"By all accounts, epigraphs should probably be written after a chapter; a sort of literary fruit to top the sweetbread. If they are written first then they might not even make sense in the context of the chapter, right?"

~Unknown

Time Until Core Skill Selection

21:14:31:42

Three weeks before I had to select a Core Skill I spent the morning battling boredom by studying the wooden beams supporting my room’s arched ceiling. There was no smooth plaster or light fixture in sight, but sunlight gently filtering in through the paned glass window gave the room a soft luminescence. There were many odd inconsistencies with the technology in the house and I hadn’t yet been able to reconcile them. There was sophisticated glass but no light bulbs. There were household items seemingly made with machine levels of precision, but no indoor plumbing. I assumed it had something to do with Skills and tried not to dwell on it.

Since I was starting to achieve a measure of equilibrium between my body and mind, I had plenty of time to think. I had too much time to think, hence my intense fascination with ceiling arches. I'd moved beyond my humble beginnings of celebrating an uninterrupted 15 minutes of cognizance. I was even sleeping through the night. This cognitive triumph also gave me plenty of time to focus on my System notification, still unchanged except for the steady ticking down of the timer it displayed.

In my first life I read dozens of stories that featured a System of some description. I was initially hopeful that my knowledge of how these things worked in fiction would give me an advantage. My efforts to mentally prod at the System for additional details or some kind of help function were, disappointingly, met with failure. No matter what odd combination of words or phrases I tried, all I could do was open and close the screen. There was no early allocation of stat points or skill points, no System-bestowed titles, nothing. Just the timer. It was vexing.

I hadn't been keeping a perfect count of the passage of time since I was born - those early weeks were still a blur - but I concluded that by the time the counter reached zero I'd be close to 6-months-old.

That is, of course, assuming months are still 30ish days.

If the System functioned the same for everyone it meant babies were presented with what sounded like an incredibly important decision while potentially marinating in a sullied diaper. It made no sense. That was the first time I realized I didn't know if anyone else even had a System. There was too much I didn't know.

I tried to focus on what I did know. I knew Core Skills were a thing and that I would have to select one. I also deduced that if there were Core Skills then, presumably, there were other types of skills. It wasn't much, but it was something.

I could only hope that the process of selecting a Core Skill would be when a unique opportunity presented itself to me. Unless everyone was born with memories of their past lives…

Whoever said ignorance is bliss was full of-

I was pulled away from my musings by the sound of my mother’s footsteps on the wooden floorboards as she entered my room. It wasn't difficult to tell them apart from my father's. The solidity of his frame was echoed, sometimes literally, in his footsteps. Compared to that, the gentle steps of my mother made it seem like she was gliding instead of walking.

"... Will… time… Baxter," my mother was happily chirping at me as she scooped me out of the crib. I still only understood every other word, but it was odd she mentioned Baxter while taking me out of the bedroom. Baxter was the name of a crocheted dog that regularly accompanied me in my crib and a quick scan of the room as we departed revealed him sitting on his little side table.

My mother was wearing a sturdy pair of pants and thick boots which was an outfit I'd come to associate with whatever she did for a living. It was only recently she'd started working again and only for small periods of time while my father watched over me. Having a baby was a universally disruptive practice, it seemed.

What is this smell and why is it so familiar?

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

There was a distinct smell that clung to her work clothes that I had difficulty identifying. It was earthy and wet and yet somehow neither.

We reached the living room and passed by the rocking chair we usually settled into without pausing. My heart rate began to speed up as a pulse of excitement raced through me. I didn't want to get my hopes up but couldn't help craning my neck to confirm our destination. It was the front door! It was finally happening! We were going outside! With deft hands my mother positioned me so that my head was on her shoulder while her free hand opened the door.

***

My mother helpfully paused in the open doorway before turning me so that I could see our front yard. A gravel path wove through well maintained vegetable gardens, but I didn't recognize any of the produce. I'd later learn that there were rough equivalents for all the vegetables I was familiar with. Their potatoes grew on a vine and looked kind of like orange bananas, for example.

We did live near a forest! In the near distance I could see the edge of a vibrant pine forest. It stretched to either side as far as I could see, and I could just make out the occasional stump along its border. Before I could finish appreciating the vista my mother spun me back around. Her loving giggle suggested I looked as awestruck as I felt. I wasn't sure if she was indulging me or herself but I could tell she was enjoying introducing her baby to the world.

She stepped onto the path but veered to the right, heading around the house. The forest was not our destination. I was sure I'd have an opportunity to explore it eventually. I inhaled deeply and savored the crisp morning air.

Next to the house was a large shed piled high with logs and cuts of wood in various states of preparation. One stack had been cut into long planks, possibly for construction. Another stack was piled high with the branches that had been stripped from fallen trees, but I had no idea what purpose they served. Most of the wood looked like the kind found in lean-tos next to rustic cabins for use in a wood stove or small fireplace. The sheer quantity of it all went beyond what I imagined an ordinary household would need for private use. Off to one side I spied a large stump with an axe embedded into it. The axe was a vicious looking thing with a broad head, leather-wrapped handle and large spike protruding from its butt. Hilarious as that thought was, it didn’t look like a woodchopping axe. It looked like a people-chopping axe. Maybe it was a cultural thing. Regardless, I began to suspect I had figured out what my father's profession was.

If he's not some kind of lumberjack, I'll eat the hat I don't have.

There were two paths behind our house. One trailed over a small rise in the landscape so I couldn't see where it led. The other path, the one my mother took, led to a paddock with a suspiciously clear pond at its center. A barrier of piled stones rimmed the perimeter serving as a rudimentary fence. Dozens of small wooden structures sat in neat lines off to one side of the enclosed space. Another shed, presumably for storage, stood just outside the fence, off the path and close to the gate.

I immediately knew what it was. The dozens of gray, furry shapes excitedly running up to the fence to greet my mother were unmistakable. The smell clinging to my mother’s clothes suddenly made sense to me. This was a kennel.

Dogs!

“... Baxter, Will?” My mother’s question caused a mental puzzle piece to slide into place.

Dogs… Baxter… Baxta, maybe? It means dog, or dogs, or both. That checks out.

The realization made me feel more than a little foolish, but I was too thrilled by the presence of doggos to dwell on it for more than a moment.

I knew that, as a baby, my sense of perspective was warped. Like looking into the side mirror of a car, things usually appeared larger than I logically knew them to be. That was not the case with these dogs. They really were massive. Their short, shaggy fur reminded me of Irish Wolfhounds but the largest among them stood a full head and shoulder above the breed I was familiar with. The comparatively smaller dogs had the oversized paws and ears of puppies still in their first couple of years. They outnumbered the adults by a fair margin and were adorable as they were intimidating.

I could ride them like a horse.

Not that I knew how to ride a horse, but I felt the sentiment held strong all the same. I glanced between the dogs and the waist-high fence of piled stones that surrounded the paddock. I could not fathom it being sufficient to keep the dogs contained, even the pups. The adults could have leapt over it with almost no difficulty. Yet despite their apparent excitement none of them crossed the barrier. I was missing something.

The kennel was far enough away from the main house that, unless the dogs were constantly barking, it wouldn't disturb the occupants. As we approached the gate some of the dogs began to whine with anticipation and my mother shot me a worried glance. I figured she was concerned the dogs might spook me and prompt a fit of crying. I did my best to appear unbothered by making happy baby noises. It worked. She smiled widely at my reaction and shifted me to her hip to free up an arm. She raised her hand, forming it into a sort of ‘C'-shaped hand signal.

Silence.

Close to thirty dogs stopped what they were doing and gave my mother – Tina – their full attention. At that moment it didn’t feel right to define her by her relation to me. This was her domain. She said something to the dogs in a tone that brook no argument and since I was still struggling with basic words the shorthand for her commands was lost on me. The dogs understood her though. As one, they moved to an open area of grass and arranged themselves into two equal lines before sitting. They sat still and exuded a quiet dignity with few exceptions. Some of the smaller pups occasionally got distracted but a neighboring adult would quickly correct them. It looked like they were lining up for inspection, the kind of thing you’d see at a military boot camp.

What in the actual shit, I thought.

It went beyond what should be possible. Dogs could be taught obedience, sure, but what I was seeing was something else entirely. I tilted my head to look up at my mother and saw she was looking back down at me. The wonder in my eyes must have been evident because her smile quirked into a smug smirk. I didn’t begrudge her for it. I’d be smug too.

“Time to meet the dogs, Will.”

It was one of the first full sentences I understood. At the time I made some guesses based on context clues, but I guessed correctly. Tina was officially a badass and I was abso-freakin-lutely ready to meet the dogs.