Kael's POV
Three months into my employment at the Silvermane estate, I began to notice something strange.
Small things at first. A training dummy that should have broken under Aldric's strike remained intact. A sparring match where he slipped on wet grass at the exact moment I attacked, giving me an opening I shouldn't have had. A Scripture instructor who arrived late to our lesson, mumbling about unexpected obstacles that delayed him.
Nothing dramatic. Nothing that couldn't be explained by coincidence.
But I'd lived eight years as an Error, eight years of fate actively working against my existence, and I'd learned to recognize when the universe's attention turned toward someone. These weren't random incidents. They were corrections, adjustments, the Script trying to write reality back toward its intended narrative.
The problem was, they were working in my favor.
It started making sense during a tactical lesson with Master Chen, the estate's strategy instructor. He was teaching us about historical battles, using a sand table to recreate famous conflicts where Script-blessed heroes had overcome impossible odds.
"The Battle of Crimson Ridge," Chen explained, moving miniature figures across the table. "Five thousand Script-blessed warriors against twenty thousand corrupted Scriptbeasts. The Hero's Script guaranteed victory, so reality itself bent to make it happen. Fog rolled in at the perfect moment. The enemy commander made inexplicable tactical errors. Even the weather turned to favor the Hero's forces."
"So Scripts don't just affect the person who has them," I said, understanding dawning. "They affect everything around them too."
"Precisely." Chen fixed me with his sharp gaze. "Scripts are narratives written into the fabric of reality. When a strong Script moves toward its destined outcome, weaker Scripts and random chance align to support that narrative. It's why heroes rarely fail, the entire world conspires to ensure their success."
Aldric shifted uncomfortably beside me. "That sounds like cheating."
"It's the natural order," Chen corrected. "Scripts create the story of the world. Everything else is just background detail adjusting itself to fit the plot."
That night, lying in my small room in the servants' quarters, I couldn't stop thinking about Chen's words. If Scripts bent reality to create their narratives, and if Aldric's Script said he'd be the Ultimate Hero who'd defeat the Demon Lord, then everything around him would gradually align to support that destiny.
Including me.
Was my presence here really about friendship? Or was I being positioned by fate itself, moved like a game piece on a board I couldn't see? Aldric's vision had shown someone saving him in his final battle. What if that wasn't a choice I'd make freely, but a role fate was already writing me into?
The thought made my skin crawl. I was an Error precisely because I had no Script, no predetermined role. But perhaps being without a Script didn't mean being free of destiny's influence, it just meant being more vulnerable to being caught in other people's Scripts.
I was so lost in thought that I almost missed the sound outside my window.
Scratching. Deliberate and rhythmic.
I rolled out of bed, grabbing the knife I now kept under my pillow, a lesson learned from the Scriptbeast attack. Moonlight filtered through the curtains, painting everything in shades of silver and shadow. The scratching came again, from just below the window.
Slowly, carefully, I approached and pulled back the curtain.
A girl crouched on the narrow ledge outside my second-story window. Silver hair caught the moonlight, and gray eyes met mine with intense focus.
Mira.
I hadn't seen her since the caravan three months ago, but I recognized her immediately. The girl with the Script of the Silent Blade, destined to become the greatest assassin of her generation.
She pressed a finger to her lips, then pointed down toward the garden below.
I understood. She couldn't speak here, sound would carry, guards would investigate. I nodded and gestured for her to wait, then quickly pulled on clothes and grabbed my shoes.
The estate was quiet at this hour, most servants asleep and guards patrolling predictable routes. I'd learned their patterns over the past months, not for any particular reason, just because being aware of everything around me had become second nature. Survival instinct honed by constant threat.
I slipped out through the servants' entrance and made my way to the garden's far corner, where ancient oak trees provided cover from the manor's windows. Mira materialized from the shadows like she'd been part of them.
"You shouldn't be here," I whispered. "If the guards find you…"
"They won't." Her voice was soft but confident. "I've been watching this place for two weeks. I know every patrol route, every blind spot, every moment of transition between shifts."
"Why?"
"Because I needed to talk to you, and you're never alone during the day." She studied me in the moonlight. "You look different. Stronger. Living with the Hero agrees with you."
There was something off in her tone, something I couldn't quite identify. "Mira, what's going on? Why are you really here?"
She was quiet for a long moment, and when she finally spoke, her voice carried weight beyond her nine years.
"My Script updated last week. It does that sometimes, adding details as I get closer to certain events." She looked away, unable to meet my eyes. "It told me the name of the person I'm destined to kill when I'm seventeen. The person I'll love and betray."
My breath caught. "Mira…"
"It's Aldric," she said flatly. "The Ultimate Hero. My Script says I'll fall in love with him, become his most trusted ally, and then murder him at the moment when he needs me most. I'll be the blade that pierces his heart, the betrayal that breaks him."
The world seemed to tilt. "That's impossible. Aldric's Script says he'll defeat the Demon Lord. He can't do that if you kill him first."
"Scripts can be complex, overlapping, contradictory. Maybe I kill him but he survives somehow. Maybe my betrayal is what makes him strong enough to face the Demon Lord. Or maybe..." She finally met my eyes, and I saw fear there. Real, genuine terror. "Maybe one of our Scripts is wrong."
"Scripts can't be wrong. They're written by the gods themselves."
"Then explain you," she countered. "You're an Error, proof that the system isn't perfect. If the gods can make mistakes in who they write Scripts for, why not in what those Scripts say?"
I had no answer for that. The possibility that Scripts could be flawed shook something fundamental in my understanding of reality.
"Why are you telling me this?" I asked.
"Because you're the only person I've met who might understand." She stepped closer, urgency in her movement. "Everyone else accepts their Scripts without question. They see destiny as absolute. But you've never had that luxury. You've always had to fight against what fate decided for you."
"I'm not sure I understand what you're asking."
"I'm asking if it's possible to change a Script. To defy destiny itself." Her hands clenched into fists. "I don't want to kill Aldric. I don't want to become a murderer of someone I'll love. But my Script says it's inevitable, and everyone says Scripts can't be changed."
"Everyone also said Errors couldn't exist until I was born," I said quietly. "Maybe the rules aren't as absolute as people think."
Hope flickered in her eyes, fragile as candle flame in wind. "You really believe that?"
I thought about Master Chen's lesson, about Scripts bending reality to match their narratives. I thought about all the small coincidences that had been happening around me, fate adjusting itself to support Aldric's destined victory. I thought about how the entire world was just a story the gods had written, with all of us as characters following predetermined plots.
And I thought about how much I hated that idea.
"I believe," I said slowly, "that if I can exist as an Error, then maybe other impossible things can happen too. Maybe Scripts aren't as unbreakable as everyone assumes."
"How would we even test that?"
"Small things first. Your Script says you'll become the greatest assassin, but does it specify every step along the way? Could you choose to learn healing magic instead of killing techniques? Could you deliberately fail at tasks your Script says you'll excel at?"
Mira considered this. "My Script gives me general direction, not moment-by-moment instructions. It says I'll master the Silent Blade technique by age twelve, but it doesn't tell me I have to practice every day or follow any specific training regimen."
"Then try something different. If your Script adjusts to accommodate your choices, then it's flexible. But if reality itself forces you back on track no matter what you do, then maybe Scripts really are absolute."
"And if I can't change even small things," she said quietly, "then I have no hope of changing the big one. I'll still end up killing Aldric no matter what I want."
We stood in silence, two children grappling with questions that philosophers and theologians had debated for centuries. The difference was, for us, these weren't abstract concerns. Our lives, and potentially Aldric's life, hung on the answers.
"I need to go," Mira said finally. "If I'm gone too long, my absence will be noticed."
"Where are you staying?"
"Better you don't know. If anyone asks, you never saw me." She started to turn away, then stopped. "Kael... thank you. For not telling me I'm being foolish or blasphemous for wanting to change my fate."
"We're both fighting against destiny," I said. "That makes us allies, I think."
She smiled, small but genuine. "Allies then. Maybe even friends, if friendship is allowed to someone whose Script says she can never trust anyone completely."
"I'm an Error. Nothing about my existence is allowed. That's never stopped me before."
Her smile widened slightly. "I like that attitude. Hold onto it. You're going to need it."
Then she was gone, melting back into shadows with the supernatural silence her Script had already begun granting her. I stood in the garden for a long while after, staring up at stars that suddenly seemed less like distant lights and more like the watching eyes of gods who'd written every moment of existence.
Except mine. They'd forgotten to write me, and in that oversight, they'd created a crack in fate itself.
I didn't know it then, but that conversation with Mira was the first step on a path that would eventually lead to rebellion against the divine order itself. Two children marked by destiny, one as an Error who shouldn't exist, one as a blade destined to kill the Hero, had just planted the seed of an impossible idea.
That fate could be defied.
That Scripts could be broken.
That the gods themselves might be wrong.
It would take years for that seed to grow, watered by betrayal and pain and bitter understanding. But in that garden under cold moonlight, something began that the gods hadn't written, couldn't predict, and would eventually fear.
The first crack in fate that would eventually shatter the entire foundation of their divine design.
I returned to my room and lay awake until dawn, thinking about Scripts and destiny and the terrible freedom of having neither. Outside my window, the world continued its predetermined dance, every soul moving according to their assigned roles.
All except two.
An Error and an assassin, both fighting against fates they'd never chosen.
What could possibly go wrong?