The Arrow of God

One hundred and fifty-one years. That's how long they say our world has lasted so far. A century and a half of humans, elves, orcs, dragons... and of a god named Rockfeller, who decided to play talent scout by blessing only us human mortals with his chosen. They call them Rockson. I call them "the ones who burn fast and make a lot of noise before they die."

My sister was one of them. Was.
Me? I was the one scribbling notes, stealing samples, and wondering if miracles weren't just divine errors.

Years later, I built a box that makes cold in a world with no refrigerators, tried to make myself look indispensable, and even attempted something resembling a decent love story. Guess what? It didn't work.

Now I'm about to be killed by Rockfeller himself. Not exactly the ending I had in mind-but it's a pretty good excuse to start telling everything.

My story ends, as many others, with a start from the beginning.