It's strange how fast a person can adapt when they're surrounded by luxury.
The bed was too soft. The tea was too sweet. The air was too clean. Everything about this world whispered comfort, but beneath the warmth was a kind of coldness I couldn't shake.
I sat by the window, wrapped in a robe that probably cost more than my apartment back on Earth. My fingers toyed with the rim of a porcelain teacup while my golden eyes stared at a garden that shimmered with magic I didn't yet understand. Silver trees, violet roses, birds with feathers like stained glass… it was a dream. The kind you wake from and wish you hadn't.
Except I hadn't woken up.
This was my life now.
I had been reincarnated as the nephew of Lady Ravianne Everdusk, one of the most dangerous figures in the world of Chronicles of Aetherlight, a game I'd once known inside and out. A woman whose endings were always tragic, no matter the route. And somehow, I had been inserted into a world I used to control with a mouse and keyboard.
And worst of all… I had no power.
I'd tried again this morning. Whispered a line from one of my old battle poems, hoping to summon just a flicker of the magic I once commanded. Back on Earth, as Hero #7, I could speak a verse and level buildings. I could hum a lullaby and make giants sleep. My power wasn't just strength—it was art, spoken into existence.
Now, it was silence.
Nothing answered me. No pull in my chest, no rhythm in the air. Just… emptiness.
A knock broke my thoughts.
I turned as the door creaked open, and a servant stepped inside. A boy, probably a few years older than me, with dark hair, pale skin, and eyes that flickered with something sharp. Not curiosity. Not kindness.
Wariness.
"Lady Ravianne requests your presence in the east courtyard," he said, bowing. "She says it's time you were properly introduced to the estate."
Estate. A nice word for "fortress dressed in silk."
I nodded, stood, and followed him without a word.
We walked in silence through polished hallways, past walls lined with ancestral portraits and enchanted lanterns that flickered without flame. The deeper we went, the more I realized how absurdly massive this place was. It wasn't a mansion. It was a damn palace.
Eventually, the hall opened into a courtyard bathed in gold.
Lady Ravianne stood beneath an arch of silver roses, dressed in a deep crimson coat with black lace gloves. She turned as I approached, and that same unreadable expression crossed her face. Not warmth. Not cruelty. Just… calculation.
"I trust you slept well," she said.
I didn't answer right away. My instinct told me to be careful. I didn't know who she really was yet—not in this world. Not outside the scripts I used to follow.
"Well enough," I said finally.
Her lips curved into the faintest smile. "Walk with me."
She turned, and I followed.
We moved through the garden slowly, past enchanted fountains and stone benches shaped like dragons mid-flight. I could feel the magic in the air—faint, subtle, like a heartbeat I couldn't quite sync with. And maybe that was the point. I didn't belong here. Not yet.
"Do you remember anything?" Ravianne asked, voice light, almost casual.
"About what?"
"Your past. Who you were before the fire."
The fire. So that's the excuse they gave for my sudden arrival. A mysterious fire, a memory lost. Neat. Clean. Convenient.
"Some things," I said, keeping my tone vague.
She nodded, as if expecting that.
"I have enemies," she said. "Many of them wear crowns. Some wear masks. Others wear smiles. I've spent my life surviving people who would see me broken or buried. I need to know if I can trust you."
A test. One I didn't study for.
I met her eyes, golden against her crimson ones. "I don't know if you can trust me," I said, honest. "But I didn't ask to be here. And if I'm going to live in this world, I don't plan to live it on my knees."
A pause.
Then she laughed.
Not a polite laugh. Not a cruel one.
It was real.
"You really are her son's child," she said softly.
Before I could ask who she meant, she turned again. "Come. There's someone you should meet."
We left the courtyard and entered another wing of the estate. This one was colder, older. Dust lingered in the corners, and the walls were lined not with art, but with weapons. Swords. Halberds. Wands. A museum of war.
We stopped in front of a large wooden door.
She pushed it open, and inside stood a man.
Tall. Grizzled. A scar ran down one side of his face, and his armor looked more worn than polished. His gaze landed on me like a hammer. Not cruel, but assessing.
"This is Sir Aldric," Ravianne said. "He will be your instructor."
"Instructor?"
"In this world, blood will only carry you so far. If you want to survive, you must become more than a name. You must become a weapon."
Sir Aldric stepped forward, arms crossed. "Do you know how to fight, boy?"
I almost laughed.
Did I know how to fight?
On Earth, I fought with words. With rhythm and breath. I danced through battles like a composer conducting chaos. But here, I had none of that.
"I'll learn," I said.
He nodded, as if that was the only right answer. "Then meet me here every morning at dawn. We begin tomorrow."
Ravianne placed a hand on my shoulder. "You will have to prove yourself. Not just to me, but to this world. I won't protect you forever."
I didn't need her to.
Because I wasn't planning to be protected.
I was planning to take this world by the throat.
—
Later that night, after dinner and more polite lies about who I was, I sat alone in my room.
The moon hung over the garden like a pale sentinel, and my reflection in the window stared back with golden eyes full of questions.
What was I doing here?
Was this fate?
Punishment?
A second chance?
I didn't know.
But I did know one thing.
This world thought it was the same story, just rewritten.
It thought it knew the rules.
The factions. The war. The endings.
But what happens when someone steps into a tale who was never meant to be part of it?
Someone like me.
Someone who remembers every line of the script… and doesn't intend to follow it.
Not this time.
I closed my eyes, let the silence settle, and whispered to the night.
"Let's see what happens… when the anomaly starts writing the story."