"Hmm..." A barely audible groan echoed through the room, and the blanket rustled before a thin hand emerged from beneath it. Soon, the blanket was thrown back completely, revealing a boy with black hair, green eyes, and a strange mark on his forehead.
The boy stretched, yawning contentedly, but suddenly froze, as if paralyzed. His open eyes scanned the room. The setting was completely different from the room he knew, which had been full of trash and smelled of dirt and sweat. Here, two pots with flowers sat on the windowsill—flowers whose names the boy did not know. To his left stood a nightstand with books and a snow globe that was, for some reason, empty inside.
On the wall at the head of the bed hung a bookshelf, several paintings depicting flowers, and a tapestry showing a forest glade.
"What the hell?" the words escaped the boy's lips. "I remember I was returning home from another job interview, and then... just emptiness. Was I kidnapped, or did something else happen?"
The moment he muttered these words, his head began to split with unbearable pain. Fragments of memories flooded in.
This world was called Ilirium. It was divided into seven continents, inhabited by seven races: Humans, Dwarves, Orcs, Demons, Elves, Beastkin, and Fairies.
On each continent stood an Obelisk that had appeared—no one knew how or when. But each one granted unique magic to its respective race, and they all looked different.
For Humans, it was a smooth white spire, the tip of which shone perfectly, even at night. For Demons, it looked like an inverted pyramid hanging over a bottomless crater; it was black and absorbed light. For Dwarves, the Obelisk appeared squat, embedded in the earth and covered in glowing geometric runes. For Elves, the Obelisk took the form of a translucent, rotating crystal with a golden nebula swirling inside. For Orcs, the Obelisk was absolutely red, emitting heat and vibration, creating the impression that it could explode at any moment. For Fairies, the Obelisk was entirely unique; its shape and size constantly changed. If one looked at it for too long, their eyes might burst, as the Fairy Obelisk caused spatial distortion. The Beastkin Obelisk was entangled in giant roots and vines, and the Obelisk itself emitted the sound of a heartbeat, as if it were alive.
The boy sat on the bed, trying to digest all the information. His predecessor—the one whose body he now occupied—loved to read and knew the history of this world well, including the names of every Obelisk and the power it granted its race.
The boy, however, was a half-blood. His mother was human, and his father was an elf. Furthermore, his mother had been one of the many slaves of his father, who didn't even know of his existence. As befitting a world built on magic, all races lived in conflict; wars never ceased.
Slowly getting out of bed, the boy walked to the mirror and looked at his reflection. He had black hair, green eyes, pointed ears, and a strange symbol in the shape of a Koru (a spiral fern frond) on his forehead. As far as he remembered, he had this mark since birth, and no one knew its meaning. Everyone considered it merely a whimsically shaped birthmark; there were no ferns in this world, so naturally, no one knew what it looked like.
"It looks like a Koru. In my past life, it signified growth and the beginning of a new life; some even jokingly called it the World Tree. If that is truly the case, then my life is going to be very restless."
Sighing, the boy opened the door and found himself in the kitchen, discovering no one. The house was absolutely empty. The scent of grief and loss hung in the air; the boy's heart clenched, and tears welled up in his eyes. His mother had died two days ago from a fever. She had been refused treatment due to her status as a slave, and his father had thrown her out onto the street.
His mother had taken care to ensure no one knew he was her child, constantly saying she had found him abandoned in the forest. He was left with this small house with two rooms and a tiny kitchenette containing only a stove and a small table.
Approaching the table, he found two empty cups standing at opposite ends. Swallowing the bitterness in his mouth, he went outside. The silence was broken by the noise of passing elves; each was hurrying about their business—some pushing carts, others carrying baskets of vegetables.
Delving into his memories, the boy realized he had only two copper coins left, which wouldn't be enough for even a rotten potato.
After wandering around the small village and realizing that everyone was completely indifferent to him, the boy headed into the forest to hunt.
The boy's name was Axis. He was 10 years old, and he had to survive on his own. Relying on no one, he went into the woods, taking a rope with him to craft a few rabbit snares.
Continuing deeper into the forest, he had already set five traps when suddenly the symbol on his forehead pulsed. Axis instinctively dodged just as an arrow flew past him and embedded itself in the earth at his feet.
Turning around, Axis froze when he saw who it was. Three men stood there; the one in front held a bow. It was his father.
"W... Who are you? What do you want?" Axis asked, his voice trembling.
"Don't you dare speak to me, you damned spawn! That whore slave dared to hide the fact that she was pregnant. Now that she's dead, it's time for you to follow her."
After these words, the symbol on the boy's forehead pulsed again, forcing him to duck as another arrow flew over his head.
Crouching, Axis picked up a small stone from the ground and threw it at the attackers, hoping to distract them and try to escape. But what happened next shocked him. The moment he prepared to throw the stone, deep inside him, on an intuitive level, a shift occurred. Following this sensation, the boy threw the stone, which flew like a bullet and struck the head of one of the men standing behind his father.
The head exploded in a bloody fountain, spraying blood and remnants of brains onto the elves standing nearby. Silence reigned for a moment.
"What the hell did you do?" his father asked with shock on his face.
But Axis did not answer him. The moment the stone blew up the attacker's head, Axis realized he was capable of controlling vectors. Not through calculation methods, but on an intuitive level. He immediately realized his weakness: Emotions. Anger, rage, and other negative emotions would drive the ability out of control, causing vectors to move chaotically and destroying everything around.
Taking a deep breath, Axis focused, calmed his frantically beating heart, straightened his back, and looked at the remaining two with determination in his eyes.
The attack did not take long to follow. A second arrow was loosed in his direction. The symbol pulsed again, but this time Axis did not dodge. Focusing on the arrow flying toward him, he changed the vector of its flight. Curving around him in an arc, the arrow plunged into the eye of the one who had fired it. Death was not instantaneous; a cry of pain rang out in the forest. Clutching the shaft of the arrow sticking out of his eye socket, the elf fell to his knees trying to rid himself of the pain, but soon his head also exploded in a bloody fountain.
Axis stood shifting several stones in his hand, looking with a calm expression at the remaining one—the man who was supposed to be his father, but was not.
"You dared to insult my mother. I could forgive you for insulting me or attempting to kill me. But you should never have insulted my mother."
With these words, Axis threw another stone straight at the man's leg. Losing his balance, the man fell to the ground, clutching the stump of his leg below the knee, and screamed frantically. Tears and snot ran down his face; his expression was nauseatingly pathetic. His crotch became wet, and the smell of feces filled the air.
Catching the scent, Axis stepped further back. This elf was so disgusting to him that even looking at him made him feel sick. Not waiting long, Axis threw a second stone, this time at the arm. He didn't want to kill him, no. That would be too simple.
Axis turned around and headed back to the village, ignoring the screams filled with pain, pleading, and despair that slowly faded behind his back.