Life was unfair; nobody knew that better than me. Born in China as a half-Cantonese, half-African kid, life was brutal. Xenophobia was a reality in China, and I bore the full brunt of it. From schoolmates calling me vulgar names that became my unwelcome nicknames to adults encouraging their cruelty, my existence felt like a target. The bullying grew so unbearable that I dreaded school, leading my parents to decide to leave China and relocate to the U.S.

I thought it would get better, but life had other plans. Instead of racial slurs, I became a walking meme. A selfie I posted on Instagram turned into a viral joke, complete with a song written in the comments section. My unique features—my dark skin and distinctly Asian eyes—were ammunition for internet trolls.

Suffice to say, my reality grew darker, and I retreated into fantasy. Thankfully, I had one advantage: my brain. I often joked that my Asian half gave me a cheat code, but my nigh-perfect memory and sharp intellect were undeniable gifts. These traits turned fantasy into my escape. From comics to webtoons, I devoured them all, writing fanfiction on the side to earn a stable income. It wasn't much, but it was enough to put me through medical school because—well, my mother was Asian, and I was tired of hearing her ask if I was a doctor yet. My father didn't help either, constantly asking if I wanted to be an engineer.

After a brief rebellion (quickly squashed by my mother's iron will), I accepted my fate. By the time I was thirty-two, I was a pediatrician, single, with a modest fortune to my name. My parents were happy, even if they wanted grandchildren, and I was content. Life wasn't perfect, but it was mine. That's why it was such a shock when a stranger pushed me into oncoming traffic.

As the headlights of a speeding car bore down on me, my mind spiraled into absurdity. How cool would it be if I could copy fictional powers right now? I thought. Martian Manhunter's abilities came to mind: I could phase through the car and root my attacker in place with telepathy. But reality wasn't a comic book, and I was no hero. Accepting the inevitable, I closed my eyes and waited for the end.

Only, it wasn't my end.

When I opened my eyes, I wasn't staring at a car grill or the afterlife. Instead, I was cradled in massive hands, their green skin rough and scarred. My breath hitched as I looked up at the towering figure holding me. He was unmistakably an orc.

I'd played World of Warcraft enough to recognize the tusks, the braided hair adorned with silver, and the sheer mass of muscle that made him look like a living mountain. His green eyes gleamed with a feral intelligence, and his guttural laughter filled the air. It was deep and hearty, the kind of laugh that would shake the walls of a mead hall.

My heart pounded. Was he laughing at me? Or was I simply too insignificant to be a threat? I felt like a doll in his hands, and the thought of being crushed or eaten flashed through my mind.

Then, he spoke—a deep, throaty rumble in a language I didn't understand. The words grated against my ears, foreign and alien, yet oddly melodic. My heart sank. Cypher's powers would be handy right about now, I thought. Cypher, a Marvel mutant, could instantly understand any language. If I had his ability, I wouldn't feel so utterly helpless.

It was then that I felt it: a sudden warmth radiating from my heart. It spread through my body, soft and comforting, like a blanket on a cold night. The sensation lasted only a moment, but it left me yearning for more.

Then, clarity hit me like a bolt of lightning.

"I understand you," I whispered, startled by the realization. The guttural language that had seemed impossible moments ago now flowed effortlessly in my mind. I could comprehend every word my towering orc father said as though I'd been born speaking it.

"…a strong one," he said, his voice brimming with pride. "He will make our clan proud."

Even as I processed his words, panic simmered beneath the surface. This wasn't just reincarnation. I wasn't human anymore. I couldn't see myself, but the weight of my limbs and the unfamiliar sensations in my body told me I'd been reborn as one of them—an orc.

This has to be a dream, I thought. But the ache in my bones and the rough texture of the air I inhaled told me otherwise. My instincts screamed at me to move, but I was trapped in an infant's body, utterly dependent on the mercy of the giant cradling me.

The warmth I'd felt earlier intrigued me. Was it a one-time fluke? A gift from whatever force had reincarnated me? Or something I could tap into at will? The thought was both terrifying and exhilarating. I couldn't test it now—not with those sharp green eyes watching me—but the potential was there.

I resolved to play the part of the helpless infant until I understood more about this world and my place in it. If my ability was what I thought it was, I would need to tread carefully. Power was a dangerous thing, and I could feel the ambition stirring deep within me.

"Rest, little one," my father said, his tone softer now. "You have much to learn, but you will grow strong. Stronger than even me."