The night was clear, but not kind.
Stars hung above the plains like scattered shards of ice, watching without warmth, without pity. Beneath them, Raven Castle crouched low against the earth, its stone walls dark and scarred, like an old animal that had taken too many wounds and still refused to collapse.
Wind scraped across the land, rolling over the wide fields outside the castle. The wheat swayed gently, brushing against itself in soft whispers, the pale moonlight turning the crop tops silver. From a distance, it almost looked peaceful, like the world had decided to rest for one night.
Almost.
A sharp shout ripped through the calm.
"Ha!"
Steel hissed through the air.
Near the outer wall, in the open training yard, a girl stood alone. She couldn't have been older than twelve. Her body was slim, still growing, but didn't seem strong enough to match the weight she carried.
And yet, both hands were gripping a massive greatsword.
The weapon was ridiculous compared to her. A blade meant for a grown knight, the kind of sword that belonged in war, not in the hands of a child. Even the armor on her looked wrong, heavy iron plates hanging over her frame like a bell.
But the girl didn't complain.
She didn't whine.
She didn't throw the sword aside in frustration like most kids would have.
Her purple eyes stayed locked forward, sharp and calm, as if she were staring down an enemy only she could see.
Her arms trembled.
Her legs shook slightly under the armor.
But she raised the sword anyway.
Slowly.
Pain crawled through her muscles like fire ants, biting and digging deeper with every inch the blade climbed. her teeth clenched, jaw tight, breath harsh and steady.
Then the sword came down.
The blade tore through the air with a heavy whistle, the force dragging her entire body with it.
"Ha!"
Her boots dug into the dirt to stop herself from stumbling.
She lifted it again.
And swung again.
"Ha!"
Sweat slid down her forehead and ran into her eyes. her black hair clung to her face, damp strands sticking to her cheeks and neck. her chest rose and fell like a bellows, pulling in cold night air and spitting it out hot.
Still, she didn't stop.
Swing after swing.
Each movement was slow and brutal, like she was carving the technique into her bones.
The girl was Violet Raven.
And she trained like the night itself owed her something.
A distant sound crept into the field.
Da-da-da…
Hooves.
Violet froze mid-motion.
The sword dipped, the tip sinking into the dirt with a dull thud. She turned her head slightly, eyes narrowing.
From the darkness beyond the wheat, a horse emerged at a steady trot. Its rider sat straight-backed, relaxed, the kind of posture that didn't come from comfort but from habit.
A young woman.
Leather armor, well-kept.
Blond hair tied loosely behind her.
Bright blue eyes that carried confidence like it was part of his blood.
The rider slowed, then swung down from the saddle with an easy landing, as if gravity had no right to make her stumble.
She looked at Violet and grinned. "Still training at night?" She called. "Do you ever sleep?"
Violet stared at her for a moment, then answered in a calm voice. "You're back."
The young woman laughed, walking closer. "That's it? No 'Sister!' No running over? No hugging? What are you, a little old woman?"
Violet didn't react much. She just rested both hands on the sword hilt, steadying herself.
The young woman stopped a few steps away and reached into a pouch tied to the saddle. She pulled out a long bundle wrapped in clean, colored cloth.
Her grin widened. "Alright. Look."
She held it up like it was a treasure. "I brought you something."
Violet's gaze flicked to the bundle. For the first time, something shifted in her eyes. Not excitement exactly, but interest. Controlled interest.
She stepped forward and held out both hands. "Give it to me."
The young woman clicked her tongue. "Say please."
Violet looked up at her. "Please?"
The young woman burst out laughing and dropped the bundle into her hands. "That was way too serious. You say it like you're ordering a soldier."
Violet ignored the teasing and began unwrapping the cloth carefully, taking her time. The knots were tight, the folds neat. Whoever wrapped it had done it with effort.
When the cloth fell away, he saw a dagger.
Violet lifted it slowly, testing the weight.
Her fingers turned it once, then twice.
For a brief second, her expression cracked. her eyes widened just a little, and her breath caught.
"It's…" She murmured.
The young woman watched her, arms crossed proudly.
"Go on."
Violet's voice dropped lower, almost like she didn't want to admit it out loud. "Beautiful."
The young woman's grin turned smug. "I knew it. I told myself you'd like it."
Violet ran a thumb carefully along the spine, not touching the edge. Her movements were steady, respectful, like the dagger was something sacred. "Where did you get this?" Violet asked.
"Fort Brightforge," the young woman replied, leaning back against the horse as if she owned the entire plain. "Some idiot merchant had it sitting on her stall like it was nothing special. She didn't even know what she was selling."
Violet's eyes narrowed at her tone. "This is an expensive one." She knew instantly that this woman was lying.
The young woman pointed at her. "Well, perceptive one, aren't you?"
Violet didn't smile, but her gaze remained on the dagger. "You used your own money again."
The young woman shrugged. "So what? It's not like I'm starving."
Violet lifted her eyes. "You always waste money like you have endless gold."
The young woman scoffed. "We're Ravens. We're not beggars."
Violet's stare didn't change.
The young woman's grin faded slightly, and she scratched the back of her head. "Alright, alright. Fine. We're not rich. But I wanted to get it anyway."
Violet looked back down at the dagger. Her grip tightened around it for a moment, like she was holding onto more than steel.
Then she lowered her head. "Thank you, Sister."
The words were quiet.
Simple.
But Rowena heard the weight behind them, and for a second her expression softened.
The 18-year-old Rowena Raven, the eldest daughter and the future heiress of the Raven Castle, stared at Violet like she wanted to say something else, but the words didn't come easily.
Instead, she forced her usual tone back into place. "You're still weird," Rowena muttered. "A normal kid would've jumped around screaming."
Violet replied without looking up. "I'm happy."
Rowena blinked. "You don't look happy."
Violet finally glanced at her, eyes calm as still water. "That's because my face doesn't change much."
Rowena let out a laugh, but it was shorter than usual. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever."
She pushed herself off the horse and started walking toward the castle gate.
After a few steps, she paused and glanced back over her shoulder.
"Don't overdo it," Rowena warned. "You're still small."
Violet lifted the dagger slightly. "I won't break."
Rowena shook her head, half annoyed, half impressed. "You talk like Father. It's creepy."
Then she walked on, boots crunching on the dirt path until the sound faded into the stone and night.
Meanwhile, Violet stood there, watching the darkness swallow her sister's silhouette.
Only when Rowena was gone did Violet turn back toward the training yard.
Toward the greatsword.
Toward the armor.
The iron plates on her body were still heavy, pressing into her shoulders and ribs, dragging her down like chains. There was only one real suit of iron armor in Raven Castle, passed down like a family relic, repaired again and again whenever it cracked.
During the day, it belonged to Rowena.
At night, when everyone was asleep, Violet wore it.
That was the difference between an heir and the secondborn.
Violet stepped forward, wrapped both hands around the greatsword again, and pulled.
The blade rose slowly.
Her arms screamed.
Her shoulders burned.
Her legs trembled.
But she forced it up anyway.
"Ha!"
The sword came down, and the impact shook her whole body.
She lifted again.
"Ha!"
Again.
"Ha!"
The wheat fields beyond the wall continued to sway, quiet and silver, pretending they weren't listening.
Violet's breath grew rougher.
Sweat ran down her neck and soaked into her collar.
Her hands were numb, but she didn't loosen her grip.
She wasn't swinging a sword.
She was carving strength into herself.
In this world, strength wasn't just muscle. Knights had something else, something hidden inside the body. Something that only came when one pushed past their limits until the pain stopped being pain and became… fuel.
As for a woman knight, it is even more of a difficult task.
Violet's arms shook violently as she raised the blade again.
Her vision blurred at the edges.
She swallowed hard and forced air into her lungs. "Ninety-seven."
She swung.
"Ninety-eight."
She swung.
"Ninety-nine."
The sword dragged through the air, heavy as a mountain.
Her voice came out hoarse.
"One… hundred!"
The final shout cracked like it was torn from her throat.
The greatsword dropped into the dirt with a heavy thud.
Violet's knees gave out.
She fell backward, armor clanging loudly as she hit the ground. The cold earth pressed against her back through the iron plates.
For a long moment, she just lay there, chest heaving, staring up at the stars.
They looked the same as always.
Cold.
Far away.
Unreachable.
Violet blinked slowly.
Then her lips moved.
Her voice was barely louder than the wind. "Which one of you is my home…?"
The question drifted into the night with no answer.
Because Violet Raven wasn't really the secondborn of this House Raven.
A year ago, the real Violet had fallen from a horse.
A year ago, the real Violet had died.
The girl lying in the dirt now carried a different soul.
Her real name had been the same, Violet, but with a different surname: Smith. Her soul didn't belong in this world.