The New World
Copyright© 2024 by Dark Apostle
Chapter 22: Homecoming
Fan Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 22: Homecoming - The story follows James Smith, a man who dies and finds himself in a surreal afterlife courtroom, where his life is judged as "zero sum"—neither good nor evil, just utterly average. Dissatisfied with being consigned to eternal mediocrity, he manipulates the cosmic bureaucracy into granting him a second chance in a new world, where he is reincarnated as a child with his memories intact and perks... - edited by my lovely Steven.
Caution: This Fan Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma/ft Mult Coercion NonConsensual Reluctant Slavery Lesbian BiSexual Heterosexual Fan Fiction Farming High Fantasy Rags To Riches Restart Alternate History DoOver Extra Sensory Perception Body Swap Furry Magic Incest Mother Sister Politics Royalty Violence
James rose slowly from the graveside, his gaze lingering on the small mounds beneath the willow. The weight of Bob’s absence settled in his chest like an old wound reopened, but he pushed it down. Finally, he turned to his father.
“Thank you for honoring them.”
“Much to my surprise, they made a real difference in our lives. It was the right thing to do. We were just sitting down to our meal. Please join us.”
“That sounds great. I have lived off my cooking for years. It will be nice to have mother’s again.”
The family filed back toward the house, footsteps crunching softly on the gravel path. The wives tended to the children inside, their laughter spilling out through open windows, while Fel had reclaimed his spot by the door, a massive silver sentinel sprawled in the fading light. Marta and Rachael hurried to the kitchen, finishing the meal preparations with practiced efficiency. James lingered outside, crouching beside the Fenrir.
“Are you hungry?”
“No, I won’t need to eat for days. Unless you decide to cook something special.”
“That will have to wait until we are back at the brothel,” James replied with a faint smirk.
He stepped into the warm kitchen, where Rachael gestured to the empty bench beside her. “This is where Raphtalia sits. Since she is not here, take her spot.”
As James settled in, Rachael leaned toward the toddler in her lap. “Mila, this is your uncle James.”
The infant paid no mind, clinging tighter to her mother’s neck.
“What happened to your husband?”
Rachael’s expression darkened, her voice softening. “It was an accident. Ernest and our son, Mike, were coming home from the market when the bridge they were on failed. They fell into the river and drowned. I was heartbroken. I couldn’t run the farm by myself, so father brought me home.”
“I am sorry for your loss. How long were you married?”
“Six years. We were building a life together, and it disappeared in a moment.” Rachael wiped a tear from her eye, steadying her breath.
Marta bustled in then, carrying a steaming pot of stew that filled the room with savory aromas. Emma followed, placing flatbread before each person. Marta ladled generous portions into wooden bowls, serving smaller ones to the children. Once everyone was settled, Garrick bowed his head and offered a brief prayer to the gods.
James took a spoonful of the stew—rich with tender chicken and garden vegetables—and savored it. The flavors were deeper, more robust than he remembered from his childhood, a clear sign of the family’s newfound prosperity. No one spoke much at first; they ate in comfortable silence, the scraping of spoons and occasional murmurs from the children the only sounds.
When the bowls were empty, Garrick set his aside and fixed James with a steady gaze. “James, we never expected to see you again. It took years before Marta and I came to terms with your being gone. You left a hole in the family, and every time we saw Raphtalia or the slimes, it brought back our loss. Even when we were poor, we were lucky never to lose a child. When you found the coins, our lives changed—all for the better. New homes, a cushion against the travails of the weather, generous dowries for your sisters, everything we could ever dream of. But you were not here to share the bounty with us.”
James’s jaw tightened. “Not by my choice. Damned slavers!”
“We understand. And Marta and I, the whole family is thrilled you are here. So what are your plans?”
“I started businesses in town as soon as I returned to Castletown. I never thought anything about working with the family. I wasn’t even sure I would be accepted. I want to learn more about the family, but I intend to continue with the businesses I have in town.
Once the tavern is up and running, I want you all to visit and to meet my employees. I can be a ready buyer for all of your produce and grains. You will have a guaranteed market, and I will have the satisfaction of helping the family.”
“What would you want?” Bert asked, leaning forward with interest.
“All your vegetables, finely ground flour, cured hams, fruits, honey, anything else you can offer. I want to be known for the food more than cheap booze. So I need quality ingredients. I know a merchant who can get me rare spices.”
“That is ambitious. Do you have the coins?”
“Thanks to Fel’s hunting skills, coins are not a problem.”
Garrick studied James for a long moment, eyes tracing the scars and bulk that years of hardship had forged. “You should stay until Raphtalia returns. She is the one who works with the town’s merchants. She will have some suggestions. And the children will want to know you better.”
James paused, weighing the unexpected pull of this place—the fields he once knew, now thriving without him. After a beat, he nodded. “Alright, I will send Fel back to let them know I will be spending the night.”
The afternoon stretched into the evening. The children dragged James by the hands, tugging him through the expanded fields, pointing out new hives buzzing with bees and the mill pond stocked with fish. Little Tom chattered endlessly about daily chores, oblivious that James had once done the very same at his age, back when survival hung by a thread.
Later, James approached Fel in the yard. “Tell Subotai that I will be back tomorrow. I should be safe here.”
Fel’s deep laugh rumbled like thunder. “Yes, I can see you are in danger from the children. I will see you tomorrow when you will cook for me.”
The Fenrir rose, stretched his massive frame, and loped off toward Castletown, silver fur glinting in the dusk. James shook his head, a rare softness easing his features. What an unexpected outcome.
He spent the remaining hours wandering the farm alone, reconciling faded memories with the vibrant reality—sturdy barns, healthier livestock, laughter echoing where silence once reigned. Prosperity earned in his absence, yet rooted in the foundations he’d helped lay.
After a hearty dinner, the sound of hooves announced Raphtalia’s return. She guided the small carriage into the yard, weary from the day’s dealings in town. As she climbed down, James emerged from the shadows.
Raphtalia froze, shocked by the presence of a stranger, then screamed—a raw, disbelieving sound. Emma bolted from the second house, calling out, “It’s okay, this is James, back from the dead.”
Her hand flew to her mouth, tears streaming as shock gave way to overwhelming joy. James closed the distance in long strides, enveloping her in his arms. She clung to him fiercely, sobs shaking her slender frame while he held her steady, breathing in the familiar scent of earth and home. The rest of the family gathered quietly at the edges, watching the reunion unfold under the emerging stars—a lost piece finally slotted back into place.
Finally, her sobs eased, and Raphtalia returned James’s embrace with trembling fierceness, her slender arms wrapping around his broad back as if anchoring herself to the moment. Marta had quietly moved behind her, one weathered hand gently rubbing slow circles along Raphtalia’s spine, a mother’s instinctive comfort that coaxed the tension from her shoulders.
Suddenly, Raphtalia pulled back, eyes still glistening, and shook a small fist at James’s face. “What happened? How could you just disappear? I’ve missed you so much!”
“A long story, the highlights are simple. I was captured, tortured, and trained to be a warrior. I escaped, and it took years to get back to Castletown. Then I came home to the farm.”
Garrick chimed in from the edge of the gathering, voice steady with quiet gratitude. “It is a blessing that he returned. He came today and waited for you.”
Raphtalia’s ears twitched, her gaze snapping back to James. “You waited?”
“Of course,” James replied softly. He took a deliberate step back, letting his eyes trace the changes time had shaped in her. She stood nearly as tall as Bert now, her frame lean and graceful, the lithe strength of daily labor evident in her posture. Only the soft fur of her ears and the subtle sway of her tail betrayed her demi-human origins; otherwise, she carried herself with a proud, upright confidence—shoulders squared, chin lifted, a far cry from the terrified, feral child he’d pulled from the gutters years ago.
“Tell me about it while you help me unload the cart. Bert, can you put the horses in the corral?”
James nodded and fell into step beside her, the familiar rhythm of farm work pulling him back into old habits. They hauled sacks of grain, bundles of herbs, and crates of tools from the cart, stacking them neatly in the barn under the lantern’s warm glow. Dust motes danced in the air, and the scent of fresh hay mingled with the earthy tang of the goods. As they worked, James spoke in low tones—skimming over the brutality of the wheel, the pit fights, the long road home—while Raphtalia listened intently, her tail flicking with each revelation. She paused only to snatch quick bites of bread and cheese for a hurried meal, never taking her attention from him.
“Garrick and Marta have been so good to me. After you did not come back, I was afraid they would kick me out of the farm. Instead, they have treated me like a daughter. I don’t have a chance of marriage, but I have all that I need – good food, warm clothes, and a clean bed. This is nothing like what it was when you found me.”
Her words stirred something deep in James’s chest—a mix of pride and lingering guilt for the years stolen from them both. The farmyard had grown quieter now, the children tucked away for the night, the distant lowing of cattle the only sound beyond their voices. Raphtalia finished her meal, brushed crumbs from her hands, and disappeared briefly into the house.
She returned moments later, palm open to reveal the two familiar rings glinting in the firelight from the doorway. “These are yours. I tried to use them, but apparently I don’t have any magic.”
“Thank you.” James took them carefully, hope flickering as he slipped the ring of finding onto his finger and reached mentally for any nearby slime. Nothing stirred—no familiar pulse of connection. A frown creased his brow until memory surfaced: the amulet Mathin had implanted during his cure of the slaver’s spell, its magic likely smothering his own. Interesting. A problem for later.
He tucked the rings into his purse and drew Raphtalia into another firm hug, feeling her warmth against the hard planes of his chest, her ears brushing his jaw. “Once the tavern is finished, you must come to visit. I intend to buy the farm’s output for the tavern’s kitchen, so we will see each other often.”
“I’d like that,” she replied, her voice muffled against his shoulder, a small, genuine smile breaking through the lingering tears.
The evening wound down with quiet conversation around the hearth—stories of the farm’s growth, the children’s antics, cautious questions about James’s life in town. He shared only fragments, enough to satisfy without darkening the night. Sleep came easily in the familiar creak of the old house, a straw pallet pulled out for him near the fire.
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