Pakin woke up early in the morning, so early that his old self would’ve thought it impossible. Here in his new life, however, many things needed doing in the village, and powered lights were a luxury.

  It had been several weeks since Pakin had awoken in his new body with all the forewarning of a car crash. Which is suitable since that’s how he’d died and ended up here.

  In the time between then and now, his newer memories had settled over the top of the old and he’d begun parsing through them. Personal details were difficult to retrieve and even his old name didn’t seem to have survived the journey through reincarnation. What he did remember, though, was the world he came from and the general shape of his old life. He used to be a student just starting his secondary education in a place more developed and connected than his new home. Pakin had a hard time grasping the current technological level of the world he found himself in, they had electricity but being in the boonies limited its use. They had steel that seemed of industrial quality but his own father, the town blacksmith, proudly pointed out that he’d made almost every tool in their village by hand. There were a dozen other similar things, books printed from some kind of press, clothing clearly sewn in a factory, and a few of their neighbors even had hunting rifles. However, he didn’t have the knowledge required to understand the nuances of such technologies or what kind of breakthroughs they represented.

  Pakin rolled out of his bed and started dressing himself. The folks in his village reminded him of the herders of Mongolia from his old world, in fact, most of the village were goat herders. They wore deel, long-sleeved tunics belted around the waist with a rope or band, baggy pants, and boots. An outfit that suited his new, cold, elevated home. After dressing he shuffled to the bathroom to freshen up. He looked in the bathroom mirror and thought about how, despite their similar dress and occupation they looked very different.

  Like his dad and most people in his village, Pakin had white, fluffy hair. His was getting so long that he often put it into a loose ponytail to keep it out of his face. Pakin’s skin was naturally tan, but time in the sun had darkened it further. His eyes were a dark brown like his mom and he often found himself wondering if they were the same as they were in his old life.

  “Can’t get wrapped back up in that today. Gotta help dad in the shop.” Pakin whispered to himself as he exited the bathroom and continued down the hall to the family living room. The first few days had been a struggle emotionally, as he kept getting lost in the experience of having lived a whole other life that no longer existed.

  “Hello, my little Pakipaki! Breakfast is on the table.”

  Pakin gave his mom, Mera, a hearty smile “Good morning Mommy! Thanks!” and dug into a hearty breakfast of fried meat, bread, and yoghurt.

  “Your father’s already hammering away, so you can go meet him after you finish your morning chores.”

  “Ofkay” He replied through a mouthful of bread.

  “Jeez Pakin! I know I taught you better manners than that.” She lightly chastised him with a smile on his lips

  Pakin tried his best to play up the kid routine for his new parents. The boy they’d raised was gone, so Pakin had tried hard to lean on the instincts left behind by the old Pakin. It seemed to make them happy beyond belief, as their newly recovered son hopped about with childish glee and curiosity. It also helped Pakin ask questions he didn’t think an adult would get away with asking, like ‘What country do we live in’ or ‘How does the post office work?’ One thing he never asked about, though, was the disease that had seemingly disappeared with his arrival into this body.

  He had to rely on the old Pakin’s sparse memories of doctor’s visits and procedures for that information. The disease that had wrecked his new body was called ‘Life force/Spiritual Energy Wasting’ or something to that effect. The old memories recall how he’d been told from an early age that no one knew what caused it, but that it was a deadly affliction. Victims are usually born with it and they suffer from weaker bodies and lifespans that don’t typically go past ten years. It confused Pakin because they talked about cells, tissue regeneration, hormone production, things that suggest a very advanced understanding of the human body but all of it is mixed with talks of this ‘Life force/Spiritual Energy’ which his previous occupant didn’t seem to understand very well.

  Whatever it was, that energy was constantly ejected from the old Pakin’s body leading to tons of problems with his health. It was like a hole was poked in a balloon you were constantly trying to fill with water. Except the hole only got bigger and you couldn’t fill the balloon up fast enough to replace the loss. At least that’s how Dr.Kucha explained in one of the old Pakin’s first clinic visits. Pakin made a reasonable guess that this energy was vital for life here and losing too much can kill you.

  It seemed a touchy subject, so Pakin did his best to avoid it.

  He finished his breakfast, gathered up his dishes, handed them off to his mother, and started on his daily chores. First on the list was to check on their little parcel of pasture and the goats within.

  As Pakin exited the front door he took in the scenic view of the Fuwayama. The village was located in a small valley covered in grassy meadows. Houses stretched up and down the valley in a line that terminated at its end where a smattering of administrative and commercial buildings made up the ‘hub’ of their little pastoral community.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  It was something Pakin appreciated every second he could. There was a peace and fulfillment to simply existing in this place that didn’t exist in his old life. It soothed the perpetual ache in his soul.

  *Blaaaaaahhhhh*

  The goats weren’t content to wait for Pakin to finish his meditations though, so he got to work.

  Pakin jogged through the town towards his father’s blacksmith shop. Along the way, he greeted the dozen or so neighbors he passed on the way.

  “Hey Pakin! Tell Gakin to hurry up on that order of mine.”

  “Young Pakin, be sure to come back to me once you finish that book you borrowed and we’ll see about getting you a new one.”

  “Pakin! Come play with us when you get off!”

  His neighbors and friends returned his greetings with warmth. He’d grown rather attached to them and felt comforted that they all seemed to care for him as if they were all part of one big family. He was slowly learning that in small villages like this, connections with neighbors were a necessity.

  A village small enough that he quickly reached his father’s shop from their home on the edge of town. Pakin headed around back and found his father hammering away at a piece of metal in the shade of his open-air forge.

  Pakin donned his child-sized blacksmith’s apron and patiently waited for his father to finish his work. The older man slowly pounded the hot metal into shape, each strike placed with the precision honed over years of practice. It enraptured Pakin every time he watched and made him glad he’d asked to start helping in the forge a few days ago.

  His dad had been reluctant, but Dr.Kucha told him that it’d be good for Pakin’s constitution. He’d need a lot of exercise as part of his recovery, and working the day away in a hot forge was the perfect place to get it.

  As Pakin continued his observation, the metal slowly lost its color and Pakin could make out the full shape of the item his father had been working on. The plow head sizzled as his father plunged it into the quenching bath and brought it out for closer inspection. As he looked over his work, he motioned toward Pakin to join him at his workstation.

  “Mr.Suta asked me if his piece was ready this morning, I’m sure he’ll be happy when I bring it to him once you finish the detailing.”

  His father let out a gruff chortle. “That impatient bastard probably told me to hurry up or something.” He paused as he realized his mistake. “What’s the rule at the forge?”

  “Cussing stays at the forge, don’t tell mommy!” Pakin laughed to himself as he repeated the rule his father asked him to recite every day.

  “Very good. Very good. No cussing from you though, not yet.” Gakin turned towards his sun and flashed him a mischievous smile.

  “No fair,” Pakin whined.

  A joyful laugh rumbled from Gakin’s belly “Make something decent on the anvil and you can cuss as much as you like.” he challenged.

  “Alright! Let’s get started!”

  Father and son rolled up their sleeves and got to work.

  Father and son looked down at a lump of metal.

  Pakin was panting and beat red from exertion, a frown expressing his clear displeasure.

  Gakin, in contrast, was clearly trying very hard not to laugh.

  “It looks like something Missy would leave in the stable for me to clean up.”

  At the mention of their most ornery goat, Gakin lost his battle and laughter flowed freely through the workshop. Pakin joined in, unable to stay upset at his failure while his father slapped him reassuringly on the back.

  Picked up the lump with one hand and wiped a tear from his eye with the other. He sighed in contentment and turned the piece of metal over as he passed an expert eye over it.

  “The problem is pretty clear to me.” Gakin put down the lump and picked up a hammer while moving around the anvil to let Pakin have a better view of his movements.

  “You’re trying to use strength where precision is what you need.” He then started swinging his hammer without any of his usual speed, allowing Pakin to take in the full motion from start to finish.

  “Shaping metal isn’t all heavy grunting and slamming things together. You’ve got to take the time to really think about how each of your swings will move your piece towards its desired shape. The bounce of your anvil, the angle of your tongs, the amount of force behind your blow.” With each variable he listed Gakin moved his hammer up and down as if working an invisible piece of metal in slow motion.

  “Blacksmithing is a patient man’s art and the best smiths can accurately and consistently apply the right amount of force until even the most stubborn metal flows into the correct shape.”

  Pakin was completely enraptured, something about the process was hypnotic and he picked up a hammer almost as if in a trance. He moved forward and tried his best to mimic his father’s swings. Gakin smiled and nodded, as Pakin seemed to grasp the point of his demonstration.

  “Metal responds best to commitment and effort. Just like most things in life. If you plan carefully, stay committed, and try your best you can make anything from a plow to a life.”

  Gakin stopped swinging and regarded his son with love in his eyes. Pakin’s arm was sore from the constant motion, and it felt like he’d worked out muscles he didn’t even know existed. Even through the pain he still caught Gakin’s look and sheepishly looked back down at the anvil in front of them.

  “Okay, Dad. I’ll do my best.” Gakin reached across the anvil and gave Pakin’s hair a quick tussle.

  “That’s all that I ask, son.”