In the night, beneath the restless glow of traffic lights and sleepless buildings, a woman with pony-tailed black hair and dark eyes walked along the crowded street, passing people as though she were a ghost drifting between bodies.
She wore gray, wide-folded pants that swayed lazily with each step and a light-green hoodie zipped halfway, the fabric soft but indifferent. She looked around her mid-twenties, yet her face held no youth — only a blankness so complete it seemed rehearsed.
Car horns blared in uneven rhythm.
Fragments of conversation floated in the air like broken glass.
Streetlights hummed.
step-step-step
Her footsteps were steady, unhurried, disconnected from the world around her.
What am I gonna do now?
The thought didn't carry panic. It carried boredom.
Her family was rich enough that she wouldn't have to work a single day in her life. Wealth stretched endlessly behind her like a safety net woven too tightly to ever tear. No school. No forced smiles. No boot-licking "friends" orbiting her for status.
Even during her school days, exams were nothing more than trivial puzzles. They called her a born genius.
And they weren't wrong.
But being a genius meant the world had no teeth. No tension. No thrill. When everything bends easily, life loses resistance.
Lost in thought, she walked wherever her head happened to turn — as if her body were following a compass that didn't point north, but inward.
"H-hey, get out of the way!"
A voice shouted from behind, sharp and irritated.
She barely blinked.
What is he even talking about? I walk where I want.
Why were people looking at her like that? Why did their faces stretch in alarm, their eyes widening in exaggerated horror?
"Hey, shut u—"
THUD!
A violent flash of white struck from her left — bright, absolute, and gone in less than a millisecond.
The world collapsed into black.
There was no pain.
Only absence.
Time passed.
Her consciousness did not.
I don't feel anything. Where am I? What happened?
A strange realization dawned.
…Right. I got hit by something.
It felt as though her limbs—no, her entire body—were gone. Not numb.
Gone.
GASP!
"W-what was that?" she breathed, the sound echoing strangely in her own ears.
As her mouth moved, she noticed something was wrong.
This was not a place she knew.
It wasn't a hospital.
It wasn't a street.
It wasn't even Earth.
The air felt thinner, heavier, unfamiliar — like standing inside a painting of a world rather than the world itself.
Where is this? Did someone move me here after getting hit?
Confusion tightened around her thoughts like vines.
And then—
A translucent blue panel flickered before her eyes.
[Error! System compatibility: 20%]
[Danger to host detected]
[Proceeding to forcefully adjust the system]
[…]
[Failed!]
[Retrying]
[…]
[Completed!]
[System synchronization 32% completed]
[Warning! Host is in a state of confusion]
What are these?
The glowing interface hovered silently, cold and mechanical.
Staring at the unfamiliar blue screen, she reached a conclusion with unsettling calm.
those systems?
"Why is there an error in 'system compatibility'?" she muttered softly, her voice thin in the strange air.
An answer appeared immediately.
[Error: Mismatch detected between host talent and system configuration]
[Explanation: Continued synchronization under original parameters would have resulted in host soul destabilization. Emergency override was executed. System configuration forcibly altered to align with host specialization. Forced polarity inversion caused internal system damage. Synchronization process was interrupted at 32%.]
[Current system state: partially integrated]
[Operational capacity: restricted]
[Advanced functions unavailable]
"So it can answer me with this panel?"
Her tone was analytical, not afraid.
"So in other words, you and I were incompatible. If synchronization continued, it would've broken my soul. To prevent that, you forcefully adjusted yourself, sacrificing some functions?"
[Correct! Further evolution is impossible]
She stared at the screen.
The system had broken itself to fit her.
Not the other way around.
There was something almost ironic about that.
Getting too distracted by the system, she forgot something important.
I need to find out where I am.
"Uhhh—"
A sharp headache pierced her skull.
Not pain.
Intrusion.
Memories — foreign and overwhelming — poured into her mind like ink into water.
Images.
Voices.
Names.
Palaces.
Politics.
Responsibility.
Her breath trembled.
She looked down.
The hoodie was gone.
In its place — elegant fabric. A dress of unfamiliar make. Her skin was fairer. Slender fingers. Softer features. Even her voice — lighter, refined.
She wasn't herself.
She was someone else.
"Crimvane… Vionette Crimvane."
The name tasted unfamiliar yet intimate.
"Haaah… That was painful. Who thought receiving memories would hurt so bad?"
Her laugh was weak but steady.
"Anyways, system. What is my status?"
The window responded.
[Name: Vionette Crimvane]
[Race: Human]
[Age: 20]
[Affiliation: Princess of Crimvane]
[Titles: ---]
[Essence Fragment: Damaged]
[Synchronization: Stable Sync]
Attributes
• Strength: 30
• Agility: 39
• Endurance: 41
• Mana: 13
• Intelligence: 6
• Authority: ???
• Existence: ???
Skills
[Hyper-calculation (Rare)]
Temporarily accelerates neural processing, allowing the host to think, plan, and react at speeds that make external time feel slowed.
[Mind Fortress (Unique)]
Reinforces the host's mental integrity by several times, nullifying the effects of psychic attacks, illusions, and manipulative influence.
[Thought Communication (Uncommon)]
Enables direct mental transmission of ideas and emotions between allies.
[Sovereign (Unique)]
Grants the host subtle, high-level control over another's thoughts, decisions, or reflexes. Most effective on those with weaker mental defences.Direct contact is neededCooldown: 32h
[Mindrift (Legendary)]
While external time halts, the host's mind flows freely. Though her body is immobile, thought and perception operate unimpeded, allowing strategy and insight beyond the reach of frozen reality.
[A Match Made in Hell (Unique)]
Two souls written within the same forbidden paragraph of fate. Born in different worlds, shaped by different scars, yet aligned by a design that even the heavens cannot ignore. A bond forged not in purity—but in mutual ambition, survival, and shared desire to rise. If trust is given willingly, a pact may be formed at the level of the soul itself.Effect:
– Detect and locate your destined counterpart's soul (pre-pact).
– If one perishes, the other follows.
– Enables long-distance communication and perception.
– Allows compatible skills and abilities to be shared.
–Switch places with each other (Cooldown: 24)
Pacts created: (0/1)
She skimmed through the descriptions, expression unreadable.
"So I don't have any physical skills… only mental ones?"
[Answer: Yes. It is detected that it is because of host's lack of talent for combat]
"Of course," she muttered dryly.
"A Match Made in Hell? …Well, this is surprising."
There was a faint glimmer in her eyes now. Not fear.
Curiosity.
"Activate 'A Match Made in Hell.'"
[A Match Made in Hell: Activated]
A location engraved itself into her consciousness — like a star suddenly lighting up in the darkness of her mind.
Her destined counterpart.
She closed her eyes slowly.
"Let's not rush."
A faint smile curved her lips — subtle, sharp.
"First, let's make preparations."
And so she did.
Not recklessly.
Not romantically.
Carefully.
Like someone setting a chessboard before inviting a rival.
Like preparing a throne before a king arrives.
Like sharpening a blade before gifting it to someone who does not yet know he will wield it.
Like making a cool looking sword and a fitting dress—
Ahem.
Like hiring the best blacksmith available and commissioning a tailor worthy of royalty.
Of course.
Purely practical.
Absolutely.
***
Present — Capital of Eryndor, Veylith
The capital shimmered beneath daylight — towers of white stone rising like frozen waves, banners dancing in warm wind.
Noa and Vionette walked at the front.
Lina clung to Vionette's arm, eyes sparkling as she turned her head in every direction like an excited kitten seeing the world for the first time.
Mara followed behind them, graceful and observant, the knight and Isla trailing quietly — though their expressions betrayed quiet amusement.
"You couldn't use skills at church?" Vionette asked, giving Noa a side glance. He walked beside her with one hand in his pocket, posture lazy but alert.
"Yeah," he replied casually. "But as soon as I blew it up, it came back."
"Well, as I said before, I couldn't use them 4 years ago either until my body came to a somewhat decent state."
The street was crowded — merchants calling out, boots tapping against stone, carriages rolling past. Under normal circumstances, such a conversation would be reckless.
But Isla had quietly constructed a thin magic sound barrier around them — a resonance field that swallowed their words before they could escape.
In this world, three forces shape power: Spirits, Magic, and Skills.
Magic draws from two sources.
The first is Ambient Aether — the raw particles flowing through the world. Skilled mages pull from this current, shaping it briefly before releasing it back. It allows for large-scale spells, but demands precision few possess.
The second is Refined Aether — energy absorbed, purified, and circulated within the body, stored in the Aether Core. It is denser, more obedient, and easier to command, though limited in supply.
Spirits may amplify either form of magic — but that is another matter.
Skills, however, are different.
They are not learned like spells. They are awakened.
Born from will, tempered by effort, and forged through intense emotion, a Skill forms when one's inner Aether resonates strongly enough to reshape itself. What emerges is no longer a spell, but a permanent imprint upon the soul — a Skill.
Anti-magic barriers struggled against skills that required no Aether at all — and yet, somehow, the church had suppressed them.
"They had two artefacts," Vionette said calmly, then tapped Noa on the head with her fist.
"Huh? But I only saw one."
"It's only a speculation. Not a 100% sure answer."
She tilted her face toward the sky as she said it — composed, elegant.
Thud.
Noa bumped her shoulder lightly with his own.
"Covering your butt with fancy words, I see."
"Tch." She pointed a finger at his neck, narrowing her eyes. "You better be ready to pay me back when it becomes the truth!"
Behind them—
"Look at these two, flirting in the middle of the street."
"Princess looks to be enjoying herself."
"What a couple."
Mara, the knight, and Isla spoke with perfectly respectful expressions — while clearly enjoying the spectacle.
As they continued walking, Noa noticed a group entering a teleportation hut.
He pointed.
"I guess teleportation circles here can't get us to Crimvane?"
Without changing her expression, Vionette replied, "It can."
"It can? Then why the hell are we going in a carriage?"
She paused.
The faintest smile curved her lips — not bright, not warm.
Forced.
"…because—"
What's with the pause?
"Because?"
"We will have a lot of work to do when we go there."
She looked at him.
"So enjoy as much as you can."
The smile she gave him was gentle.
Too gentle.
Why is she giving me a fake smile?
And…a lot of work?