It only took a moment for Alden's memory to supply the names of those riding in the middle. The cropped orange-haired rider on the left was Baron Edaroc—his newfound father. He wore a polished iron breastplate—possibly even steel—while the rest of his body was covered by leather armor, under a dark cloak to protect against the windchill during his iron mine visit towards the mountains in the north. His beard was cut short and streaked with gray. He sat astride his horse like a man who knew exactly who was the owner of this place, although he seemed troubled about something.

  Roderic and several guards immediately jogged forward to meet the new arrivals. Alden's memory told him that Edaroc used to be a knight before becoming the baron, and it still showed in his posture even though those times were decades in the past. The other similarly dressed—but bald—man was his uncle, Lidoroc, whose expression gave nothing away about what could be going on in his mind. However, his potbelly told a lot about where some of his major interests lay.

  Alden saw Edaroc’s gaze scanning the yard—palisade, doors, braziers, faces—and stopped on Alden. For a heartbeat his face held steady; then something eased at the eyes. He swung down from the saddle immediately, handing the reins to a waiting servant with a brief word, and crossed the distance in quick, sure steps.

  He stopped close enough to look over Alden properly, like he was measuring him. “You’re walking again,” he said. The words were plain, but it wasn't difficult to hear the relief hidden beneath it. Edaroc looked like the kind of man who didn’t show much sentiment in public. Or maybe he just couldn't, because he was also the baron of this village, not just a father whose sick son lying on his deathbed had just started walking again.

  "I'm feeling okay now," Alden nodded. "Hilda also fed me some warm soup."

  “That'll do it.” The corner of Edaroc’s mouth shifted, more relief than smile. “Give me some time to wash up,” he said, already sliding back into the rhythm of a man whose day ran on decisions and responsibilities. “Then we will eat.”

  “Alright,” Alden answered.

  His uncle Lidoroc had dismounted with far less urgency. He approached them and stopped a few paces away, eyes unreadable. “Glad you’re up,” he said in an even tone, adding nothing to it.

  An old dislike stirred in Alden without a clear reason attached to it—something the body remembered even if the scene that caused it was missing. He kept his reply level. “Thank you, uncle.”

  Edaroc gave him one more assessing look, then patted his shoulder once, before turning to speak with Roderic about the horses and something regarding the village gates.

  Alden let his breath out with a relaxed smile. The baron was home. He had a father once again, although it had taken being transported to a different world for that to happen.

  He stayed where he was for a moment, watching the familiar motions taking over—reins handed off, saddles lifted, dust beaten from cloaks, a boy running towards the stable with a water bucket, a girl hurrying past with a loaf wrapped in cloth, one of the older guards calling for oil for some gate hinges.

  Around him, the yard had easily settled into a pattern, even though he still felt out of place. Everything here seemed normal to the people who belonged to this manor. He wasn’t sure he would ever feel that way after living all his life in London. He had lived a different kind of routine, measured in buses and office hours and late-hour screen times, and none of that fit inside timber walls or a yard that smelled of hay and manure. But for now, this was the only option he had. It would have to be enough while he learned how to navigate this new life.

  However, despite all that, he felt grateful that even though he had been transported into this new world for whatever unexplained reason, at least he hadn’t found himself in the middle of a sword battle or a road ambush. He wouldn’t have lasted a minute against a swordsman who wanted to kill him. His new memories had already told him that this world had dangerous monsters and fireball-throwing grand mages, but here, inside the palisade walls of the manor in Sarnok, at least he had some safety. His father, the Baron of Sarnok, was still alive and healthy to lead this village in the coming years, even if he seemed to have way too many worries in his mind.

  Alden turned back toward the door of the manor house. The warmth of the firelight glowed invitingly in the main hall.

  He exhaled deeply. Whether he liked it or not, he couldn’t go back to his previous job of a low-paid mechanical engineer in London anymore. But even if he had found himself as the heir of this barony, he felt relieved that at least he would get a few years to adjust to life in this world before pressure rose up on him to take on more leadership as his father slowly grew older. For now, that was enough.

  ***

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Alden walked into the dining room about an hour later, his stomach already grumbling.

  The warmth hit him first. A small hearth at the far end blazed bright, throwing warm firelight along the timber beams and softening the small hall into something almost cozy. A single trestle table ran nearly the length of the small room, its surface polished smooth by years of hands and tankards. Comfortable armchairs were kept on both sides of the table here, unlike the benches that ran along the table in the main hall where everyone else ate.

  Caelen and Lira sat halfway down its length on opposite sides, the boy hunched over with his elbows on the table, fingers drumming in thought. Lira leaned slightly against the maid standing beside her, looking small in her chair, her pale-orange hair falling in wisps around her face.

  At the head of the table sat Baron Edaroc, shoulders squared in the firelight. Beside him was the bald man Alden had seen in the courtyard—his uncle, Lidoroc. An open bottle of wine was kept in front of them, already half-empty by now. His memory supplied context: Edaroc reserved the rarely bought bottles of wine for special occasions only—births, homecomings, victories over serious monster attacks. The baron drank ale otherwise, same as everyone else in the manor. They couldn’t afford to be wasteful of money. But tonight was special.

  His newfound father looked up as Alden entered the dining room, and something close to warmth cracked his usual stern expression. “See, Lidoroc? I knew he’d be walking around soon enough!”

  Lidoroc smiled in the firelight—which was making his scalp shine. “You look better than the pale husk I was told to expect.” His tone was smooth and easy, the kind that filled space without effort.

  Alden dipped his head, not giving a reply. The memories of this body offered little about the man beyond a general impression—that his uncle visited rarely, and was always greeted with genuine warmth by Edaroc, but that the original Alden had never trusted him. No clear reason why, except the unease—quiet and persistent.

  “Sit,” Edaroc ordered. “You need food. A lot of it.”

  Alden took a seat beside Caelen, across from Lira.

  Before long, the doors opened again, and Hilda marched in with two maids trailing behind, each balancing heavy trays. The smells hit all at once—roasted meat, crisped skin gleaming with fat, the earthier scent of root vegetables in a thick stew, and the warm, yeasty sweetness of bread just torn from the oven.

  “Out of the way, out of the way,” Hilda barked, waving a hand at a servant who lingered too near. She set her tray down with a solid thump, wiped her hands on her apron, and looked straight at Alden. Her eyes softened, just for a heartbeat, before she was turning back toward the food. “Eat hearty, my lord. Hells, all of you. You’ve reason to celebrate tonight—Master Alden’s walking again!”

  A cheer went up from the servants as platters were set down on the table. Caelen leaned closer, lowering his voice. “She’s also made a pie,” he whispered. “I smelled the berries earlier. It means she’s in a really good mood.”

  Alden hid a smile. “Is that rare?”

  “Very,” Caelen said gravely, which made Alden chuckle at the serious expression.

  Soon the table was full, looking like a small feast had been set up. Steaming stew was ladled into bowls, meat carved and passed around, bread torn into thick hunks. Hilda oversaw every dish, nodding briskly as servants and maids moved to and from the kitchen.

  At the head of the table, Edaroc and Lidoroc talked with each other, voices low at first, then warming into laughter. Alden glanced that way now and then, catching the way his father’s hand relaxedly tapped against the goblet of wine as his brother spoke. Edaroc’s face, so often hard-lined, had eased in the company of his younger brother.

  Then, during a lull in the conversation, Edaroc looked toward Alden. “I’ll be leaving with your uncle tomorrow,” he said. “For Garitus City. We’re to meet with the Duke—to request that he shelter Sarnok’s people through the winter without any fees.”

  Alden’s past memory from this world filled in what the words meant. Every year, as the colder months came, all the smaller villages emptied toward Garitus—the great walled city in the west that stood like a fortress against the monsters which came from the north in such huge numbers after the snowfall that they ran over nearly every village on the way.

  However, unlike the palisade walls of the villages, Garitus’s mighty walls were made of stone, tall enough to easily withstand what no village could hope to resist, and were protected by mages serving the Duke. That's why Sarnok, Tevrim, Laridan—and the other nearby baronies and villages sent all their people to the fortress city when the snows began. The people stayed there until early spring, when the monsters withdrew to the colder north again and the thaw began, so everyone could start rebuilding their lives again. Till the next winter, anyway.

  Edaroc’s voice stayed even. “We never had to pay such a fee before, but this year, there are rumors going around that the Duke's going to start charging for taking in people from outside the city. They're saying that last year Garitus had gotten an overwhelming number of refugees, which meant far too many mouths to feed and people to shelter, but with not enough gold to allot provisions for everyone. The rumors say the city can’t take in everyone anymore, so they have to prioritize those who can pay for their safety."

  "That greedy bastard..." Lidoroc spat. "Everyone knows the monster waves've been getting worse for the past few years, but this is..."

  Edaroc's glare was enough to shut his brother's mouth. The fire crackled as the baron gave a quick glance at the maids and servants who had been listening carefully, before he shook his head, "The Duke charging for refuge? Nah... I say it's gotta be an empty rumor. Even if it isn’t, we've always had good relations with the Duke. Sarnok's iron is what feeds his forges to make the weapons they need to fight the monsters. He won’t forget that. He can't..."