The sky was clear, but it felt cruel.
Stars scattered above the plains like broken glass, cold and distant, watching everything below without a shred of mercy. Beneath them, Raven Castle sat hunched against the earth, its stone walls scarred and blackened, like an old beast that had survived too many battles to ever look beautiful again.
Wind swept through the fields beyond the outer wall.
Wheat bent and swayed under moonlight, the pale stalks turning silver, whispering softly as if the land itself was asleep. From far away, the scene almost looked peaceful.
Almost.
A sharp shout shattered the stillness.
"Ha!"
Steel hissed.
In the open training yard near the outer wall, a lone figure stood beneath the moon. A girl, no older than twelve, her body slim and still unfinished, the kind of frame that shouldn't have been capable of much more than running and climbing trees.
Yet she held a greatsword.
Not a child's sword.
Not a practice blade.
A real war weapon, massive and heavy, meant for a grown knight's hands. It looked absurd against her small form, like she'd stolen it from a battlefield.
And worse, she wore iron armor.
Full plates. Old, repaired, dented. The kind of armor that didn't belong on a child, and definitely didn't belong in a quiet courtyard at midnight.
But the girl didn't complain.
She didn't curse.
She didn't throw the blade away in frustration like most children would after the first swing.
Her purple eyes stayed forward, sharp and steady, as if she were staring down an invisible enemy.
Her arms trembled.
Her legs shook.
But she raised the sword anyway.
Slowly.
Pain crawled through her muscles like fire, biting deeper with every inch the blade climbed. Her teeth clenched. Her breathing stayed controlled, even as her body screamed.
Then she brought it down.
The sword cut through the air with a heavy whistle, dragging her entire weight with it.
"Ha!"
Her boots dug into the dirt to keep her from falling.
She lifted again.
And swung again.
"Ha!"
Sweat slid down her forehead, stinging her eyes. Black hair clung to her face in damp strands. Her chest rose and fell like a furnace, inhaling the freezing night and exhaling heat.
Still, she didn't stop.
Swing after swing.
Slow. Brutal. Precise.
Like she wasn't practicing.
Like she was carving the motion into her bones.
The girl's name was Violet Raven.
And she trained like the night itself owed her something.
A new sound crept across the fields.
Da-da-da…
Hooves.
Violet froze mid-motion.
The sword dipped, its 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 posture of someone who had ridden through danger so often they'd forgotten what fear felt like.
A young woman.
Leather armor, clean and well-kept.
Blond hair tied loosely behind her head.
Bright blue eyes that carried confidence like it was blood in her veins.
The rider slowed near the yard, then swung down from the saddle with an easy landing, as if gravity itself had no right to challenge her.
She looked at Violet and grinned.
"Still training at night?" she called. "Do you ever sleep?"
Violet stared at her for a moment before answering, calm as ever.
"You're back."
The young woman laughed as she walked closer. "That's it? No 'Sister!' No running over? No hugging?" She tilted her head. "What are you, some little old woman trapped in a child's body?"
Violet didn't respond to the teasing. She rested both hands on the greatsword's 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 cloth.
Her grin widened.
"Alright. Look."
She held it up like it was treasure. "I brought you something."
Violet's gaze flicked to the bundle. For the first time, something shifted in her eyes. Not excitement, not childish joy, but… interest.
Controlled interest.
She stepped forward and held out her hands.
"Give it to me."
The young woman clicked her tongue. "Say please."
Violet looked up at her, expression unchanged.
"…Please."
Rowena burst into laughter and tossed the bundle into her hands. "That was way too serious. You say it like you're commanding a soldier."
Violet ignored her and unwrapped the cloth carefully, undoing each knot as if it mattered.
When the final fold fell away, steel gleamed under the moon.
A dagger.
Not some cheap tool.
The blade was slim and elegant, the craftsmanship refined. The hilt carried faint engravings, almost like the metal had been kissed by an artist instead of hammered by a blacksmith.
Violet lifted it slowly, testing its weight.
She turned it once.
Then twice.
And for the briefest moment, her expression cracked. Her eyes widened slightly. Her breath caught.
"It's…" she murmured.
Rowena crossed her arms proudly. "Go on."
Violet's voice dropped lower, like she didn't want to admit it aloud.
"Beautiful."
Rowena's grin turned smug. "I knew it. I knew you'd like it."
Violet ran her thumb gently along the spine, careful not to touch the edge. The way she held it was almost reverent, like the dagger wasn't a weapon but something sacred.
"Where did you get this?" Violet asked.
"Fort Brightforge," Rowena replied, leaning back against the horse like she owned the whole 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.
"This is expensive."
Rowena pointed at her. "Perceptive little monster, aren't you?"
Violet didn't smile. "You used your own money again."
Rowena shrugged. "So what? It's not like I'm starving."
"You waste money like you have endless gold."
Rowena scoffed. "We're Ravens. We're not beggars."
Violet's stare didn't change.
Rowena's grin faded. She scratched the back of her head, suddenly looking less like a fearless rider and more like a young woman caught red-handed.
"Alright, alright," she muttered. "Fine. We're not rich. But I wanted to buy it anyway."
Violet looked down at the dagger again. Her grip tightened slightly, like she was holding more than steel.
Then she lowered her head.
"Thank you, Sister."
The words were quiet.
Simple.
But they carried weight.
Rowena's expression softened for a second. The eighteen-year-old heir of Raven Castle looked at Violet as if she wanted to say something else, something warmer, something real.
But the words didn't come easily.
So she forced her usual tone back into place.
"You're still weird," Rowena muttered. "A normal kid would've jumped around screaming."
Violet answered 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 turned and started walking toward the castle gate.
After a few steps, she paused and glanced back.
"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 against the dirt path until the sound faded into stone and night.
Violet stood still, watching the darkness swallow her sister's silhouette.
Only when Rowena disappeared did Violet turn back toward the training yard.
Toward the greatsword.
Toward the armor.
The iron plates were still heavy, pressing into her shoulders and ribs like chains. Raven Castle only had one true suit of iron armor, passed down like a relic, repaired again and again whenever it cracked.
During the day, it belonged to Rowena.
At night, when everyone slept, Violet wore it.
That was the difference between an heir and the secondborn.
Violet stepped forward, wrapped both hands around the greatsword, and pulled.
The blade rose.
Slowly.
Her arms screamed.
Her shoulders burned.
Her legs trembled violently beneath the iron weight.
But she forced it up anyway.
"Ha!"
The sword crashed down, the impact shaking her whole body.
She lifted again.
"Ha!"
Again.
"Ha!"
Beyond the wall, the wheat fields continued to sway under moonlight, quiet and silver, pretending they weren't listening.
Violet's breathing grew rougher. Sweat soaked into her collar. Her hands turned numb, but her grip didn't loosen.
She wasn't swinging a sword.
She was carving strength into herself.
In this world, strength wasn't just muscle.
Knights carried something else, something hidden deep inside the body, something that only awakened when you pushed past the point where pain stopped being pain and became fuel.
And for a woman knight…
It was even harder.
Violet's arms shook violently as she raised the blade again. Her vision blurred at the edges, black spots creeping in like shadows.
She swallowed and forced air into her lungs.
"Ninety-seven."
The sword fell.
"Ninety-eight."
Again.
"Ninety-nine."
The blade dragged through the air like a mountain.
Her voice came out hoarse, torn.
"One… hundred!"
The final shout cracked into the night.
The greatsword slammed into the dirt with a heavy thud.
Violet's knees buckled.
She fell backward, armor clanging loudly as she hit the ground. Cold earth pressed against her back through the iron plates.
For a long moment, she didn't move.
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 upward, swallowed by the night.
No answer came.
Because Violet Raven wasn't truly the secondborn daughter of 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 name had been Violet, too.
But her surname had been Smith.
And her soul had never belonged in this world.