Kana fell hard from the tree branch, landing with a heavy thud that knocked the breath from her lungs.

  A cluster of children—no older than ten—gathered around, their laughter echoing through the clearing like little bells. It wasn’t cruel. Not really.

  “Kana, are you okay?” Suri stepped forward, the only one not laughing. Her brow creased with worry. Kana hadn’t moved.

  A few heartbeats passed.

  Then Kana groaned, sat up, and scratched the back of her head. “I’m fine,” she muttered, wincing.

  “I told you,” Boris said, puffing out his chest like a rooster. He was a big kid, with a voice that was already starting to deepen. “We’re better climbers than you girls.”

  The boys behind him chuckled, nudging each other like they'd already won something worth bragging about.

  Kana narrowed her eyes, clicking her tongue in annoyance. “We’re having a rematch. Tomorrow.”

  With Suri’s help, she stood, brushing dirt and flecks of bark from her pants.

  “Come on,” Suri said, peering at her closely. “Looks like your head’s swelling a bit.”

  ……

  Suri spotted her mother waiting outside their house, holding a basket of various herbs.

  “Mom!” she called, tugging Kana by the wrist. “Can you help Kana? She fell— I mean, she hit her head.”

  Suri’s mother set the herbs down and approached with the look of someone who’d seen far worse than childhood bumps and bruises. She touched the side of Kana’s head without hesitation, as if she already knew where the swelling was.

  “[Minor Heal],” she whispered.

  A flicker of green light shimmered beneath her palm, casting faint shadows over Kana’s face.

  Relief came in a wave. The sharp ache in Kana’s skull melted away—replaced by something stranger. In the span of a single second, a vision pierced her mind.

  A different world. A planet with a single moon hanging above glittering towers of glass and steel. Machines that hummed. Cities stretching like veins across the earth. Everything... convenient. Familiar, somehow.

  Kana gasped and blinked hard. Her brown eyes darted to Suri’s mother. Had she seen it too?

  What was that?

  Before she could ask, Suri’s mother pulled her hand away and smiled gently. “Be careful, darling. You don’t want a scar. Won’t look good when you’re older.”

  “Y-Yes, Auntie.” Kana forced a grin, brushing off the vision like a stray leaf on her shoulder.

  “I’d better head home,” she said, glancing down at her muddy pants. “If my mom sees me like this, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  “Oh, you’ll get an earful for sure,” Suri said with a teasing smirk.

  “Great,” Kana muttered.

  ….

  Most of the houses in the village stood two stories tall, built from heavy stone and timber that had weathered generations. Kana’s home had only one floor. It was small, but more than enough for two people—her and her mother.

  They were the most recent family to settle in the village, arriving a decade ago. Kana had heard the stories: her mother had come while pregnant, belly full and eyes tired, but the villagers had accepted her all the same. Not out of kindness, exactly—but because of a skill.

  [Lesser Farm]. That was what it was called. A rare passive skill that brought abundant harvests wherever her mother worked the soil.

  Kana still didn’t fully understand how it worked. Or why it mattered.

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  Farm?

  Her hands paused in the washbasin, fingers dripping with muddy water as she stared down at the soaked fabric of her pants.

  Something didn’t fit.

  The skills. The words. The language.

  The word of the gods is in English.

  She frowned. That word again. English. It wasn’t a word anyone around her used. Not in conversation. Not in the village or any visitor. And yet... the skills spoke in it.

  What was English, and why did it feel like she was the only one asking?

  Everyone gained their skills at twelve. That was the rule. On the twelfth birthday, the system awakened, and the voice of god would speak your name. Announce your class. Your path.

  Kana was ten. Almost eleven.

  A breeze slipped in through the open window, carrying the scent of wet grass and distant woodsmoke.

  “What are you doing?”

  Before she could respond, a firm hand smacked the back of her head. Then smacked it again.

  “Ow! Hey!” Kana spun, scowling.

  Her mother stood in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable. She didn’t look angry—just tired. The kind of tiredness that came from working in the soil.

  “Stop spacing out,” her mother said. “Scrub like you mean it. Those pants aren’t going to clean themselves.”

  Kana grumbled under her breath and returned to washing.

  But her thoughts lingered.

  English.

  And the vision she'd seen earlier. The towers. Is it Skyscrapers? The moon. The impossible world that felt... real.

  Something wasn’t adding up. And soon—maybe on her twelfth birthday—she’d get answers.

  Or more questions.

  …..

  As Kana munched on her food, her thoughts drifted—again—to the things that didn’t quite make sense.

  Her mother had once taught the current village chief to read and write. That was unusual. Kana had overheard it from passing conversations, and the chief himself had mentioned it once, half-jokingly, as if embarrassed by the fact.

  Reading and writing weren’t common here and even in the big cities. She’d heard there were only a handful of villagers who could do either—and her mother was the best among them. They even had a small library in their home. Shelves full of strange books and forgotten tomes.

  But where had her mother learned all that?

  “Mother,” Kana said between bites, “can you teach me how to read?”

  Her mother blinked, then almost choked on a mouthful of rice. She coughed twice before speaking. “Why the sudden interest? You’re still too young—and don’t think I’ve forgotten what you did. I told you not to play with those boys. They're too physically reckless, especially the ones your age.”

  Kana shrugged. “Well, think of it as a new pastime. If I’m reading, I won’t have time to play with them. Right?”

  Her mother narrowed her eyes, thinking. “Hmm. That... actually makes sense.” She sighed. “You might be busy for a year or two, maybe more.”

  Then she smirked, shaking her head. “Not a bad deal. I’m tired of scrubbing dirt out of your clothes anyway.”

  She set down her spoon and nodded. “Fine. I’ll teach you. Starting tomorrow morning, before I head out to the fields.”

  Kana smiled, satisfied, but her curiosity hadn't faded.

  “Mother,” she asked softly, “have you ever heard the word English?”

  Her mother looked up, spoon paused halfway to her mouth.

  “Hmm… where did you hear that?”

  Kana hesitated. “I don’t know. I just… heard it. Somewhere.”

  Her mother frowned slightly. “It sounds familiar. I think I’ve read it in a book, long ago… but I can’t remember where or what it meant.”

  She gave Kana a long look. Not suspicious—just thoughtful. Then she returned to eating, as if the conversation had ended.

  …..

  Kana lay in bed, the blanket pulled up to her chin as she stared at the ceiling of their small home. Her eyes traced the faint patterns in the wooden beams, but her thoughts were far from the room.

  That world—the one she had seen when Auntie healed her—lingered in her mind like a half-remembered dream. A single moon. Towering buildings of glass and steel. Roads that glowed. Machines that moved without beasts. It felt too vivid, too real to be imagined.

  And yet... maybe it was just her imagination. A strange side effect of magic.

  After all, even her mother—who knew so much—hadn't recognized the word English. That should’ve confirmed it wasn’t real. Should’ve.

  But then... why could she understand the meaning of skill names known as the message or text of God? Lesser Farm. Minor Heal. Words that felt foreign in the mouth but now familiar in her mind. She’d never been taught about it, but she knew them, as if the knowledge had been whispered directly into her thoughts by something older, deeper.

  The system called them divine blessings—gifts from the gods. But what kind of gods spoke in a language no one else knew but her?

  Her head swam with questions she couldn’t yet form into words.

  And as curious as she was...

  Her young body, worn out from the day's activities, finally surrendered to sleep.