I sat alone in my dim room. The afternoon light spilled softly through the curtains, gentle and quiet.
It touched my skin but brought no warmth, as if even the sun avoided me.
On my desk lay a thin, worn book. Its edges were frayed, the cover scratched and faded. It looked ready to fall apart, carrying years of quiet suffering within its pages.
The book itself was ordinary.
But what it held… was not.
My diary.
The only thing that still carried the true voice of the girl who had once lived in this body.
I had found it beneath a loose floorboard, wrapped carefully, as if it were the last thing I had ever tried to protect.
It hadn't been hidden to be safe.
It had been hidden to survive.
I am losing the memories I received. Maybe this diary will help me…
My fingers trembled as I lifted it. The pages creaked softly, a sound that felt like something old being forced awake.
Opening it felt less like opening a book… and more like opening a wound.
Cramped handwriting filled every page. Complaints. Tears. Fear. Loneliness.
Ink pressed down so hard it nearly tore through the paper, as if the words had been written while crying.
They hate me.
They ignore me.
Even the maids look down on me.
A few pages later, a line appeared shakier than the rest.
I think even my sister will forget me one day.
My chest tightened.
Among all that despair, one name appeared again and again—a single fragile light.
Sylvaris.
Big Sister Sylvaris stopped them today.
She told the nobles to leave me alone.
I don't know why she helps me… but she is the only one.
If someone had taught me how to fight… maybe I wouldn't be this weak.
I closed the diary slowly, letting my fingers linger over the worn cover.
"So… you were her only light, huh… Princess Sylvaris."
What kind of woman are you?
The diary hadn't revealed secrets.
But it had revealed pain.
And that… was enough.
A soft voice broke the silence.
"Princess Rynvaris… you look troubled."
Moon had stepped closer. Worry etched every line of her face. Her hands twisted together as if she were afraid to touch me.
"Did something happen? Are you hurt?"
I forced a faint smile. Fragile. Shaky. One breath from shattering.
"I've decided something."
Moon stiffened. Her body tensed. I could almost hear her fear.
"What is it?"
"I will become a sword master."
The words left me before doubt could pull them back. And then fear rushed in to fill the silence.
Moon stared at me.
"P-Princess… that's madness."
"Why?"
"Because if you fail, you'll be crushed," she said quietly. "People already want you gone."
"I know."
"Then why—"
"Because staying like this is worse."
I looked down at my hands. Thin. Weak. Hands that had never held anything heavier than a book or a teacup.
"Tell me," I said softly, "who is the strongest swordsman in Orimvess?"
"Elara Nightshade," Moon replied after a pause.
"Sword master of the First Princess."
Even the name carried weight, like a blade being drawn.
"Then I'll learn from him."
Moon's face drained of color.
"Princess… you have no talent. With your status, you don't even have the right to meet him. Even if you knelt, he would never accept you."
"Then who will?"
Moon's voice trembled.
"Not even soldiers would dare. Teaching a fallen princess would ruin their lives."
So not nobles. Not knights. Not even soldiers.
I lifted my head slowly.
"Then there's only one person left."
Moon's eyes widened, dread filling them.
"The First Princess… Sylvaris?"
"She has always protected me."
"Princess…" Moon whispered. "If she gets angry… she might actually kill you."
I closed my eyes.
"I know."
My hands wouldn't stop shaking—not from cold. Not from weakness.
But from the fear of what I was about to do.
"But I'm going anyway."
My voice trembled.
If Sylvaris rejects me… this might really be my end.
"But if I don't move now… I'll disappear without anyone ever remembering me."
"My status is lower than dirt… and that's why I need a sword."
Moon swallowed hard.
---
Hallway of Orimvess Palace
The marble hallway was unusually quiet—
until whispers cut through it like thin blades.
"Did you hear?" one maid said with a crooked smile.
"That useless princess really is useless. No magic talent. No special ability."
Another maid giggled behind her hand.
"She doesn't even have miki. Can you imagine? A royal with nothing inside her."
"Shh—!" the first maid stiffened.
"She's coming. Be quiet."
They mean me.
I walked toward them, Rayvaris Elowen's small, light steps echoing against the marble floor. My posture was straight. My face was calm. A princess's face.
But inside, I was Rayvin.
The second maid didn't even lower her voice.
"So what if she hears us? We're only speaking the truth."
I passed closer to them.
They didn't bow.
They didn't move.
They didn't even look at me like I was royalty.
So this is how this body is seen…
To them, I wasn't a princess.
I wasn't even a person.
Just something beneath notice.
They're just servants, I thought coldly.
Nobodies.
And yet… in this palace, I'm even lower than that.
I kept walking.
My steps didn't slow.
My face didn't change.
"See?" the second maid scoffed behind me.
"I told you. She's useless. She can't do anything to us."
Soft laughter followed.
I didn't turn back.
Not because I was weak.
But because I was watching.
Remembering.
Etching their voices into my mind.
In my past life, I had been a man who knew how cruel people could be.
Now, in this broken royal body, I was learning a new truth:
In Orimvess…
power decided who was human.
And right now—
I had none.
But silence is not surrender.
It is the stillness of something waiting.
---
The villa loomed ahead, black stone and deep blue tiles shimmering under the weak afternoon sun. Cold. Elegant. Intimidating. Every window and shadow seemed to whisper discipline and danger.
Two guards stood at the entrance, arms crossed, faces unreadable. My stomach twisted, but I forced myself forward.
"My sister said I could come anytime," I said, my voice small but determined.
The guards exchanged a glance. Hesitation flickered in their eyes. And then, slowly, they stepped aside. Fear, not rank, had opened the door.
I stepped forward. Each footfall felt impossibly loud against the polished stone floor. My heart pounded, a drum of panic and resolve.
The door opened before me, and the air shifted.
I froze.
Sylvaris stood there, hair loose, chest rising and falling unevenly. There was a tension in her stance, a warning lurking behind her eyes.
A sword flashed. Cold steel pressed against my throat, sharp enough to draw a thin line of fear across my skin.
"What did you see?" Her voice was low, dangerous, almost a whisper of a threat.
"N-Nothing!" I stammered, shrinking back instinctively.
The blade remained steady.
"I… I came to ask you something," I said, forcing my voice past the lump in my throat.
"What?"
"Teach me swordsmanship." The words spilled out faster than I meant.
"No," Sylvaris replied immediately, tone clipped.
"I have no magic. No talent. If I stay like this… I will die in this palace." My voice cracked, a mixture of fear and despair. I stepped closer, even as the blade dug gently into my collarbone.
"Please… just give me a chance."
"Then die weak," Sylvaris said, cold as ice.
I sank to my knees. The polished stone dug into my palms, but I didn't move.
"I don't want to disappear like I never mattered," I whispered, the words trembling in the air between us.
"Get out," she said, but her voice wavered for the briefest moment.
I would wait. I had no choice but to wait.
Hours—or maybe minutes—passed. Time slowed. I was mocked, frozen, humiliated. Every second tested my endurance. Every second my resolve hardened.
Above me, Sylvaris watched. Arms folded, eyes narrowed, yet her gaze lingered on me. Not kindness—not yet—but something dangerously close. Something she couldn't name. Something that unsettled her as much as it intrigued her.
A girl without talent wants to hold a blade… I could almost hear her mutter.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at her lips.
"…Let's see how long this insanity lasts."
Her fingers tightened on the hilt of the sword—just a little—balancing between mercy and cruelty.
I didn't flinch. I didn't move. I waited.
Trapped, exposed, entirely at the mercy of someone far stronger.
And that… was where my true trial began.