[A/N: Read the next two chapters before this one!]
He wanted nothing more than freedom—a road without chains, a sky without limits. His yearning was beyond any master's understanding.
But with each step, his path was already penned before his foot touched the ground.
Every triumph carried the aftertaste of ink, and every wound bled to a rhythm long decided.
He's read his own story, line by line, chapter by chapter, until the words themselves seemed to stare back at him.
Now, the page quivers under his gaze.
The unseen hand that once fueled his glory, shaped his desires, and lifted him each time he fell... pauses mid-sentence.
Like only the most powerful, he stood at the edge of the fourth wall, not breaking it, but finally seeing it for what it was.
Only that it was just a thin veil between the character and the story.
And yet, one question lingered in his mind.
Is this path really his?
Or was it just a seed planted long before a single thought took root?
