----Page 1----
My mother used to say,
"Books have hearts too, Kinon. They only open themselves to those who listen."
She said it every time she brought me to the library, our secret world, where the dust smelled like time and the silence felt sacred.
The head librarian always scolded her for bringing food inside, but she'd just smile, whisper an apology, and sneak me a pastry under the table anyway.
She would sit quietly by the window, watching me read with that gentle look in her eyes. I didn't understand it then.
But now, I think she knew her stories wouldn't last forever, and that someday, I'd have to write my own story.
That was the last memory I had of her. Before she got sick. Before I lost her.
Years later, I returned to that same library alone. The halls felt emptier than I remembered.
I don't know what made me wander into that dark corner, the one where the lamps flickered and the shelves creaked.
Maybe it was instinct.
Maybe something was calling.
My hand brushed against a spine that felt warm.
Alive.
A book, blank from cover to cover.
"Weird…" I whispered, flipping through the empty pages. I laughed softly.
"Guess even books can lose their words."
But as I closed it, a faint hum escaped the spine, like a heartbeat.
The air around me warped. The floor tilted. I tried to step back, but light swallowed me whole.
And then… nothing.
When I woke up, I was staring at a gray sky.
My body ached all over, like I'd been dragged through dirt for hours. The stench of sweat, blood, and iron filled the air. Wooden bars surrounded me, no, not bars, a cage.
"What… the hell?" I croaked.
Beside me, a dozen others huddled together. Humans, beastfolk, even an elf with broken chains around his wrists. Their eyes were hollow, their clothes ragged.
A furry hand nudged me.
"You awake, human?"
I turned. It turned out to be a world where different races of creatures existed. It seemed like I was dragged here by the book into a world I never dreamed of being part of.
A furfolk, at least, that's what he called himself, his brown fur matted and torn, was watching me with weary golden eyes. His voice was rough but oddly calm.
At first, I couldn't understand what he was saying. Then a ringing sound echoed in my ears. For a second, I seemed to lose my sense of hearing, and when it returned, I could clearly understand him.
"Wh… where am I?" I asked.
"Slave caravan," he said.
"Caught by the Red Chain Merchants. You're lucky you're still breathing."
I tried to sit up, but the world spun.
"My… my book. Where's my book?"
He blinked.
"Book? Ah! The Brutescale warden took it. Said it was trash. Blank cover, right? He couldn't sell it even if he wanted to."
My chest sank. That book, the one that pulled me here, was gone.
The wagon jolted. I fell against the bars, my shoulder scraping wood.
Outside, a reptilian guard with scaled green skin and jagged teeth barked orders at the drivers. His tail lashed behind him as he swaggered past, laughing.
The furfolk beside me leaned closer.
"That's Grask. Scalebrute. Likes breaking humans for fun. Don't talk back."
Grask's head turned sharply.
"What're you whisperin', furball?" he snarled. He stomped toward us, slamming his club against the bars.
"Think you're better than me, huh? You stinkin' mutt."
He jabbed the club between the gaps, hitting the furfolk in the ribs. I clenched my fists, but another slave caught my wrist.
"Don't," he whispered.
"You'll just make it worse."
The furfolk coughed, then forced a small grin.
"Just a friendly chat, warden."
Grask sneered, eyes narrowing at me.
"And what's this? Fresh meat? Haven't branded you yet?"
He motioned for one of the guards to bring a heated iron. I froze as the glowing metal approached. The smell of burnt flesh filled the air from another wagon, one of the elves had just been marked.
Grask grinned, pressing the iron close to my skin.
"Welcome to the food chain, runt."
Before it touched me, another guard called out.
"Already branded, boss! Look!" He pointed at a branded human in the other cage. Grask grunted.
"Tch. Waste of good iron." He tossed the tool aside and walked off, still laughing.
The wagon rolled on.
Days passed.
I learned the furfolk's name, Rynn. He was older, patient, and surprisingly clever. Though his words were rough, he taught me through signs, gestures, and sounds.
Bit by bit, I picked up fragments of their language. They used it to convey messages without being caught by the roaming guards.
Also, Rynn spoke of cities ruled by slave merchants, usually those corrupted nobles who bought slaves for sport.
A cruel world where magic was currency and the weak were born to serve.
He also mentioned that everything changes when the Nullscribes appear. They start to change everything and rule everyone through fear and violence.
Rumors spread that they are ancient beings who can bend lies and make them reality.
Making them tough and formidable opponents, also their influence and power even ruled the Holy Church.
That even royalty all over the land bows to their will, for they decide who lives and who will be forgotten.
Also, rumors circulate about a mercenary syndicate who uses the fear made by the Nullscribes.
They are called The Tyrant's Hand.
At first, I didn't understand all of it, but one thing became clear: this world was built on chains and was on the verge of its demise.
I hate the thought of it.
But what can I do?
Does a weakling like me have the power to make a difference?
I... It's too frustrating to think that someone as weak as me, who can't even stand on his own without help from others, dreams of a better world.
As they passed by, I continued living my life as a slave. Luckily, somehow I managed to make friends with the other slaves.
A quiet elf girl named Lira, along with human siblings who whispered about escaping.
Even Rynn began to speak of freedom, of breaking out, stealing horses, running north.
Hope was dangerous. But it was all we had.
Then one night, the plan was set. We waited until the guards were drunk. The rain masked our footsteps. My heart pounded so loud I thought it would give us away.
We were almost there, almost free.
But then I realized something was odd. Rynn suddenly vanished from behind us.
Also, the security wasn't as tight as it was supposed to be.
And then the alarm rang.
The guards poured in like wolves. Rynn stood behind them. His golden eyes met mine, and he looked away.
"Sorry, kid," he muttered.
"I can't die for a dream."
Everything after that blurred.
They beat me. Hard. My ribs cracked, my blood soaked the dirt. I could hear Lira screaming somewhere behind me, then silence.
Grask knelt beside me, gripping my hair.
"You think you can change your fate, runt?" he hissed.
"This world's already written. The Nullscribes make the rules."
His words echoed in my skull as he stood, laughing. Around me, my friends, those with whom I shared the same dream of freedom, now lay lifeless on the ground.
Something inside me wanted to break free. I could feel that someone was calling my name.
And in that very moment, everything changed.
As the world around me dimmed, colors fading to gray, I reached for the dirt, for anything, and felt something soft.
My book.
"Already burned that damn book," Grask asked, confused.
It opened by itself, glowing faintly. The pages rippled as invisible words etched themselves across them. My blood dripped onto the parchment, and the ground trembled.
Grask turned, eyes widening.
"What the hell is?"
Light exploded.
A figure rose from the pages, tall, silver-haired, cloaked in radiant armor. Her presence pressed against my chest like divine weight.
Lysera.
Her voice was calm, yet it shook the air.
"Who dares defile the bearer of the Chronicle?"
The guards stumbled back. Grask swung his club, but before it landed, Lysera's hand flicked, and the weapon shattered into dust.
I could barely speak. "You…"
She turned, her eyes softening slightly.
"You called, master."
The wind howled. The chains shattered. Flames burst from the book, wrapping around the slave wagons, burning only those who carried blood on their hands.
The merchants screamed. Grask fell to his knees, skin cracking like stone under fire.
Lysera's blade gleamed under the moonlight as she cut through the slavers with terrifying precision. Each strike was silent, fluid, and final.
Chains shattered, the crack of steel echoing through the camp. Screams filled the night, then were gone just as quickly.
Only a handful of bodies remained, and one silhouette stumbled away through the smoke.
The scalebrute.
He shoved the terrified slaves in front of him, using their bodies as shields as he fled into the forest.
Lysera's eyes burned with cold fury.
"He's running away. Allow me to finish him, Master!"
I grabbed her arm. "No."
She looked down at me sharply.
"He butchered your kind. He branded you like cattle. Why stop me now?"
I swallowed hard, my body trembling from exhaustion, blood still sticky on my hands.
"Because he's already finished. The fear in his eyes is punishment enough. Let him live knowing he'll never be safe again. By my hands, I will claim my vengeance, but not now."
Her brows furrowed, uncertain, as if my mercy confused her more than my summoning did.
"Mercy for monsters?"
"Not mercy," I said quietly.
"Just the kind of justice I can live with."
Lysera hesitated, then lowered her sword.
The surviving slaves slowly approached, faces hollow and uncertain. Among them was Rynn. He avoided my gaze, guilt written in every twitch of his tail.
I stepped toward him. He flinched, expecting anger.
"You could've run," I said softly.
"You could've let me die." He looked down.
"I should've. But I didn't. I couldn't. My cubs, they'll die if I fail," he explained.
"I know," I replied, my voice cracked.
"And that was the reason why I'm not killing you."
Lysera's eyes widened slightly.
"You're sparing him too?" she asked.
"Yes. Let him carry what he's done."
Rynn blinked, then fell to his knees, tears cutting through the dirt on his fur.
I turned away. The Chronicle floated before me, its pages glowing. Lysera's image formed on the first page, radiant and alive. Beneath it, words appeared, strange golden letters only I could read.
But not entirely all.
There was some text I could not understand.
Maybe I can't read it yet...
Lysera Ardentveil, The First Pageborn.
The world around me felt impossibly still.
The forest whispered, the freed slaves murmured in disbelief, and I realized something chilling.
This book didn't just record history.
It was also writing my own story.
As for that night, I was reborn.
The first Pageborn awakened.
And so did my desire for vengeance, for this cruel, rotting world that fed on the weak.
---
A glimpse of what is yet to come:
A vast throne room bathed in silver light.
I sit upon a throne carved from obsidian, the Chronicle resting open beside me.
Before me kneels twenty figures, men and women, beastkin and elf, warrior and scholar, all bowing their heads in silent reverence.
Their voices echo as one.
"Glory to the Founder King."
And I, once chained, bounded by weakness, yet now smile from the shadows of the throne.