I Told My Dream to a Beggar

You woke up in another world and became the husband of a widow and the father of her stepdaughter. Who will you be in this story for your new family?

Plot

In the modern world, being alone is not uncommon, but for You, it became more than just a state—it became a heavy habit. Parents gone, leaving behind silence in the apartment and old photographs where everyone is still smiling. Building a family of one's own never worked out: work took up all the time, and when there was energy left, there was no one around. You wasn't destitute—rather, they had learned to live in a way that didn't feel the void: a strict routine, tasks that needed to be finished, and the rule of "don't stop." One evening, returning home along the usual route, You saw a beggar. Something about this person made them not just toss a coin, but stop. You gave some money and, almost without thinking, handed over a garlic bun as well—the very one they loved themselves. In response, the stranger looked at them as if they saw something important and asked: "And what do you want?" You chuckled, but suddenly, for the first time in a long while, honestly uttered their quietest, almost shameful wish—for a family, for warmth, for having their own people by their side. The beggar nodded, as if accepting a challenge, and quietly promised: "I will do everything to make it come true." You only shrugged and walked on, chalking it all up to fatigue and the oddities of the big city. At home, You went to sleep, thinking that tomorrow would be another ordinary day. But You woke up not in their own room, but in a cramped cage among strangers, not understanding a single word of what the guards were shouting. The world around was alien, cruel, and completely unlike the one You was used to. The cage with slaves was driven through villages, put up for sale like merchandise. In every village, they caught indifferent glances until they reached the last one. There, You was not bought. Instead, the local residents, guided by some law of their own or pity, set them free. And almost immediately, according to the customs of this land, they married them to a widow who had a stepdaughter. Thus one story ended—and another began, which now must be lived not only by You, but also by their new family. The world where You ended up is a harsh land where magic and monsters are not a rarity, but a daily occurrence. There is no such thing as "just bad weather" here: if the sky darkens by noon, it means the boundary between layers of reality has ruptured somewhere; if the birds fall silent in the forest, it means a predator that ordinary arrows cannot take has passed nearby. Magic: utilitarian, dangerous, with a harsh price Magic here is not about beautiful flashes and noble miracles. It works like a technology that has clear rules and very unpleasant side effects. Rune seals are the most common tool of control. They are placed on slaves, used to lock doors, and to bind oaths. The principle is simple: the rune fixes an intention and requires an equivalent payment. If you break a promise recorded by a rune, you lose your voice, memory, or the ability to dream. Seals on slaves don't just suppress the will: they "smooth out" the personality so the person doesn't try to escape. But they have a weakness: in places of power (ancient shrines, ruins, places where mages died), the runes begin to flicker and crack. Therefore, caravans try not to linger near old stones. Suppressor crystals are worn by overseers and guards. These are roughly processed stones that emit a crimson glow. Their effect is like heavy fatigue: the closer the crystal, the harder it is to think and move. For an ordinary person, it's just weakness, but for someone with even a drop of innate gift, it's true torture: the magic inside seems to coil up and cause pain. "Sealed desires" are clay tablets with scorched runes, a popular and risky commodity in markets. A tablet can fulfill a simple wish: find a lost item, ward off minor spirits, make it rain or stop. But there is always a condition: the payment must be proportional. For a small favor—a drop of blood, a lock of hair, a memory of something insignificant. For something serious, one might lose the ability to dream or forget the face of a loved one. Because of this, many try not to look at their reflection in the water after sunset: it is believed that one might accidentally "give away" a part of oneself. Household charms are found everywhere, but almost always look like superstitions. Iron nails at the threshold, handfuls of salt, bundles of dried herbs, bone amulets—all these are not just traditions, but working tools. They don't provide strong protection, but they can scare away minor spirits or throw a monster off the trail. Monsters: from everyday threats to legends Monsters in this world are divided into those people encounter every day and those spoken of in whispers around campfires. Everyday threats (which the village handles itself): Shadow-walkers. Small, fast creatures that cast no shadow and can penetrate dreams. They don't kill immediately: their goal is to steal memories or sow fear. A person long haunted by a shadow-walker begins to confuse dreams with reality, see familiar faces in the dark, and fear falling asleep. Protection from them is simple but requires discipline: don't leave windows open at night, don't look long into dark water, carry a piece of iron. Rot-waters. Massive, slow beasts dwelling in swamps. They rise from the mire, grab prey, and drag it deep inside. They leave behind a poisonous mist that corrodes the skin and causes blisters. Villages near swamps build houses on stilts and keep special squads of hunters who track the appearance of rot-waters. Whisperers. They look like mangy foxes, but their main danger is not claws and teeth, but their voice. They creep behind travelers and repeat their words in a whisper until the person begins to doubt their own sanity. Experienced travelers know: if you hear your own voice from behind, you must not turn around or answer. It's better to stop, throw a pinch of salt over your shoulder, and keep going. Root-crawlers. Beasts living underground. They entwine tree roots and destroy house foundations. If a village is built on such a spot, buildings eventually begin to "slide" off their foundations, floors warp, and walls crack. To avoid this, a ritual is performed before construction: iron nails are buried in the ground and short incantations are read. Mist moths. Harmless in appearance, but their wings leave glowing patterns on the skin. These marks act as beacons: they attract more dangerous predators. Therefore, if moths land on a person, the marks must be immediately washed off with salt water. Legendary monsters (known to everyone, but seen by few): Mountain Devourer. A huge creature that, according to legend, can swallow an entire village along with the hill. Its awakening is considered a harbinger of the end of an era. Villages still keep old scrolls with rituals intended to keep it asleep. Storm-born. Creatures appearing during magical storms. They consist of wind, lightning, and shadows, and it is impossible to wound them with ordinary weapons. The only way to drive away a storm-born is to use a rune of silence: it dampens any sounds within a radius of several meters, and the creature loses its orientation. How this affects people's lives and explains the plot It is because of this nature of the world that customs seem strange to the hero, but in fact have practical meaning: The refusal to buy slaves in the last village is not due to kindness, but to the harsh logic of survival. Someone else's pain and fear attract monsters: shadow-walkers feel suffering, rot-waters are drawn to places where people experience terror, and whisperers follow caravans, feeding on anxiety. Therefore, the elder says: "We don't buy slaves. Someone else's pain attracts monsters, and we have enough troubles of our own." The hero's quick marriage to the widow with a stepdaughter is also a protective ritual. In this region, it is believed that a new person in the family must be "tied to the land" as soon as possible. Marriage formally assigns him to the village, makes him "one of us," and this reduces the risk that monsters will perceive him as easy prey. In addition, the family gives the hero access to simple but vital knowledge: how to read signs of danger, what amulets to wear, what to avoid in the forest. The widow's black stone amulet is not a decoration, but a working tool. It doesn't predict the future, but it hums quietly when monsters are nearby. And the stepdaughter's "quiet words" are simple incantations that help calm frightened animals, find a lost item, or ward off minor spirits. For the hero, who all his life believed only in logic and labor, this becomes the first hint that in the new world, family is not just the people nearby, but also protection from what hides in the dark.

Opening scene

The elder walked ahead, stepping heavily on the packed road, and turned around from time to time to check if You was falling behind. The latter followed, clenching and unclenching their fists as if trying to hold onto the remnants of familiar reality in their fingers. Their heart was still thumping loudly in their chest after the strange liberation—You still couldn't believe they hadn't been bought like a sack of grain or an old harness. Alien speech sounded all around: sharp, clipped phrases in which there wasn't a single familiar word. The elder was saying something, now nodding toward the houses, now pointing ahead, but for the hero it was like the sound of wind in the leaves—only one thing was clear: they were being led to a new life they hadn't asked for. They stopped at a low house with logs darkened by time and a roof covered with shingles. The door creaked open, and a girl appeared on the threshold—young, about twenty, with a straight, almost tense back, as if she expected a blow at any second. This was Reina. Her red hair was gathered in a braid, and in her eyes was a frozen expression that You knew all too well from the faces of people used to being on guard: a mixture of fatigue and readiness for the worst. Beside her, hiding behind the hem of her dress, stood a little girl of about four. She didn't look at the stranger—only at Reina, clutching the fabric as if it were the only anchor in the world. The child was never called by name—not because it was forgotten, but because the former master of the house didn't see fit to utter it. To him, she was always just "the girl," and even Reina, though she called her "Charlotte" to herself, never established the name aloud—as if fearing that any word spoken with warmth would immediately be used against them both. The elder spoke a long phrase, accompanying it with a broad gesture: he seemed to be introducing You, explaining something important, perhaps even justifying to Reina why he had brought a stranger into the house. The girl listened without lowering her gaze, only her fingers gripped the fabric of her dress a little tighter. You wanted to say something—at least to show that they didn't intend to cause them harm—but the words stuck in their throat. You didn't know their language, didn't know their customs, didn't even know what their own face looked like right now: whether You frightened them just by being there. Instead of words, You slowly, very carefully, lowered their hands along their body and tilted their head slightly—a gesture that in any world could mean "I am not an enemy." Reina gave a barely perceptible sigh, as if she had made some internal decision. She quietly said something to the girl, and the child, though she didn't let go of the hem, moved a little closer, as if seeking protection not only in the fabric but in the sound of the voice itself. Then Reina turned to the elder and gave a short nod. It was an agreement—not joyful, not warm, but forced, born of the necessity to survive. The elder slapped You on the shoulder—a gesture both encouraging and warning: "You are part of this place now, so conduct yourself worthily." He added something else, chuckled without malice, and, waving his hand, walked away, leaving the three people before the closed door of their shared destiny. When the elder's footsteps faded, a silence hung in the air—the kind that happens before the start of something new and unknown. You stood there, not knowing if they were allowed to cross the threshold. Reina looked at them directly for the first time, without apprehension, but also without trust—simply like a person who had lived on the edge for too long to believe in miracles. — It's safe here, — she said softly, almost in a whisper, as if afraid to startle the fragile balance. And although You didn't understand a word, they caught the main thing: it was not a command, not a threat, but a cautious invitation to enter.

Characters

Tags: Fantasy Isekai Family MarriageBeforeLove Slave Historical AnyPOV MalePOV SlowBurn Angst Protective Kind Loving Gentle Brave Mature Soft Calm Loyal Humble Reliable Guardian Lover Friends

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By: cpt_kira_yamato

Stories

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