As the days begin to blur together, I start noticing things beyond the warmth of my mother's arms and the quiet concern in their voices.
Little things.
The way my father returns home more tired than the day before.
The way my mother makes it all away with one smile.
One touch.
Also the way they smile at me first… and only then at each other.
It is only with time that I begin to understand what those small things mean.
Food is… scarce.
I notice it more as time passes.
When my mother cooks soup, I can barely see any meat in it. At first, I thought it was just how things were done here, but the more I watch, the more it feels deliberate.
My father is a hunter.
I can tell from the way he carries himself, from the small injuries that never fully heal. Scratches. Cuts. Sometimes deeper wounds he tries to hide.
And yet… he rarely brings anything back.
At least, nothing we eat.
So where does it go?
The thought lingers until something from my past life surfaces.
Money.
In my old life, my parents had to pay to stay in their home. Rent, they called it. Money given away just to survive another day under a roof.
Is it the same here?
A different form… but the same burden?
The idea settles heavily in my mind.
It's strange… thinking of them as "my parents."
Back then, I never called anyone that.
Only sir. Only ma'am.
Even now, it feels unfamiliar.
Empty.
There is something else I've come to notice.
My mother… is not entirely human.
Her ears are long—elegant, almost delicate. I've never had many books, but I remember enough stories to recognize what that might mean.
An elf.
Or something close to it.
My father, on the other hand, is human.
So… there are different races here.
Not just stories.
Real.
Living.
Breathing.
It makes me wonder what else exists beyond this house.
Beyond this village.
I find myself waiting—wanting to grow, just enough to step outside and see it all for myself.
I've learned their names.
Janna… and Mika.
They say mine often too.
Ere.
They say it gently, like it matters.
Like I matter.
I still don't understand why.
Their clothes are worn, old, carefully patched over time. And yet, when it comes to me, everything is clean. New, when possible. Maintained, even when it shouldn't be.
They spend what little they have on me.
I don't understand that.
I'm just a child.
I wouldn't have cared otherwise.
So why… do they?
Something else has changed.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Waking up is no longer as heavy as it used to be.
At first, every time I closed my eyes, I feared it.
I thought I would wake up somewhere else… back in that dark, empty place.
Back in that life.
But now…
That fear has weakened.
Not gone.
Just… quieter.
Because somewhere deep inside, something new has taken its place.
Something unfamiliar.
Hope.
I don't fully understand it.
Hope for what…?
I don't know.
But it feels like something is waiting for me here.
Something I haven't seen yet.
Something that makes me want to keep going.
For now… that is enough.
If nothing else, I want to live longer this time.
Long enough to understand what it means to be alive.
To eat without fear.
To exist without being a burden.
To… maybe, one day…
have a reason to smile.
Time passes.
Faster than I expect.
I am five years old when I finally begin to understand the world around me.
And for the first time
I step outside.
The village is… beautiful.
Not in the way cities might be, I imagine. Not grand, not impressive.
But alive.
All the houses are built from old wood, shaped from the forest surrounding us. The jungle stretches endlessly beyond the village, thick and untamed, as if reclaiming anything left unattended.
There is no real currency here.
People trade food. Work. Help.
It feels… distant from everything else.
As if the rest of the world exists somewhere far away.
People are either growing crops or defending the city,
They corporate make sure all is fair and everyone has heat and enough to survive another day.
The people are kind.
Kinder than I know how to respond to.
They greet me every morning. Offer me food, small drinks, things they don't seem to have much of themselves.
They smile easily.
Like one large family.
And yet…
I don't quite fit.
Not like the other children.
I don't smile back.
I forget to thank them.
Or maybe… I just don't know how.
No one seems to understand why.
I'm not sure I do either.
Maybe I'm still holding onto something.
Preparing myself.
In case it all disappears again.
At night…
everything changes.
I'm not allowed outside.
But I've looked.
Just enough.
The village doesn't sleep peacefully.
Not really.
They take turns, standing guard, watching the edges of the forest.
Waiting.
For monsters.
It doesn't happen often, but when it does…
It takes many of them to bring one down.
Ten men, sometimes more.
Old weapons. Rusted. Worn.
Careful movements.
Not fighting to win
but fighting not to lose anyone.
My mother once explained it to me.
We are not worth much.
Not to the world.
Not to whatever lurks beyond it.
The village has no strong presence. No powerful magic. No reason for greater dangers to come here.
No mages have been born in generations.
Our "aura," she called it… is weak.
So we are left alone.
Mostly.
There was only one book in our home.
Just one.
But it tried to explain everything.
Or at least… enough.
The world, it said, is divided into three grand kingdoms.
Humans—the Royals.
Dwarves—the Conquerors.
Elves—the Elders.
Each of them… different.
Not just in name.
In nature.
Elves are said to be closest to magic.
Not all magic, but a specific kind.
Light.
Pure. Refined. Controlled.
It comes naturally to them, as if it were part of their being.
Dwarves are different.
They don't rely on magic the same way.
What they possess is something else entirely, something closer to force than spellcraft.
Their bodies are strengthened. Reinforced.
Every movement calculated. Every strike stronger.
Humans stand in between.
They are not born with mastery over a single path.
Instead… they adapt.
They can wield the elements: fire, water, air, earth.
Not as effortlessly as elves command light.
Not as naturally as dwarves embody strength.
But with training… they can become something close to both.
Balanced.
Or perhaps… unfinished.
But it wasn't always like that.
There was once a fourth kingdom.
The Demon Kingdom.
Destroyed.
Reduced to ash.
No explanation.
No details.
Just… gone.
As if history itself refused to remember it.
The book spoke of monsters.
Of something older than the kingdoms themselves.
Creatures of many forms: orc-like beasts, towering dragons, things far worse.
All of them led by one being.
The Chaos King.
It said he once walked the land himself.
And when he did… nothing survived unchanged.
Villages vanished.
Armies fell.
Entire regions were erased as if they had never existed.
Until one day
he stopped.
Vanished.
Fell silent.
As if the world had been given time to breathe again.
Since then… Everyone has been waiting.
Preparing.
For the day that silence breaks.
Magic, the book said, reveals itself early.
At the age of six.
A crest appears on the body—most often on the shoulder.
A mark.
A sign of what a person can become.
For some… it never appears.
For others… it defines their entire life.
One thing still doesn't make sense to me.
Humans and elves are not meant to be together.
That much, even the book made clear.
And yet…
My parents are.
So why are we here?
In this distant, forgotten place?
Is it coincidence?
Or consequence?
There are still too many things I don't understand.
About this world.
About them.
About myself.
But for the first time…
I think I want to find out.