Mahnaka paced anxiously across the hectare of farmland, his body flinching every time Pinaka’s screams rang through the air.


    ‘I’m sorry! It hurts, but please—hold on.’


    ‘There’s nothing you can do. Please, don’t die…’


    The cries tore at him, each one digging into his nerves like a blade. But when they suddenly stopped, a cold chill ran down his spine.


    ‘No!… Did he resist?’


    ‘They will kill him if he does that…Dammit!’ Mahnaka stared at the mortar-covered tunnel that led into a concrete facility. Just twenty meters away, inside that dreadful room, Pinaka was losing his thumbs at the hands of a balding, middle-aged human.


    A single sprint—he could reach him in time. Stop it. Save him.


    "I could kill the human."


    Kill?


    Mahnaka’s breath hitched. His feet refused to move, though his entire being screamed at him to act. His hands clenched into fists, shaking.


    "Ha… Mahnaka, you idiot!" Tears welled in his eyes, spilling down his face as he whispered, broken, "Move. Do something. Anything!"


    Moments later, two able-bodied Humans carried a bloody Elf and casually threw the individual before Mahnaka, “You! Make sure he’s ready to work by morning.”


    A sharp crack of a whip followed, causing Mahnaka to flinch instinctively. With their work done for the day, the humans strolled off to their quarters.


    "These damn Elves are exhausting to manage," one muttered, rolling his shoulders as he loosened his collar.


    "Prideful little shits," the other scoffed. "Give them a few months of ‘Education,’ and they’ll be obedient little farmers."


    Their laughter faded as they walked away.


    Mahnaka stood at his spot, still like a statue, unable to budge until he heard the conversation between the two Humans subside. Only after they were out of earshot did he hurriedly crouch to grab his wounded kin, “Pinaka! Are you alright? Stay with me!”


    “I’ll patch you up…” The words barely left his lips before he noticed it—though Pinaka’s body trembled violently from pain, his eyes…


    Cold.


    A killer’s glare, sharp and unreadable.


    Tears streamed down his bruised face, veins bulging, lips cracked and bitten raw. Yet, despite the agony, Pinaka’s bloodied hands rose—circling weakly around Mahnaka’s neck.


    He leaned in close, his breath shallow, voice a mere whisper.


    "You’ve been here for a while… haven’t you?"


    Mahnaka could only nod, shock gripping him tight.


    Pinaka grunted once in response, then collapsed into unconsciousness.


    "Then tell me… everything about this damn world."


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    “The World Tree must have told you this,” Mahnaka murmured as he gently wrapped fresh bandages around Pinaka’s wounds. The late afternoon sun painted the walls in hues of amber. “We…died on Earth and were reincarnated here by the World Tree.”


    Pinaka let out a harsh snort, only to grimace in pain, his breath hitching as he instinctively clutched his mutilated hands.


    “Fucking hell!” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Are there no painkillers in this godforsaken place?”


    “There used to be plenty.” Mahnaka shook his head, “But after our defeat, the Human Race seized control of our medicinal herbs. Now the Elves… are mere slaves.”


    Pinaka grunted, trying again to sit up, his face contorted with effort. “Slaves? What a joke. I’m a fucking human!” His voice cracked with frustration. “You’re from Earth too, aren’t you? We’re humans!”


    Mahnaka’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening. “Not anymore.” He met Pinaka’s gaze, his voice low but firm. “Here, you’re an Elf. And in this world, humanity is our enemy.”


    A heavy silence stretched between them before Mahnaka continued to speak, “I was born on the fourth day after the defeat of the Elven Race. I’m one of the oldest slaves at this place.”Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    “So that’s it, huh? You’ve just accepted this… this fate?” Pinaka’s voice carried a bitter edge, but almost immediately, he caught himself. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean—”


    Mahnaka smiled, though there was no joy in it. “That’s the most respect anyone has ever shown me here. Thank you… for treating me like a person.”


    Without another word, he reached for a small vial filled with a murky liquid and uncorked it. The faint scent of crushed herbs wafted through the air. “This is an extract I made from Agri crops. It’s weak, but it’ll help with the pain.” He carefully applied it to Pinaka’s wounds before speaking again.


    “I’ll explain everything in Earth terms—make it simple.” Mahnaka’s voice took on a lecturing tone, though the weight behind his words made it clear this was no mere lesson.


    “This world is called Gangnea. It’s a single, massive continent—about the same size as Earth’s surface area.” He glanced at the vast farmland stretching beyond them. “According to legend, it was created by a dragon named Bolomere, who birthed sixteen sentient races, each possessing a unique authority.”


    Mahnaka reached down and plucked a long blade of grass, weaving it between his fingers as he spoke. “The Elven Race holds authority over Wood.” His fingers twitched, and the grass coiled into an intricate glove that wrapped around his palm. “Meanwhile, Humans have authority over Fire.”


    “What is… authority?” Pinaka asked, gawking in shock upon seeing Mahnaka grab a long strand of grass and weave it into a glove. The latter replied, “There are four stages in total: Control, Creation, Relic, and Divine.”


    “This is Control.” He pointed at the glove, “ “Level One. We can manipulate the Wood element as we please.”


    Pinaka leaned forward, his curiosity outweighing his pain for a moment. “And Level Two? What, you grow trees super fast or something?”


    Mahnaka shook his head. “No. We create them.” His voice held a solemn weight. “At Level Two, Creation, every race can manifest their element from nothing.”


    Pinaka blinked, absorbing the implications. “Wait—you’re saying you can just make wood? As in, out of thin air?”


    Mahnaka nodded. “Exactly. It’s like we all carry a fragment of a god within us.”


    Pinaka’s mind raced. “Then… what’s stopping someone from spamming an infinite supply of wood?”


    “They can.” Mahnaka’s expression didn’t change. “But the world adapts. If too much matter is created, Gangnea expands to accommodate it. That’s how this continent has been growing since its inception.”


    Pinaka exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, fine. But if Elves are so powerful, why the hell are we slaves?”


    Mahnaka’s face darkened. “Because we were the first race to appear on Gangnea.” He sighed. “And now, we’re nothing more than resource points—farming food, grains, and plants for the Humans.” He clenched his fists. “Wood fuels fire. And that’s why we can never win. They outnumber us. They have the elemental advantage. And they have the power to crush us.”


    Pinaka stared at the woven grass in Mahnaka’s hands. “Then… what does the World Tree want?”


    Mahnaka’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. “Exactly what it told you,” he said. “It wants us to restore the Elven Race to its former glory. And if we succeed, it will return us to Earth.”


    Pinaka narrowed his eyes. “And you believe it can do that?”


    “If the World Tree can’t,” Mahnaka said, “then it will call upon Bolomere himself.” His voice turned grave. “Think about it—Control and Creation. If Bolomere has authority over space-time, then sending us back to our past on Earth might not be impossible. The World Tree is the only one who might know where he is.”


    Pinaka fell silent, processing everything. He had one last question. “…What about peace?”


    Mahnaka frowned.


    “I mean, we used to be Humans. Can’t we reason with them? Even if it’s not a language from Earth, we still understand it. They understand it. We could—”


    “No.”


    The single word was firm. Unyielding.


    Mahnaka exhaled, then motioned for Pinaka to follow. “It’s better if I show you firsthand.”


    Pinaka hesitated, glancing around warily. “Are we even allowed to move freely?” His gut twisted at the sheer amount of unknowns in this nightmare of a world. He still wasn’t sure whether to trust Mahnaka or not. But right now, he was his only ally.


    Mahnaka glanced up at the sky. “It’s almost curfew.” His voice was tense as he stepped toward the mortar tunnel, his posture stiff, his breath uneven.


    Pinaka followed, noting how Mahnaka’s body trembled as they passed the first few rooms. It didn’t take long to realize where they were—this was where Pinaka had been scrubbed upon arrival. Where his thumbs had been severed.


    The air grew damp, the silence suffocating. The corridor stretched for what felt like forever before opening into a vast, cylindrical prison lined with narrow cells.


    Pinaka’s breath caught in his throat.


    At the center of the prison, an Elf was nailed to a pillar, his body limp but still breathing. A human stood before him, forcefully shoving a strange fruit into his mouth, completely indifferent to the sheer terror in his pain-glazed eyes.


    An incision had been made on his chest. A fang, slick with blood, was embedded in the wound, slowly draining him. The blood dripped into a container below, staining the floor beneath it.


    The Elf’s eyes locked onto Pinaka. His lips parted weakly, mouthing silent, desperate words.


    "He… lp… me…"


    Pinaka felt his stomach churn.


    Mahnaka’s voice was barely above a whisper, yet it carried the weight of utter despair. “That’s the most recent Elf who confessed to being from Earth.”


    He turned to Pinaka, his eyes hollow.


    “These Humans don’t see us as people.” He swallowed, his voice trembling.


    “To them… we’re just a mere resource point.”


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    Gangnea Daily - Article #2


    An Elf takes a full century to reach adulthood, their lifespan stretching across an average of 4,000 years. Or at least, that was how it used to be.


    Now, in a world ruled by their oppressors, their life expectancy has plummeted to a mere twenty years.


    Not by nature. But by chains.