The Tinkerer’s Odyssey

The soft hum of the morning filled the small home, accompanied by the clatter of utensils and the faint sizzle of something frying. Catherine lay still on the small bed, her mind buzzing. She could no longer deny the truth: this wasn't her world, and this wasn't her body. She was Catherine, but she was also Sylvie—or, at least, the remnants of Sylvie.

The pain she'd experienced earlier had been more than just physical. It had been memories, emotions, and sensations forcing their way into her consciousness. Now, with the house quiet around her, she finally had a moment to sift through the chaos and make sense of it.

She closed her eyes and let the fragments rise.

Sylvie had been eight years old, a sweet and somewhat timid girl. She loved her family fiercely: her mother, Mira, a hard-working woman who seemed to make miracles out of nothing, and her father, Callen, a kind but distant man who served as a soldier for the local noble house. Then there was Sylas, her older brother, who was her protector and playmate all rolled into one. The family was poor, scraping by in a run-down town nestled in the shadow of a crumbling castle, but they were close-knit and loving.

Yet, Sylvie had been sick. Mana sickness, they called it—a condition that left her weak, feverish, and bedridden for weeks at a time. Catherine felt a pang in her chest as she realized Sylvie had been on the brink of death when…

She swallowed hard. She didn't know how or why she'd ended up here, but it was clear that Sylvie was gone, and she'd taken her place.

Catherine sat up, pulling the patched quilt around her shoulders. Her surroundings were humble but cozy, with signs of care in every corner. The room smelled faintly of lavender and herbs, likely to cover the dampness in the air.

Her stomach growled, snapping her out of her thoughts. "Right," she muttered. "Survival first, existential crisis later."

She padded out into the main room, her small feet making barely a sound on the worn wooden floor. The sight that greeted her stopped her in her tracks.

Her mother was by the hearth, stirring a pot with practiced ease. The woman moved with a grace and efficiency that mesmerized Catherine. She wasn't just cooking; she was orchestrating. One hand flipped a thin pancake-like bread on a griddle, while the other added herbs to the bubbling broth. It smelled heavenly, far richer than anything Catherine would have expected from their apparent financial state.

Sylas sat at the table, carving a small piece of wood into what looked like a figure of a bird. His face was scrunched in concentration, but he glanced up and grinned when he saw her. "Morning, Sylvie! Feeling better?"

Catherine nodded, though the nickname still felt strange. "Yeah," she said softly.

Her mother turned, her warm brown eyes lighting up. "Good morning, sweetie. You look much better today. Come sit; I'll get you some breakfast."

Catherine obeyed, settling into a chair as a plate was placed in front of her. The bread was soft and slightly sweet, and the broth was rich despite its simplicity. She couldn't help but marvel at how good it tasted.

"Did you do all this?" she asked, gesturing to the food.

Her mother laughed lightly. "Of course. It's nothing special, just scraps and a little creativity."

Catherine frowned. Nothing special? Back in her world, this would have been restaurant quality.

Sylas piped up, "Mama's the best! Her [Cooking] skill is almost level forty, you know!"

Cooking skill. The term tugged at her memory. Right—skills. They were a central part of this world, tied to the status screens everyone had.

Her mother waved a hand dismissively. "That doesn't mean much around here, Sylas. Plenty of people have utility classes."

Utility classes. Catherine's thoughts clicked into place. It explained her mother's multitasking and uncanny efficiency. It also explained why she struggled to find work—if everyone had similar skills, competition must be fierce.

Her father's situation wasn't much better, she realized. Sylvie's memories told her he worked tirelessly for their noble lord, a man he spoke of with admiration. But even soldiers weren't paid well in a town like this.

Catherine swallowed her food and forced a smile, grateful for the meal but already piecing together the challenges her new family faced.

Later that day, when she had a moment alone, she focused on her own status screen again. It appeared just as it had before, translucent and faint, displaying her name and attributes.

Name: Sylvie

Age: 8

Class: Unawakened

Strength: 1

Intelligence: 7

Agility: 1

Mana: 5

Dexterity: 10

Aspect: [Tinkerer's Blessing]

Skills: n/a

She tapped her chin thoughtfully. The "Unawakened" class must have been because Sylvie—or rather, Catherine—hadn't reached whatever milestone was needed to gain a proper class.

She also noticed a small plus sign next to her attributes. Curiosity piqued, she poked at it, and a message appeared:

Skill proficiencies can be increased through practice. Earn experience in various activities to unlock and improve skills.

Her eyes widened. So, she could gain skills and level them up just by doing things?

Testing her theory, she spent the afternoon running laps in the yard, much to Sylas's confusion. "What are you doing?" he asked, watching her zigzag back and forth.

"Uh… just stretching my legs," she said quickly.

When she finally collapsed, panting, she opened her status again. Sure enough, a new line had appeared:

Skill: Running (Proficiency: 1/10)

It worked! Excitement bubbled in her chest. The implications were huge. She could build her skills, become stronger, and maybe even gain a class suited to her. Hopefully even find the answer's she is looking for and a way home.

But for now, she needed to play the part of Sylvie, the little girl recovering from mana sickness. It was a delicate balance, but Catherine was no stranger to fixing things one step at a time.

As the sun set and her family gathered for the evening meal, Catherine couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope. This world might have been strange and unfamiliar, but it was also full of possibility.