It all started because I was bored.
That’s it. That’s literally how my downfall began.

I was sitting on my bed, eating leftover fries, trying to find something new on the Play Store because apparently, I’ve played every existing game known to humankind. Then I see this sketchy-looking app called “The Game of Fate.” No reviews. No developer name. Just a single line in the description that says: “please help.”

Red flag? Massive.
Did I ignore it? Obviously.

So I download it. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? Viruses? Ads?
Nope. Dimensional kidnapping.

Next thing I know, I go to the bathroom like a normal person, come back, and—poof—my room is gone. Replaced by a literal palace straight out of a fantasy novel. Fancy marble floors, chandeliers, servants, and me wearing a dress that looks like it costs more than my life savings.

Apparently, my name’s Ariana now, and I’m a princess.
Sounds cool, right? Wrong.

The king won’t stop smiling at me like I’m his precious miracle child. My new sister, Clara, hates me in that “sweet smile, hidden dagger” kind of way. The nobles are allergic to fun. And the food? Okay, I’ll admit, the food slaps.

Anyway, fast-forward to the Witch’s Festival. Everyone’s partying, I’m shoveling food like a feral raccoon, and then—boom—someone gets murdered. The crowd goes nuts. I look up and see this guy with golden hair and ocean-blue eyes just standing there like he didn’t just cause a royal crime scene.

Our eyes meet, and suddenly my brain decides to play a horror movie. I see fire, death, magic—apparently I used to be some tragic witch who died centuries ago? And this guy was the Demon King?

So yeah. Either I’m possessed, dead, or starring in the world’s worst RPG.

I downloaded a game.
Now I’m the main character in a historical soap opera with magic, murder, and zero Wi-Fi.

Send help. Or snacks. Preferably both.

By the time I reach the room, I'm done.


The servants bow and slip out quietly, the door closing behind them with a click that sounds a little too final.


I take one step inside — and the world tilts.


My knees hit the floor first, then my hands. The silky fabric of the dress pools around me like spilled moonlight. My heart's doing drum solos in my chest, and I'm pretty sure I forgot how to breathe somewhere between "Your Highness" and "Princess Ariana."


"Okay…" I whisper to the floor. "Let's review."


I downloaded a weird game called The Game of Fate.


I opened the bathroom door… and now I'm apparently some kidnapped royal with commitment issues and a family drama complex.


I press my palms against the cold marble and let out a shaky laugh. "Maybe this is, like, an ARG. Super realistic VR thing. Yeah. Sure. Except I didn't sign up. And the Wi-Fi sucks."


The developer's name. It was weird — something like "@1823BCE."


My brain replays it, letters turning over like puzzle pieces.


I glance around the room again — the carved wooden furniture, the golden oil lamps, the faint smell of smoke and honey in the air.


No electricity. No screens. No sound of cars, or phones, or anything.


"Wait, wait, wait," I mumble, dragging myself upright. "BCE. As in… Before Common Era. As in… ancient."


I stare out the window. The city beyond the palace stretches out under a dusky orange sky, all stone and torches and distant market sounds.


"Oh my god," I whisper. "I'm in the freaking timeline."


For a long moment, I just sit there, stunned. Then, because my brain can't handle the weight of that sentence, I snort.


"Cool. So I time-traveled because I downloaded a cursed mobile game. Awesome. Love that for me."


I drop back onto the bed, arms spread wide, staring at the ceiling painted with stars that probably don't even exist yet in my real world.


And somewhere far off, maybe deep inside my skull, I swear I can still hear that faint, static voice from the game's page:


I sit up, point dramatically at the air, and say, "Nope. Not my problem."


Then I drop flat onto the bed, yank the covers over my head, and close my eyes.


"If this is a dream, I'll wake up. If it's not, I'll deal with it after eight hours of denial."


My voice muffles under the blanket. "Problem solved."


The sheets are warm, heavy, real. My breathing slows, the world softens—


—and just before sleep takes me, I swear I hear a faint whisper at the edge of my mind.


Chapter 5 - Chapter 5