Unwritten Fate [BL]-Chapter 3: A New Beginning

The morning light filtered through the small window, casting a warm glow on the wooden walls of the room. Outside, the sounds of birds chirping and distant voices mingled with the rustling of leaves in the wind. Eddy—or rather, the man who had once been Eddy—sat on the edge of the bed, staring at his hands. They were calloused, rough in places, as if they had known hard work. But no memories came with that realization, no flashes of a life before this moment.

A soft knock pulled him from his thoughts. The door creaked open, and Dand stepped inside, carrying a fresh set of clothes.

"You're looking better today," Dand observed, setting the bundle on the chair near the bed. His voice was gentle, carrying the weight of experience, of someone who had seen many things and weathered many storms.

Eddy nodded but said nothing. He wasn't sure what "better" even meant. Was he supposed to feel different? More whole? But the truth was, he still felt like an empty vessel, waiting to be filled with something—anything—that could tell him who he was.

Dand leaned against the doorframe, studying him for a moment before speaking again. "I don't know where you came from, son, and I won't press you for answers you don't have. But you need a place to stay, and I got space here. Until you figure things out, you can stay with us."

Stay. The word settled in his chest like a stone thrown into deep water. He hadn't thought about leaving, but he also hadn't imagined staying.

"You don't have to do that," Eddy found himself saying. "I don't want to be a burden."

Dand let out a short chuckle, shaking his head. "Ain't about that. We all pull our weight around here. If you're willing to help out, then you ain't a burden. Simple as that."

Eddy hesitated, the offer lingering between them like an unspoken contract. It wasn't just about having a roof over his head—it was about having something to do, something that gave him purpose.

After a long pause, he nodded. "Alright... I'll help."

Dand's expression softened. "Good. First things first, though—we need to call you something."

Eddy blinked. "Call me something?"

Dand crossed his arms. "Unless you remember your real name, you can't just walk around with no name at all. People here will want to call you something. What do you think?"

Eddy looked down at the floor, thinking. A name. Something simple, something that felt right—even if it wasn't truly his.

Dand, seeing his hesitation, spoke again. "How about Billy?"

Billy. The name rolled around in his mind, unfamiliar but not unwelcome. It wasn't his, but in the absence of anything else, it could be.

"...Yeah," he murmured. "Billy is fine."

Dand nodded, as if sealing the decision. "Billy it is, then."

A Life to Build

Billy quickly realized that life in this place—wherever it was—was far different from anything his body had known before. The village wasn't large, but it was alive. The people here worked with their hands, their days dictated by the land, the tides, and the changing seasons.

And then there was Artur.

From the moment Billy was well enough to stand without wavering, Artur wasted no time putting him to work. The man barely spoke unless necessary, his sharp gaze assessing, measuring. Unlike Dand, who carried a quiet warmth, Artur was a storm held together by sheer will—silent, brooding, his presence heavy even when he wasn't speaking.

Billy found himself shadowing Artur more often than not, learning by watching, by doing. There was no coddling, no easing into things—just work. And work, as it turned out, was exactly what Billy needed.

One morning, Billy stood outside the small shed near the fields, wiping sweat from his brow as he eyed the tangled mess of fishing nets at his feet.

"You're supposed to be untangling those, not staring at them," Artur's voice cut through the quiet, dry but not unkind.

Billy huffed, crouching down. "You ever think maybe they like being tangled?" he muttered.

Artur let out a snort—more amused than annoyed. "If that's the case, then you've got a fight on your hands."

Billy exhaled, focusing on the task. His fingers moved instinctively, working through the knots, finding patterns even where there seemed to be none. He had no memory of ever doing this before, but his hands knew what to do. Maybe muscle memory ran deeper than lost memories.

After a few minutes of silence, Billy spoke. "So... what do you do around here?"

Artur was leaning against the shed, arms crossed. "I fix things. Boats, houses, tools. Whatever needs working."

Billy nodded slowly. "You always lived here?"

Artur's jaw tightened slightly. "Yeah."

Billy sensed the wall in Artur's tone, but he didn't push. Instead, he changed the subject. "You ever think about leaving?"

Artur's gaze flicked toward him, unreadable. "And go where?"

Billy shrugged. "I don't know. Somewhere else."

Artur didn't answer right away. Instead, he looked out toward the horizon, where the sky met the sea. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter.

"Not everyone gets to just... leave."

Billy frowned but didn't press further. There was weight behind those words, something deeper he wasn't meant to touch yet.

For now, they worked in silence.

A Slow Understanding

Days turned into weeks. Billy learned the rhythm of the village, the pull of the tide, the way Artur worked without needing to be asked. In return, Artur seemed to learn him—or at least, tolerate him more than he had in the beginning.

They weren't friends, not yet. But something was shifting.

One evening, as the sun dipped into the sea, Billy stood by the shore, watching the waves. Artur approached, carrying a small wooden box. Without a word, he set it down on a rock and opened it.

Inside were tools—carving knives, pieces of unfinished wood, half-sanded sculptures that looked like animals.

Billy raised a brow. "Didn't take you for an artist."

Artur ignored the remark, picking up a piece of wood and a knife. With practiced ease, he started carving.

Billy hesitated before sitting beside him. "Can I try?"

Artur handed him a piece of wood and a spare knife. "Don't cut yourself."

Billy smirked. "No promises."

The two sat there in companionable silence, the sound of waves filling the space between them. For the first time since waking in this strange place, Billy didn't feel completely lost. He still didn't know who he was, but maybe... that wasn't the most important thing right now.

Maybe, for now, this was enough.

Settling In

The days that followed were filled with hard work and quiet adjustments. Billy—still getting used to his new name—found himself swept into the daily life of the village.

Mornings started early, just as the sun stretched over the sea. Dand was already up before dawn, moving with the ease of someone who had long accepted this routine. Billy, on the other hand, took some time to adjust. His body wasn't weak, but it lacked the endurance needed for this kind of life. He woke up sore, muscles protesting with every new chore.

At first, the villagers regarded him with polite curiosity. Some whispered, others simply nodded in greeting. No one pried. It seemed like a place where people accepted things as they were—no need to dig into pasts that weren't offered.

But Artur... he was different.

The man was as unreadable as ever, but Billy could feel the shift in their interactions. Artur didn't go out of his way to be kind, but there was an unspoken acceptance in the way he worked alongside him. No unnecessary words, no guiding hands—just the expectation that Billy would figure things out, and if he didn't, he'd learn quickly.

And Billy did.

He learned how to mend fishing nets, how to secure wooden beams properly, how to tell when the tide was right for collecting shellfish. He wasn't a natural at all of it, but he was determined. If he was going to stay, if he was going to be Billy, then he had to be more than just a lost man waiting for answers.

One afternoon, he stood knee-deep in the water, hands gripping the wooden handles of a crab trap Artur had handed him earlier. It was heavier than it looked, weighed down by mud and seaweed.

"Pull it straight," Artur's voice instructed from a few feet away. "If you tilt, you'll lose whatever's inside."

Billy gritted his teeth, adjusting his stance. The water pulled at his legs, but he steadied himself, lifting the trap with as much control as he could manage. As soon as it breached the surface, movement wriggled inside—a few crabs scrambling to escape.

He let out a breath, triumphant. "Not bad, right?"

Artur gave a single nod, taking the trap from him. "You're getting there."

For Artur, that might as well have been high praise.

Evenings by the Fire

The village had a way of slowing down at dusk. After a long day of work, people gathered in small groups, sharing food, talking in low voices. Billy often found himself near Dand's house, sitting outside with Artur.

Dand sometimes joined them, a warm presence that made the silence feel less heavy. But other nights, it was just the two of them—Billy and Artur, sitting by the fire, listening to the waves in the distance.

One night, Billy watched as Artur methodically carved into a piece of driftwood. He had seen the unfinished shapes in the small wooden box before—tiny animals, abstract designs. It was a skillful kind of work, precise and careful, the opposite of the rugged tasks Artur did during the day.

Billy leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You sell those or something?"

Artur didn't look up. "No."

Billy raised an eyebrow. "Then why make them?"

A beat of silence. Then—

"I like working with my hands," Artur said simply. "Not everything has to be useful."

Billy considered that. His whole life—what little of it he could remember—seemed to have been built around purpose. Around usefulness. Work, survival, figuring out where he fit. But Artur? Artur carved simply because he wanted to.

Billy picked up a spare piece of wood and a small knife. The edges were rough, uneven. "Teach me?"

Artur finally looked up, studying him for a moment. Then, without a word, he handed Billy another carving tool and gestured for him to start.

The night stretched on, filled with nothing but the sound of carving and the quiet rhythm of the waves.

A Festival Approaches

A few weeks later, Billy noticed a shift in the village. There was an energy in the air—people moving faster, voices filled with excitement. He caught snippets of conversation as he helped Dand fix one of the wooden fences near the shore.

"—the festival's almost here—"

"—we need more lanterns by the dock—"

"—food stalls need to be set up—"

Billy wiped sweat from his brow, glancing toward Dand. "Festival?"

Dand chuckled. "Happens once a year. Everyone comes together for a big feast, music, a few boat races. It's a tradition."

Billy processed that. "Sounds... lively."

Dand smirked. "It is. You'll see."

As the days passed, the preparations became more apparent. Lanterns were hung between houses, colorful fabric draped over market stalls, and the scent of roasted fish and spiced drinks filled the air. Billy had never been part of something like this—at least, not that he could remember.

One evening, Artur was adjusting the ropes on a fishing boat when Billy approached. "So... what's your role in this festival?"

Artur didn't look up. "I don't really do festivals."

Billy frowned. "What do you mean? You live here, don't you?"

Artur finished tying off the rope before finally meeting Billy's gaze. "I help set up. That's enough."

Billy sensed there was more to it, but he didn't push. Instead, he grinned. "Well, I plan on seeing everything. Might even beat you in one of those boat races."

Artur snorted. "You can't even row straight."

Billy crossed his arms. "Give me a week."

For the first time, Artur actually smiled—small, barely there, but real.

Billy wasn't sure why, but it made his chest feel lighter.

The Weight of the Unknown

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Despite the growing comfort in the village, Billy still had moments where the weight of his missing past pressed on him. Some nights, he lay awake, staring at the wooden ceiling, wondering who he had been before all of this.

Had he left anyone behind? Were there people searching for him?

Did he even want to remember?

The questions never had answers. And maybe, just maybe, he was starting to be okay with that.

For now, this was his life.

For now, this was enough.