Unwritten Fate [BL]-Chapter 4: Unwritten Paths

The scent of damp earth clung to the morning air as Billy stepped outside, the wooden porch creaking beneath his weight. A thin veil of mist hovered over the fields, where golden stalks swayed gently in the breeze. From a distance, he could hear the faint chatter of villagers preparing for the upcoming festival—laughter mixed with the rhythmic pounding of mortar and pestle, the clink of tools against wood as stalls were built.

Dand had already left for the morning, his routine as predictable as the rising sun. Billy stretched his arms above his head, rolling his shoulders as he adjusted to the cool air. Life here was steady, grounded, so unlike the world he had woken up to with no past to hold onto.

He turned toward the small barn where Artur was working, the sounds of movement inside signaling that the man had already started his day. Billy had come to recognize Artur's way of doing things—early to rise, methodical in his work, and always wrapped in a quiet intensity that made it difficult to tell what he was thinking.

Billy stepped inside, greeted by the scent of hay and the soft shuffle of animals in their pens. Artur was crouched beside a stack of wooden crates, his strong hands tying thick ropes around them. He barely spared Billy a glance as he reached for another bundle.

"Need help with that?" Billy asked, rolling up his sleeves.

Artur's hands paused for a second before he nodded toward a pile of firewood stacked against the wall. "If you're offering, split those for me."

Billy grinned, grabbing the nearby axe. "Easy."

The first few swings were clumsy, the blade biting into the wood at odd angles. Artur didn't say anything, but Billy could feel his gaze, sharp and assessing. Frustration flickered in Billy's chest, and he exhaled sharply, adjusting his stance. He let his muscles do the work, the weight of the axe guiding the motion, and this time, the log split cleanly.

Artur gave a small nod, a hint of approval in his expression before he turned back to his crates.

The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable. It was something Billy had grown used to—Artur wasn't one for small talk, and Billy, despite his usual easygoing nature, found himself settling into that quiet space without protest.

"Festival's in a few days," Billy said after a while, setting another log on the stump. "Seems like a big deal."

Artur secured the last rope and stood, dusting off his hands. "It is. People from nearby villages come to trade, celebrate. It keeps us connected."

Billy wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "You looking forward to it?"

Artur leaned against the barn wall, arms crossed. "It's work. More people mean more things to fix, more things to carry." A pause. Then, "But it's nice seeing the village come together."

Billy chuckled. "That was almost sentimental."

Artur scoffed, but there was the barest flicker of amusement in his eyes.

They worked in tandem for the next hour, the rhythm of labor settling into something natural. Billy felt a strange satisfaction in the sweat on his skin, in the ache of his muscles. It was different from the hazy fragments of his past—wherever he had come from, it hadn't been a place where his hands worked the earth like this.

And yet, here, it felt right.

As the day wore on, Billy found himself being roped into more village tasks. The old woman from the bakery waved him over, pressing a bundle of herbs into his hands, instructing him on where to take them. A group of children trailed behind him, their curiosity unfiltered as they bombarded him with questions about his past.

"Where'd you come from?" a little girl asked, tilting her head.

Billy hesitated. "I... don't really know."

A boy with wild curls frowned. "You don't remember anything?"

"Nothing important," Billy admitted, ruffling the boy's hair.

The children accepted this without question, as if the idea of starting fresh was as natural as the changing seasons.

That evening, as the sun dipped behind the hills, Billy sat on the porch, watching as the sky turned to embers. Artur joined him, hands dusted with flour from helping the baker prepare for the festival.

Billy exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "You ever think about leaving? Seeing what's beyond the village?"

Artur was quiet for a moment. Then, "No."

Billy glanced at him, surprised by the certainty in his voice.

Artur's gaze was steady, unreadable. "What's out there that's better than this?"

Billy opened his mouth, but no answer came. Because, despite the gnawing void of his lost past, despite the questions that remained unanswered, he couldn't deny—right now, in this moment, nothing felt missing.

Maybe, for now, this was enough.

The scent of freshly baked bread curled through the crisp morning air, mixing with the earthy aroma of damp soil. Billy stood in the open doorway, arms crossed as he watched the village awaken. A farmer led his oxen to the fields, women carried woven baskets filled with produce, and the sound of children's laughter echoed from a nearby courtyard. It was a simple life, yet it carried a rhythm—one Billy found himself falling into, step by step, without realizing it.

Dand sat at the wooden table, sharpening an old knife with slow, deliberate strokes. His eyes flickered up when Billy finally turned away from the doorway.

"You're up early," Dand noted.

Billy stretched, rolling his shoulders. "Figured I'd get a head start. Artur's already out, isn't he?"

Dand smirked. "Like always. If you're looking to help, he's down by the river with the others. They're setting up for the festival."

Billy grabbed an apple from the table, taking a bite as he made his way out. The air was cool, the sun barely peeking over the horizon. He liked mornings here—quiet, peaceful, as if the world hadn't yet decided what kind of day it wanted to be.

Down by the riverbank, Artur was hauling thick wooden poles alongside a few other villagers. His shirt was rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms dusted with dirt. The others worked efficiently, laughter and conversation flowing between them as they raised the framework for one of the festival booths.

Billy stepped closer. "Need an extra pair of hands?"

This chapt𝒆r is updated by frёewebηovel.cѳm.

Artur barely glanced at him. "If you think you can keep up."

Billy snorted. "Try me."

Artur tossed him a coil of rope. "Tie these off. Tight."

Billy caught it easily, rolling his eyes at Artur's ever-serious tone. He crouched by the nearest post, mimicking the knots the others had made. His fingers fumbled at first, the unfamiliar technique frustrating, but he pushed through. The rough texture of the rope bit into his palms, but soon, his movements became steadier, the knot tightening securely.

A passing villager clapped him on the shoulder. "Not bad, city boy."

Billy huffed a laugh. "I don't even know if I'm a city boy."

The man grinned. "Well, if you keep working like that, you might just become one of us."

Artur shot him a glance but said nothing, just moved to check Billy's knots. He gave a short nod before moving on to the next task. Billy didn't need praise to know he'd done well—the silent approval in Artur's body language was enough.

By midday, the heat pressed down on them, and work had slowed. Billy wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand as he leaned against a cart filled with supplies.

"So," one of the villagers began, stretching his arms above his head. "You're still going by 'boy' or 'stranger' or whatever else we call you?"

Billy blinked. "I mean... I don't have another name."

"That won't do." The older man, a wiry fisherman with a sun-worn face, rubbed his chin. "Can't have you wandering around nameless. Feels wrong."

A murmur of agreement passed through the small group. Even Artur, standing by a pile of stacked crates, looked vaguely interested in where this was going.

Billy chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, any suggestions?"

"How about River?" one of the younger boys offered. "Since he washed up from the water."

Someone else laughed. "Nah, too common. What about something strong? Like Hawk or—"

"No, no," the fisherman cut in. His gaze settled on Billy with a knowing glint. "Billy."

Billy tilted his head. "Billy?"

The fisherman rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "We've heard Dand call you Billy. I think it suits you. Billy it is, then?"

Billy hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, I'm okay with that."

The old man nodded. "Simple. Sounds like it belongs to someone who's figuring things out."

A few of the others nodded in agreement. Billy rolled the name around in his head. It felt...odd, foreign, but at the same time, strangely right.

"Yeah," he said after a pause. "Billy works."

"Good," the fisherman said, slapping Billy's back. "Then it's settled. Welcome, Billy, glad we're all on the same page ."

The group cheered playfully, and Billy couldn't help but grin. He glanced toward Artur, who hadn't spoken during the exchange. Their eyes met briefly, and, just for a second, Artur's lips twitched upward in something that might have been approval.

Billy felt warmth spread in his chest. He still didn't know who he was before waking up here, but maybe...he didn't need to.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a steady hum of work. Billy found himself moving from task to task—hauling supplies, reinforcing wooden beams, fetching tools for the craftsmen. The work was exhausting, but satisfying in a way he hadn't expected.

As the sun began to set, casting long golden shadows across the fields, Billy made his way back toward the house. His limbs ached, his hands were rougher than they'd been before, but there was a strange kind of fulfillment in the exhaustion.

Dand was on the porch, carving something into a piece of wood. He looked up as Billy approached. "How was it?"

Billy dropped onto the steps with a tired groan. "I don't think I've ever worked that hard in my life."

Dand chuckled. "You'll get used to it." He nodded toward Billy's hands, which were covered in scrapes and rope burns. "Seems like you're earning your place."

Billy looked down at them, flexing his fingers. "Yeah... I guess I am."

A comfortable silence settled between them. In the distance, Artur was still working near the storage shed, stacking the last of the crates. The sight of him, moving with quiet determination, made Billy smile.

He still didn't have all the answers. He still didn't know where he came from or what his life had been before this.

But for now, in this place, surrounded by these people, Billy felt something he hadn't felt since waking up.

Like he belonged.