The fragments of the faceless thing had stopped writhing, but their presence pressed against my mind like cold steel. The white ribbon of light still hovered around me, humming in tune with my pulse, vibrating with the energy of the words I had spoken.
I closed my eyes and whispered another command, testing the boundaries:
"Form."
The fragments obeyed. Slowly, painfully, they began to coalesce—not into monsters this time, but into something resembling people. Features sharpened, masks melted, and I glimpsed eyes, mouths, hands—faces trying to remember what it was to be alive.
It was intoxicating. The power thrummed through me, and a dangerous thought slipped into my mind: I could remake everything.
I opened my eyes and saw the city differently. Buildings bent to my will, streets stretched like ribbons, and shadows shifted with every heartbeat. The hum was no longer terrifying—it was responsive. It waited for me to speak.
I smiled.
Then I tried something bolder:
"Create."
The white letter exploded into brilliance. The city shivered violently, air and matter bending uncontrollably. I felt power like nothing I had ever known—like holding the pulse of existence itself in my hands. But then, it resisted.
The fragments screamed—not in pain, but in rejection. Some tore themselves apart, others froze, and one fragment—larger, darker, impossibly vast—looked straight at me with eyes full of accusation.
The ribbon of light faltered, quivering against something invisible. I realized with a jolt: the words were not unlimited. The world had rules. Even I had limits. Even the letters themselves had boundaries I could not break.
And if I tried to push further…
The fragments convulsed violently. The hum became a roar, shaking my bones. The city itself buckled, metal twisting, glass shattering, streets folding like paper. One wrong word, and I could erase everything.
I stumbled, clutching my head. Power and fear merged, a whirlwind of potential and consequence. The letters waited for my next command, but I realized the terrifying truth:
The world was alive. And it would not obey blindly.
I breathed, my palm burning faintly where the first symbol had scarred me. The white letter hovered above me, pulsing softly, as if whispering a question:
"Will you learn… or will you break?"
I had survived the faceless thing. I had spoken the first true word. But survival had only brought me to the edge of understanding. Beyond this, I had to decide: to master the words… or let the world consume me.