The ruins felt different now.
Not safer, exactly. The corpses still stank. The blood hadn't dried. The monsters still howled faintly from beyond shattered walls, a constant reminder that safety was only a word, not a reality.
But people moved differently.
There was order.
Because Kael Arathis had spoken.
✦
He stood at the center of the cracked plaza, framed by the faint false dawn cast by the system's sky. Even dirtied with soot and blood, he looked composed, like he had simply brushed off the apocalypse and walked into command. The kind of man who carried authority as naturally as breathing.
The guild envoys clustered around him like satellites, their voices reverent.
"Commander Arathis, the Guild Alliance is honored."
"Your leadership will save countless dimensions."
"Your strength is the light in this apocalypse."
The survivors, weary and broken, clung to those words like lifelines. They cheered, cried, and some even fell to their knees. Relief bled across their faces, the kind that only comes when someone stronger promises to carry the weight for you.
Kael accepted with a solemn nod. Not arrogant. Not prideful. Just inevitable.
The Hero of the First Hour had become Commander of Earth.
✦
And me?
I leaned against the broken wall at the edge of the plaza, arms crossed, shadows curling faintly at my feet like loyal dogs with sharp teeth. Their presence didn't comfort anyone but me, and even that was debatable.
The whispers followed me everywhere.
That's the bug.
Didn't the gods want him erased?
He talks to his own shadow. It's wrong. He's wrong.
Their eyes slid past me, never meeting mine. Fear clung heavier than the smoke. Suspicion thickened the air.
[ The gods of Order glare at you. ]
[ The gods of Shadows whisper in approval. ]
[ Unknown Origin murmurs: "Let them fear. Fear is also a kind of ink." ]
I forced a laugh, but it scraped in my throat. "Great. Now I'm quoting eldritch sponsors. Totally fine. Totally healthy."
Dev shifted nervously beside me. Stubborn as ever, he refused to leave my side, though I caught him glancing uneasily at the ink curling lazily around my boots.
"They're all picking sides," he muttered. "Kael's got the guilds. You've got… uh…"
I raised a brow. "Ink?"
He grimaced. "…Yeah. Ink."
✦
Kael raised his hand. Silence rippled instantly through the plaza.
"Survivors of Earth," he declared, voice steady, deep, carrying like a bell through the ruins. "You have suffered. You have lost. But you will endure. Because we will fight. Together."
The crowd roared, their despair transmuted into fervor. Hope sparked like dry tinder in a storm. A promise made, and because it was him, it felt unbreakable.
I bit down on a bitter smile.
Of course he sounded perfect. Of course he fit the role. He was built for it—every syllable smooth, every gesture inspiring.
And me?
I wasn't even a supporting role.
I was the typo the story hadn't deleted yet.
✦
The Rewrite prompt flickered faintly in the corner of my vision.
[ Sentence: Ishaan Reed faded further into obscurity, forgotten by survivors. ]
[Rewrite? (Y/N)]
My thumb twitched.
But before I could press it, a voice called softly.
"…Reed?"
I froze.
A girl stood there—thin, half-starved, her clothes ripped to threads, her face streaked with soot and blood. She gripped a bent crowbar in trembling hands like it was Excalibur.
"I… I saw what you did. With the ink."
Gasps hissed through the survivors. The whispers turned sharper.
"Stay away from him!"
"He's cursed!"
"He'll get you killed!"
But the girl didn't move. Her voice shook, but her eyes… her eyes burned.
"I don't care. You didn't leave us behind. You saved people. Even when it cost you."
✦
Dev blinked. "…Wait. Someone actually noticed that?"
I scowled. "Don't sound so shocked."
But she wasn't alone.
A boy limped forward, leaning on a broken pipe for support, his leg twisted wrong. His jaw trembled, but his chin was high. Then another came—an old man missing an arm, his empty sleeve tied neatly at the shoulder. Then a woman with a crying toddler clutched tight against her chest.
Not many. A handful. A fraction.
But enough.
The ones the guilds didn't want. Too weak. Too broken. Too useless.
And yet… they were looking at me.
Like I was the only one who would want them.
[ Some gods hum in curiosity. ]
[ A Goddess of Mercy notes: "He gathers the forgotten." ]
[ A God of War scoffs: "Useless chaff." ]
[ A Trickster God cackles: "Oh, I love this bug. Shadow army incoming!" ]
I muttered under my breath, "I didn't sign up for babysitting."
The ink coiled faintly around my wrist, warm, almost smug. Like it was agreeing for me.
✦
Mirae's broadcast lens whirred, instantly locking on, sparkling with sadistic glee.
"OHHHH, viewers, DO YOU SEE THIS? While Kael builds his army of the chosen, our little Bug is attracting… the misfits! The rejects! The broken toys of the apocalypse! I'm calling it now: Team Hero versus Team Bug!"
The dimensional chat detonated:
"Shadow guild let's gooo!"
"Bug adopting strays?? I'm here for it."
"Honestly, more relatable than the shiny hero squad."
"Quill of Emo collecting NPC sidekicks like Pokémon."
I groaned. "Can I PLEASE trend once for a good reason?"
[ The gods laugh at your suffering. ]
✦
Kael noticed, of course. His gaze slid toward me, sharp, assessing. Then, almost imperceptibly, it softened… with pity.
Pity.
That stung worse than hatred.
But he didn't interfere. Why would he? He had the army. The guilds. The spotlight. I had shadows and scraps.
✦
But here's the thing.
Shadows don't need armies. Shadows don't need cheers.
Shadows wait.
And when the time comes… shadows rewrite.
✦
I looked at them—the girl with the crowbar clutched in too-small hands. The limping boy with his stubborn glare. The one-armed old man standing tall despite the tremor in his remaining hand. The mother, rocking her terrified child to sleep in a world where sleep could mean death.
Not warriors. Not heroes.
But alive.
And looking at me like I was their last chance.
I exhaled slowly. "…Fine. Stick close. Don't touch the ink unless you want nightmares."
Dev grinned despite himself. "So… this is it? Team Bug?"
I groaned. "If you ever call it that again, I'll feed you to the ink."
The shadows pulsed faintly, amused.
[ Title Acquired: Keeper of the Forgotten. ]
My chest tightened as the system's voice echoed.
[ Survivors outside the light have chosen you. ]
[ Your path diverges from the Hero's. ]
The gods stirred louder, their voices rippling across the void.
And for the first time, I realized something terrifying.
Kael might command the world.
But me?
I commanded the story no one wanted to tell.