Chapter 1
Dust choked my lungs as I cleaned my grandmother's belongings in the basement. My arms ached, my throat burned—it was exhausting.
This manor had to be cleaned immediately. It would soon be sold. But I wasn't just cleaning. I was searching. My mother once mentioned an antique painting when I was a kid. What if it's worth millions? I couldn't let that opportunity slip away. Yet, staring at the massive basement, I realized—it might take a month to finish.
I stumbled upon a few antique vases, worth maybe a hundred grand. Not enough. Not enough to pay my debt—or rather, my father's debt. I huffed in frustration.
The lights flickered, useless. I opened a small window above the basement. At last… real air.
That's when I saw it.
A small arched door.
It hadn't been there earlier—I was sure of it. Fixed to the wall, sturdy, with intricate carvings that looked ancient. I traced the patterns with my hand.
"What's this? A door for a cat?" I laughed to myself. Funny. I grabbed the knob.
Bronze. Old. Did grandma hide valuables here? My mouth watered at the thought. I twisted, pulled, even smashed it with a hammer. Nothing. The hammer snapped in half.
"Why won't you open? You don't even have a keyhole!" I cried.
I had tried all of grandma's keys earlier. Useless there is no keyhole.
Without thinking, I clenched my fist and knocked—three times.
The door groaned. Dust fell away. The handle shimmered, turning into gold. My eyes widened.
And then—I saw inside.
Gold coins. Bars. Spoons. Scattered everywhere. I bit one. Real. This is heaven. I laughed like a madwoman.
"Hehehe!"
The room wasn't small. A blue, circular crystal glowed mysteriously in the center. Old books lined the corners. I crawled back out, grabbed a sling bag, and returned to fill it.
I wasn't selling this house anymore.
My eyes fixed on a golden staff. Heavy, but the weight gave me pleasure. I stuffed it in my bag, humming, "Shiny, shiny…"
Then I froze.
On the wall was a poster—a picture of a manor house. The same as my grandmother's. Flowers bloomed across it, alive and vibrant. I stepped closer.
Two steps away—
SLAM!
The arched door shut behind me.
The crystal's glow turned blood-red.
Fear gripped me. My heart pounded.
This was no treasure room.
This was a trap.
"No! I'm trapped!!!"
But then—the door creaked open again. I hurriedly crawled out, clutching the books I had grabbed. These might look good on display in my apartment, I thought, trying to calm my nerves.
Yet something was wrong. The basement looked different. Wooden crates filled with vegetables were stacked neatly. I glanced at the window.
And then I froze.
A massive shadow glided across the heavens. A dragon.
A voice even deepen my fear
"My lady, what are you doing here?"
I spun around. My clothes had changed—heavy, tight, suffocating. A dress. The small arched door was gone. Panic surged. I pretended to collapse, hoping to escape this nightmare.
Voices surrounded me. Someone lifted me up. His scent was strange—like gold.
I forced myself to stay still, pretending to be unconscious.
When I opened my eyes again, I realized the truth.
I was the second daughter of the Roosevelt House. Counts of the Eastern Marches. a powerful noble family trusted to guard the eastern borders — likely strong in politics, military, and influence
I had been here for three days straight, and now a butler was leading me away. An Audience with My New Father, Count Roosevelt
This world was different. Rich. Every corner of the Manor house glittered with touches of gold. But there was a catch. I was portrayed as a fragile lady who vomited blood.
"Are you with me? I'm asking why you're in the food storage. You know you're in a fragile state, Aislinn."his voice was soft but authoritive
I didn't utter a word. My eyes only lingered on the desserts laid out on the table.
"But your complexion isn't pale as before. Don't rush. Ask me what you want."
Silence was my solely answer I don't know what to say, should I say I'm not her real daughter, That i was from the other world? I'm going crazy!
"Are you still not remembering anything, Aislinn?" His voice was soft, as if I were glass that might shatter. How did he know my excuse, did the Head maid said it or the physician who checked me.
I stayed silent. After a while, he dismissed me. I didn't know what to say.
My hands got sweaty but i still being bold, I asked the maid to bring all the desserts from the drawing room to my chamber. I devoured them like a madwoman. So delicious. Yummy!
"My lady, you're really hungry. I'll ask the cook to bring more."
This was heaven. I had never tasted food like this in my world. Should I even go back? I didn't know how can go back.
After a while, my stomach felt heavy. I lay back, to soft mattress.
And some later decided to explore the mansion every details was really same as my grandmother mansion. But the features and paint was opposite from haunted to luxury vibes, I stopped when I saw a group of maids.
"Lady Aislinn is looking better," one maid said enthusiastically.
"Yes, I'll serve her as always," another replied dreamily. But deep inside, she only wanted to wear the new limited dresses I hated—too heavy, too suffocating.
"Come to think of it, if her health was improving, her stepsister and mother would be kicked out?—since she's the true blood of Roosevelt," other maid whispered. The others nodded in agreement.
I remembered how other maid treats. Some maids ignores me, their loyalty elsewhere. Perhaps they followed orders from my stepmother or eldest stepsister. I heard my stepmother on abroad, One mentioned that my elder sister, Rosetti Roosevelt, was studying at the prestigious Mavka Academy, a boarding school on the continent.
Rosetti's name alone made the maids lower their voices. She was known for her striking beauty—long pink hair that shimmered like silk, eyes sharp as emeralds, and a presence that commanded attention in any room. Her elegance was matched only by her ambition.
But what truly set Rosetti apart was her mana power. Unlike me, who was seen as fragile and sickly, Rosetti was blessed with immense magical talent. Mana was normally inherited by noble bloodlines, a gift passed down through generations. Yet, in rare cases, commoners were blessed by the goddess Refrin, chosen to wield magic despite their humble origins.
Rosetti's pink hair was more than beauty—it was a symbol. Nobles whispered that such a rare color was a divine mark, proof that Refrin herself had smiled upon her. To the academy and the capital, it meant Rosetti was destined for greatness.
At Mavka Academy, she had already built a reputation as a prodigy. She excelled in politics, literature, and sorcery, admired by nobles and feared by rivals. Even from afar, her influence reached the Roosevelt estate. Servants whispered that she could sway decisions in the capital, and that her charm made her both adored and dangerous.
To them, Rosetti was the jewel of the Roosevelt House. Compared to her, I was fragile, sickly, and forgotten. Yet deep inside, I carried the same blood—the true blood of Roosevelt.
After that encounter, I stopped wandering through the manor. Hearing the maids compare me to Rosetti gave me a feeling I couldn't explain. Was the original Aislinn of this world truly so alone? Where was she now?
I sat at a table with a mirror before me. I didn't even know what to call this place—it was inside my own room, yet it felt more like an apartment than a chamber. Spacious, furnished, complete with ornaments and a sitting area. The only thing missing was a kitchen. This part of the manor had been renovated, and strangely, it resembled something from my real world.
Leaning closer to the mirror, I examined myself. The reflection looked like me at sixteen years old, but different. My eyes were a deep, vivid blue. My hair shimmered lavender under the light. My face glowed, plump and flawless, as if I had undergone skincare treatments every day. My lashes were long, my nose and jaw perfectly shaped. Was I ever this beautiful when I was younger? Sixteen and radiant—.
I sprawled across the soft mattress, arms spread wide, mumbling to myself. I'm still lost. The only thing I know is that this world has different races.
The head maid had mentioned a crisis in a neighboring country—a war between werewolves and vampires. She reassured me it wouldn't last long. It always happens, she said. But the thought shook me. Human wolves? Vampires? My head spun at the idea that such beings truly existed here.
Morning came, and I was told I had classes. I sat alone in the vast study hall, its walls lined with shelves of ancient tomes. The air smelled faintly of parchment and ink. I sighed, slumping in my chair. Why do I have to study? HUHUHU…
Still, curiosity gnawed at me. I opened one of the books and began to read.
Magic here was not a rarity—it was woven into the fabric of life. Every noble house carried mana in their bloodline, inherited like a sacred gift. Commoners, however, were usually powerless, unless chosen by the goddess Refrin, who occasionally blessed them with mana as a divine miracle.
The text compared two paths of magic: sorcerers and alchemists.
- Sorcerers were born with mana flowing through their veins. They shaped spells directly from their inner energy, bending elements, weaving illusions, or summoning fire with a mere gesture. Their strength depended on their bloodline and their bond with mana. Sorcerers were feared in battle, admired in courts, and often became advisors to kings.
- Alchemists, on the other hand, were scholars of transformation. They did not rely solely on inherited mana but on knowledge, formulas, and materials. Through runes, potions, and transmutation circles, they could turn iron into steel, heal wounds with elixirs, or craft weapons infused with magical properties. Alchemists were respected for their intellect, though nobles often dismissed them as "lesser" compared to sorcerers.
The book noted that while sorcerers wielded raw power, alchemists offered stability. Sorcerers could burn cities, but alchemists could rebuild them. Sorcerers were fire, alchemists were stone.
I leaned back, my mind spinning. So Rosetti is a sorcerer… and I? What am I?
Another passage caught my eye. Dragons, it said, shared emotional bonds with their riders. Once chosen, the bond was eternal, a fate sealed by mana itself. Elves, meanwhile, were guardians of faeries, unicorns, and phoenixes, living in harmony with creatures most humans considered myths.
I closed the book, my heart pounding. This world was vast, filled with wonders and dangers. And I was trapped inside it.
I was rummaging through the books when I noticed something strange— Thank goodness the letters in this world as same language as my real world, or I would have been completely lost.
My attention shifted to a piece of paper clipped inside one of the books. It was old, fragile, and stained with dried blood. My heart raced as I unfolded it. The handwriting looked exactly like mine.
My dearest diary,
I heard my mother left this world in pain,
an accident's cruel, merciless chain.
My father lived—by fate, by fragile thread,
while she became a name the wind has said.
Each day I kneel to goddess Refrin's light,
I thank her hands for saving him from night.
Yet in my prayers, one question will not sway—
why take my mother… and let him stay?
The letter ended abruptly.
I froze. This was Aislinn's diary. She had written these words herself. I had to find the diary of her, to understand who she truly was.
A pang of sorrow struck me. She was only eight when her mother passed away—the same age I had been when I lost mine both. We carried the same name, but we were opposites. She was fragile, pitied, and surrounded by wealth. However i was hardened, a bully in my own world, broke and desperate.
Is this… a parallel world? I thought, clutching the stained paper.
I sat in silence, still dazed, when a knock echoed at door. My tutor had arrived.
He introduced himself with a calm smile. He was handsome—too handsome, in fact. His presence carried authority, yet his voice was gentle. "My name is Apollo," he said.
Apollo began to discuss topics deeper than anything I had imagined from the books I'd read. He spoke of the seven races that shaped this world.
"First, humans," he explained.
"Among us, some are ordinary, while others are born as elementals—humans who command fire, water, earth, or wind by nature."
I swallowed hard, listening closely.
"Second are the elves," Apollo continued, his tone reverent. "They are guardians of forests and faeries, wise and long-lived, protectors of unicorns and phoenixes."
"Third, the vampires. Fourth, the wolves. Their feud has lasted for centuries, and even now, their hatred spills across borders."
My head spun as he spoke.
"Fifth are the kitsune," Apollo said, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"Nine-tailed foxes who can shift into human form, tricksters and mystics feared for their cunning."
"Sixth, the nephilim—fallen angels who walk with cursed yet powerful, their wings stripped but their strength intact."
I gasped softly. Fallen angels?
"And lastly, the warlocks," Apollo finished.
"Humans tainted with cursed magic blood. They are feared even among nobles, for their power is unpredictable and dangerous."
I sat speechless. Each race sounded like something out of a myth, yet here they were, living and warring in this world.
Apollo leaned closer, lowering his voice. "And then… there are dragons."
My heart skipped.
"Dragons are not counted among the seven races," he clarified.
"They are something greater. Not just beasts, but beings who can take human form. Every dragon is fated to bond with a rider, and when they do, their loyalty is eternal. All dragons, in their human guise, are said to be… handsome and beautiful"
I blinked, stunned. Dragons that could turn into men? Handsome ones at that? My curiosity burned brighter than fear.
Apollo smiled faintly, as if amused by my reaction. "You'll learn more in time. For now, remember—knowledge is your weapon.
In this world, ignorance is more dangerous than any curse."