By Her Grace – a progressive Isekai Light Novel

And So It Begins

Grace sat quietly in the reception room high in the tower, her gaze drifting absently toward the sunlight that slipped through sheer curtains, casting faint, shimmering patterns onto the polished wooden floor. Elyne was with her, carefully sipping her tea, maintaining the kind of polite silence Grace had gradually grown accustomed to. This was her life now, apparently; tea and dresses, curtsies and careful speech, the never-ending theatrical dialogue of noble politics. She suppressed an internal groan, shifting subtly in her chair.

Tea. They'd really got her drinking tea.

It felt absurdly surreal. Sitting here, playing this medieval princess role, as if she were trapped in the second act of some tedious old stage play. Grace barely stifled a scornful laugh, the thought rising unbidden in her mind; God, how did I end up in the world's dullest period drama?

Her eyes moved absently over the intricate embroidery on her dress, fingers tracing the expensive fabric. It was comfortable, certainly, but so very alien. How had she adapted so quickly to this bizarre new normal? The dresses, the jewels, the tea ceremonies, it all felt simultaneously ridiculous and disturbingly natural. A flash of irritation tugged at her chest. She hadn't planned this, had she?

Or had she? Her brows furrowed slightly, frustration building quietly at the edges of her thoughts. No. No, she hadn't imagined it this way. This wasn't her dream of a new world. This wasn't the fantasy she'd vaguely hoped for, if she'd ever truly hoped for it at all.

And yet, for all the strangeness of her new reality, her past life was becoming harder to recall. It was slipping away, piece by piece, dissolving into a distant, hazy dream. That couldn't be right. No, impossible. She remembered things vividly. She had always possessed a photographic memory, able to recall details others never even noticed. But now, the familiar images of her old room, her old life, felt blurred, indistinct, like memories glimpsed through fog. Why was it so hard to hold them together? Was her past truly fading beneath the weight of this new existence; of magic, madness, and some cruel cosmic joke?

She drew in a deep breath, releasing it slowly. Breathe, Grace, breathe. Don't spiral again, not now. Elyne's already giving you weird looks. She forced her expression back into gentle boredom, half-lidding her eyes as though the morning's events were finally exhausting her. Elyne lifted an eyebrow slightly but said nothing, smiling sympathetically instead. Good. Let her think she was drifting off. It gave Grace the cover she needed to think without being disturbed by the older girl's concerned fussing.

Grace's thoughts spiraled back to Earth, trying to recall details that were increasingly difficult to grasp. She never thought she'd miss something as simple as her phone, the internet, music, even just the idle scrolling through pointless apps. It was maddening, really, how she hadn't valued the effortless ease of communication until it was gone. And something else bothered her now; wasn't the air thicker here on Nyras? Wasn't it heavier, more oppressive? It hadn't seemed so different at first, but now she felt sure it was. She'd never quite felt at ease, as if every breath required just slightly more effort, as if this whole world pressed down upon her like an invisible weight.

She blinked. And then, abruptly, a memory returned, crystalline and vivid, shattering the murkiness around it.

Her arrival.

She remembered that feeling clearly, like drowning, lungs desperate for air, panic clawing at her throat. The sharp disorientation, the sensation of falling, and then the voice. A distorted, warped voice whispering in her ears:

"Ỵ͎o̺̖͝ủ̮'̵̥r͌͜e̴ ň̤̮o͋t ä̺́lͨl̩o͌͜we̥d ț̌o͔͠…̵̗̍"

Grace stiffened slightly, her fingers tightening involuntarily around her untouched teacup. The voice hadn't been speaking to her, she realized suddenly. It hadn't addressed her at all. Instead, it had spoken to the other girl, the older girl, the twisted reflection of herself who'd appeared before her in the space between worlds. The girl with those horrifying, luminous pink eyes. Eyes like shattered mirrors, eyes reflecting madness.

Her chest tightened. Grace swallowed hard. She remembered vividly now: the older Grace, smiling that crooked, terrifying smile. And just as suddenly as she appeared, the older Grace had vanished, consumed by blinding light. And then Grace had seen Liliana—her new mother. She'd assumed at the time it was the same woman who raised her now, but…

No. That wasn't right.

Grace's breath caught sharply, her pulse suddenly racing. That woman had looked like Liliana, had Liliana's eyes and golden hair, but it wasn't her. This woman had seemed younger, colder. A realization flickered into place: that hadn't been Liliana at all. It was someone different, someone she'd confused with her mother until now. Her stomach turned, unsettled, as the truth settled around her. It had never been Liliana. Then who…?

Before Grace could unravel that thought further, something strange occurred.

In the air around her, faintly glowing symbols began to materialize. Symbols etched from golden, shifting lines of light, elegant yet profoundly unsettling. Her eyes widened, alarm surging through her veins as she felt reality subtly warp around her. Her vision blurred slightly, the room around her becoming indistinct and distorted, the shapes stretching and bending unnaturally. The symbols grew brighter, surrounding her gently yet insistently, pressing in as if to guide or restrain her.

Elyne didn't seem to notice at all, still sipping tea calmly, unaware of the impossible display around Grace. Grace wanted to call out, but no sound left her throat. The symbols formed a perfect circle around her, their patterns shifting and locking into place. Suddenly, her awareness shifted sharply, reality blurred, her senses overwhelmed by the divine clarity of the symbols and the radiance that seemed to come from someplace deeper, older, far beyond Nyras.

Then she felt it: a warmth emanating from inside her chest, gentle and comforting at first—until it sharpened into something excruciating. Pain, real and raw, unlike anything she'd ever known. It wasn't dull or numbing; it was a blazing agony, sharp and merciless, slicing through her like a blade. Grace tried desperately to scream, but no sound escaped her lips. Her body was frozen in place, her vision quickly dissolving into a blinding, searing whiteness.

Yet somehow, amidst the pain, the strangest sensation came to her: she could vividly feel her own brain, feel it as though molten gold had begun to pour over it, flowing through the folds and ridges of her mind. Her thoughts were submerged in liquid fire, golden magma seeping through every fiber of consciousness. It wasn't something describable in normal human terms, but that was exactly how it felt, as if her mind were being bathed, submerged, reshaped in blazing, molten gold.

From within this burning crucible came a whisper, faint yet piercing, distorted yet eerily beautiful:

"H̵̡̯͔̬̰͓̜͒̏̍̓̊̀̈̕ͅạ̵̧̛̬͕̻̯͒̈́̀̅̃̍̋͜p̸̻̺̦̞̬͉̦͙̈̓̋̏ͅp̵̧̯̪̥̟̗̦̰̓ŷ̷̢̝͖̇̏͐ ̴̪̞̺̬͓͈͙͆̏̉̋̃B̴̥̘̲͉̳̘͈̃̑̿̿̑͛͘͜͝i̴͍͇̰̝͙̹̹͍̕ͅr̷͕̋̔̄̊͆̕͠t̸̰̹̣̫͓̍͌͊͋̄͂ẖ̸̢̝͖̯̩̜͌̅d̴̨̗̫̞͛̾̉͛́̂̐ă̵̬͖̆̀̍ÿ̴̬́̎͝ ̵̛͎̗̬̥̪̼̙̣̰̒́̈́̑̀͝m̵̦̥̙̯͚̃͐̋̋̔̄̐͆̚ÿ̶̛̪̥͈̳̪́̾̋̇̿̊̕ ̴̨̛̻͚͙̔̄͠͝l̸̲̽͊͛̑̚͠į̷͖̖͇̳̻̩̱͚̌͑̋̂͋͠͝ţ̶͉̻͇̻̙̼̃̃̒̓͋͗͛͝͝t̸̢̪̥̲͓̖̥̙̉́͠l̴͕̰͈͇̖̻̪̱̱̉̆͠e̸̯̙̲̖̺͈̻͌ ̵̗̳̻̺̹̲͖͖̀̒̎͒ͅĢ̵̛͍̝͓͈̟̅͆͌r̷͕͆̄̔a̵̧̫̖̝̟̍͜͝ç̸̩͈̒́ę̸͕̥̆̍̉̆̽…"

At first, she didn't understand through the sheer agony, but then clarity seeped through the pain, unmistakable and gentle. Happy birthday, my little Grace…

"How curious," she managed to think, the irony not lost even amid such torment, just before her mind blanked out entirely.

…

She woke abruptly, still seated neatly in her chair as if she'd simply nodded off for a brief nap. Her head throbbed dully, a distant ache left in the aftermath. Blinking in confusion, Grace found herself back in the tower room, sunlight spilling warmly across polished wood. She breathed slowly, trying to center herself as her awareness returned.

What in the motherfucking golden bitch of a hell was that? What sort of goddamned cosmic abomination just happened to me? Her thoughts whirled chaotically, anger and confusion twisting into a familiar, comforting mask of sarcasm. She barely noticed Elyne had moved, now standing directly in front of her, beaming like she'd discovered the secrets of the universe.

"Your mother was right!" Elyne exclaimed with a bright, heartfelt smile.

Grace looked up, confusion and unease flickering openly in her gaze before she quickly masked it. "Right? What's going on here?" Her voice felt slightly hoarse, unfamiliar even to herself.

Elyne smiled broadly, practically radiating excitement and pride. "She said you'd awaken your Light mana today, your real heritage!"

Grace froze, a chill sliding down her spine. "Wait—awaken what?"

Elyne, too enraptured by her own joy, hardly registered Grace's hesitation. "The mana of Iras, Grace. Light mana!" she replied, her voice reverent. "Look at you!"

Grace glanced down, eyes widening in shock at the delicate, shimmering gold particles now floating around her fingers. Immediately, she closed her eyes, heart racing, and focused inward. Panic surged through her veins as she probed carefully toward her secondary heart, her Mana Core.

Her stomach twisted. Her previously perfect, condensed core, carefully cultivated into the Third Circle of Void affinity, now appeared shattered. Cracks had split through it, like fine porcelain broken and painstakingly pieced back together. But it wasn't broken, not exactly; it had changed. Where once it had radiated the swirling purple-black of the Void, now rich golden veins threaded through it, merging seamlessly. The two energies swirled around one another, locked in a bizarre, uneasy balance, a shimmering rose-gold light humming ominously inside her chest.

WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON AGAIN? WHY? WHY? WHY?

Grace snapped internally, the walls of her practiced composure fracturing. Why was everything she'd achieved suddenly feeling meaningless? Why was every bit of control she'd worked so meticulously to build slipping from her grasp? Why did it feel as though someone had toyed with her destiny, rewriting her carefully crafted narrative?

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She was Grace. She was supposed to be the one manipulating fate, not the other way around. Anger surged through her, hot and suffocating, mingling violently with a profound sense of loss. She felt tears forming in the corners of her eyes, frustration, anger, betrayal, all of it spilling out at once.

Elyne gently touched her face, whispering soothingly, "Shh, Grace, it's alright." She misunderstood completely, her eyes filled with adoration and joy rather than comprehension. "Nothing bad has happened. You've always carried Light-Mana, Grace. It's your true heritage. Your affinity only switched to Void because of that curse at your birth. Your mother knew you'd awaken your true power, because you, Grace…" Elyne smiled tearfully, her voice fervent with devotion, "you're a descendant of Iras. All true Ashford blood are children of Iras herself."

Grace stared into Elyne's face, her own tears drying instantly as she saw it clearly now: behind Elyne's warm gaze was something far darker, something fanatical. The look was like ice water flooding down her spine, snapping Grace abruptly back into sharp clarity. She steadied herself mentally, repeating silently her internal mantra: "Control isn't never slipping. Control is getting back up every time you do."

And Grace was very good at regaining control.

Oh well, she sighed quietly, letting Elyne mistake her tone for acceptance. Seems I've missed quite a lot about this duchy while I was busy playing toddler.

She forced a gentle smile onto her lips. "Then I suppose I should be grateful Mother didn't wait longer." Her voice was carefully measured, perfectly controlled.

Elyne returned her smile—though now Grace saw the gleam in her eyes clearly. It wasn't genuine warmth but something else—an unsettling, near-manic zealotry. "Exactly. We'll need to adjust your magic training from now on. Your mother will want to know you've awakened just as she predicted."

She beamed brightly, unaware of how her expression looked to Grace. "But let's surprise her later, at the banquet. She'll be delighted."

Grace nodded slowly, speaking quietly. "Yes, let's do that." She turned her gaze toward the window once more, fighting to maintain composure, the turmoil inside her masked by practiced serenity.

Inwardly, though, Grace seethed. She was done being toyed with, done being controlled. Her gaze hardened subtly, resolve crystallizing deep inside her once again.

If everyone thought her merely a pawn in their grand game, they were gravely mistaken. They had pushed her again, moved her again. Fine. But no longer would she allow her path to be decided by anyone but herself.

She was Grace, and one way or another, she would tear the strings from every hand trying to guide her fate.

--::--

Liliana remained standing in the great hall, watching the gathered nobles with a soft, polite smile, her features radiant with practiced elegance. Her eyes, however, were sharp, far colder than her outward appearance implied. Her attention returned again to Ronan, the boy she had promised Merick to protect. A surge of disgust rippled quietly beneath her calm exterior as she observed him awkwardly at Selira's side, unable to conceal his discomfort.

She had truly loved Merick, and for him, she'd vowed to nurture his sons. With Alaric and Cedric, it had been effortless, both had embodied the strength and grace of true Ashford blood. Their deaths had left a scar upon her heart, one she could not easily heal. Ronan, though… Ronan was a different story altogether. He was everything an Ashford heir should not be. He lacked discipline, possessed no mana, and above all, displayed loyalty not to his duchy, but to the throne—to that wyrm of a king. Liliana had initially tried to hold her judgment, giving him the chance to show some redeeming quality, but every opportunity she'd offered him had ended in disappointment.

At least his existence had served one purpose, allowing Selira into Ashford's ranks. Selira was young, certainly, yet she carried herself with poise beyond her years. Ambitious, intelligent, and, most importantly, capable. Liliana had watched Selira closely during the sudden marriage ceremony and had seen clearly the burning resentment hidden beneath the girl's poised demeanor. It amused her greatly to see such murderous intent toward Ronan in Selira's eyes.

Perhaps, Liliana thought to herself, a faint smirk curving at the corner of her lips, I should simply wait and watch. It will be interesting to see how long he survives her.

Her mother's favorite lesson echoed clearly in her mind: Humiliate them and see how they deal with it. It was not pleasant advice, but in all her years, Liliana had never known it to fail. True character emerged only in the face of humiliation. Selira had passed this test gracefully. Ronan… well, Ronan was Ronan.

With the ceremony concluded, the elderly priestess of dawn approached Liliana, walking slowly and calmly across the polished stone floor. Her robes were humble, but the symbol of Iras upon her chest held profound significance. Liliana acknowledged her with a slight nod of her head.

"Thank you for your service on such short notice, priestess," Liliana said warmly.

The priestess returned her nod, the faintest smile on her lips. "It was no trouble at all, Lady Liliana. After all, we are not short on time today."

"Then," Liliana's voice softened, yet remained firm, "is everything proceeding as planned?"

The priestess nodded reverently. "The sacrifices have been accepted. Our goddess has answered."

A flicker of satisfaction crossed Liliana's face. It had been centuries, far longer than anyone outside the oldest Ashford bloodlines knew, since the goddess had so directly favored their house. And today, that wait would end.

"So," Liliana said, almost to herself, "the era of calm is finally at its end."

The priestess inclined her head again, her voice a soft murmur of agreement. "Yes, my lady. The signs became clear the moment your daughter was born. She is a true Ashford. After so many generations of waiting, she has come to us."

Liliana's heart swelled slightly with pride. Unknown to most—even the highest nobles of the kingdom—the Ashford line was far more ancient than history recorded. Its true origin stretched beyond Boran of Ashford, beyond petty human kingdoms. Liliana herself carried this knowledge heavily, knowing fully the depth of her bloodline's purpose. Few knew that the "era of calm," as it was called, did not earn its name from an absence of wars or struggles, but because it marked the first and only era with six gods balanced evenly. It had been centuries without direct divine intervention, an era of divine peace and distance.

But now, that peace would shatter. The balance would break. Iras would reclaim what belonged to her, and the world would remember the true power of the divine. Virethorn was but a small kingdom on the grand stage, Ashford a mere duchy, yet here in Valewick—here, at the heart of her dominion—Liliana would ignite a new era.

She met the priestess's eyes calmly, her voice resonating with command. "Prepare everything for Grace."

The priestess bowed deeply. "As you wish, my lady."

Liliana watched as the elderly priestess departed, vanishing silently into the waiting preparations. Alone once more in the hall, Liliana allowed herself a small, genuine smile. Soon, the duchy would rise. Soon, Grace would fully awaken. Soon, the goddess would walk with them.

Yes, everything was going exactly as planned.

--::--

It had been a few weeks now since Elen first awoke her mana core. In the quiet moments after, she'd felt a gentle whisper brushing softly at the edge of her mind. A voice, calm as a gentle breeze rustling leaves, had murmured, 'Be still—you're not alone.' At first, Elen hadn't given it much thought, simply grateful for the warmth and guidance that helped her shape the newfound core pulsing softly in her chest.

Forming a mana core had been the greatest achievement of her life. For the first time, she had the power to truly help her mother. She could stand at Grace's side not as a weak follower, but as a true knight, worthy of protecting her friends. And finally—finally—she could look Clara in the eyes without feeling small.

But those dreams had quickly soured.

Advancing beyond the first circle required discipline, relentless training, and sheer willpower. Condensing mana was exhausting, a brutal cycle of drawing energy into herself and compressing it into her core, forcing the core to expand and contract repeatedly. But Elen persevered, determined to reach the second circle as quickly as possible. Her effort had been rewarded. Grace acknowledged her progress, other knights praised her budding skill, and even her mother's cold gaze had softened with subtle pride.

For a short while, everything had seemed perfect. But it had all changed in the aftermath of the assassination attempt in the bakery.

She'd finally opened herself up to Grace and Clara, confessing emotions she'd carefully hidden away. Her time living with Clara had forged a bond deeper than she'd expected. Clara had shown her kindness, warmth, and friendship in a way she'd never known before. It made the cold distance Grace often showed all the more unsettling.

Even then, she had noticed something off about Grace. At first, she thought perhaps it was simply maturity beyond her years, a wisdom born from noble birth and high expectations. But it went deeper. Sometimes, when Grace thought no one was watching, her careful mask slipped. Elen had seen it clearly—disgust, a twisted superiority, like everyone else was nothing more than insects to be crushed or toys to be played with. Especially Clara.

Elen still vividly remembered that day in Lady Callaire's boutique. The way Grace had approached Leon, whispering something into his ear. His face had turned pale, his eyes hollow and broken, and Grace, her expression in that moment, was almost predatory. Looking back now, it chilled Elen to the bone.

When her mother returned to reclaim her, Elen had almost felt relief. Guilt lingered in her heart, but distance from Clara and Grace allowed her to breathe again. Clara, once the kindest person she'd known, now gazed at Grace with unwavering devotion, like a servant toward her master. Even from afar, it was disturbing, and Elen found herself avoiding them both.

She told herself she just needed space. That she was always a loner, better on her own.

And then, one evening, the whisper returned.

Elen had been deep in meditation, mana swirling around her as she tried to force it into her core, when the calm, gentle presence returned. Lirien, her goddess, whose voice was the breath of nature itself, spoke again.

My child, Elen. You're in great danger. You have to leave.

Elen's concentration shattered instantly. Heart pounding, she tried desperately to communicate back, but the voice faded. The quiet calmness had gone, replaced with anxiety and urgency. Why would a goddess speak directly to her? What danger was coming, and when?

Elen had never liked uncertainty. She had always preferred careful plans, preparation, and knowing what to expect. Now, all she could do was listen, prepare, and wait. Her bags were quickly packed and hidden beneath her bed, ready for a flight she wasn't even sure she'd need to make.

Every time she saw Grace, the feeling intensified. Something inside her, some primal instinct deep within her mana core, urged her to run. The memory of Grace manipulating her mana with void magic still haunted her. The smiling, gentle girl she'd known had vanished, replaced by a frightening stranger with a secret core, hidden strength, and an unsettling gaze.

Elen knew she had lost Clara. Her mother had paid back the Bellgraves, ending Elen's brief stay. Afterward, Elen had tried to warn Clara, begging her to stay away from Grace, but Clara's reaction had been fierce, nearly violent.

"You left me!" Clara had shouted, tears in her eyes. "You abandoned me, and now you want me alone again! Grace is my only friend left. Is that what you want, Elen? For me to be alone?"

Elen tried desperately to explain, but her words fell uselessly. Clara's heart had hardened, and Grace had taken root too deeply for Elen's words to reach her anymore. That night, it was the day before Grace's birthday, Elen sat outside her small home, alone and weeping beneath a sky painted in shades of twilight.

Suddenly, Lirien's voice rang clear, cutting through her despair. Her words were firm, gentle yet full of urgency:

You have to go today, my little child. Tomorrow will be too late. Follow the flowers—I'll guide you.

Elen froze only for a moment, tears drying instantly on her cheeks. This time, she didn't hesitate. She ran into her house, grabbed her carefully prepared bag, and turned back outside. There, illuminated in the fading sunlight, a delicate path of wildflowers bloomed, appearing as if by magic. They stretched out in front of her, guiding her away from the Ashford Estate, toward the ancient forest to the north.

As Elen fled along the path Lirien had laid, the whispers grew clearer. The voice was calming again, gentle as rustling leaves, tender as new blossoms opening to spring's first touch.

Keep running, Elen. Don't look back. You have a different path to walk.

The girl who had once dreamed of glory, friendship, and serving her duchy now ran from everything she had ever known. Yet, as she ran, fear slowly melted into determination, confusion faded into purpose. Each step drew her deeper into the unknown, yet for the first time in weeks, she finally felt something like hope.

Above her, the sky deepened into a velvet darkness pierced with stars. The flowers glowed faintly, guiding her forward. Ahead lay uncertainty, a new beginning, and the quiet assurance of a goddess who promised Elen that she was not alone.