The wind howled through the mountain pass, carrying the scent of snow and something darker—blood, steel, and smoke. Torches flickered in the cold air as soldiers in Ravencroft black-and-silver moved in tight formation, faces grim and eyes sharp. They weren't marching to war, but they were prepared for it.
Lucien rode at the head, his cloak billowing behind him like wings of shadow. His gaze was locked on the narrow trail ahead, where the meeting with Prince Eiran had been arranged under the banner of truce. Yet trust was a currency neither side could afford.
He wasn't afraid of Eiran.
He was afraid of the story.
Because this was the moment it all went wrong in the novel.
And this time, he intended to rewrite it.
---
Lucien dismounted at the snowy ridge, heart pounding. Eiran stood across from him, equally regal in white and gold, flanked by only two knights.
No armies. No traps. Just him.
"You came," Lucien said.
"You asked," Eiran replied. "And I suppose I was… curious."
Lucien approached slowly, every step measured. "The foreign banners you saw—they're not a random force. Someone is orchestrating this. Someone powerful, hiding in the shadows."
Eiran's jaw tightened. "I know. I've seen signs of corruption in the royal court. Poisoned letters. Unaccounted funds. Disappearances."
Lucien's voice dropped. "I suspect Lord Cedric."
Eiran raised a brow. "Your most loyal advisor?"
"He was my father's man," Lucien said. "And my father believed in domination, not diplomacy."
The prince studied him. "You've changed."
"I'm trying."
Silence stretched between them.
"You told me once," Eiran said softly, "that mercy was a weakness. That sentiment was a weapon used by fools."
Lucien smiled faintly. "Then consider me a fool."
Something in Eiran's expression cracked, just for a moment.
"I want peace," Lucien continued. "But I know peace must be defended. So I'm asking you—help me uncover this conspiracy. Let's dismantle the true threat before war burns everything."
Eiran's reply came after a long pause. "I'll give you seven days."
Lucien blinked. "Seven?"
"That's all the time I can keep my council from pushing for retaliation. Use it wisely, Ravencroft."
---
The clock began ticking.
Back in Ravencroft Castle, Lucien gathered a covert unit—spies, scouts, and loyalists who owed allegiance not to the Ravencroft bloodline, but to Lucien himself. Selene led them with quiet ruthlessness.
The investigation began.
They unearthed forged ledgers hidden beneath the palace vault, maps with red marks on Eiran's territories, sealed orders signed by a phantom hand.
Someone was setting the kingdom on fire from within.
And then they found him.
A dying courier, half-mad with poison, collapsed at the castle gates.
He clutched a single scroll, eyes wild with terror.
Lucien leaned over him. "Who sent you?"
The man coughed blood. "The one... who wears no face… the one who feeds on the story..."
And then he died.
Lucien froze.
Feeds on the story?
Selene looked alarmed. "What does that mean?"
Lucien turned the scroll over. There was no seal. No name.
Just a single line written in ancient, elegant script.
"The villain's fate is not his own."
---
That night, Lucien stood before the mirror, staring into eyes that weren't his. He gripped the edge of the basin, knuckles white.
The world was no longer just a novel.
Something—someone—was manipulating the story, enforcing the original fate.
Lucien wasn't just reborn into fiction.
He was imprisoned by it.
A knock sounded.
Selene entered, grim. "There's more. A name came up in the court records—The Storykeeper."
Lucien's breath hitched.
He remembered the name. Vaguely mentioned in one of the late arc side-stories. A shadow figure—said to be a spirit or god that kept narratives on their destined path.
It was a myth.
Wasn't it?
"They say he punishes deviations," Selene murmured. "Characters who try to rewrite their fate."
Lucien swallowed hard. "Then we need to find him."
"Where?"
He turned, eyes glinting. "In the Forgotten Library. The only place stories are left unfinished."
---
The Forgotten Library was buried deep beneath the ruins of Veylorn—an ancient city consumed by fire over a century ago. It wasn't marked on maps, not even magical ones. But Lucien had read about it.
A single line in the novel described it as "the graveyard of broken tales."
They rode in secret, cloaked in enchanted shadows, through storm and stone until they reached the cracked stone arch half-buried by ivy and time.
Inside, the air was thick with silence.
Books lined the walls, scrolls floated midair, and ghostly whispers echoed in every corridor.
Selene kept her blade drawn.
Lucien walked straight to the center, where a pedestal stood.
A book waited there.
His book.
He picked it up, and its pages flipped on their own, stopping where the narrative currently stood—Lucien meeting Eiran on the ridge.
Then a faint glow shimmered in the air above the pedestal.
A figure emerged, faceless, robed in a patchwork of pages.
The Storykeeper.
"Why are you interfering?" Lucien demanded.
The figure tilted its head. "I preserve. You defy."
Lucien stepped forward. "This life isn't yours to control."
"It was written. You were to die by Eiran's hand. Or kill him. There is no third path."
Lucien's voice trembled. "Then I'll burn the pages."
The Storykeeper raised a hand. "And doom the world within them."
Lucien's breath hitched.
This wasn't just a book.
If the story collapsed, this world—its people, its futures—could unravel.
"You don't have to be the villain," Selene said beside him. "There's always another way."
The Storykeeper's form began to fade.
"Then prove it," it whispered. "Survive the next turn. Survive the betrayal."
Lucien's blood ran cold. "Betrayal?"
The book snapped shut.
And then the world shook.
---
Back in the capital, Lord Cedric struck.
His forces seized key trade ports under the guise of "defensive action." Loyalists were arrested. False letters were planted implicating Lucien in treasonous plots.
And worst—Eiran received one of those letters.
Lucien's forged handwriting. Promising his death in return for power.
Eiran's hands trembled as he read it.
Had he been a fool?
Had he trusted the villain?
The fire of betrayal burned in his chest.
He ordered the armies to prepare.
Lucien was out of time.
---
The next day, a single messenger arrived at Ravencroft gates.
A royal seal. Eiran's signet.
The message?
"This is your final chapter. I'll see you on the battlefield."
---
Lucien stood on the battlements, cloak whipping around him in the wind.
The sky had turned red with dusk.
"Is this fate?" he whispered.
Selene stood beside him. "Only if we let it be."
Lucien exhaled.
"Then let's give fate something new to write."
---
To be continued…