Chapter 2: Everything Is Fate

"I'm back? No, wait."

Mark Thompson jolted to his feet, his eyes scanning the surroundings in confusion.

The landscape before him looked almost identical to the farm he had once managed. But the distant horizon was cloaked in thick mist, and the sky was nowhere to be seen. The crops and livestock that should have been there had vanished, as though they had never existed. The silence was suffocating—an eerie stillness that hung in the air, with no wind, no movement, nothing. Everything seemed off, unnatural, and it felt as if a heavy weight pressed down on him.

"Is this one of those perks of being a 'transmigrator'?" Mark muttered to himself, uncertainty in his voice. As a ten-year veteran of the eBook world, he had read countless novels about people with mysterious powers or "golden fingers." The scene unfolding before him felt eerily familiar to the settings in those stories.

He closed his eyes, trying to steady his mind.

But rather than the peaceful calm he had hoped for, his senses sharpened. It was as if he had gained the perspective of a god—everything around him, every slight movement in the wind, every ripple in the earth, was clear to him.

Then, almost instinctively, Mark willed the air to stir. A breeze picked up, rustling through the dried-out grass, bringing a hint of life to the desolate landscape.

Yet, there was still no sign of life—no animals, no insects, not even a blade of grass moving on the distant mountainside.

Mark opened his eyes, a glimmer of excitement creeping into his expression. It finally clicked—this world, this place, was under his control!

"Wind, come!"

He shouted, arms wide, a carefree smile on his face. Almost immediately, a powerful gust whipped through the air, rushing across the empty expanse. The force of it lifted him off the ground.

"Whoa! I'm flying!"

With the wind beneath him, Mark soared through the air, all his pent-up frustrations melting away. His body felt weightless, free. Although this wasn't quite the leisurely life he had once enjoyed, having a realm all his own made him feel invincible. The future, he realized, held infinite possibilities.

He flew for a while, letting the excitement die down, his thoughts returning to a more grounded state. Below him, the farm stretched out—a familiar patch of land, about 230 acres, the exact size of the farm he had once run. The layout was unchanged, even the old house, the storage warehouse for high-quality feed, and the simple farming machinery were exactly where they had been.

He looked down again, realizing he had been facing the wrong direction the entire time. The warehouse had been behind him this whole time.

In an instant, Mark found himself standing in front of his house. The sight of it—his familiar home, the porch with the wooden rocking chairs, the small kitchen sheltered beneath a humble awning—stirred a mix of emotions inside him.

Everything appeared as it had been. But deep down, he knew that the world he had once known was gone for good.

At least, for now, he was alone, unburdened by anything. He didn't feel sorrow; the only regret he had was for the money he had accumulated in his old life.

That money was locked in his old bank account. If he had known something like this was going to happen, he would have made preparations, maybe written a will and donated it all to a charity. But now, it seemed pointless.

Then again, he was still young. Why would he have ever thought to write a will?

He sighed, shaking his head. There was no use in dwelling on it. The only thing he could do now was live for the present.

"Mack! Mack!"

The voice calling out to him snapped Mark from his thoughts.

At first, he didn't register what had just happened, but soon, he realized—someone was calling his name.

As that thought crossed his mind, the scene around him began to shift. The once-familiar farm faded into a vague, misty haze, and the ground beneath him became unfamiliar. Outside the window, he could make out several figures, blurred by the fog.

When the thought of "leaving" crossed his mind, the sensation under his feet solidified again, and everything around him returned to its previous form.

"Mom!"

The word escaped his lips before he could think. His voice sounded distant, confused.

The instant the word left his mouth, he froze. It felt odd, unfamiliar.

He had never called anyone "Mom" before. In fact, just before leaving the farm, he had been wondering how to break the news to the family of the original owner. Telling them the truth seemed impossible, and pretending nothing had changed didn't seem wise either.

Yet, in this moment, he had called out that word without hesitation, as if it had always been a part of him. Perhaps everything was unfolding the way it was meant to.

Maybe this was fate. In this new world, he wasn't alone anymore.

Footsteps approached rapidly, and before Mark could react, a small figure rushed toward him, wrapping him in an embrace.

"Waaah! You fool, I told you to go to school! Why didn't you listen? Why do you always do things like this?" The woman's voice was choked with tears. Mark was left bewildered, unsure of what was happening.

He hesitated but then gently patted her back. "...Mom, I'm fine."

"You're so stubborn! Don't you understand what's going on? Can't you calm down for once? Look at what you've done to me!" The woman's voice trembled with distress.

Around them, the crowd began to gather, murmuring amongst themselves.

One man, a middle-aged figure with a furrowed brow, stared at Mark with a mixture of confusion and concern. Mark quickly recognized him as Joseph Hart, the village head, someone he should refer to as "Elder" in terms of seniority.

He also noticed several familiar faces in the crowd, though he couldn't quite place them by name.

"This boy… there are a lot of people in our village who never went to school, but this…" one villager muttered.

"How could he do this to his parents?" another voice chimed in.

"I think someone needs to teach him a lesson. Will, you go and deal with him." A gruff voice added.

The villagers' murmurs grew louder, and Mark realized, it was the middle of harvest season. For something like this to cause such an uproar—well, it wasn't something to be taken lightly.

"Joseph, we failed to give him better opportunities. Don't blame him," Mark's mother, Mary Thompson, wiped her tears as she turned to the village head. After thanking him, she turned to Mark. "Come on, let's go home. I'll borrow some money, don't make your mother worry."

"Let's go home first." Will Thompson, Mark's father, said in a low voice.

Mark, listening to the conversation, felt a complicated swirl of emotions. When had he done something so drastic? The memories he had of the original life didn't seem to add up.

His eyes turned to his sister, Anna Thompson, who was wiping away tears nearby.

"Anna, didn't I tell you I'm fine? What did you tell Mom?" Mark asked, his voice tinged with confusion.

"I just told her that," Anna said, still sobbing, trying to explain herself.

Mark couldn't think of a response. He turned back to Mary. "Mom, I really am fine. It's not about school, I promise. Don't worry."

"You always say that. Can you ever let your mother worry a little less?" Mary smiled weakly, shaking her head.

Nearby, a woman dressed in a black robe and gray pants, with a skeptical look in her eyes, was watching Mark intently.

Mark didn't interrupt her. He simply listened as the villagers continued to discuss the situation. As the story unfolded, he couldn't help but feel a deep sense of disbelief. The medical conditions in this era were appallingly primitive.