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Chapter 7 - Blood on the Page

The candle flickered violently as Kael dipped his quill, but something was wrong — the ink was too thick, too dark.

It smelled... metallic.

His pulse quickened. He peered into the inkwell.

Not ink.

Blood.

Fresh. Still warm.

It hadn't been there moments ago. He hadn't cut himself. He hadn't bled. But the inkwell, now trembling on the edge of the desk, oozed a crimson trail down its side like it had just fed on something alive.

He staggered backward.

The journal, which had been closed a moment earlier, flipped open by itself. Pages fluttered wildly before stopping on a blank sheet. And then, in frantic strokes, words began to write themselves:

"He bleeds the truth until it kills him."

Kael's breath caught.

The words began to burn — not metaphorically, but literally. Letters scorched into the paper like brands, the edges of the page blackening at the corners. And beneath them, more words began to form — not written, but carved, as if etched with a blade:

"Every truth demands a sacrifice."

A drop of blood landed on the journal.

Kael looked down.

His finger.

Cut open — clean, straight, precise.

But he hadn't moved.

Hadn't touched a thing.

His blood was being drawn by something unseen, as though the book demanded it. Feeding on him. Feeding through him.

The candle went out. The library sank into cold silence.

Then — a whisper.

"You wrote me here, Kael. And now you will bleed me out."

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He slammed the book shut and hurled it across the room. It hit the bookshelf — but didn't fall.

It hovered.

Then floated back to the table, gently placing itself down like a patient predator returning to its nest.

Kael stumbled back.

It was no longer just a journal.

It was a living page that bled when wounded… and screamed when read.

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The journal is now drawing Kael's blood as a cost for each truth.

A mysterious voice claims it was written into existence by Kael himself — but he doesn't remember doing it.

The phrase "Every truth demands a sacrifice" hints that every chapter Kael writes will now take something from him — memory, life, sanity, or soul.

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