Primordial Awakening: I Breathe Skill Points!-Chapter 35: Little Things. (1)

Chapter 35: Little Things. (1)
Three years. That was the deal. Three years of freedom in exchange for quarterly meetings and emergency availability.
1,095 days to figure out what he was becoming, to get strong enough that when Marcus made his recruitment offer again, Zeph would be joining as an equal rather than a desperate survivor.
’84 days until the first meeting,’ he calculated automatically. ’Plenty of time. For now, just... exist. Figure out how normal people live. Try not to get killed or arrested.’
Simple goals.
He pocketed the crystal and headed for the door.
The exterior walkway was empty at this hour—mid-morning on what appeared to be a normal weekday. Most residents were probably at work or school or whatever normal people did with their time when they weren’t fighting for survival.
Zeph descended the stairs slowly, his enhanced hearing picking up sounds of life from behind closed doors.
A baby crying. Someone’s audio entertainment playing too loud. A couple arguing about something mundane. Water running through pipes. The hum of cooling units and climate control.
The ambient noise of human civilization.
It was almost overwhelming after three years of silence broken only by his own breathing and the occasional monster howl.
The street level was more active. A few people moving with purposeful strides—workers heading to late shifts, maybe, or running errands. An elderly woman sitting on a bench near the building entrance, feeding something to birds that looked like normal pigeons but probably weren’t.
She glanced up as Zeph emerged from the stairwell, did a visible double-take at his height, then smiled.
"Good morning, young man. You’re new to the building, aren’t you?"
Zeph’s social interaction skills were rusty enough that it took him a moment to formulate a response.
"Yeah. Just moved in yesterday."
"Welcome to Block F-12, then. I’m Mrs. Chen—no relation to the famous Indiana Chen, unfortunately." She chuckled at what was apparently a common joke. "Unit 821, if you ever need anything. There’s a community center two blocks east if you’re looking for resources, and the nearest market is about ten minutes’ walk south."
She was being friendly. Helpful. For no apparent reason beyond basic human decency.
The concept was so foreign after three years that Zeph almost didn’t know how to process it.
"Thanks," he managed. "I’m Kai."
"Well, Kai, you look like you could use a good meal. There’s a noodle shop on the corner of Second and Market—tell them Mrs. Chen sent you and they’ll give you the student discount even if you’re not enrolled yet."
Student discount. As if his primary concern was saving a few credits rather than wondering whether the food was safe to eat or if accepting help would create some kind of obligation he’d have to pay back later.
But Mrs. Chen just smiled warmly, tossed the last of her bird food, and stood with the careful movements of someone whose joints didn’t work quite as well as they used to.
"Enjoy your day, Kai. And welcome to the neighborhood."
She shuffled back into the building, leaving Zeph standing on the sidewalk trying to figure out what had just happened.
’She just... helped. For free. No angle, no expectation of payment, just basic neighborly kindness.’
’What the fuck kind of place is this?’
The market Mrs. Chen had mentioned was indeed about ten minutes south—less if you were 6’9" with long legs and moved with purpose.
Zeph followed the street signs, his enhanced senses cataloging everything with the automatic efficiency of someone whose survival had depended on knowing his environment.
The neighborhood was working-class but maintained. Buildings showed their age but weren’t falling apart. Streets were clean enough that children could play on them without parental supervision.
The few other people he passed gave him space—his height saw to that—but nobody seemed actively afraid. Just... aware of his presence and politely distant.
The market itself was a revelation.
It wasn’t a massive supermarket like he distinctively remembered from his previous life’s memories. It was something between a farmer’s market and a general store, set up in an open plaza with permanent stalls arranged in organized rows.
And it was full of food!
Actual food. Fresh produce piled in colorful displays. Meat hanging from hooks, still red and clearly refrigerated properly. Baked goods that made his mouth water from twenty feet away. Dried goods, canned supplies, spices he didn’t recognize, ingredients for meals he wouldn’t know how to cook.
Zeph stood at the market’s edge, hood pulled low, and felt something twist in his chest that might have been grief for every meal he’d missed or relief that he’d never have to eat rat meat again.
"First time at a real market?"
The voice came from his left. Zeph turned to find a vendor—middle-aged man with the weathered look of someone who’d worked outdoors for decades—watching him with knowing eyes.
"That obvious?"
"You’ve got the look. Wildlands survivor?" At Zeph’s cautious nod, the man’s expression softened. "Seen a lot of folks like you coming through lately. Takes a while to adjust, doesn’t it? Having things just... available."
"Yeah."
"Well, you’re in luck. Everything here is safe, regulated, inspected by the Sanctuary’s food standards bureau. See those marks?" He pointed to symbols stamped on his display signs.
"That’s the certification. Means it’s been cleared for consumption—no contamination, no monster parts labeled as regular meat, none of that horror story shit."
The casual reassurance that the food wasn’t going to kill him was both comforting and deeply surreal.
"What’s good?" Zeph asked, because that seemed like the kind of thing normal people would ask.
"Depends on what you’re looking for. Hungry now, or stocking up for the week?"
"Both?"
The vendor laughed. "Alright, let’s start with immediate needs. You look like you haven’t eaten properly in days—no offense—so I’d recommend something with actual calories and protein. My wife makes meat pies over there." He gestured to a nearby stall.
"Two credits each, and they’ll keep you full for hours. Then come back and we’ll set you up with basics for your place. Rice, dried beans, some vegetables that keep well, maybe some instant noodles for when you’re too tired to cook."
He was explaining things as if Zeph had never bought groceries before.
Which, in this body, he actually hadn’t.
"Sounds good."
The meat pies were amazing!
Zeph bought three—told himself it was because he needed the calories, not because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d tasted food that wasn’t either burnt or half-rotten—and found a bench near the market’s edge to eat.
The first bite was almost overwhelming. Actual seasoned meat, cooked properly, wrapped in pastry that was still warm from the oven. Grease and spices and flavors that his malnutrition-adapted palate had forgotten existed.
He ate all three pies in under five minutes, barely tasting them beyond that first bite, driven by a hunger that was as much psychological as physical!
Then he just sat there for a moment, feeling genuinely full for the first time in years.
’This is what normal people have. Every day. Just... food. Available. Safe. Affordable.’
A child ran past him, chasing a ball that bounced erratically, laughing with the unselfconscious joy of someone who’d never had to worry about whether there would be dinner tonight.
Their parent called after them: "Stay where I can see you!"
Not "watch for monsters" or "stay alert for threats." Just normal parental concern about a kid running too far ahead in a crowded market.
Zeph watched them go, something in his chest pulling tight.
’I’m not that kid anymore. Haven’t been for... ever, I guess. Not in this life or the previous one.’
’But maybe I can figure out how to exist in a world where people like that can be safe.’