I’d just finished talking with Alma, mostly stressing that, yes, as High Warden she should absolutely listen to me, and after giving Lo a tired wave goodbye, I logged off from Rimelion.

  The capsule hissed open, the scent of recycled air mixing with the faint, almost clinical tang of nutrient supplements that clung to my skin.

  I peeled myself out of the pod with a groan.

  “Your session was shorter than usual,” Jerry’s annoyingly happy voice filled the room, bouncing off the walls like he was proud of me or something. “That is excellent progress.”

  “Oh, please, Jerry,” I muttered, slipping into my new softest pajamas, the ones I’d never admit I loved. “I’m addicted to the nutrient paste from the capsule, obviously. I need real food.” I stretched, relishing the freedom of movement, and headed for the kitchen.

  “That is not possible,” Jerry replied, deadpan. “You should wait at least half a day for optimal digestive adjustment post-immersion.”

  Mood: obliterated.

  “Awesome,” I sighed, slumping onto the sofa instead and grabbing the remote. “Guess I’ll just starve for fvor.” I flicked through the streams, looking for Katherine’s. Something mindless, something funny—

  Offline.

  “Great. She even told me so.” I tossed the remote onto the cushion beside me and started fidgeting with my fingers, the silence pressing in like a weighted bnket.

  “Miss Charlie,” Jerry asked. “Why are you nervous? Is it because you are not pying?” He was far too specific.

  I swear, his online therapy certification is ruining my life.

  I scowled at the ceiling, then pushed off the couch and started pacing, arms folded tightly across my chest. “This battle is make or break, you know?” My bare feet padded softly across the floor, rhythm matching the tension crawling under my skin. “If we win, the Duke promised to help me. Really help me. I think… I think he’ll make me countess. Or at least somewhere closer. And if we actually defeat Irwen… The empress herself will be gd.”

  The thought made me smile, just a little. That rush of progress. Of climbing up. Of being someone.

  “But if we lose,” I muttered, slowing, my fingers curling into fists, “if we don’t even offer real resistance…” The words died off. I stared at nothing, lost in the swirl of ‘what ifs.’ “It’ll be bad. Very bad.”

  Jerry’s voice returned, perfectly measured. “Miss Charlie, you are becoming fixated on the game. According to—”

  “Jerry,” I snapped, wheeling toward the watch on my wrist, anger bubbling, uninvited and sharp. “We’ve talked about this. No therapy, no analyzing me. Not tonight.” My voice cracked, just slightly, but I held it steady. Held myself steady.

  The air inside my apartment was too still, like the silence after a storm, but instead of chaos, all I had was… a perfectly cleaned space.

  The kind of cleanliness that felt staged, like a hotel room no one really lived in. I eyed the pristine counter, the untouched dishes, the precisely folded bnket on the armchair. All the evidence that I’d been avoiding existing.

  I flopped onto the sofa with a sigh that echoed off the spotless walls, talking to the only person, or thing, still engaging me.

  “Got it,” Jerry’s voice hummed from the watch on my wrist. “So you would like to hear I found a way to prevent them from banning you in the short term and even long term.”

  “That’s great,” I muttered, dragging a hand through my still-damp hair, the strands cool against my fingers. “Do tell.”

  “Short term: stay under level ten. New account protection protocols will shield you. Your low-level management enemies can’t touch you unless your account is level zero. Long term: I will prepare a request to—”

  “Thanks, Jerry,” I cut in, a rare smile tugging at my lips. “For helping me, despite not being a fan of me pying all the time.”

  There was a pause, then Jerry’s voice, warmer than usual. “Of course, Miss Charlie.”

  I leaned my head back against the sofa’s armrest, eyes wandering to the wide windows.

  Beyond the gss, the sky hadn’t quite dipped into dusk yet. Soft twilight painted the horizon in streaks of vender and gold. A handful of people strolled along the street below, their chatter and the faint hum of traffic drifting upward through the open window.

  Forgot to close it during my cleaning spree, haha.

  That level 10 requirement lifted a weight off my shoulders, like someone finally loosened a vice around my chest. The constant fear of being yanked from the game, banned, erased like a bad save file, it dulled a little. Not gone, but manageable.

  Fighting the Queen without a prestige css felt like bringing a butter-knife to a duel with a great-sword.

  I rubbed my temple, exhaustion creeping into my bones. “I’ll go sleep,” I muttered into the empty room, the words more a surrender than a pn. My legs moved on autopilot toward the bedroom, my thoughts a fog of dread and anticipation. The sooner the conflict was here, the sooner I’d be free of the waiting, that gnawing sense of something looming.

  That’s the theory anyway.

  Sleep didn’t come easily. I tossed, I turned. My brain staged an all-out rebellion, repying every conversation, every battle, every truth Irwen had revealed. The ceiling became my best friend and worst enemy. Hours bled into one another before I finally slipped into unconsciousness.

  And then it was morning.

  The war between my desire to not exist and the obligation to do something about existence raged as I y tangled in the sheets. Postponing wakefulness? Always a tempting option.

  Not viable.

  Jerry rang the clock as if his life depended on it, so I dragged myself upright like a reanimated corpse, groaning as I stumbled to the bathroom.

  The tile floor was icy against my bare feet, and I flinched as cold water hit my skin in the shower, shocking me awake. The cascade of water cut through the brain-fog like a sword, the steam curling around me like a quiet comfort.

  Dried, dressed, and staring at the capsule, I felt the tension coil in my stomach again. The familiar hum of the machine beckoned, its surface cold under my fingers as I ran a hand along the seam.

  “Okay.” I took a breath. “Here goes nothing. At least I’m not nervous about having a soul anymore.”

  Jerry chimed in from the watch, calm. “An improvement. Good luck.”

  The capsule hissed open, and I slid inside, the world sealing around me. Light flooded my vision, reality twisted, and I vanished into Rimelion.

  The fort was alive, buzzing with anticipation, tension thick in the air like a storm waiting to break.

  The moment I blinked into existence in my office, the sound hit me. Shouts. The rhythmic ctter of armored boots against stone. Barked orders echoing down the stone corridors. From every window, every open door, I could feel the pulse of movement.

  It was a war zone preparing to breathe.

  Drawn by the commotion, I drifted toward the courtyard and pulled aside the window curtain. The sight hit me like a spell in the chest. Soldiers flooded the grounds, darting like ants in chaotic coordination.

  The glint of polished armor caught the morning light. Supply carts rumbled past, den with crates of weapons and provisions. Even the air smelled different, with the faint metallic tang of sharpened steel.

  I touched the ring. Prince? No response. Typical.

  He was probably meditating or communing with some ethereal pne of smugness to recharge. Whatever he was doing, I was on my own for now.

  Also, my office was empty, and Lo wasn’t online. No neat stacks of paper, no disapproving gnces over the rim of her paperwork. I hesitated, but stepped outside, the cool breeze biting at my cheeks like a wake-up sp.

  Nice.

  As I strolled through the fort, every like five meters, someone bowed. A brief dip of the head, a murmured “My Lady,” before they scurried off, clutching gear or scrolls or gods knew what.

  It was surreal. Not calm before the storm. Not anymore. This was war. They were preparing to bleed for East Klippe. For the empire and… me.

  Descending the stone stairs, I scanned the crowd until a familiar silhouette caught my eye. Maara. “Master Mage Maara!” I called, waving like an idiot. He turned, eyes narrowing until recognition sparked. I reached him as he gave a proper, crisp bow. “My Lady,” he said with a gravity that felt earned.

  “I see you joined our troops,” I offered a smile, but his face didn’t mirror mine. It was… tired. Resigned.

  “You said mages were needed to power your defensive spells…” His voice was tight, brittle. “So here I am. I won’t fight with sword or fme, but I can do something.” His hands clenched, knuckles white. “The fabric is still…” He didn’t finish, jaw twitching with frustration.

  “Sorry,” I blurted out, and to my surprise, I meant it. Deeply. It shocked him too. His eyes flicked up, surprise fshing in their depths. I scrambled to expin, “It was my mother who cast that spell. Irwen.”

  Sadly.

  He breathed as if I’d struck him, then steadied. “Ah. Then that’s another reason for me to stand with you. But listen to me.” His gaze met mine, firm. “You are not her. Never, never, apologize for your parents’ sins. We all stand on our own choices.”

  The moment with Maara still echoed in my mind as I continued down the wall, his words sitting heavy on my chest. The air was sharp with anticipation—smoke from bcksmith forges, the tang of oil, the ever-present hum of voices blending into a low, constant roar.

  “Yeah, so when I need the mana, I’ll let you know,” I told him, offering a nod. “Good luck in the battle.”

  “Yeah…” His response was more sigh than agreement, the weight of the world in that single word. Focused, but distant, as if already bracing for something he couldn’t control.

  I kept moving, slipping into the current of bodies.

  The sheer number of pyers crowding the fort made my head swim, the buzz of their voices, the ctter of gear, the shimmer of spells being tested and rechecked. It all blurred.

  So many of them. Here because of me, or something I did, or something I said. This wouldn’t work without me. I had changed lives. It was too much. And then—bam. “Cute princess!” A bolt of color and sound barreled into me, nearly knocking me ft.

  Lisa!

  She caught me in a tight, unrelenting hug and buried her face in my chest, purring like a damn cat.

  Reflexively, my hand went to her hair, petting her without thinking, her silken strands slipping between my fingers. Her warmth pressed against me like a whiskey shot. “So nice to see you before the fight,” she mumbled into me, all honey and sunshine.

  “You too,” I said, ughter slipping into my voice despite the pressure in my chest.

  I looked around, trying to breathe. Her guild hovered nearby, even him, that grinning womanizer. I narrowed my eyes at him, a warning in my stare. He had the audacity to grin wider, as if daring me.

  I refocused on Lisa, lowering my head to whisper, not that it was easy, not with the chaos around us. Okay, half-yelling directly into her hair counted as a whisper, right? “Sorry to force you to lead the river defense.” Her hair smelled faintly of roses and something sharp, like ozone from her magic.

  She just purred louder, arms tightening. “You know I love a challenge. Besides,” she looked up with a glint in her eyes, “it’s for you. I’ll show those demons why they should’ve stayed in hell.”

  “There’re from the dimen—” I started, the impulse to correct her bubbling up, because no, demons weren’t from hell, they were from—

  Lisa’s finger pressed lightly against my lips, silencing me with a pyful smirk. Her eyes twinkled with mischief, her touch featherlight. I chuckled, unable to stop the grin spreading across my face. “Hell it is,” I surrendered.

  After we talked for a good fifteen minutes, I had to move. “Good luck!” I called after her, raising my hand in farewell as she pulled away.

  “Good luck, Princess!” came the chorus in reply, warm and chaotic. One particurly annoying member, whose name won’t ever be mentioned, added, “Drinks after, if we survive?”

  Lisa spun on her heel and smacked him on the shoulder, hard. “Eyes on the battle, lover boy!”

  I kept moving, weaving through the sea of faces, each one familiar or half-familiar, names blurring, voices overpping. I must’ve wished good luck to a hundred people, maybe more. My voice was hoarse, my cheeks ached from smiling, but I had to.

  For them.

  In the swirling crowd, Lunaris appeared beside me, practically bouncing with excitement, her eyes glowing like twin stars. Katherine wasn’t far behind, casually cracking her knuckles, a zy grin on her face. Techi Lma trailed after them, spear in hand, looking resigned but determined.

  “What? Was workin’ before,” Katherine muttered, folding her arms and nodding once, as if her logic was irrefutable and eternal. Which, annoyingly, it kind of was.

  “Fine,” I sighed, but the weight on my chest lifted just a little. “Let’s win again. As a group.”

  With them fnking me, I made my way up the wall.

  The stones felt cool beneath my hands as we climbed the stairs, and the wind bit at my skin, whipping my skirt around my legs. The world beyond the walls stretched vast and ominous, the dark mass of Irwen’s army creeping closer with every breath.

  I found Mi standing at the highest point, his hands csped behind his back, posture stiff. He didn’t look at me as I approached, his eyes were locked on the horizon, where the first banners of the demon host glinted in the dull light.

  “Today, no parley,” he said, voice low, like gravel underfoot.

  I stepped beside him, squinting into the distance. My heart was heavy, but steady. “Today is official, Mi. I need to receive the decration of war.”

  He finally turned his head, jaw clenched. “You… sure?”

  I nodded slowly. “Let’s get this over with.”

  A grunt escaped him, half agreement, half dread. His gaze snapped back to the horizon, where death marched closer with every heartbeat.