The Core Draft trembled in my hands.
As I stared at the glowing sentence — "A story about a boy who always gave up—until the day he didn't." — something cracked inside me. Not pain. Not fear. Something more dangerous.
Recognition.
Because that boy was me. Still is.
And the pages weren't just glowing. They were responding. Reacting to my thoughts. Lines I didn't remember writing appeared in rapid strokes, like the world was remembering itself through me.
"He failed his first manuscript.""He abandoned his second.""He stopped believing his ideas mattered.""He dreamed... and then let go."
Each line pierced like a blade.
The Core Draft flipped open—on its own. A sharp wind surged outward, and I stumbled back.
From the pages rose a figure—a younger version of me.
Shorter, thinner, defeated shoulders, bags under his eyes. Wearing the same hoodie I wore when I dropped out of university. He didn't look surprised to see me.
Just… tired.
"You came back," he said. His voice was flat. "Took you long enough."
"Who... are you?" I asked, though I already knew.
"I'm your Draft Zero. The version of you that quit. That gave up." He looked around. "They buried me in this forgotten chamber. But I never left."
The air around him crackled with regret.
"You're not supposed to be here," I said, forcing my voice steady. "I'm trying to fix this story—rewrite it."
Draft Zero chuckled darkly. "Rewrite? You never finish anything. That's who you are. You start. You dream. You stall. You run." He stepped forward. "You think this Binding Quill changes that?"
"I'm not that person anymore."
"Aren't you?" he snapped. "You still hesitate. Still question your worth. Still wonder if your story matters."
I said nothing.
He pointed at the Core Draft. "You abandoned me. This world. All of it. And while you slept in comfort, we bled ink in your absence."
Suddenly, he lifted his hand—and a torrent of black fire surged from his palm, slamming into the walls of the chamber. One of the floating forgotten characters shrieked and vanished into dust.
Veyra rushed in, blade ready. "Arin, step back! That's not just your memory—it's corrupted by self-doubt. He's a collapse point!"
But I didn't step back.
I stepped forward.
And said, "You're right. I gave up. I failed."
Draft Zero paused. His flame flickered.
"But," I continued, "I'm still here. And that means I get to decide what kind of author I become—starting now."
I raised the Binding Quill.
"The boy who quit… chose to begin again."
Golden ink erupted from the quill's tip, striking through the air like lightning. It pierced Draft Zero's chest—but didn't destroy him.
It rewrote him.
His body trembled. The shadows leaked out of him like smoke. His expression shifted from bitter to hollow… then to peaceful.
He smiled.
And then dissolved into glowing letters.
Silence fell.
Veyra lowered her sword. "You rewrote the regret, not erased it."
I nodded. "I had to. It was part of the story too."
The Core Draft sealed itself again, now glowing brighter.
And in its place stood something new.
A door made of ink and light.
On it was carved a single phrase:
"To go forward, the Author must confront what he abandoned."
I stared at it, knowing that this was just the beginning. That every step forward meant facing more regrets, forgotten ideas, corrupted dreams.
But for the first time… I wasn't afraid.
Not of my past.Not of this world.Not even of the version of me waiting at the end of the final chapter.