The last thing I remembered was the hum of the air conditioner and the rhythmic clicking of my mechanical keyboard. I was thirty-three years old, a senior accountant for a provincial government project, buried under a mountain of spreadsheets and construction permits. The office was a tomb of grey cubicles and stale coffee breath. I had been working thirty-six hours straight to meet a deadline, and the exhaustion had finally won. I had leaned my head back for just a moment, a "five-minute" nap that was supposed to be a brief reprieve from the soul-crushing world of civil service.
Then, I blinked.
The harsh fluorescent lights didn't greet me. Instead, a blindingly bright sun seared my retinas. I squeezed my eyes shut, my heart hammering. The air was different—it didn't smell like ozone and old paper; it smelled of damp earth, sweet clover, and the wild, untamed scent of a summer breeze.
I opened my eyes slowly. I wasn't in my cubicle. I was sitting in the middle of a vast, rolling meadow that stretched as far as the eye could see. In the distance, the soft, rhythmic bleating of sheep drifted on the wind. The sky was a deep, impossible blue, devoid of smog or contrails. It was peaceful—terrifyingly so.
"What...?" My voice sounded higher, lighter.
I looked down at my hands. They were pale, delicate, and entirely devoid of the calluses I'd developed from years of typing. My government-issued blazer and slacks were gone. In their place was a voluminous, heavy white gown made of silk so fine it felt like water against my skin. The confusion was a physical weight in my chest. One minute I was calculating the budget for a bridge, and now I was a character in a period drama.
The silence of the meadow was suddenly shattered by the thunderous beat of hooves. I scrambled to my feet, my long skirts tangling around my ankles. From over a nearby ridge, a horseman appeared, galloping toward me at a breakneck pace.
"What the hell? That horseman is coming straight for me!"
Panic, sharp and cold, flared in my gut. I turned and tried to run, but my modern brain wasn't used to navigating tall grass in a floor-length gown. I was slow, clumsy, and entirely outmatched. The horse closed the distance in seconds, its massive shadow falling over me. It skidded to a halt, kicking up clods of earth and grass, and the rider leaped from the saddle before the beast had even fully stopped.
"Your Highness! So you are here!"
The man sounded like he had just run a marathon. He was gasping for air, his face flushed and glistening with sweat.
Highness? The word echoed in my mind. I looked around the empty landscape. There was no one else here. "Are you... addressing me?" I stammered, my mind spinning. Was I a noble? A member of a royal family?
Before I could process the thought, he was in front of me, grabbing my shoulders with hands that trembled. His eyes, wide with a mixture of terror and relief, searched my face. He didn't wait for an answer; he began frantically checking my dress, looking for tears, blood, or dirt.
"Your Highness, are you alright? Is there something wrong? His Majesty, your father, the King... he is worried sick about you. We all were! Please, tell me you aren't hurt."
King? Father? I felt like I was watching a movie with the sound muted. "Whoa, whoa," I said, holding up my hands to stop his frantic hovering. "My father is a King? Is this a joke? Is this some kind of elaborate hidden camera game?"
The man stopped, his hands frozen in mid-air. He looked at me as if I had just sprouted a second head. "I'm sorry," I continued, trying to keep my voice steady despite the thirty-three-year-old accountant inside me screaming in terror. "But can I ask you a question? Where am I, exactly? And why are you calling me Your Highness?"
The horseman's expression shifted from panic to sheer astonishment. He let out a small, breathless giggle, as if he thought I was playing a very strange prank. "We are in the Kingdom of Aushtage, my lady. And you are Princess Caroline of Aushtage. Your father is His Majesty King Onfroi, and your mother is Her Majesty Queen Isabeau."
The world tilted. Caroline. The name felt heavy and foreign. I looked at my hands again, then touched my face, my neck, my waist. This wasn't the body of a woman in her thirties who lived on takeout and caffeine. I felt lithe, youthful—maybe fifteen or sixteen at most.
"You're joking, right?" I whispered, though the reality was staring me in the face.
The man didn't laugh this time. His face softened into a look of genuine concern. He reached out, his voice gentle. "Just come with me, Princess. Your father's worry is causing a storm at the castle. Please."
He helped me mount the horse. The animal was massive, its muscles rippling beneath its coat. Once I was settled, the man didn't climb up behind me. Instead, he took the lead rope and began to walk.
"Why are you walking?" I asked, looking down at him. "There's plenty of room up here. I feel horrible watching you lead the horse while I just sit here. Come up, ride with me."
The man stopped and looked up at me. For a moment, his professional mask slipped, and I saw a flash of pure, honest surprise. He smiled—a small, sincere thing that reached his eyes. "You are so kind, Your Highness. I... I never expected you to be this kind. Perhaps our kingdom will truly be better in the future with you leading us."
I felt a pang of guilt. What had the real Caroline been like if a simple offer to share a horse was seen as an act of revolutionary kindness? "What's your name, Mr. Knight?"
"Your Highness, I am no knight," he said, bowing his head slightly. "I am but a squire."
"A squire? What does that entail, exactly?"
"A squire is a servant to a knight," he explained as we began to move again. "We prepare the gear, maintain the horses, and act as a substitute when needed. You could say I am an apprentice, hoping to earn my spurs one day."
"Well," I said, trying to offer him some encouragement, "I hope one day you will be a knight. Or maybe," I added with a small smile, "you could be my personal escort knight. What is your name, Mr. Squire?"
"Louis," he replied. "My name is Louis. I hope Your Highness remembers this lowborn name. I will do my best to live up to your expectations and never disappoint you."
I could feel the sincerity radiating off him. "I will engrave your name in my mind, Louis," I said. At that moment, a sudden gust of wind swept across the meadow. It caught my hair, sending it fluttering around my face like a silken veil. "No matter if you are lowborn or have no name at all, I will appreciate you. All of you are my subjects, aren't you? A princess shouldn't leave her people alone."
Louis stopped abruptly. He turned and stared at me, his eyes wide and fascinated. I felt my cheeks flush. God, that sounded so cheesy, I thought. The accountant in me was cringing at the dramatic dialogue.
"Louis? How long is this trip going to take?"
He didn't answer. He was still staring, captivated.
"Louis! Louis, can you hear me?"
He snapped back to reality, his face turning a bright shade of crimson. "I am so sorry, Your Highness! I was just... I was amazed by what you said. And by your appearance. Your white hair... it seemed to glow in the wind like a goddess. It is so rare for a noble of your status to promise to remember a name like mine."
White hair? Goddess? I reached up and pulled a long strand of my hair forward. It wasn't the dark, mousy brown I was used to. It was a shimmering, brilliant silver-white, like polished moonlight.
"You still haven't answered my question, Louis," I said, trying to steer the conversation away from my hair. "How much longer?"
"My apologies. It is just a short ride from here, Your Highness."
As we traveled, the idyllic beauty of the meadow began to fade. We turned onto a dirt road that led toward a small village, and the sight that met my eyes made my stomach churn. This wasn't a quaint, fairy-tale village. It looked like it had been chewed up and spit out. The buildings were leaning, their thatched roofs rotting. The people I saw were skeletal—thin, ragged figures with hollow eyes and skin stretched tight over their bones.
"Louis," I said, my voice dropping. "Was there a war here? Was this place pillaged?"
Louis's expression darkened. "There is no recent war here, Your Highness. But we are still in a state of conflict with the Travunia Kingdom. Resources are... stretched."
"But this is horrible," I argued, looking at a group of children whose ribs were clearly visible through their dirty tunics. "These people are in bad shape. This isn't just 'conflict,' this is starvation."
"This is the normal condition of this village, Your Highness," Louis whispered. I looked down at his hands. He was gripping the lead rope so tightly his knuckles were white. He was trembling. It wasn't fear—it was a deep, simmering rage that he was trying to hide.
As we rode through the village square, the atmosphere changed. I sensed eyes on me from every shadow. The villagers didn't cheer. They didn't wave. They stared at me with a mixture of cold hatred, cynicism, and a vicious, burning envy. I was a vision in white silk on a well-fed horse, and they were dying in the mud. Even Louis couldn't look them in the eye. He kept his gaze fixed on the road ahead, looking thoroughly ashamed of the crest he wore.
In the distance, I could see the city. It was massive, a sprawling fortress of stone walls that seemed to grow out of the earth itself. The city was close—too close for this village to be in such a state. It felt like a crime.
As we reached the main gates, I looked up at a large sign post. The words weren't in any language I recognized. They looked like jagged, glowing runes, shifting and swirling before my eyes. Then, with a sickening lurch in my brain, the runes rearranged themselves.
Hallgerd.
I could read it. I didn't know how, but the magic of this world—or whatever "system" had brought me here—was translating for me.
We stepped into the city, and the contrast to the village was jarring. This was the "fantasy" world I had imagined. The buildings were tall and sturdy, made of dark wood and grey stone. Some had rooftops of clay tiles, others of neatly trimmed straw. I saw signs hanging over doors: a foaming glass of ale for a tavern, an anvil for a blacksmith, a bundle of dried herbs for an apothecary. The roads were paved with stone, and the air was filled with the sounds of commerce and life.
We passed through a bustling market plaza. Merchants shouted their prices, and a grand fountain bubbled in the center of the square. It was beautiful, but the memory of the starving children in the village left a bitter taste in my mouth.
Finally, we arrived at the castle. It was an architectural marvel of towers and battlements. Guards in polished armor stood at the gates, snapping to attention as we passed. We entered a garden that was larger than some parks I'd seen back home, filled with exotic flowers and another massive fountain.
At the castle entrance, a row of maids was waiting. They looked exhausted, their eyes red-rimmed as if they had been standing there all day. One maid stepped forward, a silver basin and a towel in her hands. She was shaking.
"Your Highness, welcome back," she whispered.
I looked at the towel, then at her tired face. "I'm not tired," I said, gently pushing the towel back toward her. "Keep it. You look like you need the rest more than I do."
The maids froze. They exchanged looks of pure confusion and hidden terror. My kindness seemed to frighten them more than my anger would have.
Louis led me toward the Great Hall. The interior of the castle was a display of obscene wealth—lavish tapestries, gold-leafed furniture, and marble floors that shone like glass. My dream as a child had been to be a princess, but as a thirty-three-year-old accountant, all I saw was a massive budgetary mismanagement and a looming revolution.
Am I a savior? I wondered. Is that why I'm here?
"I need to behave like a princess first," I muttered to myself. "Information. I need information."
Louis was visibly sweating now, his breath hitching as we approached a set of massive steel-bound doors. Behind those doors sat the King and Queen. My "parents."
The guards heaved the doors open, and the throne room was revealed.
It was a cavernous space, filled with nobles dressed in silks and jewels. At the far end, on two elevated thrones, sat the rulers of Aushtage. The King, Onfroi, was a disappointment to look at. He was short, with a round, bloated body and a face that suggested he lacked the backbone to lead a parade, let alone a kingdom.
Beside him sat the Queen, Isabeau. She was a different story altogether. She was hauntingly beautiful, with the same silver-white hair as mine and a face that looked like it had been carved from cold marble. She was the picture of regal authority.
The room went silent as we entered. Every eye in the hall was on me—sharp, judging, and cold. Louis walked me to the centre of the room, then dropped to one knee, his head bowed low.
"Your Royal Majesties," Louis's voice echoed in the silence. "Her Highness, the Princess Caroline, has arrived."
As one, the guards, the maids, and the nobles bowed. The sound of shifting fabric filled the room. I watched as King Onfroi stood up from his chair. He didn't look relieved. He didn't look happy. He looked... annoyed.
I opened my mouth to speak, to offer some kind of greeting, but the words never came.
A sudden, violent surge of black force slammed into the room. It felt like a physical wall of shadow, hitting me directly in the face with the force of a freight train. The world shattered into a thousand pieces, and as the darkness rushed in to claim me, the last thing I saw was the cold, unmoving expression of the Queen.