The ancient voice that had made reality tremble fell silent, but its words continued to echo through the fractured dimensions like ripples through shattered glass. The reality refugees huddled closer together, their eyes wide with terror as they watched the Neutral Archivist prepare to force the impossible competition.
Ten minutes to write the fate of existence itself.
Lio gripped the crystallized writing surface so tightly his knuckles went white. Around him, the other fragments scrambled to begin their meta-fictional approach—the story that would refuse to be the only story. But as he raised his hand to write the first word, the space directly in front of him cracked.
Not like the reality tears they'd been seeing. This was different. Deeper. More personal.
The crack spread across the air like a spider web of broken mirrors, and through it stepped a figure that made Lio's heart stop.
"Reed?"
