VIP System

Eman’s consciousness flickered as he slowly began to open his eyes. A bright light flooded his vision, and he blinked several times, trying to make sense of his surroundings. As his vision cleared, he stared at a wooden ceiling constructed from neatly placed logs interlocked perfectly to form a rustic yet sturdy cover.

Confusion washed over him. The last thing he remembered was the white van crashing into him. His mind raced with possibilities. Was he in a hospital? But something felt off—very off. He attempted to sit up, but his body felt strange, uncoordinated, as though it wasn’t his own. Panic began to rise as he looked around and realized he was inside a wooden cage.

His breathing quickened. Was this some kind of dream? A coma-induced hallucination? He tried to call out, but the sounds that emerged were nothing more than incoherent babbles. His chest tightened, each breath shallow and quick. His hands trembled, gripping the wooden bars of the cage until his knuckles whitened. This has to be a dream. Or maybe I’m dead…

The thought hit him like a punch to the gut. Dead? He remembered the crash vividly—the screech of tires, the blinding headlights, the sickening impact. Was it possible that he hadn’t survived?

Eman tried to shake the thought from his mind, but it clung to him like a shadow. Dead? The thought stuck, hollow and heavy. He wasn’t in heaven or hell—or at least, not the ones from the stories he'd heard. This place felt real, almost too real for a dream, but far too strange to be anything else. The wooden cage and rustic surroundings didn’t match any afterlife he’d ever imagined.

Then, he saw her—a stunning woman, with long, flowing white hair that shimmered like moonlight cascading down her back. Her alabaster skin shimmered faintly in the soft light, as if the moon itself had imbued her with its glow. It was beauty that bordered on the ethereal, making Eman question whether she was real or part of some dream.

She wore a simple camisole, an old-fashioned garment that clung to her form, its loose side revealing a significant portion of her left breast. Her figure was a vision of beauty, almost unsettling in its perfection, like something carved from a dream. Eman felt his pulse quicken, both drawn to her and unnerved by her unreal presence.

As she noticed him, she smiled warmly, and Eman felt a strange sense of calm wash over him. Her eyes, a deep, mesmerizing red, sparkled with kindness and curiosity. She placed the tray she was carrying, which held bread and milk, on a table across the room and then approached him.

"Good morning, little one," she greeted him, her melodious voice a blend of warmth and otherworldly charm. The tone of her voice radiated warmth and love, making Eman feel strangely at ease despite his confusion and fear.

She bent down and carefully picked him up, holding him close to her chest. This can’t be real, even as the warmth of her touch and the softness of her skin told him otherwise. But the scent of morning flowers enveloped him, calming his racing heart. He could feel the softness of her skin and was captivated by the gentle rise and fall of her breath.

Still Eman’s thoughts spiraled.

Reincarnation? It was the stuff of fantasy novels and video games, something people joked about online. Yet here he was, in a new body, in a new world. The absurdity of it made him want to laugh, but instead, he felt a knot tighten in his stomach.

Could it really be that simple? A second chance at life? The very thing he’d scoffed at in stories was now his reality, and the weight of it pressed down on him, both thrilling and terrifying.

She carried him to the table and sat down, holding him in her lap as she began to eat. Eman was mesmerized. Everything about her screamed goddess—her voice, her radiant red eyes, her soft skin. He felt an overwhelming sense of happiness and wondered if he had somehow ended up in heaven.

His consciousness began to fade, and just before he drifted back to sleep, he caught a glimpse of her pointed ears. Elf? a smile forming on his lips as he succumbed to sleep.

Hours passed, and Eman woke up again, feeling a bit more grounded than before. The initial shock and confusion from earlier had subsided, leaving him in a state of cautious curiosity. This time, as he opened his eyes, he noticed the woman with her back to him. She seemed to be changing clothes, and he watched quietly, observing her movements with a sense of calm detachment.

She slipped out of her camisole and into a dress, and Eman noted the worn fabric adorned with patches, a clear sign of age and constant repairs. The dress was visibly smaller than her frame, barely reaching her knees and revealing much of her legs. Her worn dress, patched and faded, clung awkwardly to her form, yet she moved with such fluidity that the ragged fabric seemed regal in her presence.

She pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail and walked over to him. "I need to work," she said softly, "but I'll be back before evening." She hung two bottles of milk inside his crib and apologized for not being able to stay with him. Eman noticed her nipples pressing against the fabric of her dress and felt a pang of concern for her going outside dressed like that.

"Be good, little one," she whispered, her red eyes softening with affection. "May the Elven God watch over you while I'm gone."

She stood up, adjusted her dress, and picked up a pike, shovel, and a pair of gloves by the door. Waving at him with a smile, she stepped outside, closing the door gently behind her.

Eman now understood why his body felt a bit thin. It wasn't that she wasn't taking care of him; it was more that she didn't know how to do it properly. The image of the milk bottles hanging in his crib made him chuckle. As he thought about it, the reality of his situation hit him. He had died and been reincarnated into this new world.