I reached the open gate, and nobody was stopping me. As impressive as the wall was, what was beyond it blew my mind. The fort it connected to was a sprawling mixture of sturdy stones and the tiered elegance of a citadel from the far east. Like smashing several building styles together.

I bet that’s what happened. Lucas left them to build whatever.

I couldn’t stop the grin at my lips as I watched the stone walls which bristled with watchtowers, while curving roofs adorned with weird carvings gave the structure a bizarre silhouette.

Wooden beams supported decorative eaves designed in basic tones, contrasting with the stone’s cool gray. There were even narrow courtyards and sloping paths weaving between barracks, stables, and armories.

It was easily larger than the one I’d been stationed at as a sergeant. That fort could host an imperial doan—a brigade—but this?

This looked like it could house an entire division.

Lucas is crazy.

I walked in awe, and took in the air that smelled of freshly hewn wood and damp stone, mixing with the tang of iron from the nearby forge.

Players had turned the area into a bustling marketplace, their voices rising in a chatter of haggling and laughing. Hundreds of them mingled around, selling pelts, herbs, and other loot drops from the nearby leveling zones.

“Yeah, the reason I picked this location. Prime leveling places nearby, pretty central location,” I said out loud, half to myself. The prince, of course, took it as if I were addressing him.

“Not a terrible place. Irwen will torch it, though,” he said.

Ever the optimist, this one.

I ignored him and let my gaze wander over the crowd, observing the activity that filled the makeshift village. Most of them were human, likely refugees from the elven starting villages or migrants seeking safety as rumors of the invading army spread.

Here and there, I spotted familiar faces from my brief visits to villages and even a player who’d tried to sell me the overpriced pelt of my enemies!

I couldn’t help but smile.

Step one: recognize people.

Step two: maybe talk to them someday.

“Impressive, though,” the prince continued, his tone begrudgingly curious as I walked toward my fort. “They built all these houses in how long? A few days? The people from your world are what? Hyperactive builders?”

I giggled, shaking my head as I stepped around a vendor peddling what looked suspiciously like wolf meat labeled as Prime Beast Cuts. “Weird how a few quests can motivate people, eh?”

The prince huffed, clearly unimpressed. “Motivation, perhaps. But will their shoddy craftsmanship withstand what’s coming?”

“Oh, hush,” I muttered, rolling my eyes as the fort’s shadow loomed over me. Whatever doubts I had, I couldn’t deny that the sight of a bustling, thriving community made the looming battle seem a little less daunting.

As I reached the front of the fort, my breath hitched, my heart ached, and before I could stop them, tears welled in my eyes. There it was—a banner so massive it could overshadow even a sovereign height, billowing proudly in the wind. Magic lights illuminated it like a beacon in the dusk. And on it?

My crest.

My snowflake crest.

The detail was flawless, delicate lines of frosty blue inscribed into the background. The sheer size and brilliance of it made my knees weak.

I’d always wanted this. Always. Back on the test servers, I had titles—sure—but they were fleeting. Wiped away every few weeks with the resets, like writing on sand before the tide came in.

But this?

This was permanent. This was mine.

“Yes,” I whispered, my voice breaking as the tears spilled over. I pressed my hands to my mouth, trying to stifle the sobs that came anyway. Everything that had happened today—crazy, chaotic, and exhausting—paled at this feeling.

I made it.

For a fleeting moment, joy consumed me. Pride warmed my chest, swelling until I thought it might burst. But as quickly as it came, an icy fear gripped me, freezing that joy in its tracks. My breath caught again, but this time, it wasn’t from awe.

It was terror.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

This is real.

The thought hit me like a tidal wave. I wasn’t John anymore. I wasn’t the awkward guy hiding behind a glass of whiskey. No.

I was Charlie.

And Charlie wasn’t just an avatar. She was a person—a whole person, with her own life, identity, and story.

My old life? Gone.

I staggered slightly, gripping the edge of the fort for support as the realization tightened its grip. John was… a memory. A phantom. And the person standing here, staring at that snowflake crest with tears in her eyes, wasn’t him.

I’m not me.

The thought paralyzed me. It was too much. Too heavy. The weight of it pressed down on my chest, making it hard to breathe.

I stood there, trembling, as the banner fluttered above me, each snap of the fabric in the wind a reminder of how far I’d come—and how far I’d left behind.

Last week, I was nursing a whiskey and whining to Patrick about my brewing job termination. Fast forward a single week, and here I was, standing before a fortress that bore my banner.

“It’s too much…” I whispered, choking on the words as the sobs broke free.

The prince’s voice snapped through my mind, sharp and suspicious. “Has someone cast a fear spell on you? Who was it? I can’t see them!”

I let out a weak, humorless laugh. “No, nothing like that,” I managed between gulps of air. “I just… realized a few things…”

“Women,” the prince scoffed. “All the same. Overthinking everything. Get over it.”

Woman.

That word struck harder than his dismissal. I stood there, trembling, as the banner rippled and snapped in the wind above me. Its fluttering edges seemed to slice through the last lingering shreds of the man I used to be.

John.

A blurry image of my old self flickered in my mind—hunched over a bar, grumbling about life’s unfairness.

That wasn’t all, though. John had mastered the way of the sword. He’d faced mythical beasts, one-on-one, and triumphed. Slayer of the toughest creatures. The best exploiter in Rimelion. A legend among testers.

But with every snap of the banner, every glimmer of the snowflake crest catching the sunlight, that image faded. Not gone completely, but shifting into the background.

I wasn’t John anymore. I was becoming something else.

Someone else.

A part of John would always remain, whispering in the back of my mind. The taste of whiskey, the memory of exploits, the foundation of who I once was. But that wasn’t my story anymore. And that banner?

It told me so.

And as overwhelming as that was, the realization didn’t bring relief. It didn’t bring joy. It brought a hollow ache in my chest, like mourning a shadow you barely recognize but can’t let go of.

I plopped down onto a log—likely dragged here by one of the industrious players—and let the world quiet around me. The hum of activity in the area faded into the background as I wrestled with my thoughts, chewing on the chaos of the day.

Riker. Insufferable, yes. But also an ally, I admitted begrudgingly. As much as I hated giving him credit, he was the key. If his wild theory about this world being more than just a game held any weight, he might just lead me to the answers I needed.

And Irwen… If my gut was right, she was my mother.

Somehow.

The connection felt like a splinter lodged deep in my brain, impossible to ignore. But how or why? That was a riddle I’d have to solve myself. The looming battle felt like the perfect time to get answers. To prove to her, and to myself, who I really was. Not her daughter. Not who she thinks I am.

But me.

The more I mulled it over, the more plans took shape. Each piece slid into place like a puzzle, aligning perfectly. The swirling mess in my chest stilled, replaced by a growing confidence.

A sense of purpose.

I stood abruptly, brushing off the dust from my dress. “Prince, the first thing we need to do is ensure the battle with Irwen is one where we leave everything on the battlefield,” I said aloud, my voice firm.

The prince scoffed in my mind, but I could feel his amusement. “Spoken like a true royal, despite being a pretender!”

I smirked, the sting of his jab rolling off me like a fifth whiskey. “Pretender or not, you’re stuck with me. So let’s make it count.”

The moment I stepped into the fort’s entrance, I felt a shift in the air—a tension mingled with the clinking sounds of armor and muted chatter. The soldiers inside moved with purpose, attending to tasks that varied from sharpening weapons to huddling over something spread on weathered tables.

The main building immediately caught my eye.

Its weird stone facade and the heavy, iron-clad doors gave off the air of authority. The place someone important—like me, for instance—would hole up in.

Naturally, I made my way there.

Two soldiers flanked the door, casually chatting, their postures relaxed but their eyes alert. As I approached, their conversation tapered off, and I could feel their gazes sweep over me, appraising and skeptical. Before I could reach the door, I was stopped by a woman who stepped in my path.

Her armor was polished to perfection, and on her right breastplate was my crest—a snowflake painted in icy blue and silver. On her left side sat the imperial crest, of course. The sight of my crest hit me like a large tip.

She raised a gauntleted hand, palm out. “Sorry, but nobody outside of the military is allowed inside.”

I couldn’t stop the grin that spread across my face. My soldiers.

“Yes, I’m aware,” I said evenly, though the prince’s amused chuckle in my mind made me hesitant. No messing here, that would be pretender behavior.

So, I went for clarity. “My name is Princess Charlie, and I own this fort. This is my signet ring as proof.” I held out my hand, letting the ring catch the magic light, showing the same crest as on her armor or the banner outside. “Please, let me inside—or fetch someone who can verify.”

The woman’s eyes flicked to the ring, and her expression chilled. Her gaze darted between my face and the ring. Then, with a sharp intake of breath, she cursed under her breath. “Damn!” She reached into a pouch at her side and pulled out a silver coin, tossing it to the second soldier, who caught it mid-air with a satisfied grin.

“You won,” she muttered to him, before turning her attention back to me. “And for you, lady,” she said, her tone annoyed, “pretending to be an imperial noble is a high offense. Be glad I’m feeling generous today, despite losing my bet.”

The prince’s laughter rang out in my mind, smug and thoroughly enjoying my predicament. “Pretender indeed!”

I rolled my eyes internally, my patience fraying as I kept my expression serene. “I assure you,” I said, keeping my voice calm, “I am no pretender. Now, are you going to let me pass, please, or can you call someone who can verify my ring?”

The soldier’s expression turned more irritated for a moment. “You will be punished if...” She glanced again at the ring and let out a sigh. “Wait here,” she said curtly, before turning to her companion and gesturing for him to head inside.

As he moved to fetch someone, I could still hear the prince’s voice in my head, practically cackling. “Pretend, they said. How fitting for the pretender! You might as well embrace the title.”

“Do you ever stop?” I muttered under my breath, but I couldn’t help the faint smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth.