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22. Awakening

Pietro felt like he had a dream. In the dream, he was born in an ordinary small town. Though remote, it was quiet and seldom disturbed by outsiders. The residents lived simple lives, working from sunrise to sunset.

His parents worked for a farm owner, doing tasks like feeding horses, chopping wood, and herding sheep. The farm owner, a bearded old man, was rumored to have traveled the world in his younger days. Pietro liked him because he always shared fascinating stories.

The farm owner never treated Pietro's family as outsiders. Every evening, he gathered everyone around a large table for dinner. The adults would drink beer, while the children had various fruit juices.

Once, Pietro wanted to try the beer, but the farm owner told him that only adults could drink it. After much pestering, the farm owner finally promised Pietro he could have some of his aged brew when he grew up.

One evening, Pietro had already herded the sheep into the pen. He was no longer a child and could help his aging parents with work. Accompanying him was a dog.

"Grandpa, I'm back with the sheep!" Pietro called out loudly as he ran back to the farm.

"Back already? Have some water. Slow down, don't be so hasty." the farm owner replied while cleaning his rifle. Pietro had seen him take the hunting rifle once to use it to scare off a bear that wandered into the town from a mountain.

"Forget that, Grandpa. You promised to tell me a story today after herding the sheep. Last time, you told me about a creepy orphanage! What happened next?" Pietro eagerly pulled up a chair, sitting before the farm owner.

The farm owner chuckled at Pietro's excitement. He set the rifle down carefully, wrapping it in burlap and placing it in its case before heading towards the storeroom. Pietro didn't interrupt, knowing the farm owner was likely going to pour himself a drink before continuing the story.

The farm owner's steps were heavy as he walked into the small room adjacent to the house. The room stored farm tools and various items, including his treasured beer. Stopping by the beer barrel, the farm owner's gaze fell on a set of letters painted in white, now faded and damaged, but still recognisable—Stark Industries.

He picked up two wooden mugs beside the barrel. Outside, Pietro waited anxiously, hoping the farm owner would hurry. But long ago, the farm owner had taught him that sometimes the most exciting part wasn't the stories but the waiting.

It might have been three minutes or ten, but the farm owner finally emerged from the storeroom. Pietro smiled broadly, but then noticed the farm owner's stiff, mechanical movements.

"Grandpa, are you okay?" Pietro asked, concerned.

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"It's nothing, just that time is running out." The farm owner's stiff face broke into a smile. He looked at Pietro warmly and trudged back to the table, placing two mugs on it.

Seeing Pietro's worried expression, the farm owner smiled and pushed one of the mugs towards him.

"Grandpa, you said kids couldn't drink beer," Pietro said,while trying hard not to touch the mug.

"You're no longer a kid, Pietro. Although, you'll always be a child to me," the farm owner said, taking a sip from his mug. The rich, warm beer slid down his throat, making him sigh in satisfaction.

The farm fell silent except for the sound of the farm owner drinking. Pietro pondered quietly, glancing at the doghouse. His dog was nowhere to be seen, only a mat covered in dog hair remained.

After a long while, Pietro broke the silence. "Grandpa, I don't belong here, do I?"

The farm owner put down his mug, his expression calm but affectionate. "I'm sorry, my boy. I can't answer that."

"I remember every day here, but…" Pietro looked around, as if trying to imprint every detail of the farm in his mind. "But something tells me this isn't my real life."

"So, what's your choice, my boy?"

"I don't know." Pietro stood, noticing for the first time that he now towered over the seated farm owner. "I want to stay here, but something tells me I have something important to do."

"Then go do it, my boy," the farm owner said gently, though his voice held a weighty finality.

"Can I leave?" Pietro asked, wide-eyed.

"I don't know. I've never tried leaving," the farm owner replied with a smile.

Pietro was stunned. He opened his mouth to say something but ended up with nothing. Looking at the man who had raised him, Pietro lowered his head, his thoughts were turbulent.

Time seemed to freeze. Everything on the farm halted—the grass swaying in the wind, the butterflies dancing among the flowers, even the water droplets from the sprinkler were suspended in mid-air. It was as if someone had pressed pause, freezing this moment in time.

Eventually, the farm owner set his mug down, and by then, Pietro had disappeared. Only the untouched mug of beer remained on the table.

"…I should have saved this…for next time…"

The world grew silent. Pietro's thoughts drifted aimlessly. He had no idea where he was or how much time had passed. It felt like a dream, chaotic and silent. He spent a long time gathering his fragmented consciousness, slowly piecing it back together. In an instant, he felt his body calling to him.

Sensations flooded back—an overwhelming rush of touch and noise that almost shattered his mind again. Finally, his eyelids fluttered open, and Pietro's consciousness took control of his body.

In front of him, Alex was driving with one hand on the wheel and the other holding a slice of pepperoni pizza.

Glancing sideways at Pietro, Alex spoke with a mouthful of food, "You're finally awake. Want something to eat?"

.....

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