[Zombie ate your brain]
~~~~~~~~
Elf Empire, Moon City
Haa!
A figure shot upright in bed.
Li Mo's eyes were wide as he stared at his own hands.
Where was this? Hadn't he died?
Faintly, broken images flashed through his mind—'truck, crowd, hospital, deafening noise!'
Then more memories crashed in, swelling his head until it throbbed.
So he had Transmigrated, arriving on a continent called Valin. The body's original owner had been an orphaned elf who survived the orc wars and was later adopted by an old man.
The elf's name had been Nemo—pronounced just like his own. (From now on, he'd simply be called Li Mo.)
In this world the Elf Empire was founded by many elven races and had lasted ten thousand years.
He was now in the Empire's north, Moon Elf territory, its northernmost border pressing against the orcs.
As one branch of the Empire's elven peoples,
just as Wood Elves worshipped the Goddess of Life and Sun Elves the Sun God,
Moon Elves worshipped the goddess of night, deity of night, moon, and dreams—also called the Moon Goddess.
Unlike gods who demanded prayer in waking hours, the goddess of night let her followers enter the Dream Web—the Dream World—while they slept, turning their dreams into faith.
Li Mo thought it over; memories of his body's past floated up. Damn, wasn't this the full-dive VR game he'd always wanted?
Only, limited by culture and imagination, these Dream Worlds were hackneyed and all alike.
At least, that's how it looked to him.
There was 'defeat the orcs and save the village,' 'rescue the princess and reach the Peak,' 'roam with companions and become a great adventurer,' plus fan-fiction dreams copied from wandering bards or old plays—
all text-based choose-your-path RPGs, no sandbox, no freedom, a handful of fixed endings.
In short: boring as hell!
Li Mo rubbed his chin. Maybe these bumpkins—no, these long-lived, set-in-their-ways elves—needed a wake-up call.
Elves lived long; a Moon Elf could reach five hundred.
Yet that very longevity, plus the presence of magic and divine arts, seemed to have sapped their creativity and imagination.
The Empire had stood ten thousand years, but technology had advanced little—barely a magi-steampunk level.
The one surprise was that elves were far more numerous than he'd expected.
After ten millennia of peace, even elves—no breeding champions—had multiplied to staggering totals. Just the Moon Elves numbered over fifty million.
Such a huge population brought prosperity, yet resources were stretched thin.
One apple split among ten people isn't the same as having it to yourself.
So unlike the carefree, elegant elves of myths and movies, Empire elves spent their long lives working nonstop.
Elves had to eat; without jobs they'd starve.
While he mused, the door opened and a slender figure stepped inside.
Golden hair tied back, violet eyes, two locks of bangs half-hiding those long, adorable elf ears; her oval face was pale with worry.
Tall and fiery, she wore regulation leathers.
Her gaze swept the room; seeing Li Mo awake, her sorrowful eyes lit up.
'Y-you're awake, little brother!'
Voice trembling, she hurried to the bed, hands roaming over him—checking shoulders, pressing a palm to his forehead.
Then she hugged him tight.
'Thank the Goddess!'
'C-can't… breathe, sis, loosen up!'
As his body's elder sister, Aisha was five years older, likewise an orphan adopted by the old man. Long ago the man died, leaving the two to depend on each other.
She'd been sister and mother both.
Five years earlier Aisha had joined Moon City's ranger corps, her talent outstanding.
The freshly adult original owner, fighting a rival over the girl he'd grown up with, had been beaten half to death. (Elves live long, but childhood matches humans; their youth is extended, though mental growth is slower.)
He'd probably croaked on return, clearing the way for Li Mo to cross over.
Comparisons hurt: next to Aisha, the original had been a good-for-nothing.
Even as kids, danger meant hiding behind his sister.
Just now, hearing her brother was hurt, Aisha had rushed home.
'What happened? I heard you fought someone over Mia.'
And it was true—Li Mo had a childhood sweetheart.
Mia.
A Wood Elf whose family had fled to Moon City generations ago.
They'd grown up together, but people move on. Childish promises fade before hard facts.
On one side, a nobody from the lower slums; on the other, a merchant's son with shops—no contest.
Heartbroken, the original had gone to demand answers, was mobbed, and thrown out. The girl's cold stare finished him.
Battered in body and heart, he'd breathed his last in despair.
'Ancient history, sis. I've wised up—totally over it.'
'Really?'
Aisha stared, surprised.
The old Li Mo had never shut up about that elf; he'd bristle at a single bad word about her.
She'd long seen the girl wasn't innocent, yet lovestruck boys never listen.
Maybe this setback would help him grow.
'After this, I finally get it. Sorry I worried you,' Li Mo said slowly.
'Good. I spoke with Uncle Willy at the apothecary—rest at home a few days.'
'Oh, right.'
She fished inside her tunic and pulled out a pouch.
'My pay from last month—go easy on it.'
Li Mo's eyes widened as more memories surfaced.
Poor kids grow up fast; the siblings, orphaned, had to learn trades early.
Years ago the half-grown original had apprenticed at Willy's potion shop.
But that wage couldn't fund the gifts he'd wanted for his girl, so his sister had kept him afloat.