The ring on my finger pulsed faintly, the light rhythmically glowing like a heartbeat. Curse? I closed my eyes and braced myself for the inevitable.

It was a good run.

Ten seconds passed. Then twenty. Nothing happened.

“Uhm, mysterious voice?” I asked, cracking one eye open and glancing around. “What’s supposed to happen?”

Silence. The room was as empty as before, save for the faintly glowing shelves and the dim torchlight casting long shadows.

“This… is not possible!” the voice finally broke the stillness, but it sounded far less composed now. Gone was the regal tone; in its place was disbelief. “There were no princesses left in this world! The last queen was imprisoned, and she still is!”

Ignoring the voice momentarily, I turned to the other closets. As I suspected, none of them reacted to me. Figures. Must’ve been the crown. The enchanted glass protecting them remained unyielding, confirming my theory.

The rest wasn’t for me.

The voice grew louder, tinged with something close to desperation. “Who are you?”

“Oh, you’re not the only one who wants to know,” I replied dryly, rifling through a nearby crate I’d previously ignored. “Do I look like John, an unemployed alcoholic in his forties?”

I sighed as I pulled out handfuls of crumbling parchment and brittle fragments of wood. Worthless. Tossing the debris aside, I moved on to another crate.

“No,” the voice said sharply.

As I picked up the next crate, it rumbled violently in my hands. My instincts kicked in, and I hurled it away. The crate landed with a loud crash, its contents spilling across the floor.

“Well, you see,” I said, dusting off my hands, “apparently I’m Charlie, an elven princess, daughter of Irwen.”

“Preposterous!” the voice roared, filled with fury. “You do not exist!”

I paused, my irritation growing. “Great. Now I’m hearing voices. Is this how I end up in a psychiatric ward?” I muttered under my breath before addressing the disembodied speaker. “Let me guess—you’re the spirit of the prince who created this ring?”

The voice’s tone shifted, now carrying an undercurrent of awe mixed with rage. “Your knowledge of history astounds me, pretender princess. Release me, and you may use the leftovers as you see fit.”

“Leftovers?” I repeated, narrowing my eyes. “Oh, buddy, if you’re calling marvel quality teleporting ring a leftover, you and I are about to have words.”

There was nothing left worth taking. I let out a sigh, shaking my head as disappointment settled in. “Give me a few days,” I said aloud, more to myself than to the voice. “I wasn’t expecting this… boon. There are a few places I wanted to visit anyway. First is… The Cloud Library.”

I glanced around the ruined treasury one last time, the dim light casting long shadows over the broken remnants of its grandeur. Should I poke around more in this dungeon?

No. I’d been lucky to make it this far alive. Time to leave while I still could.

“Pretender, your heart’s desire is not enough,” the prince began again, its tone haughty and condescending. “You must’ve been there…”

I tuned it out, closing my eyes. Of course, I’ve been there.

Ask any NPC about the best library, and they’ll give you one answer—the Cloud Library. Except for the imperial librarians, of course. Ask them, and they’ll start frothing at the mouth about their precious Imperial Library.

Amateurs.

Focusing on the courtyard of the Cloud Library, I let the image settle in my mind. The ring’s magic thrummed faintly, and when I opened my eyes, I was already there. The transition was instant, with no nausea, no strange effects. That’s the power of a legendary artifact for you.

“Pretender! That’s…” the voice stammered, its usual disdain faltering. Even the prince was momentarily at a loss for words.

I was standing in the vast courtyard of the Cloud Library. Six towering spires encircled the courtyard, each stretching over a thousand feet into the sky, their surfaces carved from pure starlight.

Well, I doubt it, but that’s what they tell you.

The towers spiraled elegantly, carved with ancient texts, constellations, and mythical beasts.

Yes, I defeated each and any of them.

The faint hum of magic emanated from them, the air charged with the faintest static, as if the library itself was alive and aware of me. From the courtyard, I could see we were on a floating island which soared high above an endless sea of sunlight-kissed clouds.

“Welcome back,” I whispered to myself. “And prince, not a word until we are gone, if you want to be released one day.”

“Fine,” he responded.

Finding someone to attend to me wasn’t easy. My method of transportation wasn’t exactly standard protocol, so I spent a frustrating amount of time circling the plateau, trying door after door. I found most doors locked or warded, some humming with powerful enchantments.

Finally, I arrived at a small building tucked into the edge of the plateau, its walls certainly not made from starlight.

On the terrace above, an old human man was bent over a yellowed book, scribbling furiously with a quill. He was so engrossed in his work that he didn’t seem to notice my approach.

“Hi! I’m Princess Charlie! Nice to meet you!” I called out cheerfully from below, hoping to grab his attention.

He noticed. By launching an air spell at me.

Years of honing my reflexes saved me from taking a direct hit. My shield materialized instinctively, and when the air bolt connected, the force pushed me several meters back. It didn’t deal any damage—just a harmless push—but the speed and precision told me everything I needed to know.

This old man’s a pro.

“Woah, woah! Old man!” I yelled, holding up my hands to show I wasn’t a threat.

It didn’t matter. He was already tracing runes into the air, his mana flaring as a larger spell began forming. “I’m not the enemy!” I shouted desperately. With a thought, I sent my whip and shield back into my inventory. “See? Not armed now!”

“Demons are always armed,” he retorted, his voice gruff and dripping with suspicion. The magic continued to swirl around his hand, glowing brighter with every second, but he didn’t release the spell. Yet. “State the reason for your presence, spawn!”

Spawn? First pretender, now a demon? What’s next, eldritch horror?

I exhaled, biting back a retort. There is time to be sarcastic later. “Old man, did you fall from that terrace and hit your head? I’m an elven princess, Princess Charlie, requesting help from the library. I just want to copy two spells.”

His gaze locked onto mine, sharp and calculating. The magic in his hand swirled dangerously, crackling with barely contained energy. This spell wasn’t just for show—it had some serious firepower.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“You are not in our records,” the old man said, his tone still steeped in suspicion. The glow of the spell in his hand dimmed as he powered it down. Then, with an impressive flourish, his robes flared, and he flew down to meet me, landing with effortless grace.

Damn. Air magic is so cool.

“Well, that’s probably because I’m kinda new to all this princess stuff,” I said, shrugging. I didn’t have any cool magic to show off—failing to cast Ice Dance in front of him would be too humiliating—so I did the next best thing: leaned awkwardly against the wall, trying not to look as uncomfortable as I felt. “Irwen—apparently my mother—is waking up, and I’m gearing up to face her. That’s why I’m here.”

“Ah, a new princess,” he said, his gaze studying me. Then, with a pause and a tilt of his head, he added, “Wait, no. You always were a princess.”

That caught me off guard. Always? My mind whirled for an explanation. Could it be as straightforward as… because the previous Charlie named their character Princess?

Before I could press him further, he turned briskly and gestured for me to follow. Without so much as an apology for the air spell, he guided me toward the second tower.

“So… you believe me?” I asked, trailing behind him.

“Yes, Princess,” he replied without hesitation. “I have a way of knowing. But to ensure you truly are who you claim to be, we must verify.”

As we approached the entrance to the tower, the heavy wooden doors creaked open on their own, revealing the interior dipped in a faint golden glow. What? I stared at them in disbelief. They were definitely locked when I tried earlier.

Not fair!

He stepped aside, motioning me toward the entrance. “I hope you’re not against a little registration?” he added with a faint smirk, the first hint of amusement cracking through his otherwise harsh demeanor.

Old tomes lined the towering shelves, their spines worn but neatly arranged, while faintly glowing magical lamps cast shifting shadows that danced across the stone walls. The air carried the scent of aged parchment and dust, ancient yet alive.

“Well, no,” I murmured, trailing behind the old man toward a heavy wooden table at the center of the room. “But I’m not… just a princess.”

He didn’t slow or look back. “No? Anything else hardly matters to us,” he said dismissively, reaching for a book so massive it looked like it could crush even Lucas. He grunted as he wrestled it from the shelf, the weight making his robes billow slightly as he pulled it free.

I didn’t offer to help. He’d just tried to blast me, after all.

With a thud that echoed through the chamber, he dropped the colossal tome onto the table, sending a plume of dust into the air. I waved a hand in front of my face, coughing lightly as the particles settled.

“Well… if you say so,” I muttered, biting my lip as I watched him flip open the book. The pages, blank and waiting. “But,” I added, hesitating before continuing, “I think it’s kinda important to know.”

“Know what?” he snapped, his irritation seeping into his tone as he fumbled around for something to write with.

Opening a small closet near the table, he rummaged through the contents with increasing frustration. Scrolls clattered to the floor, and the faint clinking of ink bottles filled the silence.

“Well,” I said, my voice light with forced nonchalance, “I’m also a hero.”

The rummaging stopped abruptly.

He stopped for a moment, then turned slowly to face me, surprise all across his weathered features. “And you didn’t think of leading with that?”

I shrugged, keeping my expression neutral, though my lips twitched upward.

His surprise melted into exasperation. “Of course,” he muttered. “Why mention that earlier?”

And there it is. Irritation was back, full force. How was I supposed to know that?

“So, my name is Princess Charlie, Hero of Ice-Blood,” I said, crossing my arms and tilting my head. “Happy? And while we’re at it, who even are you?”

He finally fished a bottle of ink from the cluttered closet, muttering something under his breath. With a flourish, he opened the massive tome again and began writing my name—full title included—onto one of its blank pages. His quill scratched loudly against the paper, the sound grating in the silence.

“Good. You’re telling the truth,” he said bluntly as he finished the entry. Then, without so much as a pause, he slammed the book shut with a resounding clack that made me flinch. “I’m not important.”

“Not important?” I responded, raising an eyebrow. “Right. You’re the guy who tried to air-blast me into Dergoland, but you’re not important.”

He ignored me, brushing dust from his hands. “Now, what do you want?”

I threw up my hands, annoyed. “Why are you so dismissive of me? I thought this place welcomed everyone.” My tone dripped with sarcasm as I gestured around the room. “Here, where knowledge meets the skies and starlight. Isn’t that your whole deal?”

For the first time, his stern demeanor cracked, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You know the legend,” he said, nodding slightly. “But, Princess, you’ve come at a terrible time.”

He took a step closer, his expression darkening. “Your dear mother cast a spell—an agreement with other realms—that is now tearing our world apart at the seams. Cracks are forming, princess. Reality itself is buckling under the strain.”

I stared at him, my earlier frustration replaced by a creeping sense of dread.

“Why she was allowed to do it is beyond me,” he continued, shaking his head. “But it means we, here at the Tower, have far more pressing matters to attend to.” His voice was steady but edged with weariness.

“So,” he said, spreading his arms in a gesture that was half-dismissive, half-impatient. “State what you need and be gone—however it is you’ve transported yourself here.”

I let out a sigh, already weary of this exchange. “Just let me copy two legendary siege spells—belonging to Eeleim—and I’ll scram faster than an Italian skipping out on a tab.”

The old man studied me, his eyes narrowing as if trying to decide whether I was serious or insane. Finally, he spoke, his tone deliberately slow. “You have the right to it. But these two spells—”

“Are important to me,” I cut him off sharply, tired of playing nice. My patience was thinner than my remaining HP after the last mud-wolf fight. “I could copy up to five, but I’m fine with two. For now.”

Without waiting for his response, I sat down and jabbed a finger at the table. “The book.”

For a moment, he just stood there, his face a mix of amusement and something smug. Then, with a casual wave of his hand, the book shot from the shelves and slammed onto the table with a showy thud, sending a dust cloud straight into my face.

Apparently, it doubles as an ambush weapon. “Hey!” I shot him a glare, brushing the dust off my head. His expression was a picture of innocence, as though he hadn’t just weaponized a library artifact against me.

The book was labeled Eeleim Spell Collection, its title etched in swirling gold letters that seemed to shimmer in the dim light. I flipped through the pages, ignoring the tempting spells designed to turn entire battlefields into chaos. No. Focus, Charlie.

Finally, I reached the section I needed and stopped.

[Do you want to copy (2) siege spells?]

Yes, system.

[Spells copied successfully]

Before I could take another look or bask in my insignificant victory, the old man waved his hand again, and I felt the chair I was sitting on lurch backward. A moment later, I was unceremoniously shoved out the door—still on the chair.

“Hey! Rude!” I yelled, stumbling to my feet. Laughter echoed from inside, but the man himself was nowhere to be seen.

“Well,” I muttered, brushing off my now-dusty dress. “At least I got the spells.”

A moment later, the door creaked open, and he stepped out, looking as serene as a grandfather doting on his grandkids. “Now, Princess, go like the Italians—whoever they are.”

“Glad to see I’m leaving an impression,” I said. He just chuckled as he walked back inside, the door shutting firmly behind him.

“I’m leaving you one star review,” I grumbled, pouting. With a sigh, I turned my attention to the ring’s power. Where to now? I had more charges than expected, and it was time to upgrade my combat abilities. The best place for that… Ah, perfect.

I focused on my next destination, closing my eyes as I pictured it. “Goodbye, stranger,” I muttered, activating the ring.

The temperature plummeted instantly. Freezing air bit through my clothes, a harsh reminder of my lack of ice resistance.

Great, Charlie. Perfect planning, as always.

I opened my eyes, and the first thing I saw was a towering, translucent figure. She stood at least ten meters tall; her form a mix of ethereal, elven grace and human strength. Her semi-transparent body shimmered like ice under moonlight, her features seamless and commanding.

[Sovereign of Ice Lv.25]

Type: 8-mythical | HP: 1056/1056

“Oh.”