4 joining the herd

As I was lost in thought, admiring the beauty of this world, a strange sensation spread across my back—originating from a single point before rippling outward. It was unfamiliar, an unnatural stimulus that provoked an involuntary reaction from my body.

I turned my head, and realization dawned.

I had been kicked.

"So this is pain?" I muttered, analyzing the sensation coursing through me. "A function of the body's defensive mechanism… judging by the accelerated heartbeat and the surge of stress-induced hormones."

A voice followed—harsh, guttural, incomprehensible.

"#&#_-#?" The man who kicked me spoke, his expression unreadable.

The sounds were chaotic, layered in a structure I could neither predict nor decipher. Not just foreign—beyond comprehension.

Gibberish.

The man stepped back, scratching his head in confusion, as if expecting a reaction that never came. Then, without another word, he turned and began descending the mountain.

Below, a winding trail of humans moved down the slopes, carrying supplies—bundles wrapped in cloth, crude wooden crates, heavy sacks slung over shoulders.

As unfamiliar as this situation was, I instinctively did what any social animal would—I followed the herd.

Then, a flicker of thought.

Wait… Where did I know that from?

It struck like a glitch in my reasoning, an anomaly in an otherwise structured mind. My knowledge was intact, yet fragmented—present, yet scattered, like pieces of an equation missing variables.

I paused, considering the implications.

If my previous universe possessed a sentient will—one that acted to maintain balance—then this world likely had its own form of sentience as well. Just as my universe was cautious, ensuring I did not disrupt its order, this one might be doing the same.

I could feel it—not as an active force, but as an unseen restriction. Certain knowledge drifted within my mind, present yet veiled, like data locked behind an unknown cipher.

A precaution.

This world… was watching me.

And I realized—I, too, must be cautious.

Every action, every choice must be calculated, not just to survive, but to ensure my continued existence in this world. A world not swallowed by the empty void, but one woven with complexity—intricate beauty governed by rules and laws waiting to be understood.

Yes… That's right.

I accepted this mission not as a duty, nor as a burden, but as a necessity.

The pursuit of understanding must never end.

I stopped my monologue and quickly descended the mountain, my thoughts shifting to immediate priorities.

I came to a conclusion.

First, I needed to survive. Find something edible, secure shelter—ensure the continuity of my existence in this unfamiliar world.

Second, I had to observe and learn their language. Communication was crucial, not just for interaction but for gathering information and deciphering the underlying principles of this world.

Understanding begins with observation. Survival is only the first step.

As I organized my priorities, another realization surfaced—I was in the body of a child.

I deduced this by recalling my earlier encounter with the man, comparing my height to his. Then, I examined my own hand—its proportions, the subtle traces of muscle development, the faint emergence of masculine characteristics.

Approximately 12 to 13 years of age.

A body still in its formative stage, lacking strength but adaptable. This meant limited physical capability, but also potential for growth.

I would have to account for this in my survival strategy.

And so, I exploited one of humanity's greatest weaknesses—compassion and empathy.

With calculated steps, I approached the group, my movements hesitant, my expression carefully crafted to appear lost, vulnerable. Weakness invites aid; helplessness compels action.

For now, survival took precedence.

I would observe. I would learn.

And in time, I would understand.