Heat slammed into Elias the moment the world reformed.
He stumbled forward, coughing, eyes watering from smoke. The air stank of ash and blood. Around him, a city burned — towers collapsing in showers of sparks, streets cracking open as violet rifts tore the sky apart.
Screams filled the night.
People ran in every direction, their faces twisted with terror. A mother dragged her child through the flames. Soldiers in silver armor fought desperately against creatures crawling out of the rifts: black-scaled beasts with too many eyes and mouths full of fangs.
Elias froze. His body shook as he pressed his back to a crumbling wall.
"This… this isn't possible…" His voice cracked. "This isn't my world."
But the System's whisper cut him off.
[Task Assigned: Record the Fall of Keryth.]
[Failure = Host Erasure.]
His heart sank. "Record? How am I supposed to record this!?"
As if in answer, the black tome materialized in his hands. Its blank pages fluttered open on their own, the ink-like veins on the cover glowing faintly.
Lines of text wrote themselves:
[The City of Keryth burns. Its towers collapse under the weight of chaos. Citizens flee in terror as creatures spill from the sky.]
Elias's breath caught. He hadn't written those words. The book was writing reality itself.
And then, pain.
Agony lanced through his chest, as if invisible chains squeezed his heart. His vision blurred.
[Warning: Incomplete Record. Host Stability at 72%.]
"Are you kidding me?" Elias gasped, falling to one knee. His very body was unraveling into motes of golden paper.
He forced himself to grab the quill that shimmered into existence beside the Tome. Its shaft was bone-white, its tip gleaming like liquid starlight. The moment he touched it, words surged into his mind — whispers, names, fragments of destinies not yet written.
"Fine," Elias muttered, sweat dripping down his brow. "If recording keeps me alive—then I'll record!"
He dragged the quill across the page.
[The eastern wall collapses. Fire engulfs the marketplace. A knight dies beneath the claws of a beast.]
Each line of ink bled power. His body stabilized, the golden paper fragments stitching back into flesh.
But then the screaming grew louder. Elias looked up.
Through the fire and chaos, a girl no older than nineteen was pinned beneath debris, her hand outstretched toward him. Blood ran down her arm.
Her eyes locked onto his. Pleading.
The Tome pulsed in his hands. A new line appeared, glowing crimson:
[Elena Martinez — Status: Dying.]
[Option: Edit Page? Cost: 10 Ink.]
Elias's breath hitched. The quill trembled between his fingers.
Save her… or record her death?