The villagers parted like snowdrifts under a steady wind as the old man stepped into the plaza.
He walked with a slight limp, his thick cloak brushing against the frost-covered ground. One of his sleeves hung empty—tied off just below the shoulder where an arm used to be. Despite his age and injury, his presence was like a blade of cold wind: quiet, sharp, impossible to ignore.
The whispers started immediately.
"It's him... it's really him—"
"The Ice Master?"
"But why now? He never comes down from the cliffs—"
Their eyes flicked between the old legend and the blue-haired stranger still standing among the dazed, humiliated thugs. Some of the villagers couldn't help themselves—they stared openly at Gara, ice still crackling faintly at his fingertips. He hadn't even broken a sweat.
"I saw it," one woman whispered. "He used ice. Not tricks, not illusions—real techniques."
A child clung to his mother's leg, pointing. "Is he the one? Is he the Ice Ninja?"
A murmur rolled through the gathered crowd like distant thunder. Hushed voices grew more excited, even fearful, as the idea began to spread, like frost on glass.
Could it be? After all this time?
Was this blue-haired young man—the one who'd so casually frozen a gang of brutes and made them a laughingstock—the one they'd been waiting for?
The one destined to climb Mount Ranzai and end the tyranny of the Calamity Dragon?
Was he... the Ice Ninja?
Gara stood in the center of the plaza, thugs groaning in the snow behind him, villagers staring like he'd just sprouted wings.
He felt it—that familiar ripple in the air. Attention. Focus. The weight of dozens of eyes landing on him, waiting, watching.
'Tch... bit cliché, isn't it?' he thought, lips twitching in mild amusement. 'Old master shows up just as I show off some cool moves? Yeah, real subtle, Reciter. Real subtle.'
But he didn't hate it. Not really.
In fact, he chuckled quietly to himself. 'Who in the Story World dislikes attention, anyway?'
Attention meant everything here. Not just vanity or ego—though plenty had those. No, attention was currency. Power. The more eyes you drew, the more people cared about your story... the more Cores you earned. And Cores were life.
NPC attention didn't mean much. Their awe was nice for the atmosphere, but they couldn't feed the System.
But the Readers—the unseen audience following along, investing in every step, every line of dialogue, every battle and twist—they were the ones who mattered. They were the ones who turned moments into legends.
'So go on then,' he thought with a smirk. 'Watch closely, you ghost-eyed voyeurs. You're listening to the tale of [Root of All Things].'
And the story had only just begun.
The Ice Master finally reached Gara's side, his presence commanding immediate silence. The villagers parted like snowdrifts before a flame, their reverence for the old man palpable. Even the thugs, shivering and humiliated, stopped groaning to stare up at him in dread.
The old man surveyed the scene—ice-slicked ground, thugs stuck in place, and the small boy now standing tall beside Gara, eyes wide with admiration.
A soft chuckle rumbled from the Ice Master's throat.
Then, he pointed a finger toward Gara, his voice ringing out over the stunned plaza.
"This young man..." he declared, voice deep and theatrical, "is the one we've long awaited! The Famed Ice Ninja—hero of prophecy, slayer of flame, the one destined to stand atop Mount Ranzai and end the tyranny of the Calamity Dragon!"
Gasps echoed from the crowd. The villagers stared at Gara in shock.
The blue-haired young man didn't even blink.
'Yup. There it is,' he thought dryly. 'Dramatic finger. Big announcement.'
He shifted his weight, eyes half-lidded with amusement.
'You'd think after playing this three times, I'd get used to the cliches... but nope. They still hit like a snowball to the face.'
He smirked faintly, shooting the boy beside him a small, confident nod.
'Still, guess it's not the worst way to open a tale. Especially when it's my tale.'
The tale of [Root of All Things].
And the village whispered, hope flickering like dawnlight in their eyes.
The golden thread of the narrative pulsed, and the Reciter's voice echoed calmly across the Fragment.
[In that moment, the path of the story shifted.]
[The boy was saved not by chance, but by purpose.]
[The one who wields ice not as a tool, but as a legacy... has appeared.]
[He is the Ice Ninja.]
Gara rolled his eyes.
[And so, the day moved on.]
[The cold did not ease, but in the hearts of the people, something warm stirred.]
[For the first time in years, they had seen ice not used to punish—but to protect.]
[The thugs scattered, their pride shattered. The boy stood tall beside his savior.]
[And the villagers… they whispered, they smiled, they hoped.]
[The Ice Master, old yet unbowed, saw what they saw—and more.]
[He took the blue-haired young man into his home, into his legacy.]
[The villagers did not return to their work unchanged. They carried the moment with them.]
[Because today… the Ice Ninja had appeared.]
Gara followed the old man down the snowy path, letting the silence stretch between them.
'Well,' he thought, suppressing a smirk, 'guess I'm officially in the tutorial. Again.'
He then sighed, 'Everyone just gets to read that "the day moved on," and meanwhile, I have to actually live the rest of it.'
The old man was silent, walking slowly, as old men tended to do. Too slow for Gara's taste. The boy he'd saved earlier kept glancing back at him, eyes wide with admiration. A villager waved. Someone handed him a steamed bun.
'Yay,' Gara muttered internally, taking a bite. 'The thrilling reward of the hero: lukewarm carbs and awkward silence.'
In the Story World, this dissonance was nothing new. Following a single storyline may take a Player months, decades, or even lifetimes to play out.
However, when Reciters narrate these stories, they condense them into minutes or hours—highlighting only the turning points.
Recitation skips filler time. A sentence like "The rest of the day passed uneventfully" may only take a moment to hear. But for the Player inside the Fragment, that same "uneventful" day must still be lived, second by second.
This temporal dissonance is accepted as standard by all Story System users. After all, a story must flow. And Readers don't wait.
...
Gara blew out a cold breath, his exhale crystallizing in the frigid air as he stood at the peak of a snow-covered mountain. His blue coat swirled around him, the fabric catching the wind as he smiled to himself. He nuzzled deeper into the warmth of his coat, the familiar comfort of it grounding him, even as his thoughts drifted.
A month had passed. A full month of monotony that he'd spent immersed in the same repetitive cycle. Despite mastering all the ice techniques long ago, having played through [Ice Ninja] three times, the training that would have taken others years to complete was now nothing more than a brief flicker of time for him.
He knew all the shortcuts, every twist of the story, every move. Yet, still, a month had been consumed by this playthrough.
Sure, time passed differently in the Story World. For Players like him, time stretched and condensed depending on the flow of the narrative. Inside the Fragment, a full month felt like mere minutes in the Story World, where the Reciter compressed the story to focus on the pivotal moments.
But that didn't change the fact that a month of his life had slipped by, one more notch on the count of time spent in a world that, to him, felt both infinite and incredibly fleeting.
Even F Rankers lived for centuries, their lives stretching out in the Story World, but every passing moment still counted. Every month, every year—it all added up in the end.
Gara sighed, his breath fogging in the cold air as he stood still on the mountain top. He had long grown accustomed to this feeling, though it never ceased to annoy him. Some Players would waste decades of their lives inside Fragments, grinding to master a single technique or to break through to a higher rank.
Gara himself, through the three runs he'd already done on this Fragment, had already sacrificed six years of his life. Six years that had evaporated into the fabric of the Story World, years spent reliving the same tasks, the same narrative, over and over.
This time, things were different. He knew the Fragment better than anyone, the shortcuts, the hidden mechanics, the flow of the story. He could probably condense the entire playthrough into four months at most.
But that still meant months of repetitiveness—repeating techniques he already knew, redoing the same fights, experiencing the same moments he had long since grown bored of.
It grated on him.
This wasn't what he had envisioned when he first left his original Fragment and entered the Story World. The [First One Out] had made it all sound so magical, this idea of jumping through Fragments, learning new stories, and experiencing worlds beyond imagination.
And it was, at first. The novelty of it all still is exciting.
But repeating Fragments? That was a different story entirely. It was tedious. It was draining. And it left him wondering if maybe he had made the wrong choice.
He then looked east and shook his head slightly, the wind tugging at his hair as memories stirred. He remembered the dragon—its massive form coiled in the sky, its breath a torrent of flame that had engulfed him in death three separate times. Virtual deaths, of course, but the pain had felt real enough. The heat, the suffocation, the helplessness—those moments lingered. But so did his purpose.
Gara reminded himself of his goal. He hadn't come this far to back down over a few repeat deaths. He wanted to stand among the strongest, to raise [Root of All Things] to the top, just like the [First One Out] had.
To do that, he had to learn everything—every story, every element, every path—until it all traced back to him. Ice, wood, and now, fire.
He'd picked up fragments of understanding already—wood techniques from the [Southern Forests] Fragment, ice from the bitter years spent inside the [Ice Ninja] Fragment. And now, fire was within reach.
A dragon, a true one, likely from the Injuka clan—who better to learn from? If he wanted to master flame, there was no teacher more fitting. It was dangerous, yes. But that was the point.
He chuckled lightly, the sound almost lost in the mountain wind. Just imagining how difficult it was going to be—building his story all the way to the peak—made his head ache. Especially with the way he wanted to build it. Not simple, not safe, not a path anyone else would bother with. But so be it.
This was his goal.
To stand at the top.
To be strong.
To never be trampled on again.
This was his story—the [Root of All Things].
...
Three months later, and after countless battles, schemes, and moments of silent grit within the [Ice Ninja] Fragment, Gara had made it to the end.
It hadn't been easy—not even with his experience. His journey to the summit of the story's climax had been carved through ice and blood.
He had infiltrated the opulent estate of Lord Ranzoku, a corrupt daimyo who had secretly funneled tributes to the dragon in exchange for power. Under the moonlight, Gara had used silent ice techniques to evade dozens of elite guards, only to execute Ranzoku in a single, precise strike of ice through the heart—freezing the man's final scream in a crystal sculpture of agony.
He'd uncovered a hidden sect of rogue ninjas calling themselves the Ashen Fangs, who set fire to villages in the name of the Calamity Dragon. The battle against them had been brutal. At one point, Gara stood alone against twelve of their assassins in the ruins of a frost-bitten temple, his body bloodied, his coat torn, ice blades forming in his hands from sheer will and story mastery. The snow turned red that day.
He saved an entire village buried under an avalanche, crafting ice tunnels with precision, stabilizing collapse points with frozen reinforcements, guiding families out one by one through the howling dark. When a child wept at the sight of him, calling him "the snow hero," he had only smiled faintly and moved on.
The true story of the [Ice Ninja] Fragment usually played out with the Player gathering a team of elemental ninjas—wind, earth, and shadow, no fire ninja existed here though.
Each brought a unique skill, dramatic backstory, and signature battle moment in the final confrontation against the Calamity Dragon. In his first two runs, Gara had followed that path, forming bonds, watching allies fall, and letting the full narrative bloom.
But by the third run, he'd tested something different.
He discovered that, if he made the right decisions early—mastered certain side quests, obtained hidden techniques, and played with ruthless efficiency—he didn't need the others. The story would shift, condense. The challenges would become harder, yes, and more focused on him alone, but the Fragment would allow it. It was, after all, a branching structure. The Player had freedom.
And the Reciter hadn't minded. If anything, the Reciter seemed faintly amused the first time Gara bypassed the standard path. This too was part of the plot—the lone ninja rising alone against the impossible.
So, in this fourth run, Gara did the same. No elemental allies. No dramatic farewells or tragic sacrifices. Just him. One blade of frost, standing against flame.
Now, he climbed Mount Ranzai alone, each step crunching in snow that grew thinner as he neared the summit.
He was almost there.
The lair of the Calamity Dragon awaited.
...
High above the Fragment, floating in the folds of golden-tinted space, the Reciter sat cross-legged, a tattered lab coat draped over him like a relic. His cracked glasses caught the glimmer of countless Fragments drifting in the void, but his gaze was fixed on just one—[Ice Ninja].
He watched as Gara trudged up Mount Ranzai once more, coat flaring behind him like a banner of defiance.
[Again with this nonsense,] the Reciter muttered, exhaling as if tired just watching. [Trying to make the dragon teach him? What is this, a bedtime fable?]
A flick of his finger rewound a few scenes, replaying Gara's earlier interactions with the villagers, the Ashen Fangs, the Ice Master.
The Reciter leaned back, rubbing his temples. [He knows the dragon. I know the dragon. That thing doesn't 'teach.' It burns. It devours.]
...
Gara climbed steadily until the world leveled out beneath his feet—the jagged peak of Mount Ranzai. The wind howled like a living thing, laced with ash and heat, but the snow still clung to the stone underfoot, defiant and thin. Before him, nestled in the cracked basin of the caldera, was the dragon.
Just like every time before, it slept.
Massive, coiled like a mountain of muscle and scaled fire, the Calamity Dragon rested with its wings tucked and molten breath curling from its nostrils. Lava pulsed beneath the surface of the crater, casting the dragon's figure in deep orange and angry red.
It wouldn't wake up unless he did something—speak, attack, move too close.
Gara exhaled slowly, the air warm even through his breath. Now that he was here, actually standing on the edge of the climax, doubt flickered. How was he supposed to approach it? He'd been building toward this for months, but now that the moment had come, he hesitated.
He raised his hand and formed a wide ice shield, thick and layered like a frozen lotus, setting it in front of him with practiced calm. It wouldn't hold long—just enough to maybe give him a second or two before the flames erased him from the Fragment.
He stared at the sleeping dragon, heat rippling off its body like waves from a furnace, and clenched his fist slowly. The tension was building in his chest—not fear, exactly, but something tighter, more focused. He'd come here with a purpose, but that didn't mean it would go the way he planned.
'Should I use Wood Techniques too?' he thought, glancing down at his palm. He could already feel the rhythm of them—roots coiling, bark hardening. Just like ice, he could summon it at will, shape it into weapons or shields, whatever was needed.
'Or maybe... the Geru Sword?'
Even thinking of it sent a pulse through his core. The sword wasn't on him, but it didn't need to be—he could call it when the time came. His strongest weapon. His trump card.
But then he shook his head, exhaling as he tightened his stance behind the ice shield.
"No need for now," he said quietly, more to himself than anything. "Unless things get really bad."
And he stepped forward.
The Reciter floated above, motionless, his usual amused detachment replaced by a rare tension. He leaned slightly forward, eyes narrowed behind cracked lenses, watching every movement on Mount Ranzai with baited breath.
[All right, then... let's see it.] His voice, barely above a whisper, slipped into the space between Fragments.
Below him, in the golden threads of the Story World, countless Readers had tuned in. Some were Story Users who recognized Gara's name—[Root of All Things], the F Ranker who kept pushing further with each run. Others were Readers, drawn by the buzz that someone was challenging the Calamity Dragon again, and alone.
They watched in silence. Waiting.
Would he get burned again? Ejected in a blaze of ash and fury like the last three runs?
Or would this be different?
The screen showed him stepping forward, alone, his ice shield gleaming under the dragon's volcanic breath.
Tension thickened across the Fragment.
And no one, not even the Reciter, dared blink.
Back on Mount Ranzai, Gara made his move.
He stepped past the ice shield, letting it shimmer behind him like a forgotten thought. The heat was staggering now—his coat clung to his frame, and sweat prickled at his brow, but he stood tall, heart steady.
He cleared his throat.
"I am Gara," he said, voice firm but calm, "owner of the [Root of All Things]—"
But before he could continue, the dragon stirred.
The Calamity Dragon's massive orange eyes fluttered open, slow at first, then sharp—ancient and burning with instinctual fury. His body shifted, coils of muscle rising from where they'd lain. The snow around him melted instantly, and steam hissed into the air. He rose, wings spreading wide with a gust that sent ash spiraling.
He towered over Gara, titanic in scale—scales dark red like bloodstone, with streaks of black down his spine and wings like torn sails of fire. His eyes locked onto the human below.
Then, without a word, he opened his mouth.
Orange light surged within, swirling like a miniature sun, fire gathering in his throat with the terrifying hum of a storm about to break.
It was going to happen again. The breath. The end. Burned to ash, ejected from the Fragment like before—
But then…
Gara raised his hand.
And asked, casually, clearly, and without a hint of fear:
"Do you want to be friends?"
For a heartbeat, the world froze.
The fire halted mid-gather, flickering uncertainly. The dragon's mouth slowly closed. His head tilted ever so slightly.
Far above, the Reciter's mouth fell open.
[...What?]
Across the Fragment, Readers stared, stunned.
And in that stunned silence, the impossible became possible.
The dragon did not breathe fire.
Gara stared up at the dragon, barely daring to breathe, the molten light fading from its throat.
'Did that... actually work?'
The thought rang in his mind, stunned and disbelieving, as the massive beast loomed above him, unmoving, no longer hostile—just... watching.
A smile slowly crept onto Gara's face, half in awe, half in relief.
'No fire. No instant death. No forced reset. Just… stillness.'
He felt the adrenaline still buzzing through his veins, his muscles coiled tight like he was ready to dodge an inferno—but it wasn't coming.
'It really was that simple? All this time, I thought I had to fight harder, learn more, beat the odds. But maybe… maybe this story isn't just about strength.'
His heart thumped.
'I've been burning years trying to overpower this moment. But what if the point was never to fight? What if the real path… was to connect?'
He looked the dragon in the eye and held its gaze.
'You've killed me three times. But if you're anything like the stories say... then maybe you're more than just a boss fight.'
He grinned wider now, warmth pushing back against the mountain's searing heat.
'Yeah. Let's rewrite this ending.'
The dragon's great mouth opened again, but instead of the expected inferno, words poured out. Ancient, echoing, their weight carrying centuries of power and wisdom. The voice was deep, rumbling, as though each word shook the very ground.
"Do you... mean what you said?"
It wasn't a roar, but a question, uncertain and confused. The dragon's eyes were still locked onto Gara, studying him, as though it could not quite comprehend the turn of events.
Gara nodded without hesitation, still wearing that incredulous grin.
"Yeah, I meant it," he said, his voice steady and sure. "You don't have to burn me, or anyone else. We could—"
The sentence never finished. The readers watching the recitation, still caught in disbelief, began to react. Their comments exploded in a stream of laughter and confused chatter.
[Lyria_Swordstar]: "Wait, what?! He asked the dragon to be friends?? Is this some new strategy or am I losing my mind?"
[Fractured_Wind]: "This is either genius or complete madness. I can't tell. I'm dying here."
[Talon_of_the_Fire]: "Gara just straight-up asked a dragon to be his friend... this is either the most epic moment or a tragic mistake. Either way, I'm here for it!"
[Ice_Hearted_1]: "Okay, but seriously, how did that actually work? The dragon literally just stopped attacking. Wasn't expecting a calm conversation to be the solution to everything. This is insane."
[Frosted_Sword]: "The Reciter is probably losing his mind right now. There's no way this was supposed to happen like this."
[GlitchingScribe]: "This is gonna go down in history as one of the most bizarre plot twists ever. Gara just redefined how to 'beat' a Fragment. Who needs combat when you can just talk your way out of it?"
[StormOfAbyss]: "Wait, so did Gara just... rewrite the story's entire structure? Does the dragon just become his buddy now? Is that even allowed?!"
Meanwhile, far above, the Reciter exhaled sharply.
[...This is a new one.] He leaned back, his fingers lightly tapping the side of his chair. [I swear, this kid's rewriting everything, including my patience.]
The dragon stared down at Gara for what felt like an eternity. Its massive, molten eyes narrowed slightly, as though still assessing the human before it. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, the dragon nodded its enormous head.
"Alright... Let's be friends, then."
Gara stood still for a moment, processing the words as if they'd taken a while to register. Then, a smile slowly spread across his face, and the tension that had been coiled inside him since the beginning of his climb melted away. A sigh of relief escaped him—he couldn't help it.
"I... I actually did it," Gara muttered to himself, barely believing it. "I really didn't get burned for once."
He rubbed his hands together in disbelief, chuckling lightly to himself. "Man, I feared getting turned into ashes for the fourth time. But... here we are. Friends. Who would've thought?"
With that, a wave of exhilaration hit him. Without thinking, his fist shot up into the air in a victorious pump.
"YES!" he shouted, his voice ringing out over the mountaintop. "I DID IT!"
He chuckled again, almost in disbelief, still processing how effortlessly it all came together. To everyone watching from across the Fragment, his victory was something they hadn't expected either, and the comment section exploded once again.
—End of Chapter.
-------
[PRIVATE SYSTEM CHANNEL: POST-STORY REVIEW – TEXT LOG]Participants: Gara [Root of All Things], Reciter of [Ice Ninja] Fragment.
[Gara]: Hey, did you see that? I asked the dragon to be friends, and he actually said yes! I'm a genius!
[Reciter]: [...I can't even begin to describe how much this is breaking the rules.]
[Gara]: So, you're saying I'm rewriting the playbook? Cool, cool.
[Reciter]: [This isn't rewriting the playbook, this is throwing the playbook in fire and dancing on it while laughing.]
[Gara]: I mean, it worked, didn't it? I'm literally standing here, not burned to a crisp.
[Reciter]: [Not burned, yes. But really, what kind of story is this? A dragon and a human being buddies? Where's the drama? The conflict? The existential crisis?]
[Gara]: Honestly, I thought I'd get a fiery death again. Guess I surprised you, huh?
[Reciter]: [I'm not surprised, I'm just... confused and borderline offended. I've been running this Fragment for years and this is how it ends? With a handshake instead of a blaze?]
[Gara]: Who says it has to end in fire? I'm here to change the game, my dude. Plus, dragon friends are just cooler than dragon enemies.
[Reciter]: [You realize, if this keeps up, I might have to rewrite the Fragment just to maintain some semblance of structure. This is chaos.]
[Gara]: Rewrite it all you want. I'm just here for the chill vibes and good friendships. You'll see. Dragons are way more fun when they're on your team.
[Reciter]: [I hate that you're making sense, but I also don't know how to stop it. This is a disaster.]
[Gara]: A beautiful disaster, my friend. Embrace the chaos. It's better this way.
[Reciter]: [Fine. But I'm going to need a lot more coffee to process all of this. You're officially the most confusing Player I've ever had to deal with.]
[Gara]: Just doing my job, you know? Changing the world one friendship at a time.
[Reciter]: [I need a break from this. Someone, please, take this guy away!]