VIP System

Feeling a gnawing hunger, Eman reached for one of the milk bottles. It took several tries, but he eventually managed to grab it. He propped himself up with a pillow against the wall of the crib and started to drink, his mind racing with thoughts about his new life and the mysterious elf woman who cared for him.

He wanted to check the outside world, but his tiny body made it impossible. He even struggled to pick up the bottle near him. Lying still, he heard faint voices carried on the wind, muffled but unmistakable. The soft clinking of tools against earth, birds singing their morning songs, and the rustling of leaves all painted a peaceful picture. Ah, farming, huh? gently nodding.

He caught a whiff of unfamiliar scents carried on the breeze—earthy and sweet, unlike anything he'd known in his previous life. Even the quality of the sunlight seemed different, casting an almost ethereal glow through the cracks in the wooden walls.

His eyes widened when he recalled that he was reincarnated in another world. Excitement bubbled within him. What if he could do magic? His heart pounded as he raised his tiny arms upward and thought, "Fireblol!" He waited, his arm still raised. Nothing happened.

With growing frustration, Eman cycled through every spell, skill, and attack name he could think of. He raised his arms again. 'Fireblol!' Silence. 'Iticle Lants!' More silence. 'Wind Guts!' Nothing. He groaned, flopping back into the crib. So much for starting off as a hero in his new world.

Eman wondered if he was missing something. In the stories he'd read, reincarnated heroes often had special abilities or at least a status window to guide them. He squinted, trying to will such a display into existence, but saw nothing but the wooden bars of his crib. Perhaps these things would come with time – or perhaps this world operated on different rules entirely.

He wondered if there might be some sort of tutorial or guide, like in the games he used to play. But as he lay there, no helpful NPC appeared, no quest log materialized. If this was a game, it was certainly more realistic—and potentially more dangerous—than any he had encountered before.

Eman wondered if he needed to unlock his abilities somehow. Maybe there were hidden quests or challenges he needed to complete first. Or perhaps this world's magic worked entirely differently from what he'd imagined.

He sighed, lowering his tiny arm. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as fun as he thought.

Maybe magic wasn’t something he could just summon. It hit him then, like a cold splash of reality—he was just as ordinary here as he had been in his previous life. His thoughts drifted back to the woman's pointed ears. Maybe his powers would awaken as he grew older. He tried to reach his ears, but upon feeling them, he realized they were normal. So he wasn't an elf either.

Puzzled, he wondered why the woman was taking care of him. He remembered the kittens and what Shiela had told him about regret. A mix of emotions stirred within him—regret for not taking the kittens and relief that they hadn't died with him. He decided that he would repay the kindness of the woman caring for him by looking after her in return, once he was able to.

In his previous life, Eman had often felt powerless, unable to make a real difference. Now, despite his current helplessness, he felt a spark of hope. This new world, with all its mysteries and potential dangers, offered a chance to become someone he could be proud of.

He felt a sense of resolve as he laid back, pondering his new life. In this new life, he had another chance—another chance to make a difference, to be something more. No more regrets. He would repay her, and he would carve out a place for himself in this world.

Determined, Eman tried to mimic a grown-up's determination. He took a big gulp from the bottle of milk, feeling a bit more powerful with each swallow. Then, with newfound resolve, he raised his tiny fists in the air. "Awaw!"

As he did, the bottle of milk tipped over and rolled away inside his crib. Eman's eyes followed the bottle. As he tried to reach for the milk bottle that had rolled away, he toppled over onto his side, a small yelp escaping his lips.

As Eman lay there, contemplating his new existence, a strange stillness fell over the house. The cheerful birdsong outside abruptly ceased, replaced by an eerie silence. The floorboards quivered beneath him, a subtle tremor that sent a chill through his tiny body.

A prickle of unease ran down his spine. Something felt... wrong. The very air seemed to thicken, making it hard to breathe. His infant instincts screamed danger, urging him to cry out, but fear kept him silent. The air grew heavy, pressing down on him like an invisible weight. Even the motes of dust dancing in the sunbeams seemed to freeze, suspended in the sudden, oppressive stillness.

Then he heard it – a low, guttural growl that echoed through the air, resonating deep within the very foundations of the house. The sound was primal, ancient, and utterly terrifying. Eman felt his breath catch in his throat as the growl intensified, the sheer power behind it making the walls tremble.

As quickly as it had come, the sound faded into the distance, leaving an unsettling silence in its wake. The house, once a cozy sanctuary, now felt fragile and exposed.

Eman's mind raced with possibilities, each more frightening than the last. Whatever had made that sound was unlike anything he had ever imagined – a chilling reminder that this new world held dangers far beyond his comprehension. As he lay there, heart pounding, one thought crystallized in his mind: he needed to grow stronger, and fast. His new life might depend on it.