The ancient library trembled around us.
Books groaned. Ink rained from the ceiling in thick, oily droplets that hissed when they hit the floor. Pages began to curl mid-air, burning at the edges without fire—as if someone were rewriting them from afar.
"Who's doing this?" I asked, ducking as a bookshelf cracked in half and collapsed into mist.
Veyra didn't flinch. "The Shadow. He's asserting his authorship. The more you hesitate, the more this world bends to him."
I gritted my teeth. "But I don't remember how to fix it! I don't even know this version of the story!"
She turned sharply, locking eyes with me. "You don't need to remember. You need to rewrite."
With that, she reached into the folds of her cloak and pulled out an object: a sleek, silver pen. It glowed faintly, as though pulsing with life.
"What is that?"
Veyra placed it in my hand. "It's a Binding Quill. A relic from the first draft. It lets the author imprint his will—write over what's been corrupted." Her voice dropped. "But it's a double-edged pact. Every time you change something, it takes something from you in return."
I stared at the pen. It was cold, too cold, and yet my fingers curled around it instinctively. A flicker of something stirred within me—like muscle memory I didn't know I had.
And then—
The world froze.
Midair pages halted mid-flutter. Even the collapsing shelves paused like a scene paused on film.
A voice echoed through the ruins.
"Arin Kael. You dare pick up the pen?"
My breath caught. Veyra stood in front of me protectively, her gaze fixed upward.
A crack in the ceiling widened, and through it descended a dark silhouette—my double. Kael-Zereth, cloaked in black, his red eyes glowing like molten ink.
"You should've stayed forgotten," he sneered. "This world is better without your hesitation."
I held the quill tightly. "I didn't ask to be brought back here."
"No," he said, drifting down like gravity was just a suggestion. "But you were meant to come. And now you'll play the part I left you."
Veyra drew a curved blade of glowing paper from her side. "Run if you have to," she muttered to me. "I'll hold him off."
I didn't run.
Instead, I knelt and pressed the quill to the stone floor.
Write, something inside me screamed.Even if you don't know the ending—write anyway.
And so I did.
One word.A single sentence.
"The ink that binds will break the chains."
Light burst from the floor.
Chains made of ink erupted around Kael-Zereth's feet, coiling and twisting, snapping upward like serpents. He snarled, slashing through them with a flick of his hand, but he stumbled—just for a moment.
It was enough.
Veyra slashed through the air, sending a blade of wind-and-paper straight toward him. He vanished into shadows before it struck, his voice echoing behind:
"You've written your death, Arin. And I'll be the one to sign it."
Then silence.
The library was still again—burned, torn, broken... but still.
I collapsed onto my knees, gasping.
Veyra knelt beside me. "You did it."
I shook my head. "No… I barely scratched the surface. This world isn't waiting for me to remember. It's demanding that I take control."
She smiled faintly. "Then take it."
I looked at the Binding Quill in my hand. It shimmered faintly, almost like it was alive. Ready.
For the first time, I felt it.
This wasn't a story I was trapped in.
It was a story I had the power to rewrite.