The Village

After what felt like hours, we finally reach the edge of a village. Wooden huts sit nestled between the trees, their thatched roofs blending into the dense canopy. A clearing opens up in the center, where smoke curls lazily from a fire pit.

"Wow, that was a lot of walking. How far is the place we met?" I ask, half-joking, half-hoping I hit my 10,000-step quota for the day.

Io hesitates for a moment. "Well… in truth, it’s about twenty minutes from here."

I stop. "Wait, what? Then why did it take us so long to get here?"

Because this was not the scenic route. All I saw was more forest—no hidden shortcuts, no winding paths, nothing.

Io crosses her arms. "I had to see if you were one of them. And if you posed any threat to the village."

Oh. That makes sense. And also makes me realize how naïve I must seem.

"And now," she continues, "you don’t actually know the way here. So even if I had misjudged you, you wouldn’t be able to lead anyone else back."

I let out a short laugh. "Wow. I’m sorry for making you babysit me all this time. You should’ve just left me there!"

She shakes her head. "Nonsense. You’re… interesting."

I’ll take that as a compliment.

As we step into the village, she glances at me one last time. "Here we are—my home. Stick close and try not to scare anyone."

I nod. "Got it."

Alright, Nate. Behave. She led you here—you don’t want to ruin her trust by making a fool of yourself.

###

We step onto a stone path, winding toward the village center. The stones are uneven, worn smooth in places by years of footsteps. Between them, tufts of grass push through, stubborn against the weight of time.

I stick close to Io, doing my best cute duckling impression—yep, don’t mind me, just waddling along.

It doesn’t take long before I notice the stares.

Some villagers pause mid-task, eyes flicking toward me. A woman kneading dough at an outdoor table slows her movements, brow furrowing. A group of children playing near a wooden fence stop their game, whispering behind cupped hands. A man sharpening a blade lets his work rest, the steady scrape of metal on stone ceasing as he watches me pass.

Murmurs ripple through the village.

"Who is that man?"

"What is Miss Io doing?"

"Is he a merchant?"

"That’s irresponsible, even for her."

"I told you that girl will be our end!"

Oh. There it is. That’s the kind of reaction I was expecting. I’m an outsider, a complete unknown walking into their home—so why haven’t they thrown me out already? Or worse?

I glance at Io. She walks ahead, utterly unfazed. Just who is this girl that she can waltz in with a total stranger and not be stopped?

###

I wasn’t expecting so many houses. Io calls this a village, so I assumed something small—maybe a handful of homes, a central meeting space, some farmland. Instead, it’s… lively. Structured. Bigger than I imagined.

The part closest to the gate seems like an industrial district—though that term feels too modern for this place. Still, that’s the vibe. The air carries the scent of fresh wood and iron, and the rhythmic clang of a hammer on metal rings out from a nearby forge. Carpenters, masons, and other craftsmen move about, focused on their work. Children weave between them, playing some kind of chasing game, their laughter mixing with the sounds of labor.

As we walk deeper, the village becomes more residential. The houses here are surprisingly colorful—not the drab, utilitarian structures I expected. Painted wood, carved door frames, even decorative floral patterns on the walls. It’s a detail that throws me off; I assumed this place would be practical to the point of dullness. But no, there’s pride in their homes, an effort to make them beautiful despite their isolation.

###

The scent of baked bread hits first. I spot a baker, then further ahead—a butcher. I freeze.

A sheltered city boy, exposed to the weight of a working butcher for the first time.

The carcass hanging from a wooden frame is very real.

I know where meat comes from. Intellectually. But seeing it, the sheer weight of it, the undeniable physicality of death—that’s different. My stomach twists, but I force myself to keep moving.

More surprising than the sight of the butcher’s work is what’s happening around it. A small group of villagers stands nearby, heads bowed in what looks like prayer.

Wait—what?

Didn’t Io say they weren’t religious or am I imagining things? I assumed they’d abandoned all rituals, but this… this is something. They’re speaking in hushed tones, nothing like the rigid, rehearsed prayers of a church congregation. There’s a weight to it, something personal.

I need to ask Io about this later.

###

The village’s structure makes sense so far—workshops, homes, gathering places. Then I spot something that doesn’t fit my assumptions.

A large building, a bit removed from the rest, with kids sitting in a circle outside. A woman—maybe a teacher?—stands in the center, speaking as the children listen attentively.

Is that… a school?

I glance at Io, but she doesn’t seem to think anything of it. For me, though, it completely shifts how I see this place.

I always imagined a community like this would be mostly farmers, with kids working alongside their parents. Survival first. Education would be a luxury. But here they are, learning—not just through experience, but through structured lessons.

I don’t know why, but that feels… important.

I’ll have to ask about it later.

###

We approach the village center—a communal space with a large stone fire pit, its embers glowing faintly even in the daylight. The scent of charred wood and roasting meat lingers in the air. Nearby, an older man tends to the fire, adding small logs to the flames, nudging the embers with a practiced hand.

He notices us immediately, his gaze settling on me before shifting to Io. His expression is careful—polite, but wary.

"Is the chief home?" Io asks.

The man nods. "Yes, Miss Io." His eyes flick to me again. "And who might that be?"

Polite words, but his curiosity is obvious. No, not curiosity—caution.

Io offers a measured smile. "Let’s say… a helpless thinker that got lost in the forest."

The man chuckles. "A thinker? Now that’s a good one."

Ouch. Do I really look that pathetic? They don’t even know about my quantum-fueled disaster, and they’re already taking jabs at me. I must have the face of an idiot—not that I didn’t know that already.

Io gives him a polite nod and leads me toward one of the wooden homes. The structure is simple but sturdy, built with dark timber, its roof thatched with golden straw. A small carved symbol is etched above the door frame—some kind of ward, maybe? Or just decoration?

I have a feeling the real test is about to begin.

###

For a chief’s residence, I was expecting something grander, maybe taller, maybe decorated with ornate carvings or banners. But it looks just like the others—simple, sturdy, and unassuming.

She knocks on the door. "Good day, Chief. It’s Io. I brought a guest. May we come in?"

The door swings open.

Standing there is a tall, blonde man, his beard effortlessly majestic, a display of facial hair dominance that tramples all my youthful attempts at growing one.

How old is this guy?

His eyes land on me, assessing, unreadable—but then, he smiles and steps aside.

"Come in."

###

Inside, the room carried the scent of aged wood and dried herbs, the air thick with the warmth of a lived-in space. A large wooden table sat at the center, its surface worn smooth by time and use. Across from us, the village chief sat with a quiet authority that needed no embellishment. Though age lined his face, there was no mistaking the strength behind his gaze.

His eyes lingered on me for a long moment before shifting to Io.

“So, tell me, who is this guest of ours?”

I resisted the urge to fidget. Hopefully, this wouldn’t turn into an interrogation. If it was more like an HR meeting, maybe I could just talk my way out of trouble. Not that I had much to offer if things went south.

Io spoke smoothly, giving me a quick, knowing glance before answering. “This is Nate, a traveler who claims to be a thinker. I believe he can be of use to us.”

A ‘just go with it’ look. I had no reason to doubt her—yet. But considering we’d only met a few hours ago, it was hard to put blind faith in anyone.

The chief studied me once more before nodding, his expression unreadable.

“If it’s Io that brought you here, then you must be quite remarkable. I’ll allow it.” His voice was even, but there was weight behind his words.

I am not sure how to take that. What exactly did that mean? Was Io’s judgment so highly regarded? Or was there something more to it? Either way, I wasn’t about to question it—not when my entire future depended on staying in this village for now.

“Thank you,” I said, keeping my tone respectful. “I’ll do my best to not be a burden.”

The chief gave a small nod, as if already moving on from the topic. “We have little tolerance for idleness. If you stay, you contribute. Io will see to it that you find a use.”

I glanced at Io, who smirked. “Oh, I will.”

Great. That sounded ominous.

“Nate, could you please wait outside? I have more to discuss with the chief,” Io said, giving me a look that left no room for argument.

“Sure thing,” I replied, standing up. “I’ll be outside.”

Well, that was quick. Stepping out into the cool air, I exhaled slowly. That went well, I think. I didn’t embarrass myself, didn’t say anything incredibly stupid, and most importantly, I wasn’t thrown out. Their hospitality was surprising, considering how much they had to deal with.

Still… what were they talking about in there?

I leaned against the outer wall, watching the village life unfold around me. People bustled about, tending to tasks—chopping wood, carrying supplies, talking in small groups. This was their home, their way of life. And now, for the time being, it was mine too.

After a few minutes, Io emerged, looking satisfied. “Alright, I’m done. Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” I said, pushing off the wall. “By the way, why did the chief say that I must be remarkable since you brought me here?”

Io gave me a knowing look. “I’m just somewhat important, that’s it.”

That was a dodge if I ever heard one. But I wasn’t about to push my luck. Not yet.

“I’ll show you around. There’s still some time before dusk,” she said, motioning for me to follow.

I nodded, falling into step beside her.

“But first,” she added with a grin, “it’s time for a meal.”

We walked toward the communal area, where several long tables and chairs were set up under a large open structure. People were already gathering, talking, laughing, sharing food. The scent of something savory filled the air—stew, maybe?

It was a simple thing—sharing meals as a community—but something about it struck me. They weren’t just surviving out here. They were living. I’d spent so long thinking of civilizations in terms of technology and progress that I’d forgotten that connection, cooperation, and tradition were just as important.

They were every bit as human as me, after all. Maybe more so.

###

The wooden door shut behind me, muffling the murmurs of the village outside. The chief sat across the sturdy table, arms crossed, his piercing gaze fixed on me. The room smelled of old wood and dried herbs, a quiet authority in its stillness.

For a moment, he said nothing, studying me. Then—

“What were you thinking, Io?”

No pleasantries. No soft approach.

“I found him in the forest,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “He needed help.”

“And you decided to bring him here? To our home?” He exhaled through his nose. “What if you led danger straight to our door?”

“I wouldn’t have if I thought he was a threat.”

The chief leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You’re young, Io. Smart, capable—but young. You see opportunity where I see risk. And risk has cost us before.”

I didn’t flinch. “I know. But this is different.”

“Then convince me.”

I hesitated. No, I couldn’t hesitate—not with him. “I think he may be useful.”

The chief scoffed. “Useful how? He doesn’t look strong. He doesn’t have the hands of a worker or a hunter. So what is he?”

A good question. One I wasn’t fully certain of yet. But I had a feeling.

“He called me human.”

That made the chief pause.

Slowly, he sat back, fingers drumming against the tabletop. “Explain.”

“He doesn’t seem to understand our situation. He asked questions—basic ones. If he were from the church, he wouldn’t need to ask. He’d already know.”

The chief exhaled, rubbing his temple. “Io… we don’t have the luxury of making mistakes.”

“I know. That’s why I’ll take responsibility for him.”

His eyes snapped to mine, sharp as steel. “Is that so?”

“Yes.”

The silence stretched between us.

Finally, he nodded once. “Then he’s your burden. But I’ll place a guard behind your house. If this goes wrong, it’s your head first.”

“I understand.”

The chief studied me for a moment longer. Then, his voice softened—just slightly.

“Io… you do good work. But not everyone in this village is happy with how much you’re changing things. Be careful.”

I gave a slight nod. “I always am.”

I stood, ready to leave, but just as my hand reached the door, the chief's voice cut through the room—calm, measured, but heavy with meaning.

“And don’t make me seem to agree on the spot ever again.”

I paused, glancing back over my shoulder. His fingers were steepled in front of him, his eyes sharp beneath furrowed brows. Not angry—just weighing his words, making sure they hit their mark.

I bit back a smirk. “Noted.”

He sighed, rubbing his temple. “You push too much, too fast. One day, someone will push back.”

I tilted my head. “That day isn’t today.”

A long silence stretched between us. He watched me for a moment, then let out a slow breath and shook his head.

“Go,” he said finally. “And make sure that outsider of yours doesn’t give me a reason to regret this.”

I didn’t answer—just nodded and stepped out, feeling his gaze linger on my back.

Fine. If he didn’t trust my instincts yet, I’d make sure he had no choice but to.

###

They have a central gathering hall, where people eat together, meet, and socialize. It’s a large wooden structure, slightly elevated from the ground, with thick beams supporting a spacious interior. The scent of cooked food lingers in the air as we get closer.

After all the walking through the forest, it feels nice to sit down and eat.

Io places two bowls in front of us. The soup smells good—warm, savory, slightly herbal.

"Thank you for sharing this meal with me!" I say, channeling my inner polite grandson like Grandma taught me.

Io chuckles. "You are our guest, aren’t you?"

Hospitality seems deeply ingrained here.

I take my first spoonful.
Soup.

I mean, I’ve had soup before, obviously. But this is different. Hearty, salty, earthy—mostly vegetables, a few chunks of meat. Simple, but good.

I wonder if small talk is a thing here, or if meals are more of a quiet, sacred moment.

As if reading my thoughts, Io speaks up. "If I’m not mistaken, you wanted to know what the presence is, right?"

Oh. Right. That question from earlier.

Not exactly a light dinner conversation.

"Well, yes, but you already told me enough." I say, trying to avoid pressing too hard after everything she already shared.

Io shakes her head. "It’s true that I said a lot, but this will be quick. To us, the presence is the voice of nature. The voice of reality. The voice of life."

That… sounds complicated.

"That sounds really complicated…" I admit, trying to wrap my head around it.

She smirks. "The humans might be despicable, but they sure know how to polish their scripture with flowery words. I stole that from them. Seemed fair."

That earns a chuckle from me.

"We may describe it as something grander than it really is," she continues. "Tell me, you know the feeling of hot and cold on your skin? Or the way water flows around your fingers when you swim?"

"Yeah, I get it. Not much of a swimmer myself, but I get the idea."

"Now imagine all those sensations... but a little deeper. In your flesh, just beneath the skin." She taps her forearm. "That’s the best way I can describe it. Before today, I hadn’t explained it to anybody."

I pause, letting her words sink in.

"Huh. I think I get it... but I still don’t feel it." I let out a small laugh. "Guess I really am deaf after all."

After everything she’s told me, I might as well ask about the itch.

"One more thing—do you hear the presence? A noise, maybe? Something like… SSSSS?"

Io blinks, brow furrowing slightly. "No. Nothing like that. Why?"

I hesitate.

"Let’s just say I’m really familiar with a feeling like that. I was curious if it’s something you might know."

I keep it vague. No need to reveal too much just yet.

She studies me for a moment. Then simply nods.

We go back to our meal.

###

The warmth of the meal contrasted with the quiet air between us. The thick broth carried the scent of herbs I couldn’t name, and the flickering light of a nearby lantern cast long shadows across the wooden walls. Io ate methodically, her posture relaxed but composed, as if she had done this a thousand times before.

I, on the other hand, felt out of place. The conversation we’d just had about the presence lingered in my mind, but it wasn’t exactly dinner talk—not where I came from, at least.

Maybe I could lighten the mood a little.

“So… Do you always eat together like this?” I asked, gesturing toward the open space where several people sat at long tables, sharing food in small clusters.

Io nodded. “From late spring to early fall, yes. Once the cold sets in, we eat in our homes.”

“And why do you do that?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“For one, it’s efficient. We make sure everyone is fed, and it’s easier to keep track of supplies this way. No one is left behind.” She took another spoonful before adding, “But the real reason is community. Sharing a meal reminds us that we’re not just surviving. We exist together, as a people.”

That made sense. They were cut off from the rest of the world, forced into isolation. Of course, they’d find ways to strengthen their ties.

I tapped my spoon against the rim of my bowl. “I noticed a lot of colorful houses along the way.”

She glanced up, following my train of thought. “It’s a wedding tradition. When people marry, they repaint their homes together. Over time, it’s become a way to express individuality.”

Huh. That was an unexpected detail. “So, the houses reflect the people living in them?”

“In a way. The village itself belongs to all of us, but the homes? Those are personal. It’s one of the few things people here can truly make their own.”

That was… nice. A small but meaningful way to hold on to identity in a place where survival often meant blending into the whole. It reminded me of the murals and street art back home—how even in the most rigid, structured environments, people still found ways to make their mark.

I swirled my spoon in the broth, considering my next question. “And what about you? Is your house painted?”

She let out a soft chuckle. “No. I have no husband, so no wedding, no painted house.”

“Is that how it works? No exceptions?”

“Not officially,” she admitted. “But the tradition is strong. I suppose if I wanted to, I could paint it myself. But it feels… empty to do it alone.”

I nodded slowly, letting the thought settle.

The village had customs—ones that mattered. And even someone as independent as Io seemed to respect them in her own way.

The conversation drifted into a comfortable lull, the clinking of wooden bowls and quiet murmurs of other diners filling the space. I took another bite, feeling, for the first time since arriving here, that I was part of something instead of just an observer.

###

“Thank you for the meal. That was really good.” Nothing helps out a desperate idiot like a well-placed compliment.

“Glad to hear it. We pride ourselves on our cuisine,” Io responds, a small smirk playing on her lips.

I stretch slightly, feeling the weight of a full stomach settle in. “So, what’s next?”

“Now, I’ll show you the rest of the village. If you plan on staying, you’ll need to find work. Try to see if anything suits you.”

“Do people get to pick their jobs, or is it decided for them?”

“We’d rather have people doing something they’re good at and don’t despise than try to force everyone into roles that don’t fit them. Some do follow in their parents’ footsteps—like a family of smiths—but that’s more out of tradition and convenience than obligation. If someone wants to change things up, they can.”

That’s… really progressive. This place keeps surprising me. No rigid caste system, no ‘born a farmer, die a farmer’ nonsense.

As we walk, I take in the village properly.

###

The village paths weren’t what I expected. No uneven dirt trails, no sinking into the mud after a heavy rain—just carefully arranged pebbles forming sturdy, well-trodden roads. Someone put a lot of effort into making this place practical, durable. It reminded me of old European towns, where every stone had been placed with purpose.

Io led the way as we retraced some of the places I’d glimpsed when we first arrived. The so-called industrial area—a name only I seemed to use—was bustling again now that the midday break had passed. The rhythmic clanging of a hammer against metal rang through the air, mixed with the sounds of saws, wheels creaking under carts, and voices calling out orders. A blacksmith wiped sweat from his brow before returning to shaping a horseshoe. A group of carpenters hauled freshly cut planks toward a workshop, their sleeves rolled up to their elbows.

It was strange to think about—this world, despite its differences, still ran on the same basic principles as mine. People worked. Built. Maintained. It was all so normal.

We passed by more homes, most of them modest but well-kept. Some had gardens, small patches of vibrant flowers growing alongside neatly stacked firewood. A few had colorful patterns painted on the wooden walls, blending seamlessly with the rustic charm of the place.

“So,” I asked, glancing around. “I’ve seen the houses, the workplaces, the gathering hall… but how do you get your food?”

Io smirked slightly, as if she’d been waiting for that question. “We grow it, of course. That’s the last part of the village you haven’t seen.”

I nodded, expecting as much. “Fields? Livestock?”

“Both,” she confirmed. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

She veered off the main path, leading me toward the outskirts of the village. As we walked, she gestured toward a quieter row of homes. “We’ll go around. There are more houses that way, but a lot of elders live in that part of the village. We try to keep things peaceful near them.”

I stole a glance at the homes she mentioned. They were slightly larger, more refined in their construction. Smoke curled lazily from a few chimneys, and an older woman sat on her porch, weaving something with careful hands. She barely spared me a glance before returning to her work.

“Do they still take part in village work?” I asked.

“Some do, if they’re able. Others teach, help care for the children, or pass down knowledge.” Io slowed her pace for a moment. “We don’t send people away just because they can’t work the fields or swing a hammer anymore.”

I wasn’t sure if that was an unintentional jab at my world or not, but I let it slide.

“So, food,” I said, steering us back to the topic. “Let’s see this farmland of yours.”

###

As we step out past the last row of houses, the landscape opens into an expanse of cultivated fields. The contrast is striking—beyond the well-worn paths and neatly arranged homes, the land stretches out in neat, methodical sections. The fields are golden in some places, dark and freshly tilled in others, with rows of green sprouting in between. I can see people working, tending to the crops, checking irrigation channels, carrying tools over their shoulders.

“And here are our fields,” Io says, motioning toward the expanse. “We separate them by crop type and rotate them every year. We found that it keeps the soil healthy.”

That sounds like something straight out of medieval Europe. Might as well check my guess.

“So, do you let some fields rest for a season?”

She glances at me, eyebrow raised. “Oh? Do you know anything about farming?”

“Not really. I just remember reading something about it.”

“Well, you’re right,” she says, nodding toward a section of land that looks untouched compared to the others. “That’s the resting field for this season. We leave it alone so the land doesn’t wear out.”

So, crop rotation. That confirms they have at least a working understanding of soil depletion.

“What kind of crops do you grow?” I ask, watching as a group of villagers work the field.

“Wheat, barley, rye—mostly grains. Some vegetables too, but we focus on what we can store for winter.”

That tracks. Without modern food preservation methods, they’d need to rely on dried goods and long-lasting staples.

“And do you keep any animals?”

Io makes a face. “Cows, pigs, horses, chickens. But I won’t show them to you.”

“Why?”

“The smell doesn’t sit well with me.”

I snort. “Not much of a farm girl, huh?”

“I prefer numbers to manure.”

Fair enough.

“That’s a lot of livestock,” I remark, looking out toward a wooden structure in the distance. Probably a barn or stable.

“Enough to feed the village and trade with merchants,” she replies.

“So, do you ever need to buy food?”

“We usually don’t have to,” she says, shaking her head. “We try to be self-sufficient. It would be too dangerous to rely on the others.”

By others, she definitely means the church-aligned outsiders.

“And how do you trade? Bartering? Or do you use some kind of currency?”

She lets out a short sigh. “A bit of both. We have coins from the merchants, but they’re not useful here. We can only use them when dealing with outsiders, so we try not to depend on them too much. Mostly, we trade goods—wheat, preserved meat, textiles—things we can afford to part with. In return, we get medicine, fabrics, and tools. Anything too advanced for us to make ourselves.” She glances at me. “For now.”

That last part catches my attention.

“For now?” I repeat. “You mean, you plan on changing that?”

Io folds her arms, looking out over the fields. “It’s not just the church that limits us. Even trade comes with risks. If we want to be truly independent, we need to rely on ourselves as much as possible. The less we need from them, the better.”

So, this world is definitely pre-industrial. Probably medieval, maybe early Renaissance. There are no signs of mass production or any advanced industry, and Io’s people seem to be stuck in a precarious position—isolated, yet forced to deal with a system that doesn’t want them to thrive.

I should have paid more attention in history class.

###

“It’s getting dark.” I state the obvious, unsure what comes next for me.

“Will you stay at my home?” Io asks casually, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

She’s been looking after me all day, and she’s not sick of me yet? Weird. People usually can’t stand me for that long. Hell, I can’t stand me for that long.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” I say, shifting awkwardly. “You’ve already done enough for me today.”

Io exhales sharply. “Stop apologizing for everything. Just say thank you for once.”

A proper scolding. And she’s right—I’m kind of an asshole. Have I even thanked her properly? Sorry, Grandma, but your grandson forgot his manners.

I take a deep breath. “Thank you, Io. You are my savior.”

She snorts. “That’s awfully dramatic. All I did was make sure an interesting fool didn’t get himself killed.”

“I am hopeless, huh?”

“Yes, you are,” she says with a smirk. “Good thing you’re finally realizing it.”

I sigh, but I can’t help but smile. “Alright. I’ll take the spare room.”

“Good. It’s late.” She turns, gesturing for me to follow.

I yield. She’s right. I should just be grateful and accept her kindness. Still, I need to figure out a way to repay her.