Violet Smith used to live on Earth.
She wasn't a chosen heroine. She wasn't special. She wasn't destined for greatness.
She was twenty-six, a fitness instructor with sore wrists, aching legs, and an apartment that smelled faintly of cheap detergent and loneliness.
That night, she came home after ten.
Her shoulders felt like stone. Her mind felt worse. She didn't want to sleep. Sleep meant thinking, and thinking meant drowning.
So she did what she always did.
She opened her laptop.
A familiar game booted up.
Alchemists of Nymira.
Not a famous RPG. Not a game the world cared about. But it was hers, and it felt safe in a way real life never did.
The menu music played, soft and nostalgic. Violet leaned back in her chair, clicked into her save file, and let herself fall into routine.
Monsters spawned.
Health bars melted.
Loot scattered across the screen.
Her mind went quiet.
Then her eyes narrowed.
Her inventory.
Empty.
Her Book of Town Portal had no scrolls left.
"…Seriously?" she muttered. "Again?"
She could've just gone to town and bought more.
But she didn't.
Instead, she opened a small program hidden on her desktop.
A modifier.
A cheat tool made by some anonymous hacker who had decided rules were optional.
Violet smirked as the menu popped open.
She clicked.
Scrolls refilled instantly.
A small thrill sparked in her chest. Cheap. Petty. Satisfying.
And then…
Light exploded outside her window.
For a split second, she thought it was lightning.
But lightning didn't sound like that.
The next moment, the entire building shook.
A violent crack tore through the air, like the sky itself had been ripped open. Violet's eyes widened as her laptop screen flickered.
The wires in the wall screamed.
Electricity surged like a living thing, hunting for a path.
And the laptop… became the bridge.
Violet didn't even have time to pull her hands away.
The current slammed into her.
Pain detonated up her arms. Her body convulsed. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Her vision turned white.
Then the world went silent.
*
When Violet opened her eyes again…
She wasn't in her apartment.
She wasn't in her city.
She wasn't even on Earth.
Cold stone surrounded her. Heavy air. A ceiling too high. Walls too old.
And her body…
Her body was wrong.
Small.
Thin.
Child-sized.
Violet stared at her hands, trembling. They were pale, delicate, unfamiliar.
Her breath hitched.
She tried to sit up and her bones felt lighter than they should.
"No…" she whispered.
She scrambled to her feet, nearly falling. She stumbled toward a mirror and saw a girl's face staring back at her.
Black hair.
Purple eyes.
A child's body.
Twelve years old at most.
Violet screamed until her throat burned.
She tried to deny it. Tried to convince herself she was dreaming. Tried to wake up by slapping her face until her cheek turned red.
But reality didn't break.
Reality didn't care.
Days passed.
Then weeks.
And slowly, Violet understood the truth.
This world wasn't a hallucination.
This world was medieval. Brutal. Real.
Knights didn't just train their muscles here. They carried something inside their bodies… a force that could turn steel into light and flesh into weapons.
Mana.
And beyond the mountains, monsters roamed like storms made of teeth.
Here, survival wasn't bought with money.
It wasn't earned with education.
It wasn't won by being clever.
It was carved out with power.
And Violet only had one choice.
Live.
*
Back to the Present;
Violet Raven slowly sat up from the dirt, wincing as pain burst through her arms.
Her shoulders felt like they'd been torn apart. Her palms were raw. Her entire body screamed.
But underneath the exhaustion…
There was something else.
A heat.
A pressure.
A strange heaviness coiled deep inside her, like something half-awake and waiting.
Violet swallowed, breathing carefully.
Her heartbeat sounded louder than usual.
Stronger.
She grabbed the greatsword and forced herself upright. The armor clinked with every movement as she dragged the blade behind her, the tip carving a line through the ground.
Tonight felt different.
Her body was drained, but not empty.
It felt like her blood was gathering itself, like a fire about to catch.
Violet narrowed her eyes.
"Maybe…" she whispered.
Maybe tonight was the night.
She passed beneath the castle gate, swallowed by shadow. A servant walked past carrying a bucket of water and paused when she saw Violet's sweat-soaked armor.
The woman hesitated. "Young miss… you're training again?"
Violet nodded.
The servant didn't scold her. Didn't question her. She only looked away and continued walking, like she'd learned that Raven Castle had some things better left unspoken.
Violet entered the armory.
Piece by piece, she removed the armor.
The metal was damp with sweat, still warm from her body. She wiped every plate carefully, rubbing away dirt and moisture, cleaning each seam like it mattered more than her own comfort.
Rust would destroy it.
And the Ravens couldn't afford to destroy anything.
When the plates were clean, she rubbed oil into the iron until it gleamed faintly under torchlight.
Only then did she move to the greatsword.
She wiped the blade.
Checked the edge.
Not because she enjoyed the work.
Because discipline was survival.
In this world, carelessness didn't cost pride.
It cost limbs.
It cost lives.
When she finished, Violet finally exhaled.
She bathed quickly, scrubbing until her skin stung, then changed into clean clothes.
And when she stepped into the dining hall…
Warmth hit her like a wall.
Firelight danced over the wooden table. The smell of cooked meat filled the air, rich enough to make her stomach tighten.
Her family was already seated.
And as always…
No one spoke.
Her father sat at the head of the table.
Valerius Raven.
Straight-backed. Broad-shouldered. His face was carved into stern stone, the kind of expression a man wore when he had spent his life carrying a castle on his shoulders.
Violet had lived here for a year.
She could count on one hand the number of times she'd seen him show emotion.
But she still remembered the first day she woke up in this body.
The first day Valerius Raven leaned over her bed, his cold face cracking for the briefest moment as relief flashed in his eyes.
Violet never forgot it.
That was how she knew.
Her father wasn't heartless.
He was simply trained to bury everything.
Rowena sat beside him, already eating like she owned the world. Her movements were sharp and confident, like she'd been born holding a sword.
On Violet's other side sat her mother.
Penelope Raven.
Her presence softened the room without effort. Gentle hands. Calm eyes. Quiet strength, like warm water hiding deep currents.
Before the meal began, Valerius lowered his head.
Rowena followed instantly.
Penelope did as well.
Violet copied them, folding her hands like she'd been taught.
A prayer to the Holy Light.
Back on Earth, Violet had never believed in anything.
Here… belief wasn't optional.
The words were murmured.
Then the family ate.
The beef had been divided into four portions.
But not evenly.
Valerius and Rowena had the largest cuts.
Thick slabs layered with fat and muscle.
Violet and Penelope had smaller pieces.
It wasn't cruelty. Violet understood that much.
Knights burned food like furnaces burned wood. The stronger you became, the more your body demanded. And Raven Castle's resources were thin.
Feeding two warriors was expensive.
Feeding four would crush the house entirely.
Violet stared at her plate.
Back on Earth, even a pound of beef would've been a luxury.
Now, at twelve, she ate like it was a feast.
She chewed carefully. Swallowed slowly. Let the warmth settle into her stomach.
The room remained silent, filled only with scraping knives and the steady rhythm of people trained to eat efficiently.
Then Penelope's hand moved.
Violet's eyes flicked to her mother.
Without asking permission, Penelope sliced most of her own beef into neat pieces and slid them onto Violet's plate.
Her voice was soft.
"Eat more."
Violet froze.
Her fingers tightened slightly around her fork.
"Mother…"
Penelope didn't smile. Didn't act like she'd done something heroic.
She simply kept eating what little remained on her own plate, calm as ever.
As if a mother feeding her daughter was the most natural thing in the world.
Violet lowered her gaze.
Something warm and sharp twisted inside her chest.
She swallowed.
"Thank you."
And she ate.