Dawn clung to the ruins like smoke.
Ash drifted where knights had fallen.The air was thick with the taste of iron and dust.
I sat on the cathedral steps, the Inkblade resting across my knees, its edge still humming softly.
Victory should have felt lighter.It didn't.
✦
Arjun's ember pulsed weakly in my chest.
…you should rest, Ishaan… even gods breathe after battles…
"Maybe," I murmured, watching the sunlight crawl through the cracks in the stone."But what if the story stops when I do?"
The ember dimmed, unsure whether that was a joke or confession.
Then the wind changed—a faint vibration, like a page turning somewhere behind the world.
[ Observer Interest : The Forgotten Scribe persists ][ Message pending … ]
Dust rose from the floor, swirling into letters that refused to hold still.Sentences wrote and rewrote themselves in mid-air, arguing with their own grammar.
✦
[ "You write loud for a mortal." ]
I blinked. "You must be the god who edits everything I do."
The letters quivered.
[ " 'Edits'? Such an ugly verb. I prefer proof-reading destiny. " ]
Arjun's ember shivered. …is that supposed to sound comforting?
The Inkblade purred in amusement.
"…a god who edits instead of killing—finally, taste…"
✦
[ "You carved through faith, rewrote a nation's ending, and left the mountain whispering your name." ][ "Tell me, little Fracture—do you break stories because you hate them, or because you can't stop reading?" ]
I smiled faintly. "Maybe I just want one that isn't written by someone else."
The letters paused, then curved into something that looked suspiciously like a grin.
[ "Good answer. Tragic. Profitable. Possibly fatal." ]
✦
Light bled through the air, folding into an image—a desk that stretched beyond sight, stacked with glowing manuscripts.
At its center sat a figure made entirely of quills and drifting pages, face hidden behind a mask of liquid ink.
[ "They call me Forgotten because I lost my own tale." ][ "Now I collect those trying to escape theirs." ]
The paper-storm around it breathed.
[ "You broke a cycle today. Would you see what happens when authors break instead of worlds?" ]
✦
[ Hidden Trial Unlocked : The Author's Margin ][ Warning : Participation may alter narrative structure ]
Arjun's ember flared in panic. Don't accept—don't even blink—
I rose anyway. "If it's about structure, I could use a lesson."
Laughter rippled through unseen shelves.
[ "Excellent. Come between the lines, Ishaan Arvale." ]
✦
The world folded.
Stone melted into parchment.Sky turned to paper streaked with ink.Every breath smelled of candles and dust.
I hung weightless in a corridor made of sentences—thousands of phrases glowing softly, floating like fireflies.
Some whispered my name.
"…we're inside a story's skeleton…" the Inkblade murmured.
✦
[ "Every world is a manuscript. Every law a line of text. You, Fracture, are an editing error that learned to bleed." ]
"Then you should've fixed me."
[ "I tried. You rewrote the margin itself." ]
A glowing mark curved before me, forming a question that pulsed like a heartbeat.
[ "If you could hold the quill that writes the gods, would you use it?" ]
Depends who's watching, I thought.
[ "Correct answer number two. You might survive three more arcs." ]
✦
The corridor shuddered. Sentences unraveled; words dripped away like rain.
[ "Ah. Someone noticed our lesson. Time to dismiss class." ]
A line of ink reached out, brushing my wrist—cold fire racing through my veins.
[ "Take this. Proof that we met." ]
The Inkblade hissed. "…it's branding you…"
[ "Just a signature. Every author signs their favorite mistake." ]
✦
Light exploded.The corridor collapsed.
I fell through words, through breath, through a closing page—and landed back on the cathedral floor.
Morning glared through the broken roof.Dust glimmered in the light.
A symbol glowed faintly on my forearm—a quill piercing a circle.
[ New Mark : Scribe's Signature ][ Effect : You may read fragments of divine scripts hidden within reality ]
Arjun's ember fluttered nervously. You let a god autograph you?
I flexed my hand, feeling the hum beneath the skin. "If gods are editors, I just got a bookmark."
The Inkblade chuckled. "…until the editor starts rewriting you…"
✦
Wind crawled through the open doors.
Far above, the sky shimmered faintly—letters, almost invisible, written across the clouds.Paragraphs of light moved where no one else could see.
Among them, one new line pulsed brighter than the rest.
[ "Next draft begins soon." ]
I smiled, the weight in my chest almost pleasant.
"Then I'll make sure it's not a repeat."
The mark pulsed beneath my skin.
Thin lines of light moved like handwriting, curling across my veins and fading again.
Each beat of my heart whispered something I couldn't quite hear.
✦
I raised my arm toward the broken roof.The sigil shimmered, soft and alive.
The Inkblade hummed in my hand.
"…divine ink bites back, fracture. Try not to drown in the margins…"
Arjun's ember trembled.Maybe don't touch anything yet? Maybe breathe first?
I touched the mark anyway.
The world peeled open.
✦
Stone dissolved into sentences.Air flattened into parchment.Every sound bent into punctuation.
I wasn't standing in Erevale anymore—I was standing between its words.
Endless script drifted through the air, threads of light and shadow weaving through everything that existed.
Each one pulsed with quiet life.
Some were rules.Some were memories.Some were lies the gods had never bothered to erase.
✦
I brushed a single thread.
Cold fire shot through my bones.
Images flooded my mind—gods leaning over tables of light, rewriting constellations, crossing out lives with ink the color of time.
Then one sentence burned brighter than the rest.
[ Death Scene – Scheduled ]
Another line glimmered beneath it.
[ Editor Unassigned ]
✦
Arjun's ember flared violently.That's bad, right? That sounds very bad.
"It means somebody planned how I'm supposed to die," I said quietly."But nobody's watching to make sure I do."
The Inkblade laughed softly.
"…then live loudly, fracture. Before they remember your deadline."
✦
The sentence trembled.Every other line froze.
Somewhere beyond sight, a quill snapped.
A new voice tore through the air—not the Scribe, not the mountain.Colder. Empty.
[ Unauthorized access detected. ][ Mortal narrative interference confirmed. ]
The wind became a storm of paper.Clouds turned to text, whirling around me like angry pages.
[ Identification failed. Initiating Patch Protocol. ]
✦
The sky split open.
From the wound descended a figure of glass and fire—its body made of words constantly writing and erasing themselves.
[ Messenger of the Margins – Patch 001 activated ]
The Inkblade hissed.
"…a living footnote. They sent an editor."
The creature's face flickered through a hundred unfinished expressions.
[ Return the Signature, anomaly. You were not meant to read beyond the ink. ]
I smiled. "Then stop me."
✦
Light blurred into motion.
The messenger struck.
I met it head-on; Inkblade and sentence collided, each impact splattering meaning across the world.
Every swing spilled grammar and faith—verbs slashed through stone, nouns shattered like glass.
Arjun's ember screamed.You're fighting grammar!
And losing punctuation, I thought grimly, twisting aside.
✦
[ Delete Function – Execute ]
A spear of light burst from its hand.
I cut—not the weapon, but the sentence that held it together.
Reality flickered.
[ Delete Function – Declined ]
Cracks spidered across the messenger's chest; black ink bled upward like smoke.
✦
I stepped through the raining words."Looks like the editor missed a typo."
The Inkblade plunged through its heart of light.
The world exploded in brilliance—then silence.
The messenger dissolved into drifting punctuation.Only one line remained, fading slowly.
[ Observation Note – Anomaly retains agency. Reclassification pending. ]
✦
I collapsed to one knee, breath ragged.
Arjun's ember flickered weakly.They know you exist now…
"They always did," I muttered. "Now they just have to keep up."
The Inkblade purred.
"…and you just cut a sentence. Even I've never done that."
✦
Dawn bled through the cracks in the roof.
Across the pale sky, faint golden letters stretched for miles—divine paragraphs visible only to me.
One line gleamed darker than all the rest.
[ Do Not Assign An Ending Yet ]
I laughed softly. "Even they're scared to finish me now."
✦
[ Hidden Title Earned – The Reader of Gods ][ Effect : You perceive divine edits before they occur ][ Warning : Perception attracts revision ]
I sheathed the Inkblade, exhaustion a heavy weight across my shoulders.
"Story of my life."
The sword's voice was a low hum of amusement.
"…you've become legible to gods. Congratulations, fracture."
Let them read, I thought. I'll keep rewriting.
✦
High above the ruins, hidden behind the clouds, the Forgotten Scribe watched from a fading margin of light.
[ You read well, Fracture. Let's see how long before they realize whose quill you stole. ]
A single drop of ink fell from nowhere, disappearing before it touched the ground.
Far beyond the horizon, new letters began to form.
[ Draft Three – Pending ]