The boy didn't let go of my sleeve.
Even after the echoes vanished into scattered letters, even after the street stopped rippling beneath us, he clung to me with a grip far stronger than his tiny frame should have allowed.
The Scribe noticed it too. His parchment-face wrinkled into unreadable lines as his gaze dropped—not to the boy, but to his shadow.
It was wrong.
Shadows weren't supposed to stretch when their owners stood still. They weren't supposed to coil like serpents on cobblestones. And they weren't supposed to fight echoes.
But his had.
The boy whispered, voice trembling. "I… I didn't mean to. It just moved."
I crouched in front of him, forcing a weak smile even though my veins still burned with paradox. "You don't have to apologize. You saved me back there."
He shook his head fiercely. "No, you saved me first. I just… didn't want them to take you."
His eyes glistened. His hands trembled. But behind him, the shadow curled protectively, as if it had its own will.
The Scribe knelt, parchment-hands hovering above the boy without touching. "Archivist Candidate," he rasped, "this is… impossible. Fragments do not manifest independent anomalies. Stabilized roles are passive placeholders—never active powers."
I frowned. "Then how do you explain that?"
The shadow twitched, almost smugly, as though it understood we were talking about it.
The Scribe's words scratched across his face: [Anomaly. Dangerous. Unstable.]
The boy recoiled. "I'm not dangerous!"
I stood, my voice firm. "He's not dangerous. He's alive. That's the difference."
The Scribe's parchment rustled like a sigh. "Alive or not, the Editors will notice. And when they do, they will not hesitate."
The ground trembled beneath us again. A deep groaning, as if the City itself resented the boy's existence.
And then the System chimed.
[Hidden Event Triggered.]
[Anomaly Detected: Shadow Entity.]
[Narrative Theft Available.]
I blinked. "Wait… theft?"
A translucent window hovered over the boy, flickering like static. His shadow writhed beneath him, glowing faintly. The System was offering me a choice: steal the anomaly and claim it, or let it remain his.
My chest tightened.
If I took it, I might gain a powerful new ability—something unique, something even the Editors couldn't predict. But if I stripped it from him…
The boy looked up at me with those wide, desperate eyes. Eyes that trusted me completely.
My stomach knotted. This is what the echoes wanted. Power at any cost. Abandon him. Consume him. Rule.
I closed the window with a snap.
"No," I muttered.
The Scribe's face crumpled into unreadable lines. "You refuse?"
"He's not a tool," I said. "He's my proof. If I steal from him, I become one of them."
The boy's hand clutched tighter at mine, his shadow curling like a cat at rest.
The System buzzed with faint disapproval but did not vanish.
The Scribe studied me for a long moment. Finally, he murmured, "Strange. Perhaps you are not a Candidate at all. Perhaps you are something else."
Before I could ask what he meant, the air shuddered violently.
[Warning: Collapse Event spreading.]
District: Inkwell Plaza destabilizing.
Estimated time until deletion: 2 minutes.
I cursed under my breath. "Another one already?"
The Scribe rose sharply. "The Editors accelerate their purge. They grow impatient."
I staggered, exhaustion clawing at me. I had twenty-three paradox points already burning me alive. If I stabilized another district…
I might not survive the backlash.
But the boy tugged my sleeve again. His voice was soft, trembling—but certain.
"I'll help."
His shadow stirred, stretching toward the direction of the collapse like a compass needle.
I stared at him. "You don't even know what's happening."
"I don't need to," he said, eyes glowing faintly. "If you can write me, then maybe… maybe I can write too."
The Scribe hissed. "Blasphemy. Fragments cannot write."
But I wasn't so sure anymore.
I crouched in front of him, gripping his shoulders. "If you do this, you'll be pulling paradox into yourself. It hurts. It could—"
"I don't care." His voice cracked, but his gaze was steady. "You saved me. Let me save them too."
The ground quaked again. From the direction of Inkwell Plaza, a wave of blankness surged outward, devouring buildings, unraveling fountains into words. Citizens screamed, their bodies flickering.
Time was running out.
I nodded. "Alright. Let's try."
The boy's eyes widened. Then he smiled, faint but real.
We sprinted toward the Plaza. The boy's shadow stretched ahead of us, leading the way. By the time we arrived, half the square was already gone—erased into white void.
Citizens clung to each other, their forms flickering, their outlines fading.
The System blared.
[Collapse Countermeasure Options:]
Stabilize District manually.
Cost: Paradox 10+.
Sacrifice District.
-20% City Stability.
Shadow Intervention (Anomaly Path).
Cost: Unknown.
The last option pulsed faintly. The boy's shadow rippled, coiling like smoke.
I looked at him. "Are you ready?"
He nodded once. "Tell me what to do."
I hesitated, then spoke the only words that felt right. "Write them in."
The boy stepped forward. His shadow exploded outward, blanketing the Plaza in darkness. Citizens gasped as tendrils of shadow wrapped around them—not consuming, but anchoring. For every flickering figure, a word appeared above their heads:
Butcher. Poet. Singer. Child.
Not perfect roles, not System-generated windows. Just words. Crude, raw.
But they worked.
The erasure halted. The void hissed in frustration.
And slowly, impossibly, Inkwell Plaza began to stabilize.
The System went berserk.
[Collapse Event Countered.]
[District Stabilized: Inkwell Plaza.]
[City Stability: 58%.]
[Paradox: 23 → 23.]
[Note: Anomaly absorbed paradox backlash in Candidate's place.]
My eyes widened. He'd done it. He'd taken the paradox into himself instead of letting it crush me.
But as the shadows receded, I saw the cost.
The boy staggered, coughing violently. His skin flickered like unstable parchment, cracks of glowing ink splitting across his arms.
"Hey!" I caught him before he fell. "Stay with me—"
His shadow curled protectively, hissing at me like a wounded animal. Then it softened, recognizing me, and withdrew.
The boy's voice was faint. "I… I'm still here."
But his eyes were different now. Darker. Deeper. Like the void had left fingerprints inside him.
The Scribe loomed over us, voice grave. "This is unprecedented. A fragment that writes. A shadow that anchors paradox. Do you realize what this means?"
I glared at him. "That he's alive. That he matters."
The Scribe shook his head. "It means the Editors will come themselves. No Agent, no echo, no collapse event. The Editors. And when they arrive, they will unmake both of you."
The boy's shadow twitched, as if baring invisible fangs.
I tightened my grip around him, my chest burning with both fear and resolve.
"Then let them come," I whispered. "If they want to erase him, they'll have to erase me too."
The System chimed ominously.
[Hidden Title Unlocked: Guardian of the Unwritten.]
You have chosen to protect an anomaly rather than exploit it. The Editors will mark you for correction.
Above, the cracked sky pulsed once. The colossal black eye opened wider, its gaze fixed directly on us.
And for the first time, I felt it not just watching—
But noticing.
To be continued…