Ethan Cross stared at the glowing screen in front of him, the faint hum of the fluorescent light above blending with the dull noise of the computer's cooling fan. His mind was a battlefield of ideas, calculations, and sheer exhaustion. Numbers and diagrams swam in his vision, but he refused to look away. Another hour, another breakthrough, another fleeting moment of progress in a life that had long since lost its spark.
The equations weren't the problem. They never were. For someone like Ethan, solving complex puzzles was second nature. The real problem lay in the crushing monotony of it all—the endless grind, the lack of purpose. Every breakthrough felt like adding another brick to a wall no one cared about.
"God," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "I can make machines think, automate entire factories, and solve problems people didn't even know they had, but I can't figure out why I'm doing any of this."
The mug of stale coffee at his side remained untouched. His chair creaked as he leaned back, hands clasped behind his head. He glanced around the room—a cluttered mess of blueprints, notebooks, and half-assembled devices. It was a shrine to his brilliance, but tonight, it felt more like a prison.
He sighed, pulling his gaze back to the screen. A small notification blinked in the corner—a reminder to take his medication. Ethan waved it away without a second thought. "Just a little longer," he told himself, ignoring the creeping tightness in his chest and the dull ache spreading across his shoulders. "I'll rest after I finish this last piece."
But his body had other plans. The words and numbers on the screen blurred together, his vision swimming like a mirage. The ache in his chest grew sharper, more insistent, until it stole the breath from his lungs. Ethan's hands gripped the desk as he tried to steady himself, but the world tilted, and he toppled forward, the cold edge of the keyboard pressing against his cheek.
Darkness closed in around him. For a fleeting moment, panic surged—then nothing.
Ethan awoke to silence.
No light. No sound. No air. Just a void, infinite and oppressive. He was weightless, floating in the blackness, with no sense of up or down. Panic bubbled in his chest as he tried to move, to scream, but there was nothing—no body, no voice, no escape.
"Ethan Cross," a voice intoned, deep and resonant, cutting through the silence like a knife.
Ethan froze. "Who's there?" he managed to think, though he wasn't sure how the thought escaped into the emptiness.
The voice ignored his question. "You were too brilliant for the world you left behind. Your mind, your potential, your ambition—they were wasted."
"What?" Ethan demanded, his fear giving way to irritation. "Wasted? I worked my entire life—"
"And you achieved nothing of significance," the voice interrupted, calm and cold. "Your intellect was squandered on mediocrity. You wanted more, but you never dared to take it. Now, you will be given a second chance. A new purpose."
Before Ethan could argue, the darkness around him shifted, forming into a faint outline of a figure. It was humanoid, but impossibly tall, with elongated limbs and features that shimmered like starlight. Its eyes glowed a deep, endless blue, piercing through Ethan's thoughts as if reading his soul.
"You will inherit the legacy of the Void Elves," the figure said. "A species of creators, scholars, and conquerors. Their mastery of mana and magic shaped the universe, but their greatness brought their downfall. Now, their legacy lies dormant, waiting for one worthy to reclaim it."
Ethan's thoughts raced. Void Elves? Mana? Magic? None of it made sense, yet something about the figure's words stirred something deep within him—a flicker of excitement, buried under layers of disbelief. "Why me?" he asked, his voice steadier than he expected. "What makes me worthy?"
The figure tilted its head, as if amused. "Your mind, Ethan Cross. Your ability to adapt, to create, to manipulate. You will be reborn, armed with the tools to rise above the mediocrity that once chained you."
"And if I don't want this 'second chance'?" Ethan shot back, his skepticism flaring.
The figure didn't reply. Instead, the darkness began to twist and pull, dragging Ethan downward. He struggled against it, but the void consumed him, dragging him into an overwhelming rush of light, sound, and sensation.
Ethan gasped as his lungs filled with air. His body jerked violently, and he rolled onto his hands and knees, coughing and choking. The ground beneath him was damp, covered in moss and tangled roots. He looked up, blinking against the harsh sunlight filtering through a dense canopy of towering trees.
"What… the hell?" he muttered, his voice hoarse.
The jungle around him buzzed with alien life. Strange bird-like creatures called out from above, their cries echoing through the thick foliage. The air was heavy with humidity, the smell of earth and greenery overwhelming.
Ethan pushed himself to his feet, wobbling as he tried to steady himself. That's when he noticed his hands. They were pale and elongated, faint veins of blue light pulsing beneath the translucent skin. His breath caught as he stumbled toward a nearby pool of water, crouching to look at his reflection.
The face staring back at him wasn't his. His hair was white, shimmering faintly in the light, and his eyes glowed an unnerving shade of void-blue. His features were sharp and angular, almost ethereal.
"What… am I?" he whispered, touching his face.
A soft chime echoed in his head, and a glowing interface materialized in front of him.
[Void System Activated]
Lines of text scrolled across the interface, each one sending a fresh wave of confusion and unease through Ethan's mind.
Species: Void Elf (Rare)Status: New RebirthStarting Quest: Survive the jungle environment and unlock system functions. Reward: Mana Detection Skill.Ethan stared at the screen, his mind racing. "Okay," he muttered, running a hand through his shimmering white hair. "I've officially lost my mind. This is a dream. It has to be a dream."
But the faint roar of a creature in the distance told him otherwise. Whatever this was—dream or reality—he wasn't alone.