I had lost track of how many days had passed since my rebirth, and my frustration was mounting. Being unable to move was driving me insane. How did I do this the first time? I wondered. Maybe I was overthinking it—babies are supposed to develop naturally. Forcing myself to move might do more harm than good, especially during such a fragile stage of growth.

  Talking to Zotherg was the only thing keeping me sane. His presence was a balm against the monotony of my confinement. Still, there was only so much I could take. A fully conscious mind shouldn’t be trapped like this. If I could speak, I was sure I’d already be fluent in the Elven language.

  Zotherg, it turned out, was quite the gossip. He often regaled me with tales about the fascinating minerals he’d collected over the ages, some of which even the dwarves had never discovered. His disdain for dwarves, though, was impossible to ignore.

  “Rapists of the earth,” he called them with a grumble, his tone oozing with contempt. “They strip the land bare, taking without giving, unlike the Elves, who honor and nurture nature.”

  I found the rhetoric a bit harsh. Yes, Elves avoided harming trees, taking only fallen branches or trimming leaves with reverence, but was it fair to judge an entire race by their mining habits? Still, it was clear that the history between elementals, Elves, and dwarves was fraught with tension.

  “Elves are the hippies of the forest,” I mused internally, unable to suppress a chuckle at the thought.

  Food was another point of contention between Zotherg and me. I wasn’t old enough to eat yet, but I already dreaded the day I’d have to. Elves, it turned out, were strict vegetarians—not by choice, but by biology. Zotherg had confirmed that the Elven digestive system couldn’t process meat.

  “We simply weren’t designed to consume other creatures,” he explained matter-of-factly.

  I mourned the loss of barbecued ribs and steak, lamenting my vegetarian fate. “I might as well be dead,” I muttered internally.

  Zotherg, ever the philosopher, gave me his usual spiel. “It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all,” he intoned sagely. “Besides, I will never know the taste of food, so you should appreciate what you can eat.”

  It was hard to argue with that, though it didn’t make me feel better.

  The reality of my new life was becoming clearer with each passing day. We were nomads, living in makeshift interconnected tents deep in a monster-infested forest. At first, I thought my family was simply poor, but my father, Ileor, was the village chief. Even as the leader, he had little to offer beyond protection and guidance.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  From the stories I overheard, it seemed that Elves were no longer a superpower. Their golden age had long since passed, and they were now a fractured, hunted race. Many had been enslaved, their magic and longevity prized by human rulers.

  I couldn’t help but feel the bitter irony of it all. The species that had once been mine—humans—were now my enemy.

  My parents unwittingly filled in the gaps of history during bedtime stories, their voices full of pride and sorrow as they recounted tales of the Elves’ glory days.

  Seven centuries ago, the Elves had been a mighty nation, united under a powerful king. He was said to be blessed by the goddess who, alongside the elementals, had created their race. The king and the goddess had fallen in love, a union that drew the ire of the other gods. They deemed the relationship incestuous—a creator consorting with her creation—and saw it as a violation of divine order.

  The gods struck them down, obliterating the goddess, the king, and their kingdom in a single act of vengeance. The Elves scattered, their once-proud civilization reduced to ruins.

  But the story didn’t end there.

  According to my parents, the Elves had a prophecy. It foretold the rise of another king, one who would free their people and unite the fractured races of the world. His golden eyes and unparalleled magic would herald his coming, and his wrath would shake even the gods.

  I listened in silence, my expression betraying my disbelief. It sounded too fantastical, too theatrical. Surely it was just a bedtime story, something to inspire hope in a broken people.

  My mother laughed at the look on my face. “It’s as if he understands you, Ileor!” she said, teasing my father.

  My father’s face grew solemn as he met my gaze. “This we know,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Our prophets have never been wrong. He will be a human reborn as one of our own… from a faraway land called Michigan, in a kingdom known as the United States.”

  My body went rigid.

  I pooped my diaper.

  That was far too specific to be a coincidence. I was a human from Michigan, reborn as an Elf with golden eyes. My stats promised I would one day be a powerful mage, but how could anyone have predicted this before I was even born?

  Am I destined to be this race’s Martin Luther King Jr.? I thought in a panic.

  I’d never believed in prophecies before, but now I had no choice. This wasn’t random; it was orchestrated. And if the prophecy was true, my life was going to get a lot more dangerous.

  The implications were staggering. If others pieced this together, I wouldn’t just be hunted—I’d be hunted by everyone. Rulers, nobles, mercenaries, even the gods themselves might take notice.

  And my parents…

  I clenched my tiny fists, my heart heavy. They were my only shield against the world, the only reason I was still alive. I could see the love in their eyes, the way they doted on me, and it terrified me.

  I didn’t fear death—I’d faced it once already—but the thought of my parents suffering because of me? Of them being killed to protect me?

  I wouldn’t let it happen. I couldn’t.

  I didn’t have a plan yet, but I would find a way to keep them safe. No matter the cost.

  How did I do this the first time? Maybe I was over thinking it, and I needed to force myself. Perhaps I was babying myself? Well, bad puns aside I don't want to damage my body in its early development.

  . Elves are the hippies of the forest, I thought

  Aren't I one lucky son of a gun? I thought sarcastically.

  His eyes would be gold like mine? Just theatrics right? I thought. My mother laughed and told my dad it's like I understood them. "it looks like he doesn't believe you" she said.

  ? Am I destined to be this races Martin Luther King Jr? I asked myself. Not ten minute earlier I did not believe in prophecies. Now I had to worry about people trying to assassinate me when they put the pieces together. Everything was getting worse by the minute.