Eman's consciousness flickered as he opened his eyes. A bright light flooded his vision, and he blinked several times, struggling to understand his surroundings. He stared at a wooden ceiling made from neatly interlocked logs, feeling disoriented.
Confusion engulfed him.
The last thing he remembered was the white van crashing into him. Was he in a hospital?
Something felt off.
He attempted to sit up but felt uncoordinated. Panic surged as he realized he was trapped inside a gigantic wooden cage.
Towering.
Imposing.
He tried to call out, but only incoherent babbles escaped his lips. His chest tightened with each shallow breath.
His hands trembled, gripping the wooden bars.
This has to be a dream... or maybe I'm dead.
The thought struck him hard. He remembered the crash vividly—the screech of tires, blinding headlights, and the impact.
Had he survived?
Eman struggled to shake off the thought, but it lingered. Dead? The place felt real, too real for a dream, but not like any afterlife he knew. The wooden cage and rustic surroundings didn't match any stories he'd heard.
Panic clawed at him.
Wait, am I... a child? He tightened his grip on the bars, the coarse wood rough against his trembling hands.
Movement caught his eye.
A stunning woman with long, flowing white hair entered the room. Her alabaster skin shimmered in the soft light, and her pointed ears twitched slightly. She wore a simple camisole that clung to her voluptuous form and moved with an otherworldly grace, making Eman question if she was real or part of a dream.
She smiled warmly, and Eman felt a strange calm wash over him. Her deep, red eyes sparkled with kindness and curiosity. She placed a tray with bread and milk on a table and approached him.
"Good morning, little one," she greeted, her voice melodic—soothing.
She bent down and carefully picked him up, holding him close. This can't be real, he thought, yet her touch felt genuine. The scent of morning flowers enveloped him, calming his racing heart.
She carried him to the table and sat down, holding him in her lap as she began to eat. Eman watched her, mesmerized by her presence.
His vision started to blur. Just before sleep overtook him, he noticed her pointed ears.
Elf?
Was I reincarnated?
It sounded like fantasy.
Yet here he was, in a new body, in a new world. The idea made him want to laugh, but instead, he felt his eyes grew heavier a smile forming as he drifted back to sleep.
Hours later, Eman's consciousness stirred again, bringing him back to the room with a newfound sense of grounding.
The initial shock had subsided, replaced by cautious curiosity. This time, he saw the woman changing clothes. She slipped out of her camisole and into a patched dress, the fabric worn and smaller than her frame, revealing much of her legs. Despite the ragged fabric, she moved with fluidity, her presence regal.
She pulled her hair into a loose ponytail and approached him. "I need to work," she said softly. "But I'll be back before evening." She hung two bottles of milk in his crib and apologized for leaving.
"Be good, little one," she whispered, her red eyes softening. "May the Elven God watch over you while I'm gone."
She adjusted her dress, grabbed a pike, shovel, and gloves by the door, then waved and stepped outside, closing the door behind her.
Eman understood why his body felt thin.
She wasn't neglecting him; she just didn't know how to care for him properly. The milk bottles hanging in his crib made him chuckle. He had died and been reincarnated into this new world.
Feeling hungry, Eman reached for a milk bottle. It took several tries, but he managed to grab it. He propped himself up with a pillow and started to drink, his mind racing about his new life and the mysterious elf woman caring for him.
He wanted to explore, but his tiny body made it impossible. He struggled to pick up the bottle nearby. Lying still, he heard faint voices carried by the wind—the clinking of tools, birds singing, and leaves rustling.
Ah, farming, huh? he thought, gently nodding.
Unfamiliar scents—earthy and sweet—filled the air. The sunlight cast an ethereal glow through the wooden walls.
Excitement bubbled within him. What if he could do magic? His heart pounded as he raised his tiny arms and thought, "Fireblol!" Nothing happened.
Frustrated, he attempted every spell he could think of. "Icicle Lants!" Silence. "Wind Guts!" Nothing. He groaned, collapsing back into the crib. So much for starting off as a reincarnated hero.
Eman wondered if he was missing something.
In stories, reincarnated heroes had special abilities or a status window. He tried to will such a display into existence but saw nothing but the crib's wooden bars. Maybe magic worked differently here.
He considered the possibility of hidden quests or challenges. No helpful NPC appeared, no quest log materialized. If this was a game, it was more realistic—and dangerous—than any he had played before.
He sighed, lowering his tiny arm. Maybe magic wasn't something he could just summon. He was as ordinary here as he had been before.
He tried to reach his ears but felt nothing unusual.
He wasn't an elf either.
Puzzled, he thought about the woman caring for him. He remembered the kittens and Sheila's words about regret. A mix of emotions stirred—regret for not taking care of the kittens and relief they hadn't died with him.
He decided to repay the woman's kindness by looking after her in return, once he could.
In his previous life, Eman had felt powerless, unable to make a difference. Now, despite his helplessness, he felt a spark of hope. This new world offered a chance to become someone he could be proud of.
He felt resolve as he lay back, contemplating his new life. Another chance—another chance to make a difference, to be something more. No more regrets. He would repay her and carve out a place for himself here.
Determined, Eman mimicked a grown-up's resolve.
He took a big gulp from the milk bottle, feeling a bit stronger with each swallow. Then, with newfound determination, he raised his tiny fists in the air. "Awaw!"
The milk bottle tipped over and rolled away inside his crib. Eman's eyes followed it. As he tried to reach for the bottle, he toppled onto his side, a small yelp escaping his lips.
A strange stillness fell over the house. The cheerful birdsong outside abruptly ceased, replaced by an eerie silence. The floorboards quivered beneath him, sending a chill through his tiny body.
Unease ran down his spine.
Something felt wrong. The air thickened, making it hard to breathe. His instincts screamed danger, but fear kept him silent. Even the dust motes in the sunlight seemed to freeze, suspended in the oppressive stillness.
Then he heard it—a low, guttural growl that echoed through the air, deep and terrifying. The sound intensified, causing the walls to tremble.
As quickly as it came, the growl faded, leaving an unsettling silence. The cozy sanctuary now felt fragile and exposed.
Eman's mind raced.
Whatever made that sound was unlike anything he'd imagined—a chilling reminder that this new world held dangers far beyond his comprehension. Heart pounding, one thought crystallized: he needed to grow stronger, and fast.
His new life might depend on it.