A portal emerges.
The narrative plane distorts.
Words tremble. Lines of text curve, as if bowing before something that has not yet arrived.
But someone moves ahead of it.
The portal is destroyed from within—not opened, but annihilated—and the rupture spreads beyond the plane itself, cracking even that which cannot be cracked.
Letters collapse.
Margins vanish.
"Format" ceases to exist for an eternal instant.
Then—
Alanai: HIII~ Did you miss me?
The text returns… but altered.
As if it had been rewritten solely to allow her to speak.
Elaen stood beside the portal. Her presence, which had once dominated the scene, is now little more than a reflection before her.
Elaen: (trembling) Y-yes… we missed you, Hakai.
Alanai tilts her head, smiling.
Alanai: "Hakai"… It's been a long time since anyone used that name with me.
She laughs.
And with that laughter, the origin of Everything breaks and remakes itself.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
For a fraction of a second, no work exists. Then… everything returns. But slightly different.
Alanai: It's been a while since I showed up on these pages too, hasn't it, Elaen?
A new portal tries to form.
This time, the text prepares itself. Lines align. The narrative strains to hold its shape.
From it emerges Alcanor.
He does not enter.
The chapter adapts to him.
Alcanor: Alanai…
He approaches calmly. Pulls her ear.
The gesture is absurd.
The effect, absolute.
Alcanor: Next time, let me cross the portal before you destroy it!
Alanai: Ouch, ouch, ouch (laughs) Okay, okay, sorry.
She feels no pain. She existed before pain was even a concept.
Alcanor sighs and lets go. The chapter regains some stability… by force.
I try to speak.
Narrator: S-sir Alcanor… we have a problem.
An arrow appears. It points at me. I'm lying on the ground.
In front of me, a floating window displays the list of chapters.
There are fewer.
Many fewer.
The absences weigh more than the text.
Alcanor: … (sighs) I expected this.
Error404_: (looking at him) You could've at least told me which chapters you were going to erase before doing it.
Alcanor takes the chapter list window as if it were a physical object. He examines it.
Alcanor: If I told you, you'd know exactly how to remake them. (pause) And it wasn't that many… just a few.
Error404_: To you they're "a few." You can remake everything just by thinking it. I have to build it line by line.
Alcanor: And that's exactly why I prefer you to do it. It'll be better that way. Also… —he steps closer and points at me— you're still writing because I allow it.
He withdraws his finger.
Alcanor (smiling): I grant you freedom to modify the new canon.
As long as it leads to the same point.
The permission is not symbolic.
It feels as if the work itself updates its internal rules.
Error404_: … (sighs) I'll have to think carefully. Though there will be a "being" who notices the changes.
Alcanor: I know. (chuckles softly) Don't worry.
Alanai rolls her eyes.
Alanai: How boring.
She grabs the concept of "stone" between two fingers, as if it were a real object, and throws it into an ocean of narrative titles.
The concept bounces.
Each impact alters stories.
Entire chapters reorder themselves.
Names change.
Scenes warp.
Then it disappears among the titles.
Alanai: Can I do something while he rewrites?
Alcanor: Don't break ti—
Too late… Time shatters.
Not just normal time.
Conceptual time.
Narrative time.
Time as an idea.
Everything freezes in an impossible state where nothing advances… and everything happens at once.
Then Time returns. Forced. Repaired.
Alcanor massages the bridge of his nose.
Alcanor: I always have to fix your disasters… Try going at least five minutes without breaking something.
Alanai: (laughing) You know perfectly well I can't. —Bręäk th€ t£xt—
The letters distort for a second.
Alcanor: …yes… Unfortunately.
He lifts Error404_ with absurd ease.
Alcanor: Good luck surviving her "collateral damage."
Error404_: I'm getting used to it… (sigh) I'll redo everything. As long as the final point is the same.
Alcanor: Exactly.
He summons an object.It does not appear: it is authorized to exist.
A pencil.
Not an ordinary pencil.
An instrument of authorship.
He hands it over.
Alcanor: You may begin.
Then he snaps his fingers.
The chapter ends.
The canon resets.
Continuity restructures itself.
The internal system of the work reorders from chapter 16 onward.
Not as a narrative reboot.
As a forced reality update.
And yet…
Only a few know that what happened was not erased.
Only… hidden beneath a new layer of story.