Exhausted, mentally fatigued, ravenous with hunger, and information deprived, it was all too easy a decision to accept the humbling aid the kind, old man had given her. She had vastly underestimated just how far she could travel in a day; by the time she stumbled onto the porch of his dainty, stone house, the sun had already set, stars illuminating the sky with such clarity she had never seen before. The sight before her, bodies of unimaginable heat millions of miles away, all visible through just her naked eyes, was beautiful.

Alas, she couldn't stare at the unadulterated night sky forever. Thankfully, the man, a farmer as well as a widower she believed was the case, had both food and amenities that she needed, as well as a large enough heart to provide them for her. Though she seldom understood him, he spoke a fair bit, the language unusual and with a variety of tones. She was grateful for the human interaction, something she hadn't realised up til now she had craved so much. Even unintelligible as his words were, his voice alone sent shivers of joy through her, a comfort that escaped her when she was in the forest alone.

This alone gave her confidence that leaving the only place she had known was the right decision.

Her mood was only slightly dampened by the fact she found herself unable to express her gratitude to its utmost towards him, the language barrier proving an obstacle once again.

But she was an industrious woman; when she had a goal, she'd strive to complete it to the best of her abilities. Previously, all she wanted to do was survive--a rather primitive ambition but it was this idea that kept her going all those days. Now, however, she wanted something else; to learn how to speak the language.

Part of it was fueled by her desire to thank the farmer, offer him help or aid or anything in return. Another part was the understanding that knowing how to speak the language would prove undoubtedly useful in the future. Admittedly, though, the largest proponent was, in fact, desire; she wanted to speak, to say something and be understood. She desired a mutual conversation immensely.

This was why she was trying her hardest to learn the language, a task that seemed to be harder and harder in scope the more she was exposed to it. Firstly, the biggest obstacle she noted was that the language wasn't just a one-to-one translation of English. Thankfully, from what she had gathered, the language retained the order of subject, verb, object, just like English has, and so, though not the most intellectually demanding part of learning a language, it was certainly one of the most annoying and persistent issues you'd have; trying to say 'you have brown dog' but actually saying 'you dog brown have' would've been a tedious issue to correct.

No, the biggest problem was grammar, essentially. If the grammar was the same, then all she'd have to do is learn a literal translation of an English word as well as it's various forms in the tenses she would use. However, because the grammar was completely different, that meant that, if she actually wanted to speak fluently, she'd first have to learn the grammar before actually learning the words themselves.

A feat a lot harder to do when you can't understand anybody.

Immersion, immersion, immersion--that was the game. The more she was exposed, the more she listened, and the more contexts she connected to specific sounds, the faster she'd learn.

For now, she'd have to stick with pantomiming everything.

And so, a day had passed, with her waking up in a new room, a new bed--it was just a blanket but that was a better bed than anything else she had slept in so far--and a new set of opportunities.

She had gotten used to waking up early, with the sun barely cresting over the horizon, to maximise the amount of hours of sun she'd have in the day. Even so, it seemed that the old man was one step ahead of her, already up and about--though, it couldn't have been for long; he was setting bowls of food onto the tablet for breakfast.

Eagerly, she sat herself down at the large and sturdy table, graciously accepting the food and trying to show her thanks the best that she could.

They both ate in silence, devouring the food with unabashed ferver until not a speck remained in the bowl. It was a stew of vegetables, mostly, alongside some bread, but that filled her stomach and the variety alone she relished with delight.

As the man leaned over to scoop up her bowl, she paused him, trying to ask a question.

First, just in case as well as practise, she spoke her own language, asking a carefully rehearsed question with correct syntax and a neutral tone and choice of words. After that, once the man showed no signs of understanding, she began to mime it.

It took a few minutes but she eventually managed to get her point across, thankfully. He mulled it over in his head for only a short while before seeming to come to a conclusion before responding with a full sentence and then indicating two sleeps until what she wanted could be accomplished.

Satisfied with that, the man picked up the cutlery, placed them into an empty bucket, and headed outside, the woman in tow.

Though he was the owner of a large and expansive farm, the acres of land went mostly uncultivated; he was growing old and he lived on his own. As such, the most that he did was feed and look after a handful of sheep. There were remnant facilities dotted about the place--barns, storehouses, pens--that all suggested he once had a wider catalogue of produce to make but something must've happened to cause him to downsize. She guessed that it might have had something to do with his late wife, though she had no reason to assume that; frankly, she knew next to nothing about the man.

She joined him out on the farm, first showing the sheep into an open field before cleaning up and repairing any damage to their pens and where they slept. She didn't know what was necessary for taking care of sheep but she eagerly followed him along, helping out whenever she could--carrying and moving things, mostly--while he narrated what he was doing. This was, she was working step-by-step towards returning the debt she owed him, as well as learning the language as she went.

This was just another reason she needed to be exposed more to the language; doing this, day in and day out, she'd become proficient with farming terminology but anything else? She needed to talk with other people in different walks of life, different experiences to share, in order to fully acquire a respectable vocabulary and grasp of this language.

For now, though, she was satisfied with simple learning the names of animals, crops, and materials.

One thing she picked up on quickly was the word 'what', something she used increasingly often to ask a question. Did it mean 'what' the same as 'what' meant in English, with all its nuance, connotations, and ways to use it? She didn't know and probably not, but in this context, asking what something was, it caused the man to provide a word--a noun, more often than not. However, the word 'what' wasn't enough; it turned out that, whereas with English, asking a question necessitated a different word or phrase at the start of a sentence as well as a tonal difference at the end ('do you have a dog?' compared to 'you have a dog'), the question mark at the end was another word entirely rather than a difference in tone, and the question indicative at the beginning was gone.

Honestly, it was annoying as shit. Whenever the farmer asked a question, she'd think he was making a statement only to get to the end and realise it was a question all along, making her need to remember the whole sentence and then change it into a question in English, provided she knew the words.

Still, she labourered on, both literally and mentally, helping out as a farmhand as well as trying her best to mold her mind around the new syntax it was introduced to.

The day moved on, the sun drifting across the deep blue sky like an eagle soaring across the plains until, eventually, it sunk below the horizon, the magnificent starry night appearing before her again.

The man seemed... Unfazed, at it all. The stars were out and twinkling, the inky black space between them a void, and constellations upon constellations formed right in front of her eyes, but the man trudged back inside, done for the day.

She, however, didn't move. Instead, she just stared, transfixed.

She'd known the night had stars but not once had she seen them so abundant before, so colourful and varied. They used to be small, uniform dots here and there but, now, she saw entire galaxies! Sure, they were small, but they were there, representations of her location on a cosmic level. There was just something magical to it, to the scale of it all.

Eventually, though, her eyes grew tired, her muscles already shouting at her from their overuse, and her brain was groggy, having to sort and file all the new information that had filtered in. She made her way inside, slithering back into her the same bed as before as a deep and restful slumber took hold.

Thus, a new day began once more. It was relatively the same as before; the farmer let the sheep graze about, took care of all the chores, tended to the sheep individually, made food for the two of them, while the woman helped out whenever she could and asked questions. A repeat of yesterday meant her knowledge of concrete objects didn't grow--being exposed to the same ones as before--but, rather, her experience with them improved and it gave her time to explore the other words the man said. More abstract concepts began to coalesce in her mind; more formal, coherent, and full-formed ways of asking questions, for one.

Those were just mundane problems; problems which, joyfully, were interspersed by a very, very pleasing notification:

Well of Spirit level up!

Well of Spirit (2/10)

You have 40% additional Spirit

She wasn't sure how experience was calculated for this skill but she was pleased by it never-the-less. Another, delectable surprise was that the skill went up by 20% rather than by 10%, as she suspected. That meant, at max level, it'd triple her essence regeneration rather than merely doubling it!

Essence congruency, unfortunately, hadn't levelled up, though that was to be expected; if the skill only levelled up when she used two active skills simultaneously, it'd probably not level up for a while.

The rest of the day passed by much like the first, ending with her appreciating another beautiful night sky before falling asleep. Sleep that, this time, wasn't so restful; she was positively buzzing with anticipation.

By the time she woke up, she was already energised, her mind exploring a bunch of opportunities. Today was the day the old man had agreed to take her into the village.

She wasn't just imposing herself onto him, thankfully, for he too had business in the village; namely, that of selling wool. The sheep were sheared and the wool cleaned and taken care of, all ready to be transported under a goat-skin cover on a rickety wooden cart that she had seen on his little estate.

However, before they proceeded on their journey, the man stopped her, a solemn expression on his face. "No cleanse," He said simply, referring back to when she used cleanse on the bread, intrigued to see if it worked on non-fleshy things. She nodded her head, saying:

"Okay. No cleanse," To show she understood.

He seemed satisfied with that but still had something else to say. He said three words, the first one she gathered referred to herself, the second one she was unfamiliar with, whilst the third denoted the phrase was a question. After a bit of back-and-forth, she managed to understand that the second word was something akin to 'name'. He was asking her for her name.

She paused, standing motionless as her brain whirred.

A name. She had a name; she must've had a name. Her stat block said 'unnamed' but she hadn't given it any thought; of course she had a name! Just... She didn't remember what the name was. She felt something there, in her mind, an elusive feeling except, whenever she tried to grab ahold of it, it slipped out of her hands like soap.

What was her name?

Firstly, there was confusion--why couldn't she remember her name. Then, after that, was questioning perplexion--does she have a name?

And, finally, she came to a realisation--what does she want her name to be.

She was unnamed to her system; that meant that there was a name to be assumed by her.

A name was a weighty thing; it was important, followed you for the rest of your life, and set clear expectations. There was how easy the name was to pronounce, how easy it was to spell, the meanings of the name, the history of the name, who else had the name... So many different things to consider.

Some many of them pointless, here. Any name in her own language would lose any meaning, connotations, significance, and history to people who heard it; they'd have no recollection of it before. So, instead, why not come up with something new? Something unique?

So, she began with her life--her current life. She had woken up in a forest, battled a boar to the death, only to be risen from the dead. From there, she leveled up, gaining experience and growing stronger. Eventually, she climbed out of the sunken in hole she had started in, elevating herself to a wondrous view, literally expanding her horizon.

There was a strong theme there, an underlying connection between all those events, those goals. It was direction. She started from the bottom but climbed upwards. She had literally risen. A name solidified in her mind, encapsulating what she had done until now and what she had planned to do--she wasn't going to settle for mediocrity; she had goals, ambitions, and a drive to accomplish them. There was an omnipotent system at her fingertips, a world of magic she was only on the cusp of exploring.

Therefore, she donned a name for herself and, once she chose it, it just felt right.

"Riza," She responded after her long contemplation. The man, as patient as always, repeated it, like he was testing how it sounded in his mouth, before nodding his head, seemingly happy with it.

"Renald," He replied, his own name, she assumed.

And, with that, the man was satisfied. The cart was all loaded, his products covered and safe from the elements. A single mule was strapped to a harness, its large and powerful musculature prepared to pull the cart forwards. Renald settled himself into his uncomfortable seat and Riza sat alongside him, plenty of space on the bench for the two of them.

With surprisingly loud and clear 'clicks', Renald patted the mule in front of him and, like that, they were off, heading towards the village in the distance and the great, big, gaping hole in its centre.