Unwritten Fate [BL]-Chapter 5: The Rhythm of Village Life

Billy awoke to the rhythmic creaking of wooden beams, the faint scent of damp earth mingling with the crisp morning air. The village stirred beyond the window, voices blending with the distant sound of waves lapping against the shore. It had been days since he started working alongside Artur, and each morning, the weight of his missing memories felt less suffocating.

He sat up, stretching out the stiffness in his limbs. His hands bore the proof of his labor—scratches, callouses, a lingering soreness that strangely reassured him. He was becoming a part of this place, whether he had meant to or not.

Dand was already outside, tending to the animals when Billy stepped onto the porch. The old man glanced up from where he was scattering feed for the chickens.

"Good, you're awake," Dand said. "Artur could use an extra hand today."

Billy wiped the sleep from his eyes. "And here I thought I'd get a break."

Dand snorted. "Village life doesn't come with days off, boy. Now, get going before Artur decides to do everything himself."

Billy grabbed a piece of bread from the kitchen before making his way toward the fields. The path had become familiar now—past the wooden fences, across the worn footbridge, toward the land where the villagers worked tirelessly to prepare for the festival.

Artur was already there, sleeves rolled up, lifting a crate of supplies onto a cart. His movements were precise, efficient, like someone who had been doing this his whole life. Billy had learned quickly that Artur never asked for help, but that didn't mean he didn't need it.

"Thought I'd save you from breaking your back," Billy teased, stepping beside him.

Artur didn't look up. "If you're going to stand there talking, you might as well be useful."

Billy smirked, grabbing another crate. "You really know how to make a guy feel welcome."

Artur finally glanced at him, one brow raised. "You're still here, aren't you?"

Billy didn't have a response for that, so he just grinned and kept working.

The day passed in a blur of tasks—loading carts, arranging market stalls, weaving decorations from dried flowers and colored fabric. Billy found himself slipping into the rhythm of the village, his actions instinctive now, his hands steady with work he'd never imagined himself doing.

The festival preparations had drawn more people from neighboring villages, each bringing their own contributions. There was an energy in the air, a shared anticipation that spread through the crowd as musicians tuned their instruments and children ran through the streets carrying bundles of wildflowers.

Billy paused to wipe sweat from his forehead, watching as Artur spoke with a group of older men near the main square. Unlike the others, Artur carried himself with a quiet responsibility. People naturally turned to him for guidance, even without him demanding it.

"You watching him again?"

Billy turned to find an elderly woman beside him, her knowing eyes crinkled with amusement. She was holding a bundle of herbs, her hands weathered from years of work.

"What? No. Just... taking a break," Billy muttered.

The woman chuckled. "Artur takes care of this village like his father before him. He doesn't say much, but he watches over us all the same." She glanced at Billy. "And he's been watching you, too."

Billy frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She simply smiled, handing him a sprig of rosemary. "A little something for luck. You'll need it."

Before Billy could ask what she meant, she was gone, disappearing into the throng of villagers. He turned the herb between his fingers, the scent strong and earthy.

He had no past, no identity beyond what they had given him. But here, among these people, he was no longer just a lost man from the sea.

He was Billy.

By nightfall, the village glowed with warm lantern light. The market square was nearly complete, festival banners strung between the buildings, the scent of roasted meat and spiced bread drifting through the air.

Billy sat on the steps of the storage shed, watching the lights flicker against the dark sky. His muscles ached in a satisfying way, exhaustion settling over him like a heavy blanket.

Artur appeared beside him, setting down a jug of water. Neither of them spoke for a moment, the silence between them comfortable.

"You worked hard today," Artur finally said.

Billy let out a short laugh. "So that's your way of saying 'good job'?"

Artur huffed. "Take it or leave it."

Billy smirked, nudging Artur's shoulder lightly. "Guess I'll take it."

They sat there, side by side, the hum of the village continuing around them. Billy had no idea where his journey would lead him, but for now—just for now—he felt like he belonged.

And that was enough.

Billy woke to the scent of fresh earth and the distant murmur of voices outside. The ceiling above him—wooden beams darkened with time—was unfamiliar yet oddly comforting. The simple cot beneath him creaked as he shifted, his muscles aching from days of labor. His body had begun to adapt to the demands of village life, but his mind still wrestled with a question he hadn't dared voice aloud:

What if my memories never return?

The thought settled heavily in his chest, but before he could dwell on it, the door creaked open. Dand stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his usual no-nonsense expression softening just slightly.

"You gonna sleep all day, boy?"

Billy swung his legs over the edge of the bed, rubbing his temples. "Didn't realize there was a deadline on waking up."

Dand chuckled. "There is if you want breakfast."

Billy didn't argue. He followed Dand outside, where the morning was already alive with movement. Women hung freshly washed linens on lines that stretched between wooden posts. Children darted between houses, their laughter blending with the rhythmic hammering of a blacksmith's forge. A few villagers sat beneath the shade of a large tree, mending fishing nets while exchanging quiet conversation.

The village, small yet vibrant, breathed around him. It had become his world, even if he didn't know how he fit into it yet.

"Eat first, then go find Artur," Dand said, handing Billy a bowl of porridge. "Festival's coming. There's work to be done."

Billy took a spoonful, the warmth settling in his stomach. "Does he ever take a break?"

Dand snorted. "That boy wouldn't know how to rest if it smacked him in the face."

Billy didn't doubt it.

The sun had climbed higher by the time Billy reached the fields where Artur worked. Rows of crops stretched across the land, their green leaves swaying under the gentle wind. Artur stood near a cart, rolling up his sleeves, his sharp eyes scanning the supplies stacked inside.

Billy leaned against the wooden frame of the cart, watching him. "You know, normal people take breaks."

Artur glanced at him, unimpressed. "Normal people don't keep a village running."

Billy smirked. "So you admit you're not normal?"

Artur ignored the jab, lifting a sack of grain onto his shoulder with practiced ease. Billy didn't hesitate before grabbing another. The weight pressed down on his muscles, but he adjusted quickly, falling into step beside Artur as they carried the sacks to a nearby storage shed.

For a while, they worked in silence, moving crates, stacking supplies, checking inventory. Billy had never been one for hard labor—not that he could remember—but something about this work felt grounding. His hands had a purpose. His body knew exhaustion, but it was the kind that came from doing something, from being part of something larger than himself.

As he placed the last crate onto a stack, he let out a breath and leaned against the wall. "You know, I don't even know why I'm helping. I don't owe this village anything."

Artur, wiping sweat from his forehead, gave him a steady look. "Then why are you still here?"

Billy hesitated.

He didn't have an answer.

---

By midday, the village square buzzed with preparations. Wooden stalls were being set up, decorated with vibrant fabrics and woven garlands. Women sat in circles, threading beads and feathers into intricate jewelry. Young men hauled barrels of freshly brewed ale toward the communal tables. The scent of roasted meat and fresh bread filled the air, mingling with the crisp sea breeze.

Billy found himself caught in the whirlwind, pulled into various tasks—lifting crates, securing decorations, helping an elderly man set up a stall selling hand-carved trinkets.

He barely noticed Artur watching him from a distance.

"He's adapting well," an older man beside Artur noted.

Artur crossed his arms, his gaze following Billy as he laughed at something one of the children said. "Maybe."

The man chuckled. "You sound disappointed."

Artur didn't respond.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting from Billy. The stranger had been a burden at first—another problem to solve, another responsibility to shoulder. But now, Billy was weaving himself into the fabric of the village, like a thread that didn't belong yet somehow fit.

Artur wasn't sure how he felt about that.

---

The evening sky burned in hues of orange and violet as Billy sat on the porch of Dand's home, a worn cloth in his hands as he cleaned dirt from beneath his fingernails. He felt the day's work settle into his muscles, a dull ache that he welcomed.

Dand sat beside him, pipe in hand, the scent of tobacco curling into the air. "You've done good work."

Billy chuckled. "Didn't realize I had a performance review."

Dand smirked. "You're settling in."

Billy stared at his hands. "Yeah, well... it's not like I have anywhere else to go."

Dand studied him for a long moment before tapping his pipe against the wooden railing. "A man isn't just the memories he's lost. He's also the life he chooses to live."

Billy's throat tightened. He turned his gaze to the horizon, the waves in the distance reflecting the last light of the sun.

"What was my name?" The words slipped out before he could stop them. "Before all this... what did they call me?"

Dand was silent.

Billy exhaled sharply. "Right. No one knows."

Dand placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Names are given, not just remembered. If you need one, take one."

Billy let the words sink in.

A name. Something to hold onto. Something to claim.

His gaze drifted toward the fields where Artur still worked under the dimming sky, the man's silhouette steady and unshaken.

Billy inhaled. "Then keep calling me Billy."

Dand nodded, as if it had always been so. "Billy it is."

The name settled over him, unfamiliar yet fitting. Not a past reclaimed, but a future chosen.

And for now, that was enough.

---

The village quieted as night deepened, the occasional murmur of voices drifting through the air. Billy lay on his cot, staring at the wooden ceiling, sleep just out of reach.

A faint sound from outside caught his attention. Rising, he stepped out onto the porch, finding Artur standing near the fence, his gaze fixed on the ocean.

Billy approached without a word, resting his arms on the wooden railing beside him. The salty breeze was cool against his skin.

Artur didn't acknowledge him at first. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. "Do you ever feel like you're standing at the edge of something, waiting for it to pull you in?"

Billy's chest tightened. "Every day."

Artur exhaled, his expression unreadable. "Then maybe you belong here more than you think."

Billy turned to look at him, searching for something in Artur's face—an answer, a reason, anything to hold onto.

He didn't find it.

But for the first time, he didn't feel like he needed to.

They stood there in silence, the ocean stretching endlessly before them.

And for the first time in a long time, Billy didn't feel lost.

He felt home.

Read latest chapters at freёweɓnovel.com Only.