"I am sorry to say this, but your daughter might not live past the age of sixteen."
Those were the first words I rembered hearing as a kid.
Though I was but a child, barely able to speak in full sentences, it didn’t take long for to understand the predicant I had put my family in.
I had a disease that was unnad at the ti, and remains unnad to this day, for I was the only one in the entire history of the world to be born with it.
It was a condition that forced my body to store excess mana from my surroundings, acting like a bottomless vessel with no way to release it like others could. My body was a dam constantly on the verge of bursting.
At first, my father discovered a way to use this issue as a new thod of hunting to catch food for our village.
Since we lived far away from society, tucked behind the mountains, it was far harder for us to acquire the resources regular people could get so easily.
Father told a story once, one that made understand why we lived in fear.
Apparently, after the Gods set their eyes on humans and claid their victory, the mortal races lost their way. They turned on one another, blaming each other for allowing the Gods to take control so easily.
The Dwarves blad the Humans.
The Humans blad the Elves.
And the Elves blad the Demons.
In the end, a war broke out, devastating the land. It only ceased when a mighty sword, known as the Blade Faja, appeared in the hands of a King—a man said to have slain a hundred demons, elves, and dwarves all by himself. He even went as far as killing Witches who dared to show themselves.
But enough about legends. My reality was far crueler.
Soon, my father discovered that my body was trying to adapt to the inability to disperse mana.
To survive the pressure, my body began to steal the life force from anything I touched as a sacrifice.
If I were to touch a thriving plant, it would shrivel up and turn to ash.
For a while, my father used to hunt small ga, and it worked in our favor. Or at least, it did until the accident.
I killed the child of an Elf.
My mother and father were devastated, but the Elven King of the neighboring tribe had to make his decision following their ancient laws: Those who kill their brethren shall be banished.
Thus, at the age of nine, I was banished from my hotown. I was forced to make a journey I didn’t understand, with no prior knowledge of the outside world.
I walked for days, rationing the food my parents had packed for in hopes that I would eventually find soone who would take care of .
But my journey was anything but simple.
On my first day, I was attacked by raving wolves. While I was able to survive their onslaught thanks to my curse, I lost all my food. I was left lying at the edge of a flowing river with a broken leg.
If it weren’t for my abnormal powers, I knew I would be dead then and there.
I looked up at the sky, watching as the moon slowly settled in, the entire forest turning dark and nacing.
As I lay there, I wondered: Why is it that I haven’t cried?
Was it because I expected this? Did I expect that I wouldn’t survive?
But I don’t want to die.
"I don’t want to die," I blurted out, the dam finally breaking as tears rolled down my cheeks.
In my mont of weakness, I heard the sound of rustling bushes not too far away. The movent was aggressive; I knew there had to be more than one thing approaching .
I wasn’t sure what kind of animal it could be, but my first instinct was to hide right inside the water to keep myself safe.
I slipped into the frigid river, ignoring the sharp pain radiating from my broken leg. The water bit at my skin, but the fear of what was approaching was far greater.
I held my breath, subrging myself until only my eyes peeked above the surface, hidden amongst the dark, overhanging reeds.
The rustling stopped right at the riverbank.
I could hear heavy breathing and the crunch of boots on loose soil. Then, a voice, deep and gruff, cut through the night.
"Check the bank! I swear I heard sothing thrashing right here."
Another voice, lighter, replied, "Couldn’t have gone far, Boss. That sll... it’s fresh blood."
My heart hamred against my ribs. They weren’t animals.
They were humans. Hunters—the kind who pursued not only ga but also the rare and the weak.
I pressed myself deeper into the reeds, praying the darkness and the water would conceal .
Four figures materialized at the edge of the water. Even in the gloom, their rough leather armor and the glint of steel on their belts were visible. They carried long, wickedly barbed spears.
"Wait," a third voice whispered. "Look. Prints. Small ones. Going right into the water."
I froze.
They had found my tracks. Panic threatened to overwhelm , but years of living with the knowledge that death was always a misplaced touch away had instilled in a terrifying calm.
I was a child who understood the finality of existence better than most adults.
The first hunter, clearly the leader—a muscular man with a thick beard—pointed his spear. "She’s in there. One of you, get in and pull her out. She’s just a child, and bleeding; she can’t fight."
The lightest of the four, a lean man with quick movents, stepped forward, preparing to wade in. Just as he was about to enter the water, I felt a sharp, cold current flow into .
The ambient mana from the river, the air, and even the surrounding trees was being drawn into my body, accelerating the relentless process that kept alive but made a curse.
I had to be brave.
And above all, I had to be careful. Not for my sake, but for theirs.
Before the hunter could step fully into the water, I pushed myself up, revealing my soaked, trembling form. My broken leg dragged uselessly behind in the silt.
"D-don’t," I croaked, my voice barely a whisper. "Please... don’t touch ."
The lean man scoffed, wading deeper until the water reached his knees. He reached out a hand, intending to grab by the collar.
"Easy now, little one. We aren’t going to hurt you. We just want to see what you’re worth."
"No!" I scread, scrambling backward, splashing water everywhere. "Stay away!"
He didn’t listen. Humans never listened.
His hand clamped around my small, shivering arm.
"Gotcha!" he grinned.
The grin lasted exactly one second.
Imdiately, the man’s eyes bulged.
The color drained from his face—not taphorically, but literally. His skin turned a sickly shade of grey, then blackened as if he were being burned from the inside out.
He didn’t even have ti to scream.
In the blink of an eye, the lean hunter collapsed into the water, his body shriveled like a dried prune.
The life force he once possessed rushed into , knitting the bones in my leg back together with a sickening crunch.
The other three hunters froze, staring in horror at their fallen comrade floating face down in the river.
I stood there, the water around bubbling slightly from the excess energy radiating off my skin. My eyes, usually a soft color, were now glowing with a terrifying, hungry light.
The leader took a step back, his spear trembling in his grip.
"Monster..." he whispered.
I looked at my hands, feeling the rush of stolen life coursing through my veins. I looked back at them, tears streaming down my face, but my expression was one of resignation.
"I told him not to touch ," I whispered.
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