If you want to survive as a transmigrator in a fantasy novel, there is only one rule you need to follow:
Do not, under any circumstances, catch the attention of the Male Lead.
Usually, this is easy. The Male Lead is busy fighting wars, brooding on thrones, or ignoring his harem of ethereally beautiful fiancées. All you have to do is be a background character—a tree, a servant, a rock.
My name is Ivy. I have been a "rock" for three years.
I work in the Royal Kitchens of Yggdrasil, the Elven Capital. I peel potatoes that scream when you cut them (Mandrakes are dramatic). I wash dishes that are older than my entire bloodline. I wear a shapeless grey tunic that smells like onions, and I keep my head down.
I have D-Rank magic, no family, and zero tragic backstory. I am invisible.
And tonight, I was going to commit a crime.
"Ivy!" the Head Chef shouted, throwing a wooden ladle at my head. "Stop daydreaming! The Royal Gala starts in ten minutes! Take this tray of Moon-Nectar to the Upper Terrace!"
I caught the ladle mid-air—reflexes honed by three years of dodging kitchen abuse—and grabbed the heavy silver tray.
"Yes, Chef," I said, keeping my voice flat and boring.
I didn't want to go to the Upper Terrace. That was where the High Elves were. That was where the nobles with their glowing skin and arrogance gathered to drink wine and pretend the world wasn't ending.
And most importantly, that was where King Winter was.
King Winter. The Tyrant of the North. The Ice Monarch.
The rumors said he was so cold that birds froze mid-air when he walked by. They said he had a heart made of black ice. They said he was desperate for an heir because the World Tree—the source of all Elven magic—was withering.
They said he was looking for a "Mate."
'Not my problem,' I thought, tucking a stray lock of honey-blonde hair behind my ear. 'I'm just here to steal a few silver spoons, pawn them off, and eventually buy a nice, quiet farm in the countryside where no one yells at me.'
I walked out of the steamy, noisy kitchens and into the cool night air of the Palace Gardens.
It was breathtaking. Even after three years, Yggdrasil still made me pause. The World Tree loomed over the castle like a glowing, bioluminescent umbrella. Its massive roots wove through the white marble architecture, creating bridges and balconies of living wood.
But if you looked closely, you could see the rot. The leaves were dim. The bark was grey. It looked... tired.
The Upper Terrace was crowded with the most beautiful people I had ever seen. High Elves in silks and diamonds, laughing, drinking, and ignoring the dying god-tree above them.
I wove through the crowd, offering drinks.
"Moon-Nectar? Nectar, my Lord?"
I was invisible. They took the glasses without looking at me. They didn't notice my green eyes with their strange golden tone—mostly because I spent the entire time staring at their boots.
Perfect.
I made my way toward the edge of the balcony, near the buffet table. My plan was simple: drop a few silver forks into my deep apron pocket, finish my shift, and vanish.
I reached for a discarded silver fork on a table.
Clink.
Suddenly, the music stopped.
A hush fell over the terrace. The temperature dropped ten degrees in a single second. The condensation on the glasses on my tray started to frost over.
The crowd parted like the Red Sea.
Walking through the center of the terrace was King Winter.
He was... terrifying.
He was tall, dressed in a midnight-blue military uniform with silver epaulets that looked like shards of ice. His hair was the color of platinum silver, shimmering under the moonlight. But it was his eyes that made you want to run.
They were pale, icy blue—like frozen flakes of snow suspended in a glacier.
He didn't walk; he stalked. He looked bored, annoyed, and lethal.
Behind him, Grand Elder Thorne hurried to keep up, clutching a clipboard made of bark.
"Your Majesty! Please! You must choose a partner for the opening dance! The Tree requires resonance! We need to find a compatible mana signature tonight or the barrier will weaken again!"
"The Tree requires silence," Winter said. His voice was deep, smooth, and colder than the ice forming on my tray. "None of these people are compatible. Their souls are weak. They reek of ambition, not mana."
"But Sire! You haven't even tried! Lady Sera is a Fire Mage! Lady Elara is—"
Winter stopped. He sighed, a sound of pure exhaustion.
He turned away from the eager line of noblewomen and walked toward the edge of the balcony. Toward the shadows.
Toward me.
I froze.
'Don't look at him. Be a rock. Be a potato. You are a potato.'
I stared intently at the floor, clutching my tray like a shield.
Winter stopped three feet away from me. He wasn't looking at me; he was looking at the view of the city below. He just wanted to be away from the crowd. He wanted a moment of peace.
But he was too close.
The frost radiating off him was intense. My tray was getting slippery. The nectar in the crystal flutes was turning into slush.
'Hold it together, Ivy. Don't drop it. If you drop it, you get fired. If you get fired, you starve.'
My fingers went numb. The heavy silver tray tilted.
Slip.
It happened in slow motion. The tray slid out of my frozen fingers. Three crystal flutes full of sticky, expensive nectar tumbled through the air, heading straight for the King's pristine, midnight-blue boots.
I gasped. "Oh no."
Without thinking—pure reflex from my former life as a clumsy office worker—I lunged forward to catch them.
I missed the glasses.
Instead, I crashed right into King Winter.
Thump.
My hands slammed onto his chest to steady myself. His hands instinctively grabbed my waist to stop me from falling.
Skin touched skin.
My warm, human palms against the exposed skin of his neck.
Time didn't just stop. It shattered.
It wasn't a spark. It wasn't a zap.
It felt like a roar.
A massive, golden wave of heat exploded from the point of contact. It rushed through my veins, hot and heavy, and slammed into his icy core like a meteor hitting a frozen lake.
It felt good. It felt like drinking hot chocolate after being lost in a blizzard. It felt like coming home.
Above us, the dying World Tree let out a sound like a massive, cracking bell.
BOOOOOOM.
The entire palace shook. Dust fell from the ceiling.
Light—blinding, pure white light—erupted from the withered branches above. The dim leaves suddenly flared with life, turning a vibrant, burning emerald green.
The crowd screamed.
I looked up, terrified, my hands still pressed against the King's chest.
A single, massive golden leaf detached from the highest branch. It didn't drift; it fell straight down, heavy as a stone, glowing like a sun.
It was falling right toward us.
"What..." Winter whispered.
He wasn't looking at the Tree. He wasn't looking at the panic. He was looking at me.
His frozen flake eyes were wide, the pupils blown. The ice in them was gone, replaced by a look of absolute, bewildered shock. He wasn't letting go of my waist. If anything, he was holding me tighter, his fingers digging into my grey tunic as if he was afraid I would vanish into smoke.
"You," he breathed, his voice wrecked. "You are... warm."
The golden leaf hit us.
It didn't hit our heads. It dissolved into a shower of golden dust that swirled around us, wrapping us in a cocoon of light.
And then, the dust sank into my stomach.
It felt like swallowing a star. A warm, heavy pulse settled deep in my belly.
Pop.
A massive, holographic blue screen appeared in the air above my head. It wasn't small. It was the size of a billboard. Every elf on the terrace could see it.
[SYSTEM ALERT: WORLD TREE RESONANCE]
Target: Unidentified Female Elf (Variant)
Mana Compatibility: 100% (Perfect Match)
Status: BLESSING RECEIVED
And then, the text scrolled down to the stats. The stats I had hidden for three years. The stats that were supposed to keep me safe.
Magic: D-Rank (Trash)
Mana Capacity: Low
Fertility: SSS+ (LEGENDARY)
Note from World Tree: "Finally. A womb that works. Start the breeding program immediately."
Silence.
Absolute, dead silence.
You could hear a pin drop. You could hear the wind rustle.
Every eye on the terrace was glued to the glowing red letters: SSS+.
In a world where Elves were dying out, where a pregnancy was a miracle and a single child was celebrated for a century... SSS+ wasn't just a stat.
It was a target.
Grand Elder Thorne dropped his clipboard. It clattered loudly on the marble floor.
"SSS..." he wheezed. "Triple S? That... that hasn't been seen since the Goddess Era!"
He pointed a shaking finger at me.
"She is the Grail! She is the Mother! Seize her! Do not let her leave! She must remain in the Breeding Chamber!"
Breeding Chamber?!
Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through the warm haze of the magic.
I pushed myself off Winter's chest. I stumbled back, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
"I..." I stammered, backing away. "I think the machine is broken! I'm just a potato peeler! I have allergies! I'm not a Grail!"
Winter didn't speak. He didn't look at the screen. He was still looking at me.
He slowly raised his hand, touching the spot on his chest where I had touched him. Then, his gaze dropped to my stomach, where the golden light was still faintly pulsing through my apron.
A slow, terrifying smile spread across his face.
It wasn't a nice smile. It was the smile of a dragon that had just found a mountain of gold.
"Guard!" he barked.
The Royal Guards snapped to attention, their armor clanking. "Sire!"
Winter pointed a gloved finger at me.
"Seal the gates," he commanded, his voice ringing with absolute authority. "Lock down the city. No one leaves."
He took a step toward me.
"The Tree has spoken," he said softly. "You are mine."
I looked at the guards. I looked at the crazy Elder hyperventilating on the floor. I looked at the Tyrant King who looked like he wanted to eat me.
I dropped the silver spoon I had stolen.
"Oh, f*ck this," I whispered.
I turned and ran.
I didn't run like a graceful elf. I ran like a desperate human. I vaulted over the buffet table, knocking over a tower of cheese wheels to create a distraction, and sprinted toward the servant's exit.
"Get her!" the Elder shrieked. "Get the SSS+ Womb!"
"I am not a womb!" I yelled back, throwing a handful of stolen grapes at a guard's face. "I am a person! I have a name! It's... uh... Bob!"
I kicked open the door to the kitchen stairwell and dove into the darkness, leaving the chaos, the King, and the glowing billboard behind me.
But as I slid down the banister, I could still feel it.
A tiny, warm thrum in my stomach.
The Tree hadn't just blessed me. It had marked me.
And now, the hunt was on.