So. I died. I think.
Or maybe I didn't die. Maybe I rage-quit reality after drinking myself into oblivion with my bestie last night.
Either way, I woke up to blood. Not aesthetic, ooh gothic vibes, blood. Real blood. Wet. Pungent. Aggressively present.
It was everywhere. On the floor, on the pillars, on the steps of a throne that looked like it had been designed by a villain with unresolved childhood trauma. A massive throne that I was sitting on, wearing a heavy crown, while roughly two hundred beast-people stared at me like bloodshed was taco Tuesday. And then I screamed.
Like full horror-movie-protagonist screamed.
"AAAAAA—WHAT THE ACTUAL—?!"
My voice echoed through the hall. They had ears. Tails. Claws. And extremely gorgeous abs, but this was NOT the moment.
"Is… is she—?"
"Her Majesty is screaming."
"She never screams."
My head buzzed. I couldn't figure out where I was or why. My gaze flicked down toward my hands. Wait. Not my hands. Long fingers. Sharp nails. My clothes were fur and leather and screamed ancient tyrant couture.
When I lifted my gaze, weapons floated midair. Swords, spears and chains hovering as if controlled by an invisible force.
Something told me that force was me.
Then the smell hit again. The floating weapons rattled. A chained man on the floor groaned. His black hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat and blood. His wolf ears flattened. His wrists were chained above him, muscles trembling, but his eyes—his eyes were still sharp and unyielding.
My stomach revolted like a Victorian child discovering sushi.
"She is gagging?" someone murmured in the crowd.
I stood up and stepped forward. And immediately regretted it. Because I stepped into a puddle of blood and wobble-stumbled back like a drunk baby deer.
"No. No, no, no, no, this is not—this is a nightmare. This is one of those stress dreams where your teeth fall out but with murder," I thought.
Another scream escaped as a flood of fragmented memories crashed into my skull. I grabbed my hair, trying to force reality back into alignment.
Someone whispered, "The Queen's Dominion is unstable."
Dominion.
That word felt wrong in my bones.
Then text popped into my vision.
Floating. Glowing. And Extremely unhelpful.
PATCH NOTES — VERSION 0.0.1
USER PROFILE DETECTED
Name: Unknown (Temporary Host ID: CrownBearer_07)
Class: Tyrant Sovereign (Unassigned Alignment)
Age: 23.5 Beast Cycles
CORE STATS:
Authority: 10/10 (MAX) Empathy: 2/10 (LOW) Combat Power: 9/10 (HIGH) Dominion Voice Stability: 2/10 (CRITICAL) Sanity: ??? (UNDEFINED)
NEW FEATURE: Transmigration enabled (Beta).
BUG FIX: Premature Death replaced with throne.
KNOWN ISSUE: User did not consent.
TIP: Pretend you meant to be here.
I stared at it, confused.
I whispered, "System?"
Nothing.
The text blinked once and vanished.
My vision swam. The hall tilted. My knees caved. The floating weapons clattered to the ground as the world went black.
I stirred awake as fragmented memories slammed into me.
Not in scenes. In broken shards.
Chains cutting into skin.
A wolf kneeling without bowing his head.
My voice: cold, precise, ordering pain.
Seven men arranged in a semi-circle.
The word Fang carved into their skin and bone like divine law.
I sucked in a breath and sat up. The royal palace chamber was dimly lit, draped in heavy fabric that smelled faintly of incense and iron.
Where the holy hell am I?
"My Queen," he said. "You are awake. We were concerned."
Queen? Me?
I tilted my head toward an oddly familiar voice. Unfathomably handsome. Silver hair. Fox ears. Hands folded behind his back, posture elegant and composed—like a diplomat who could smile while ordering an execution.
Vaelrix, my brain supplied.
Behind him stood two others.
A hawk-man with gold eyes, sharp cheekbones, and a politician's smile that suggested every word was a calculated weapon. His feathers were trimmed with ceremonial gold, and his tailored coat screamed royal strategist who never loses.
A massive bear-man stood with arms folded, broad enough to block a doorway by existing. His posture was careful, controlled—like someone who disliked politics but refused to be naïve about it. Despite the imposing bulk, his eyes were gentle, observant, and uncomfortably sincere.
But of course, denial has always been my best friend, so I pinched myself really hard.
"Ouch."
So. Not a dream then.
Then the world overlaid with text.
SYSTEM NOTICE: MEMORY ARCHIVE SYNC INITIATED
Progress: 7%
ERROR: Host Consciousness Divergence Detected
Recommended Action: Schedule Full Memory Upload During Sleep Cycle
Reminder: Uploading during REM may cause nightmares, identity fragmentation, or existential collapse.
Tap to Retry Tonight.
Haha. Like an iOS update.
This felt like a game interface. Which made sense. After all, we were celebrating Alara's virtual reality game launch just yesterday, hence the drinking. Alara always said full sensory immersion would rewrite your brain's reality filters…
I didn't realize it would be this realistic though.
That must be it. It's not like I really transmigrated. A subtle pang in my chest suggested otherwise.
System chime: affirmative. A translucent button pulses—Retry Tonight.
"Retry tonight," I murmured.
CONFIRMED.
Next Upload Window: Sleep Cycle.
Good night in advance.
'Wait! No, system—'
The pop-up vanished. So did the translucent screen.
'System… end simulation. End game? Exit!'
Nothing.
This is some kind of immersive VR prank. Alara, you absolute menace, I swear if this is your idea of stress testing..
"System! System!" I shouted, scrambling to my feet. "Okay, haha, very funny."
I stared at the three men—beast-men?—in front of me, unsure if they were cosplayers, actors, or cutting-edge biotech experiments.
"Look. Honestly, I'm impressed. This. You three. Completely had me fooled."
I turned away, pacing, trying to look unimpressed while internally screaming.
"But I'm done. I am not interested in playing games."
The three beastmen exchanged looks.
Vaelrix tilted his head. "My Queen?"
"I understand you must be furious about your dominion faltering in the court today. And you are right to suspect those closest to you. We don't know whether it was dark magic, poisoning, or something as simple as a seizure that caused this. But rest assured, we will prove our loyalty to you. I will personally bring the culprit to you and let you serve justice."
The hawk-man added carefully, "This was not a personal failure, Your Majesty. It is a systemic breach. The Dominion wards failed to detect hostile intent. The clans will exploit this."
A ripple of whispers moved through the palace.
"If Her Majesty has truly weakened, the clans will move by dawn."
I clapped slowly.
"Truly impressive. If I didn't know better, I'd believe every word of that was real."
Vaelrix's smile froze for a fraction of a second—just long enough to be noticed if you were looking for it. His tail flicked once, then stilled, like a man recalculating a chessboard he thought he already controlled.
"Is Your Majesty suspecting treachery," he asked lightly, "or merely testing the loyalty of your court?"
His tone was polite. His eyes were not.
He wasn't afraid.
He was calculating how much I knew.
Huh. That's not—
Pain surged through my body as another wave of fragmented memories surfaced.
Power when I spoke.
Silence when I raised a hand.
Fear when I frowned.
And beneath it—something disturbingly close to satisfaction.
I swallowed.
This body had memories that weren't mine.
And had done things I had not.
And judging by the blood, the chains, and the political vultures circling—
What I had inherited was a crown built to break worlds.
And I wanted no part in wearing it.