Chapter 13: A New Life (Part 2)

Pete stepped out of the farm's boundaries and into unfamiliar territory, his boots crunching against the dirt path. Out in the distance way past the boundaries of the farm lay a town that was entirely new to him, its layout and architecture nothing like Flowerbud Village. Straight ahead, he could see the bustling heart of Mineral Town—a lively town with small shops lining the streets, people moving about with purpose. To his right, a straight road led into the distance, flanked by houses, fields, and pens that seemed to be ranches dedicated to raising animals.

Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Pete decided to head toward the town's center. The sooner he found someone who could offer answers, the better. He tightened his grip on his rucksack, filled with a few fresh goods he'd harvested that morning, hoping they might serve as a conversation starter if needed.

As Pete walked down the road into town, he spotted a building with smoke curling from its chimney. A wooden sign above the door read, "Blacksmith Saibara's Shop."

"Saibara the Artisan owns a blacksmith shop now?" Pete muttered, narrowing his eyes. The Saibara he remembered from Flowerbud Village had been a master craftsman but never a blacksmith. Unable to resist his growing curiosity, he stepped inside.

The interior of the shop was warm and alive with the rhythmic clang of hammer on metal. At the center of it all was the same Saibara Pete had known—an older man with a long white beard, sharp eyes, and a focused demeanor—working diligently on a glowing piece of metal.

Pete greeted him hesitantly, "Uh… hey there, Saibara."

The blacksmith glanced up from his work and smiled. "Welcome, Pete! What can I do for you today?"

Pete hesitated, unsure how to proceed. "How long have you known how to blacksmith?"

Saibara let out a hearty laugh, the sound filling the room. "Blacksmithing has been in my family for generations! You didn't know that?"

Pete blinked, confused. "Oh… I see," he said, though nothing about this made sense.

Before Pete could press further, the sound of footsteps echoed from the back room. A familiar face emerged—Gray, the rancher Pete had known in Flowerbud Village. But this Gray wasn't dressed for ranch work. He wore a leather apron, gloves, and had soot smudged across his face.

"Gray?" Pete asked, his voice laced with disbelief. "What are you doing here?"

Gray furrowed his brow at Pete's tone. "I work here, obviously. Did you forget?"

Pete's confusion deepened. "What happened to the Greene Ranch?"

"Greene Ranch?" Gray repeated, exchanging a puzzled look with Saibara. "Grandpa, what's going on with Pete?"

Pete's heart nearly stopped. "Grandpa!?" he shouted, his voice rising in alarm. He stared at Saibara, his mind reeling. "Saibara… had a grandson? And that grandson was Gray?" he whispered. None of this fit with the life Pete knew.

Both Saibara and Gray looked at Pete like he had lost his mind. "Are you feeling okay, lad?" Saibara asked.

Pete stammered, his thoughts a jumbled mess. "I—I think I need some air."

He turned around and bolted out of the shop, the cool breeze of the outdoors hitting him like a slap. Behind him, he heard Saibara and Gray muttering, their voices fading into the background.

"Grandpa?" Pete repeated to himself as he stood outside, gripping the railing of the shop's porch. His pulse was racing. The world around him seemed to be spinning out of control. "First, the strange farm, and now this?"

He shook his head and took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus. One thing was clear: whatever reality he had stumbled into, it was nothing like the life he had known before.

Pete decided to move along, hoping that the rest of town wouldn't be as baffling as the blacksmith shop. He walked with purpose until he found himself in front of the Mineral Town Library. A small smile of relief crossed his face. Unlike the strange twists so far, this at least seemed familiar. Back in Flowerbud Village, the library had been attached to Mayor Thomas's house. Hopefully, the mayor is still Thomas, and he could have some answers on what is happening.

He stepped inside, the comforting scent of books greeting him. The quiet, orderly atmosphere immediately put him at ease. Sitting at the desk was someone he recognized—Maria, just as he remembered her from Flowerbud.

"Thank goodness," Pete muttered under his breath, feeling a rare sense of stability.

Maria looked up from her desk, adjusting her glasses as she noticed him. "Hey, Pete," she greeted warmly. "Can I help you find something?"

Pete shook his head, smiling. "No thanks, Maria. I'm just passing by."

Her expression shifted, her brow furrowing in confusion. "My name is Mary," she corrected. "Did you forget my name?"

Pete froze, his face turning pale. "Please… tell me you're joking," he said, his voice wavering.

Mary tilted her head, concern now evident in her eyes. "Why would I joke about that? You've been coming here for years. Are you feeling okay, Pete?"

He didn't respond immediately, his mind racing. "Mary? Not Maria?" he whispered to himself, the words echoing like a broken record.

Everything about her looked the same—her glasses, blue dress, black hair, her shy demeanor, even the way she held her pen. But her name was different, and somehow, that tiny shift made Pete's stomach churn. He was starting to feel as though every familiar face he encountered was twisted in some small, unsettling way.

Pete froze as he saw Basil descend the library stairs, casually carrying a book in his hand. Relief flooded through him at the sight of a familiar face—surely Basil could make sense of this madness.

"Basil!" Pete exclaimed, stepping forward. "Thank God you're here. Everything is so strange!"

Basil gave Pete a friendly smile but before he could respond, Mary turned toward him and called out, "Hey, Dad. Pete's here. He's acting a bit weird."

Pete's entire body stiffened. "Dad?!" he yelled, his voice echoing in the quiet library. His eyes darted between Basil and Mary, his head spinning. "No. No, no, no. This can't be real!"

Basil raised a curious eyebrow. "Pete, are you feeling alright? You're looking a little pale," he said with calm concern.

Pete stepped back, holding his hands up in defense as if warding off this surreal scene. "I… I just remembered that I need to go!" he stammered, his words barely coherent. "Bye!"

Without another word, he bolted out the door, leaving Basil and Mary staring after him, baffled.

As Pete stumbled down the street, his thoughts raced. "Basil is Mary's dad? How does that even make sense? He's Popuri's dad, my father in law!" His heart pounded in his chest as the layers of this new reality twisted tighter around him. "This isn't my world. It can't be."

Pete came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the road, his heart pounding as a terrifying thought crossed his mind. "If Basil is Mary's father," he muttered to himself, "then… who is Popuri's father? Does that mean Popuri doesn't exist here?"

His chest tightened, and his breaths came in short, uneven gasps. The thought of Popuri not being part of this world struck him like a dagger. Popuri, the girl who had once been lost to him, whom he'd miraculously been able to bring back into his life, might now be gone again—erased from existence in this strange new reality.

The more he thought about it, the more his panic grew. Was he with Elli because Popuri didn't exist in this world? Was this reality trying to force him into a new life, one without her? The very idea made his legs feel like jelly.

"No," he said aloud, shaking his head furiously. Tears welled in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. "I can't think that way! She has to be here somewhere. She has to!"

With renewed determination, Pete clenched his fists. "I won't give up until I find her. No matter how strange this world is, no matter how long it takes, I'll find Popuri. I have to."

He set off with purpose, his feet carrying him toward town. Wherever she was, he knew he wouldn't rest until he found her.

Pete sprinted through the winding streets of the unfamiliar-yet-familiar town, his eyes darting from one face to another. He saw Ann chatting with Cliff outside a cozy inn. He kept running, his boots pounding against the cobblestone streets as he passed more familiar figures. Harris waved politely as he patrolled. Each person stopped to greet Pete, their smiles warm and welcoming, but he couldn't stop to chat.

"They're all here!" he said aloud, his voice filled with a desperate hope. "Popuri has to be here too!"

Pete stumbled into Rose Square, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. The lively chatter of villagers filled the air, a stark contrast to the storm of thoughts in his mind. As he wiped the sweat from his brow, his eyes landed on Anna and Sasha, who were sitting on a nearby bench, laughing softly as they shared a lighthearted conversation. For a brief moment, their calm demeanor made him feel even more out of place in this strange, alternate life.

Before he could process his next move, a familiar voice called out to him, "Pete!"

He turned toward the voice and froze as if time itself had stopped. Standing right in front of him framed by the morning light, was a figure he hadn't expected to see in this lifetime—Manna.

His voice caught in his throat before he managed to breathe it out, barely a whisper. "Manna?"

She looked up at him with a calm smile, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. But to Pete, it was like seeing a ghost from a completely different world. The last time he'd seen her was years ago—when she'd hired him to help care for a small herd of cows one Winter. It had been a quiet job, mostly peaceful, save for the unspoken sadness that always clung to her like a shawl.

In Flowerbud, she had been the image of a woman quietly surviving the wreckage of her past. After a bitter divorce, she'd taken refuge in the sleepy village, keeping to herself with her animals while waiting for her life to settle into something livable again. People pitied her, but rarely spoke of her—she was gentle, soft-spoken, always polite, always a little distant. She had never returned once she found a new home with her son—an awkward, wide-eyed eight-year-old who clung to her side like a shadow.

But this Manna was different. Gone was the reserved woman Pete remembered. She stood tall, confident, dressed in clothes that suggested she'd been here a long time—lived here, not merely passed through. Her eyes didn't carry the same weight of unspoken grief. In fact, they shimmered with a familiarity that struck him as deeply wrong. Like she knew him. Like they'd spoken many times before.

Pete blinked, his thoughts spiraling. That shouldn't be possible. She lived in another town—a different village altogether. She wasn't supposed to be here. Not like this.

He took a slow step back, breath caught between fear and confusion, eyes still locked on Manna as though she might vanish—or worse, say something that confirmed every terrifying suspicion blooming in his mind.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice unintentionally accusatory.

Manna waved him over with a warm smile, completely unfazed by his confusion. "Oh, I just came to the square to chat with Anna and Sasha for a bit. It's such a nice day, don't you think?"

Before Pete could respond, Manna launched into a stream of chatter. "You know, Duke and I were just talking about Cliff the other day. He's been such a help at the vineyard, though I wish he wouldn't work himself so hard. Speaking of Duke, he's been so stubborn lately, and don't even get me started on Aja—poor girl barely writes to us anymore! I keep telling Duke that if he wasn't so headstrong, maybe she'd visit more often. Oh, and did you hear about Karen?"

Pete's head spun as Manna continued talking, her words flowing like a river with no intention of slowing down. She flitted from one topic to another—grape harvests, wine bottling, village gossip, even the weather forecast for the coming week. Her voice was bright, animated, almost performative in its cheer. It was like watching a completely different person wear the face of someone he used to know.

The Manna he remembered was gentle, soft-spoken, someone who weighed her words before speaking. A woman who had survived heartbreak and carried it like an invisible weight on her shoulders. She was careful with people, guarded even, and rarely spoke more than she had to.

But this Manna—this version—was loud. She laughed easily and spoke like silence made her uncomfortable. She gestured wildly with her hands and kept throwing in names and places Pete didn't recognize.

And she never stopped. Her voice filled the space between them like a fog, too thick for Pete to break through.

With every passing minute, Pete's anxiety grew. The words blurred together as he stood there, his heart pounding and his mind screaming to get back to his search.

Finally, when Manna paused to take a breath, Pete quickly interjected, "I—I'm sorry, Manna, but I just remembered something I need to do!"

Manna blinked, taken aback by his sudden urgency. "Aww, and I was just getting to the good part," she called after him with a playful pout.

But Pete was already gone. He turned on his heel and bolted from Rose Square, his boots pounding against the cobblestone path as he weaved between villagers and carts. The morning sun filtered down through drifting clouds, but it felt too bright, too sharp, like a spotlight illuminating a stage he didn't remember stepping onto.

He didn't stop. Not when someone called his name. Not when he heard the distant clang of the blacksmith's hammer. He kept running, as if by sheer speed he could outrun the suffocating dissonance settling in his chest.

Every face he passed felt both familiar and foreign, as though he were trapped in a painting of his old life—same outlines, but the colors were all wrong.

He didn't know where he was going. Only that he had to get away. Away from the voices that didn't match the people he knew. Away from names that had changed. Away from the version of Manna who laughed too loudly and had a daughter who shouldn't exist.

His heart thundered as he sprinted down the road, the cool wind slicing through the rising heat of panic.

He needed answers.

He needed silence.

He needed… reality.

But with each step, Pete feared he was running further and further from it.