The hospital room smelled of antiseptic and quiet panic.
Outside, rain streaked down the tall glass windows, the city lights of the capital blurring into pale gold and white. Inside, the Brightwood family waited; an entire lineage of power gathered in one place, restrained by polished smiles and clenched hands.
The matriarch, Isolde Brightwood, screamed once more.
Then—
a cry.
High. Sharp. Alive.
One baby.
Another cry followed immediately after.
Twins.
For the first time that night, tension cracked. Relief rippled through the room like a held breath finally released. Doctors moved quickly, efficiently, congratulating the family as the newborn girls were briefly shown to their mother before being carried away for cleaning and examination.
Two perfect infants.
Two futures.
No one noticed the doctor who lingered half a second longer than necessary.
Dr. Emil Krauss kept his expression professional, his movements steady, but his pulse hammered violently in his ears. Inside his pocket, his communicator vibrated once, short, sharp, final.
From: Unknown
Content: Do it.
When the room cleared and the nurses turned away, Krauss made his move.
He switched the tags.
It took less than ten seconds.
The younger twin, smaller by a fraction, quieter by instinct, was lifted from her bassinet and placed into a concealed medical carrier. The other baby remained, sleeping peacefully, unaware that her world had just been split in two.
Krauss exited through a side corridor reserved for staff emergencies.
No cameras.
No witnesses.
Only money, fear, and a promise of protection from a family that hated the Brightwoods enough to rot from the inside.
Hours later, he returned with practiced devastation etched onto his face.
"I'm sorry," he told them.
"The younger twin didn't make it."
Isolde's world shattered silently. No scream followed… just a soundless collapse inward, her fingers digging into the sheets as if she could claw back time itself.
To seal the lie, Krauss presented a body.
A stillborn infant from another ward. Swaddled. Unrecognizable.
The Brightwoods mourned.
A grave was prepared.
A name was never given.
And somewhere far beyond the reach of Brightwood power, a baby girl crossed an ocean inside a refrigerated cargo hold, destined to be discarded like spoiled inventory.
But fate—cruel, and amused had other plans.
—
Abandoned children was an issue in multiple parts around the world, North America included.
The streets were loud, violent, and honest in their cruelty. And yet, in the cold hours before dawn, when a private cargo terminal lay nearly empty, a man stopped walking.
He was old even then. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in black so fine it swallowed the light around him.
The Godfather of the Crimson Family looked down at the bundle left behind like trash.
The baby did not cry.
She stared back at him.
Red eyes—no, not red. Dark. Deep. Alert far beyond what an infant should be.
Something in the Godfather stilled.
He had ruled the underworld for decades. He had buried sons, erased enemies, and ordered massacres without flinching. Yet when he reached down and lifted the child, he felt something unfamiliar twist in his chest.
"This one," he murmured, voice low, "was not meant to die."
He named her Aine.
And from that night on, the Crimson Family gained a future queen.
⸻
Twenty-one years later, the world knew her as The Princess.
She stood at 187 centimeters, long-limbed and lethal, her movements smooth and deliberate. Midnight-black hair spilled down her back, framing a face too beautiful to be mistaken for harmless. Her ruby-red eyes missed nothing.
She learned to kill before she learned to love.
Martial arts from every continent. Firearms. Blades. Improvised weapons. Tactical movement. Psychological warfare. The art of ruling fear rather than being ruled by it.
By sixteen, instructors stopped correcting her.
By eighteen, they stopped sparring.
By twenty-one, no one questioned her authority.
In the digital underworld, she was something else entirely.
On HackerNet, the deepest layer of the dark web, a single alias carried a reputation that made corporations panic and governments quietly pay ransoms.
The Princess.
Top five hacker in the world.
Impossible success rate.
No trace left behind.
She never worked for ideals. Only leverage.
So when an unsolicited private message bypassed every filter she had built, her first instinct was irritation.
Her second was curiosity.
Reward: Unknown Artifact
Form: Cube
Condition: Promises strength
Not money.
Interesting.
The job itself was trivial; hack the largest pharmaceutical conglomerate on the planet, expose their corruption, and compete against nine other elite hackers for speed and depth.
Aine finished in thirty-one minutes.
She didn't bother watching the fallout.
When the sender requested a drop location, she chose an abandoned FedEx storage site outside the city. One of thousands the Crimson Family quietly owned.
The next day, she retrieved the package.
Inside was a small black cube. Perfect. Seamless. Wrong in a way she couldn't immediately define.
A note lay beneath it.
Make a light cut. One drop of blood.
If nothing happens, return it.
If something does—congratulations.
Aine didn't hesitate.
She sliced her finger.
Blood fell.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the cube began to glow.
—
The light was blinding.
Not hot. Not painful. Just absolute, filling the car, the air, her vision. Aine reached for her weapon on instinct, but the cube dissolved before her fingers could close.
The light vanished.
The cube was gone.
Silence returned, heavy and expectant.
Aine frowned.
"…Tch."
Then—
Ding!
The sound rang directly inside her mind, crisp and impossibly clear.
Binding successful.
Soul signature confirmed.
Welcome to the Sign-In System, Host.
A translucent interface unfolded before her eyes, silver and sharp, hovering just beyond physical space. Information cascaded smoothly, as if her mind had always been waiting for it.
A female voice followed; light, amused, and entirely too pleased.
"Good morning, Host. Congratulations on not dying.
I'm Sera. I'll be assisting you from now on."
Aine didn't blink.
"A system," she said flatly. "Explain."
Sera did. Efficiently. Thoroughly. Daily sign-ins. Rewards. Talents. Tasks. Probability. Growth.
Power, claimed one day at a time.
Aine absorbed everything without visible reaction. When the explanation ended, she leaned back in her seat, expression unreadable.
"…Interesting."
"I thought you'd say that," Sera replied cheerfully.
"Now then, your first task has been issued."
The interface shifted.
A new panel appeared.
Aine's eyes narrowed.
⸻
[Weekly Quest]
Objective: Save your twin sister's life
Location: China, City A
Time Remaining: 7 Days
⸻
For the first time in years, something cracked through Aine Crimson's perfect composure.
"…Twin?" she repeated softly.
Her grip tightened around the steering wheel.
A memory she never had stirred painfully in her chest, something missing. Something stolen.
Seven days.
China.
A sister.
Aine smiled then, not gently, not kindly.
"Looks like the world finally decided to explain itself."
Outside, the city moved on, unaware that fate had just logged in.
And somewhere far away, a dying girl breathed softly in a white room—
unaware that her shadow had begun to rise.