for being a quiet and calm child.

"I don't think he likes his new name," his mother said thoughtfully. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"What's wrong with Byd?" Terry scratched his head, at which point Mark cried even harder.

"Does anyone have a better idea?" Anything. Anything but Byd. Silence fell over the table. Everyone was clearly trying to come up with something.

"Maybe we can think of one after we eat?" Wod suggested.

"It'll get cold." Mark felt like kicking him. His entire future was at stake, and his oldest brother was clearly thinking only about food. Maybe a horse's name would suit him after all.

"If we don't change it within the next few minutes, Fezraan will accept Byd, and it will remain that way," his mother replied, watching Mark with a strange intensity. The next few minutes passed in attempts to come up with any name at all. His brothers had the most ideas, though unfortunately, they were even less creative than their father. Mark, meanwhile, listened with half an ear, trying to understand what his mother had said. Fezraan. The word caught in his mind.

Mari had said it would accept his name, and the System had shown him a blank beside Name. Was Fezraan what people here called the System?

"Alia, would you like to suggest something?" Mari asked, surprised when her youngest daughter timidly raised a hand. Alia's voice was barely louder than the crackle of the hearth.

"In one of Dad's stories, there was a boy who wanted to know everything and had to look everywhere. It reminds me of our little brother."

"Yes, that does describe your brother well," their mother said.

"What was his name?"

"Arien."

"Very nice," Mari said.

"Are you Arien?" she asked, leaning over him. The thought of correcting them crossed his mind and vanished almost immediately. What was he supposed to do, refuse? Explain that his name was Mark and that he had already lived an entire life? No. Arien was easier for everyone, including him. So when Mari repeated the name, Mark deliberately stopped fussing and gave her the closest approximation of a smile he could manage. Mari's face brightened.

"Arien it is, then." This time, Terry received no complaints. The food finally began to move around the table. Despite the generous portions, the meal disappeared at an astonishing pace. Soon the family sat around the table pleasantly full and unusually talkative, though Mark suspected the meat deserved at least as much credit for the mood as his birthday. Especially among the men. He found himself turning one word over in his mind. Fezraan. The System—or something connected to it.

If Mari was right, Fezraan would accept his new name within minutes. Sari and Alia, taking advantage of the moment, snatched him from their mother's arms and began stroking and kissing him all over. It gave him an intense ticklish sensation, which only encouraged them to continue, until Mari finally had to intervene when he started choking from laughter. He spent the rest of the evening sitting on his mother's lap, where she now openly stroked his head as they listened to another one of Terry's stories.

When it was finally time for sleep, Mari laid him in his cradle and even kissed his forehead. For the first time, Mark understood what she had meant that morning. It was hard for him to fall asleep. He had a new name now, and it still felt unfamiliar, as though it belonged to someone else. For more than twenty years he had been Mark. Mark who spent years fighting a body that refused to cooperate. Mark who always thought there would be more time. Mark who died on a rainy night in another world.

And now, somehow, he was supposed to be Arien. He rolled onto his side. No. Not yet. Not really. He would need time. Trying out the name brought him back to everything else he had learned during the ceremony. Apparently, children here were not given their names until they had survived six seasons and passed whatever tests were meant to prove they weren't Abyss-touched. Only then did the family formally welcome them. The thought was brutal enough on its own.

Mark didn't particularly want to know how many children never reached that point—or what happened to those who failed. He pushed the question aside and found another waiting behind it. Six seasons. Four of them seemed familiar enough: spring, summer, autumn, and winter. So what were the other two? How long did an Eradorian year actually last? Without knowing that, Mark couldn't even properly judge how long he could keep pretending not to understand everyone. At what age did children begin to speak anyway?

Back on Earth, he had always avoided situations where friends brought their children along, and if someone started bragging about their "little genius," he quickly changed the subject. There was nothing more boring than listening to long stories about a child using a potty for the first time. Still, calendars and child development weren't the questions keeping him awake. What exactly happened when Fezraan accepted a child? Would the blank beside Name finally change? Would the rest of the System come any closer?

Fatigue eventually began to win. The generous bowl of meat broth Mari had fed him was not helping. Happy birthday… Arien, he thought, trying the name on for the first time. A sudden spasm jolted him awake, accompanied by the sickening sensation of falling from a great height. He took several deep, calming breaths. Something had changed. He was overflowing with more energy than he had felt at any point in his new life. He sat up in his crib and looked around the room.

Everyone was asleep, and the only sound breaking the night's silence was Terry's deep snoring. His sense of mana was different. Not stronger, exactly. More like the difference between hearing a sound through a wall and hearing it in the same room. Mana moved through the darkness in the same rivers and eddies he recognized from before, but now the differences between them stood out more clearly. What had once felt like faint variations at the edge of perception had gained definition. Maybe now.

He closed his eyes and reached for the clearer echo from the night of the test. For one breath, it sharpened. Name: Arien Then it slipped away. Arien sat back, frustration and wonder fighting in his chest. Not open. Not yet. But the System had accepted his name. Now he had to make it answer.