"MARY!!!"
A woman dressed in formal attire dashed across the expansive palace grounds, her voice echoing through the lush, afternoon air. The backside of the estate sprawled endlessly with trimmed green grass and rows of evenly spaced, modest trees. Her long, blonde hair swayed behind her as she ran, revealing the open-back design of her elegant sleeves. She was desperately searching for her daughter—the same child who was always eager to avoid meals and sneak off into the maze of nature.
…
Deeper in the woods, a young girl danced through the shadows like a phantom. Her polished black shoes with modest heels clicked lightly against the earth, a stark contrast to her white knee-high socks. A crisp white polo shirt tucked into loose black shorts gave her a clean but mischievous look. She swung through the branches like a woodland sprite, laughter ringing like wind chimes through the trees. With practiced ease, she clutched a branch, flipped into the air, and landed deftly on another bough.
Her snow-white hair—soft and flowing like a river of light—swept aside as she turned her head, revealing sparkling cyan eyes alight with mischief. She glanced behind her, looking for signs of pursuit. But the forest was still. A giggle escaped her lips—another successful escape.
Marysville Everleigh Grace—15 years old, the fourth child of House Grace—had once lived a different life. A former adult who died at 35, she was now reborn into the world of Fantasia, a game she had once played. With that knowledge came not only understanding but power. Power she kept secret.
This world, Fantasia, mirrored her old one in strange ways—cars, smartphones, smart TVs—all familiar. But here, superpowers thrived beside technology. Yet behind the wonder, darkness lurked: human experimentation, slavery, and injustice.
As Marysville navigated the tangled forest, her thoughts weren't only on escape. They strayed to a man from the game—a character she'd once adored, perhaps still did. Her steps were drawn forward by obsession, by the desire to see him again in this twisted, pixelated world come to life.
In just a month, she would leave for the capital to begin her studies. Until then, she yearned to explore beyond the estate. But the man who trailed her—her personal guard—never allowed it.
From behind, a man in a black suit emerged, speaking into a phone as he calmly approached her. His face was average—one of those forgettable types—but his dark blue eyes were sharp, unreadable. As he got close, he reached out and swiftly grabbed Marysville's wrist.
"Madam, I've apprehended her," he spoke into the phone, ending the call before slipping it into his pocket.
"That was fast, Reo..." Marysville muttered, already thrashing in protest. She swung fists and kicked at him, but he blocked every blow effortlessly. She twisted on her heel, aiming a sharp kick to his gut—but he caught her foot, lifted her leg, and flipped her upside down.
"We're going home now, Lady Marysville," Reo said calmly, lifting her like she weighed nothing.
Sighing in defeat, Marysville crossed her arms and allowed herself to be carried.
"You know the rules," Reo continued as he walked. "You must remain in the estate until the ceremony. That's the tradition. Only then can you leave."
Marysville glanced up at him.
They always call it "tradition." But she knew the truth. Grace blood was noble blood. Should the royal family fall, the Grace line was next in line to inherit the throne. That made them targets for assassins and criminals. Keeping children confined until 16 wasn't about custom—it was training. And Marysville had learned all of it from the game's lore.
"I just wanted to break the monotony," she muttered. "Ever since my brother left for the academy, it's been boring."
"You're a terrible liar, my lady."
"..."
"From the moment you arrived, you've distanced yourself from your siblings. You avoid them. You ignore them."
"..."
"You spend your time sparring with knights and sneaking into the training fields. And ever since the day you received the God's Stigma, you've gone so far as to ignore your own mother."
The God's Stigma—a divine mark granted to chosen individuals. A power that bonded them to a god and gifted them with part of that deity's strength.
"If I don't train, she'll keep me locked in etiquette classes." Marysville scowled.
"Still no excuse to ignore the woman who gave you life," Reo sighed.
Marysville's gaze sharpened. "Even Father didn't notice the mark. But you did."
Reo met her eyes, his expression unchanged. "You're not very good at pretending, Lady Marysville. Your eye color didn't even shift."
It was true. In the Grace bloodline, emotions could trigger eye color changes—from cyan to a golden hue. It came with a burst of enhanced strength. Only Marysville and the eldest had inherited that trait. But she no longer cared about lineage or titles.
Just as she opened her mouth to speak again, Reo cut in, serious now. "Sometimes, it feels as though you know more about this world than any of us ever could."
"How can you say that?" she said lightly, teasing.
Snow began to fall—unexpected, yet not unusual. Their land often saw early snowfalls, even out of season. Marysville glanced up, then turned back to Reo.
"We should hurry back to the palace before Mother catches a cold."
Reo said nothing, only adjusted his hold on her and continued walking.
When they reached the palace gates, Reo gently lowered her to the ground. There, waiting in front of the doors, was her mother—tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Marys!!" Shelley cried, rushing forward and hugging her daughter tightly.
"This isn't the first time I've run off like this," Marysville murmured, gently stroking her mother's back.
A maid arrived, offering warm coats. The head maid stepped forward.
"Madame Shelley, Miss Marysville, may I suggest we go inside before the cold worsens?"
Marysville nearly said, "I don't catch colds," but stopped herself. Looking at her mother, she softened.
But she does.
"Let's go inside, Mother," she said quietly, voice calm and warm.