AN: Oh hey, it's an SI-OC. I honestly ended up writing this on a whim thanks to me enjoying Fire Emblem: Three Houses and wondering what it'll be like if I toyed around with the setting, so here I am. I can't promise this story will be perfect, nothing ever is, but I'll do my best to avoid the usual SI pitfalls that could instantly make a person click the back button. Keyword being try. I will definitely be having fun with this story though.
Feel free to let me know what you guys think if you gave this story a chance! :D
Chapter One
You know, if someone told me ahead of time that a stray bullet was going to send me straight into the afterlife, I probably would have changed into something better. Not only would I save myself the embarrassment of being remembered as the girl wearing a crappy unicorn t-shirt, I'd also look just a little more dignified in tomorrow's newspaper article.
Not that I was in a hurry to bite the dust, for the record.
No, really. I wasn't. Seriously. Cross my heart and hope to—you get the idea. Heh. But if I had no choice but to die, and that seemed to be the main consensus here, I might as well look presentable while I could, right?
Considering how I was still around to rethink my clothing choices, though… maaaaybe I wasn't quite dead just yet.
Of course, when I said "around," I didn't mean that I've suddenly gone Walking Dead on everyone and kickstarted the zombie apocalypse that no one believed would ever happen. While that would be one for the books, that wasn't really the case here.
(Damn it.)
Instead, I was somehow given another chance at life, and depending on one's perspective, that was either a curse or a blessing.
I'd say it was a bit of both, really.
How many people could say that they've died but managed to start life all over again, after all? Hell, how many people could even claim that they didn't just get reborn, they actually got reborn? That instead of getting sent back to Earth with a clean slate, they ended up somewhere else entirely.
Somewhere magical, yet dangerous.
Somewhere incredible, yet so very alien.
The name's Rune, and somehow, someone decided I was the perfect candidate for reincarnation into this continent called Fódlan.
At least I wasn't wearing that shirt anymore.
Most stories I've read described the reincarnation process as equal parts boring and traumatic. It was boring because you were basically a prisoner in someone's body for nine months—with no visitation rights—and it was traumatic because it was… well… oh God, I can't believe I'm going there.
Let's just say that, in an attempt to keep things PG, there was a fair amount of, uh, fluids involved. The sensory overload after being squeezed through a tight exit could make a person beg to be shoved back into their comfy coffins, and if that wasn't enough, there was also a lot of rage, a lot of confusion, and a hell lot of who's the fucking idiot that decided this is how reincarnation is supposed to happen.
Huh. Maybe that's why I lucked out. Instead of things going "by the book," so to say, my last memory involved a store robbery and a bit of gunfire. As for the miracle of childbirth? Nope, it's all a big blank.
But if someone were to ask me when, oh when, did I realize I wasn't waiting in line for my slice of heaven in the afterlife? I'd answer it happened when I was about a year old, give or take. That was when my tale began, or more specifically, when shit hit the proverbial fan.
And boy, did it hit hard.
See, it wasn't all that apparent that I'd been reborn at first. Unlike most folks who recognized their predicament from the get-go, I didn't catch on that there was a specific reason why I'd woken up as a baby instead of an eighteen-year-old. All I did was accept the situation as it was; I made a noncommittal noise and proceeded to amuse myself by rolling about.
After all, it hadn't been that long since a bullet sent me sprawling. Wasn't it more likely that I'd gotten stuck in a coma and this was the result? A dream?
Maybe I wasn't shot at the back of the head.
Maybe, just maybe, the bullet whizzed past me instead, and I just needed to see this whole thing through before I could return to the world of living.
Death? Reincarnation? Those might as well be fairytales. Whether or not I dig the concept was irrelevant.
But then I fell off my cot.
And you know what? That actually hurt. Like, my-entire-body-was-suddenly-made-of-glass kind of hurt. That small drop (it was barely a feet high!) set every nerve ending on fire. It didn't feel like I snapped an arm or a leg, thank God, but what the hell, dude?
Dreams—since when where those painful?
…
You know what? I quit. Time to cut this strangely realistic dream short. Gritting my nonexistent teeth, I willed myself to wake up, to get out of here and go back to my own reality. No more of this bull, thank ye kindly. Maybe next time.
But then, nothing happened.
Nothing… happened?
Puzzled, I tried again. One moment, two—nope, still no hospital room, or wherever they decided to take my wounded ass. Just the same stone walls and thatched ceiling, plus the blanket wrapping me like a burrito. Which was odd; this worked for me the last time I lucid dreamed. Why wasn't it working now?
Seconds of confusion ticked by. Then, minutes. Maybe even an hour. Yet no matter how long time stretched, I remained lying there on the wooden floor, squirming and waiting for an intervention that never came.
Eventually, I had no choice but to let it sink in.
This wasn't a dream, was it?
The trip to the store, the robbery, and the bullet that struck true—they happened. My being here in the form of a wide-eyed toddler whose sense of agency was stripped entirely—not an accident. And if this was anything like the stories (fanfiction, really) I've read, then that meant…
That meant…
Ah, hell.
Overwhelmed by this discovery and all the implications it brought, I cried. And cried. And cried. Upon hearing me, the woman who practically tore the door open upon thought I was being attacked. She found me on the floor, quickly scooped me up, and after a quick inspection for any scratches or bruises, sighed in relief. She started rocking me, murmuring words of comfort even though each and every one of them was laced with uncertainty.
It wasn't until a few years later that I learned the woman wasn't my mother.
By the time that revelation came 'round, though, orphanhood was the least of my worries.
So… yeah. I died. Kicked the bucket. Crossed the rainbow bridge. Got demoted to corpse. There was no sense in denying it further, and them's the breaks; I was here to stay. It was sink or swim from here on out.
Surprisingly, once the initial shock's come and gone, there wasn't much for me to grieve about. I could think about my family, but then I'd remember how they valued their work ten times more than they valued their only daughter. They had gotten neglect down to an art form.
My friends, on the other hand, would have been worth a few tears over—except that all of them had long since moved away to greener pastures and none of them seemed interested in being pen pals (seenzoned now and forevermore; what a tragedy).
And pets? Well, apart from that stray tabby I occasionally saw on our doorstep, there wasn't really any fuzzy companions to speak off. Too allergic for them. Such was life. Screw the genetic lottery, though.
If I did have to regret one thing, however, it was the fact that I didn't do anything more with my life. All I'd done was drift from one day to the next, taking pleasures in whatever I could because for the life of me, no matter what I did, there just wasn't anything I was interested in enough to pursue.
No ambition. No drive.
But then, who did I need to impress? Certainly not Mama or Papa. Or the teachers at school who kept mentioning my "behavioral problems" in my report card. Friends? Again, what friends? And don't get me started on my darling family relatives who only showed up when they wanted to mooch off my parents.
There was nothing for me there, in other words. But then…
There could be something for me here.
Maybe it was just my death making me reconsider things, but there had to be more to life than just going through the motions until we die, right? What if this was some unknown entity's idea of giving me a second chance so I could find meaning in the things I said or did? To have a better life—to knock people's socks off and have a grand ol' time doing it?
To actually feel like I had a life to live?
It would take a metric ton of work just to get where I wanted to go. That's a given, but it wasn't impossible. Couldn't be impossible.
I had to try.
The little girl staring right at me couldn't possibly be older than four. Pale and in possession of mint green hair that hung in loose curls, her olive eyes held a spark of intelligence that bordered on unnatural. Her cotton blouse was a size too large and hung loosely on her tiny frame, but considering how she lived in a small orphanage where hand-me-downs were a dime a dozen, it was either she wore something or strutted around naked.
That didn't seem like a bad idea, that last one. Mostly because the reactions would be priceless.
She then proceeded to lean close. Too close. At first, it looked as if she was going to share a juicy secret, but then she tucked her hair behind her ear instead.
Her pointy ear.
Eying the attention-grabbing appendage, I mumbled something incomprehensible and straightened myself. My reflection did the same.
Alright. Good news and bad news. The good: congratulations, self, your sanity's still as intact as could be. Everything you saw and felt for the past three years (and counting) hadn't been a figment of your imagination, so keep going, you mentally stable person, you!
The bad, on the other hand: I still looked ridiculous, kids still called me "knife ears" when they saw me, and I still had absolutely no clue what mess, exactly, had I gotten myself into because nothing in my life had indicated I was still living on Earth. Which wasn't exactly a complaint, but still.
I mean, just the other day I'd been leaning on the windowsill and watching the puffy clouds float lazily on the bright blue sky. In one moment, all was well, then suddenly there was a lot of roaring overhead, growing louder with each second—
A bunch of wyverns had come and gone before I could let out a gasp.
Not birds. Not even an airplane. Wyverns—large, bipedal dragons that could be mounted the same way you could a horse. And they were heading south for the winter, or so I was told. An older kid saw the same thing when she'd been outside, hunting some rabbits.
Apart from that, there also this incident last year where the orphanage had nearly been set on fire. A pre-teen boy had wanted to skip the tedious process of lighting up the fireplace by conjuring a ball of fire out of thin air, throwing it at the pile of logs, and then missing his target entirely like the dumbass he was. If it weren't for the stone walls and his piss-poor talent at hand-waggling, scorch marks would be the least of his concerns.
The matron's scoldings that night could make paint peel.
But yeah. Magic. Magic. You didn't even need a wand if you wanted to summon the elements. Just your hands, your iron will, and lots and lots of practice. Which was amazing, considering that the most magical thing I could do on Earth was tie a cherry stem into a knot using my tongue. Boy, that had been the most ragequit-inducing activity I've ever indulged on, let me tell you.
So, taking into account all my unnatural findings, ears included: wherewas this place, and why was everything so… aged?
I shook my head, bringing my thoughts back to the present. That was a good question, alright, but keeping my butt in this room wasn't going to get me the answers I needed. Honestly, this was something I should've gotten over with a long time ago because my being reincarnated meant I'd been self-aware since the day I realized I wasn't dead, but then… ugh. My "formative" years put a new meaning to the word turbulent and there wasn't any room for detective work as a result.
Getting used to a new body and relearning everything that got unlearned, for the record, was not fun. I'll never take bladder control for granted ever again.
Ever.
Thankfully, that was all behind me now. Now, I could walk. I could run, do a bit of reading and writing, and though I still couldn't talk my way out of trouble, I could at least form sentences that everyone wouldn't mistake as gibberish. Something about thoughts being hard to translate into words. Go figure.
Still, intel-gathering was definitely a go.
I gave my reflection on the mirror a nod, turned around, and tiptoed my way of the room.
Huzzah for carpets further dulling the sound of my footsteps; I managed to leave as discreetly as I entered. Technically speaking, this wasn't a room I could enter. Not unless I wanted an earful from the matron (AKA the room's owner) herself.
On the other hand, if the room I shared with the other orphans were furnished just as well as this place was (see: quilted bed, varnished cabinet and bedside table, standing mirror, and curtained windows), maybe I wouldn't be infiltrating areas off-limits to delinquents like myself…
The door was opened and shut with nary a creak, a testament to the room owner's dedication towards maintaining a creak-free door. I emerged into an empty hallway, sighed in relief, and distanced myself from the matron's room until I reached a set of wooden stairs leading downward. My grip on the handrail was tight as I made my slow way towards the landing.
Surprise, surprise, the spacious area designated as the common room was as uninhabited as could be. Not a single kid in sight (not that we're plenty), so chances were, they were taking advantage of Market Day and spending their free time outside until the matron returned with her bags of food, water, medicine, and even first aid supplies.
So, with everyone else busy playing tag, sunbathing, or just breathing in the nice, fresh air, it was child's play to stay away from the group while I did shady things they didn't need to know about. Like looking at myself in the mirror without someone making off-handed comments about my "oddities."
(Wow. That made me realize my earlier attempts at skulking about upstairs was pointless.)
"Okay," I murmured to myself as my eyes swept over the area. "Okay."
The matron's office should be somewhere around here. It wasn't closed—couldn't be closed—shut because its locking mechanism broke, so all I needed to do was search for a broken door that was slightly ajar and… bingo. We're in business.
I looked over my shoulder, confirmed that I was the only living soul within the vicinity (though there was the sound of laughter coming from outside), and slipped inside.
The office was just as organized as I'd imagined. The oak desk in the middle was clean of parchments, with only a fine-looking blue quill and a stoppered ink bottle perched on the surface; the chest on the corner was firmly padlocked (probably because that's where important documents were stored?), and the shelves on the side? They were full of books both thick and thin. Some recognizable, some absolutely not, and some…
Some that I couldn't look away from.
Introduction to Fódlan: A Brief History
It was a standard title for a history book that I could fall asleep to, but there was just something so familiar about the word "Fódlan" that I couldn't put a finger on.
Brows furrowed in puzzlement, I pulled the book out. Thing wasn't even that heavy despite possessing a hardbound cover. A quick skim while sitting on the floor revealed some texts and pictures about the continent and the countries located within it (The Adrestian Empire? The Holy Kingdom of Fhaergus? …The Leicester Alliance?), but instead of feeling relief about unknowns no longer being unknowns, I ended up having more questions than answers.
I snapped the book shut and crossed my arms, letting out a long exhale as I gazed at the bare ceiling.
Fódlan… Fódlan… Where did I hear that word before?
It had to be from my past life. Definitely not a place I've been to before, though, considering how this was A) not a continent on Earth and B) see A.
A fictional place in a novel, then? Hmm… nah. It didn't feel right, unbelievably enough. Obviously not music so that's out, so that left… a video game?
And it all clicked together.
A Nintendo Switch, a game store, and me walking away from one with one hell of a haul in tow. It was all getting clearer and clearer in my head, and yes, shit—now I remembered how I holed up in my room the moment I got home, partly to inspect the stuff I bought and mostly to try out the game that's gotten a lot of people excited about. My Switch hadn't been fully charged at the time so I only got to play for an hour at most, but unfortunately, that was also the day when shit happened and the game I meant to play got put on the back burner.
For that one hour, however, I did get a feel of the game's setting, and the first important thing I learned was the name of the… continent…
I smacked my forehead.
Of all the—a video game. Of course I'd get reincarnated into a video game. One I didn't know the full story of, and one that was… probably going to screw me over if I wasn't careful. Wow, I really won the lottery there. Good job, self.
Making sure I had the book securely gripped, I stood up. Maybe the shock will take effect later, maybe it won't, but right now, getting out of here and going back to my room for an afternoon nap was suddenly not a bad idea. Besides, I was four; I could get away with it. Weren't naps something that growing girls needed? Nap, nap, nap. Ahaha.
…Okay, scratch that. Consider me shocked to the bone.
Unsettled at the direction my mind was taking, I went ahead and shoved the innocent history book back into the shelf.
Or at least, I would have, anyway.
"Rune? What are you doing here?"
The matron had returned without me realizing it, and while she didn't seem like she was one sudden movement away from dragging me out of the office, her wide eyes and slack jaw indicated she hadn't been expecting me to be there, either.
Busted.
Thankfully, my being a four-year-old meant that the excuse of looking for picture books was a perfectly valid one. After a quick word about how some places were off-limits for a special reason, and that I wasn't allowed out of my room for the entire day tomorrow, I was sent on my way to do whatever I wanted for the rest of the day.
My original plan involved going to bed and waking up just in time for dinner. When I entered my room, I had every intention to. I laid down, rolled to my side, and shut my eyes in an attempt to fall asleep.
But then I failed.
And failed again.
Eventually, I gave up with a huff and kept my eyes open instead.
So much for wanting to live my second life to the fullest. I wasn't a quitter, of course, but of all games, why did it had to be Fire Emblem? You know, the game where wars always happened one way or another? I could've been shoved into Animal Crossing instead, for God's sake. That certainly would be less stressful!
I never claimed to be a saint in my past life, but certainly I didn't deserve anything like this. Well. Unless I pissed someone off. Unless this was karma getting its due for the store robbery that was partly my fault.
That's right, buddy. Just keep still, hands where I can see them, and my friend over there won't be blasting your head off. We'll be out of your hair in just a moment.
…
You know what? Fine. Fine. Challenge accepted. I was here to stay whether I liked it or not, wasn't I? If surviving and outliving my past self was the name of the game, then you bet your ass I was going to try my hardest to win. I'll be the one giving lemons here, life, not the other way around.
Watch and be amazed.
Of course, just when decided I was going to roll with the punches and counter them hard, starting with a half-formed idea of learning combat soon as I was able to, everything started going downhill.
But that, folks, was a story for another time.