By the time I woke up, dad- father... at least, my current father, getting used to that's gonna take a while, was already coming into the room. It was strange to recognize and be familiar with him and yet at the same time, feel like it was the very first time I met him. And yet, here we were.

Dad was a very normal man. A regular person really! He was a baker!

It was interesting to see how things had changed since I was first this old. When I was eight years old the first time around, most people lived scattered among farmlands, with small population centers serving as gathering places for merchants and manufacturers, small hamlets built around workshops. Most people spent most of their time close to the farmlands that they worked for the feudal lord of the area, and villages tended to be formed around a specific purpose.

By the twilight years of my life, this had begun to change, and small villages were starting to populate and increase in size. I remember pushing for some of the reforms that led to this, the man who had convinced me to support his proposal to invest in roads was very convincing, and the technical wizard who invented the sealed cool boxes for preservation and transportation was a passionate youth who would no doubt go on to make a name for himself. Good lads, both of them, and I'm glad to see that their work has borne fruit.

Indeed, the small village of Talar was once an even smaller outpost, a smattering of houses, warehouses, workshops and towers loosely connected by the families of the lumberjacks that harvested the woods nearby for their bounty and timber, but now, now it was a bustling, growing village, and had expanded from a mere thirty five inhabitants to five hundred.

Never could anyone have expected to make a living as a baker in Talar back then, but now, father even had a bakery of his own, that he worked with my brothers, and which was even commissioned for this most auspicious of occasions. I've been marvelling so much at the world around me that... I've been ignoring the world immediately around me. Oops.

"Anya!" Father's voice thundered, as he raised it in an attempt to get my attention. "Are you sure you're okay? You've been spacing out a lot," he said, tone and voice softening as he spoke.

Dad was... really normal and average. A slimmer build than the peasants I remembered, but still broad shouldered and tall. His skin wasn't as tan as a farmhand, and reminded me more of nobility than a peasant, though the scars on his face, on his arms and on his hands put that thought away, no noble would ever be scarred like that but those with knightly titles. His hair was the same brown as mine, and I tried not to think of the fact that I had to get used to the brown hair on the periphery of my vision. He kept it cropped short, choppily cut, so it would not interfere with his work. People didn't like hair in their bread after all.

"You're spacing out again, Anya," he said, looking a bit amused. "I know your dad's a handsome man but you can't go getting distracted when I'm talking to you," he said, grabbing me and lifting me up. He may not be a warrior, but he was very much a hard worker, and baking tons of bread by hand every day had given him a lot of physical strength, he could easily hold me up one armed. "If you keep ignoring me then I'll do this!" he said, sticking his finger in his mouth and pulling it out, covering it in saliva and threatening me with it.

"Ew," I replied, my instincts from this life coming out unprompted, "you're being disgusting again!!" I cried out.

Even if I hadn't remembered being a prim and proper noble lady, it seemed like a part of my spirit was still... well, my prissy self from way back, though I'm happy to say I'm more amused than disgusted these days! Especially as Dad himself bursts into giggles and I do as well, feeling the happy joy bubbling up from the bottom of my stomach, something I hadn't ever experienced before. Never had I been held by my father, never had my father done anything like this... as Anastasia I- I never knew I wanted to have a dad who would do disgusting things to tease his fussy daughter.

"What's gotten into you? Does your head hurt or anything? We could go to the church if you're still in pain," he said, letting me gently back down.

My bed was... stiff, hard and difficult to rest on, nothing compared to what I was used to. Well beyond and above what most peasants in my day experienced, but still not up to the standards of the nobility that were ingrained in me. I winced as I settled down, and then after taking a deep breath, I swung my legs off of the bed. At least we weren't sleeping on hay in a dark and dingy cell, I'll give the bed that much. "I'm fine," I said, putting my hands on my hips and striking my most reassuring smirk. "I'm fine, see?" I repeated, nodding to myself, more than to him. "I'm fine to keep helping, just tell me what to do and-"

"No, no way!" dad said. "Anya, sweetie, you banged your head pretty bad, on the edge of the table no less, it's a wonder nothing worse happened!" he said. "You need to rest to make sure there's nothing wrong with you!" he said, raising a finger and wagging it as if to emphasize his negative, then using that same finger to poke my forehead.

Immediately, I cried out in pain, this stupid childish body of mine unable to bear the sting of the contact. When I grabbed my forehead by instinct, it only caused me even MORE pain! I was surely bruising there. I don't even own a mirror now, so I can't check, but it's probably pretty bad, if they had to bandage it.

"See?" he asked. "Now, be a good girl. They say the Saint hears our prayers during the holy day," he said, smiling at me, "so maybe if you pray really hard and if you've been a good girl, the Saint will reach with her powers from the heavens above and heal you," he said.

Oh?

"Heh, Anya is named after Saint Anastasia, so I'm sure she'll be looking out for you," dad said, a big grin on his face and a thumbs up gesture, which he capped of with a wink.

What..?

Did- do people assume that I'm god or something!? I don't have those kinds of powers! Even what little I could do to heal was very difficult to do, it left me exhausted every time, and it wasn't even half as good as what Tiara could do with a quarter of the effort! If I was going to be remembered fondly over something, could it not have been something I was actually good at!?

"But daaad, how are our prayers going to be heard if we don't go to the church?" I asked, pouting.

Dad booped my nose, and I glared at him for it. "Remember the Saint's teachings, as long as you truly hold God in your heart, then your prayers will be heard. Direct your prayers through Saint Anastasia, and she will relay them to God for you!" he said.

"I- okay," I sighed, "I'll pray hard and then you'll see, I'll be right back to work before you know it!"

"Attagirl," dad said, placing his hand atop my head and gently ruffling my hair. I felt a pang of regret. The ringlet curls that I'd maintained so religiously in my past life, which once got me the mocking nickname of Princess Drills, were now gone, forever and ever. My hair was much thicker and much more coarse now, a light brown color. It also had to be kept much shorter and there was no way I could properly take care of it anymore.

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Even if every house was expected to have a shower in this day and age, soap and hair care products were still expensive and as such, used only when bathing before a special occasion, which my family wasn't often a participant in, so I basically had never had my hair properly washed, let alone cared for.

Dad got up and left the bedroom. I share this bedroom with my brothers, and once more, I find myself the youngest of three, although this time, my older brothers are... well... Anders and Stephen are nothing at all like Ivan and Donovan. Beyond the obvious physical features, as Anders was effectively a carbon copy of father but smaller, and Stephen had mom's nearly black hair except his never seemed to grow past a few centimeters, they were...

Well, I actually knew them and spoke to them regularly! Imagine that, knowing what your brothers' voices sound like! I don't know that I could ever recognize Ivan and Donovan if it weren't for the paintings of them stuck in the exhibition room back at the Hessiod castle, but despite their very average looks, I could never confuse Anders and Stephen for anybody else...

Should I be ashamed of what a terrible sister I was, or be happy that my brothers are much better this time around? Alas, I hardly knew them, but at least their descendants were good people, so I'll let the bad brotherhood pass on account of good parenting skills.

Our house has only two bedrooms, and this is mine and my brothers', though those two troublemakers almost never spent time here. Anders was the eldest, the first son, and he was very similar physically to dad, but he took after mom way more in terms of personality. His third of the room had his bed and an armoire, which contained his hunting equipment, including his treated leathers, his bow, a storage with all the arrows he had accumulated and the short sword that mom had got him for his coming of age.

I hummed. Brother Anders was close to sixteen years old now, and soon, he would start the process of seeking a new life for himself, away from the nest... I needed to do some investigation, I've never known how commoners handle this sort of thing. If he was a noble, father would be arranging an engagement for him and setting him up with either a position in the military for him to make his own career, or training him to succeed the management of the house's affairs and the fiefdom.

Meanwhile, Brother Stephen was not too far from his coming of age. Next year would be his fifteenth, and he would then choose his path in life. Though his appearance was close to mother's and his build was suited to violence, his personality wasn't, he was a gentle lad and liked tending to plants. I wish Anya, that's me I guess? had paid more attention to him, I think he's working as a gardener somewhere? I don't know for sure, he's definitely an apprentice somewhere but I just can't remember where. In contrast to Anders, Stephen's belongings all fit neatly in a single chest, he didn't own that many clothes and most of his tools were kept at his workplace instead.

And as for me?

Well...

"I feel like I might be getting special treatment," I muttered to myself, looking at all the dolls and toys and the two chests full of clothes that belonged to me. I was... definitely being spoiled, right? Should I feel bad for Anders and Stephen?

I thought hard for a few moments and then realized, no, they were part of it.

A rumbling thought from deep within came unbidden. Stupid overprotective brothers!

I... at least prefer brothers who are overprotective than ones that don't even acknowledge my existence until they need something from me. Anders had gifted me many a doll he had made, and despite my own spoiled and selfish self, I'd kept all of them, even the first few ones that were more horrifying and disturbing than cute...

I opened the chest with the dolls and looked at them. Yep. Ugly as sin, but... they filled me with warmth and happy thoughts when I looked at them. They were made with effort and sentiment, and even if the young me hadn't truly understood why, at least she had cared enough about her brothers to keep their gifts. Alongside the dolls, there were flower ornaments, and small wooden carvings, some with symbols that might've sorta passed as letters if you squinted, that got neater and clearer the closer they got to the end of the alphabet.

I'm happy to see that my efforts to increase literacy among the general populace were bearing fruit. My influence as a saint wasn't good for much with the Church itself, but with some help I could definitely get reading, writing and basic arithmetic to be added to the curriculum of sunday school at every Church.

And the fact that my brothers were even trying to help me along...

Well, good news boys, I just regained all my knowledge from a hundred years ago, so it miiiight be a little outdated, but at least I can read, write and do math again! Score!

I closed the lid on the chest and hummed in satisfaction. Right. I'll do my best to give back to this family that has treated me with so much love and respect, I'll show them just how good of a daughter I can be, now that I'm back!

Unfortunately, I definitely had none of the power I'd had when I was a daughter of Hessiod, political or otherwise, so I couldn't really shower them with monetary rewards or give them a title or anything of the sort, and most importantly, I didn't even have magic anymore! The nobility had carefully cultivated bloodlines through hundreds if not thousands of years, strengthening them over time, to create the most powerful offspring they could, and Anastasia van Hessiod was the beneficiary of all that work, born with not just magical power, but heaps of it.

But Anya, daughter of the Baker? Anya had none of that, and so my magical power was piddling, nothing.

I was not a freak of nature like Tiara, born as a commoner with power that made all the efforts of the nobility look like a joke by comparison, I was just a regular nobody, and that meant that I had nothing to work with in terms of innate magical power.

But somehow, I still felt blessed.

I've done my part, haven't I? I had power, and I used it as best as I could, for as long as I could, neglecting myself and my own well being... hey, maybe the gods have recognized my efforts, and have given me a chance to finally have a life for myself? In that way, I'm more than willing to give up all of that power, all of that magic, in return for a happy life!

Dad said to pray, huh?

Well, even if I'm not gonna be praying to the Saint, because that'd be narcissistic, I'll at least clasp my hands together. "Thank you, God, for this chance at happiness!" I said, "I won't screw it up, I promise! I'll be working hard so that we can all can be happy together, my family and myself, I won't be alone this time!"

Warmth filled the room and light burst and blinded me, and I fell flat on my butt, which stopped hurting almost as soon as it started, and in fact, I felt a lot better, only now realizing that I was blocking the pain from my forehead wound, as well as many other aches all over my body... I felt better, I felt filled with energy, even more, I felt-

Oh.

Wait.

No no no, there's no way.

No way!

There's no way- Noooo, this- Even though I was called a Saint, even though I was used by the Church to further their goals, never, not once, had a single one of my prayers been answered, not even when I feverishly worked overtime to heal wounds that took me to the limits of my ability. I had drained my magic to the point of exhaustion numerous times, and begged God to give me even just a little bit more power, to let me squeeze my energy just a little bit longer, so that I may make the difference between life and death for someone, and yet- and yet-

Not once! Not once had I been heard before, no matter how desperate my plea, so why--

Why?!

Why has God answered now, for something as silly as a bump on my head?! Why now!? Why me!?

Is this it?

Is it my fate? Am I to be a true and proper Saint, this time? Was I wrong? Am I meant to live my life for others' sake again..? I thought...

I could feel a miserable feeling overwhelming me from within, as a deep rooted sadness overcame me. What am I thinking..? These selfish thoughts... I thought I'd discarded this selfish self a long time ago, when I suffered and died for them, I thought, I thought-

I just wanted to live, and be happy alongside everyone else, so... so I...

I refuse... this time, I refuse.

I won't be a saint, not again, not this time... I can't be a saint again.

The warm light dissipated, until only glowing golden motes were left, each of them slowly disappearing into thin golden mist, and yet, the warmth never left me. I had been healed. I was better than new. Healthier than I'd ever been before.

This power... this power that could ruin my life...

I'll have to be judicious and careful with its use. Even if I cannot allow an innocent to suffer before me, I'll have to come up with some way to avoid getting locked into that lonely life again!

Father burst into the room. "Anya sweetie are you alright!? there was a light and a loud sound and-"

I turned towards him. Father. Dad. Someone I trusted far more than I could ever trust the Duke of Hessiod... that man would put the country first and foremost, every time, but Dad, Dad would be on my side. I knew it. I could feel it in my very bones.

"Dad I- we have to talk."