Pov Author
The book had always known how to wait.
Anna stood at the center of the void, her breath steady despite the slow rearranging of reality around her. The ink-black water beneath her feet no longer rippled. It listened. The symbols embedded within it—once frantic, once demanding—had grown quiet, as if recalibrating in her presence.
She had not conquered them.
They had recognized her.
That difference mattered.
The Core lingered at the edge of perception, withdrawn but not gone. Its pressure was diminished now, its authority fractured—not destroyed, but challenged. For the first time since its creation, the book existed in uncertainty.
Anna lowered her hand.
Power receded, not vanishing, but settling—like a blade returned to its sheath.
"So," she murmured into the stillness, "this is what you do. You test people until they break."
No answer came.
Only distance.
The void began to thin, layers of darkness peeling back to reveal fractures—windows into other realms, other narratives brushing too close for comfort. She felt them then: attention. Not focused, not yet—but curious.
Gods noticed disruptions.
Anomalies.
She exhaled slowly.
Let them look .
She would not kneel simply because she was seen.
---
In Shou Feng's castle, the aftermath lingered like a held breath.
The shattered chamber had been sealed, its fractures bound by ancient shadow-wards older than the stone itself. The air remained heavy with residual power—destruction restrained, fury leashed only by intent.
Shou Feng stood alone at the chamber's edge.
Zara had been removed.
Not released.
Not forgiven.
Contained.
Her knowledge extracted to the limits of what she possessed—and even that had proven dangerously incomplete. She had corrupted the book, twisted its pathways, fed it sacrifice and blood, but she had never truly understood its core.
That ignorance had cost her control.
And nearly cost Anna her existence.
Shou Feng's gaze remained fixed on the empty space where the fracture had once opened.
She was alive.
That truth anchored him.
But alive was no longer enough.
He could feel it now—faint but undeniable—the way the fabric between realms strained in her wake. Anna was not merely surviving the book.
She was changing it.
Gods were not meant to witness that.
He turned away at last.
The castle responded instinctively, shadows shifting to clear his path. Servants did not approach. Spirits did not whisper. Everything within the stronghold understood the state of its master.
This was not rage.
This was resolve.
---
Anna's room remained untouched.
The chamber existed at the highest tower, where light filtered in through narrow windows carved with protective sigils Shou Feng himself had etched long ago. The bed was neatly arranged. Her cloak lay folded across the chair, precisely as she had left it.
Time had not moved here.
Shou Feng stepped inside.
The air carried the faintest trace of her presence—not scent, not warmth, but impression . A residue of will. Of defiance. Of something that refused to fade quietly.
His gaze fell, unbidden, to the small table near the window.
The book lay there.
Unassuming.
Bound in dark leather, its surface etched with symbols that shifted when not directly observed. It radiated no power now. No hunger. No demand.
Dormant.
Waiting.
Shou Feng approached slowly.
He did not touch it.
He had sealed it the moment Anna vanished—layer upon layer of divine wards, binding oaths, reality-locks keyed to his essence alone. No mortal should have been able to cross them.
No god, either.
The book remained where it had always been.
Or so it seemed.
---
Elsewhere in the castle, footsteps echoed softly.
They did not belong.
The corridors near Anna's tower were rarely traversed. The wards here were old, selective, attuned to intent as much as identity. Yet the figure walking them did so without resistance, as though the castle itself hesitated—confused, uncertain.
William Wataru moved calmly.
Not hurried.
Not cautious.
He was dressed simply, dark coat unadorned, hair tied back loosely at the nape of his neck. To an untrained eye, he would have appeared unremarkable.
He was anything but.
His gaze lifted as he passed beneath a ward-ring.
"Still reactive," he murmured thoughtfully. "Interesting."
The seals did not activate.
They watched him.
Wataru stopped before the door to Anna's chamber.
He studied it for a long moment, head tilted slightly, as if listening to something beneath the stone.
"So this is where you kept her," he said quietly.
There was no accusation in his voice.
Only curiosity.
He raised a hand—not to force the door, but to ask.
The lock disengaged.
The door opened.
---
By the time Shou Feng returned, the room felt… wrong.
Not violated.
Not damaged.
Simply altered.
His steps slowed.
The shadows at his feet recoiled, uneasy.
His gaze snapped to the table.
The book was gone.
For a single, suspended moment, the world held its breath.
Then—
Shou Feng moved.
The castle roared awake as his power surged outward, wards screaming in alarm, corridors bending as he traced the echo of the theft backward through space itself.
Too late.
Whoever had taken it was already beyond the outer threshold.
Beyond the realm.
Only one trace lingered.
Not destructive.
Not hostile.
Deliberate.
Shou Feng closed his eyes briefly.
A name surfaced, unbidden, carried on the faint memory of old interference—someone who had observed rather than ruled, corrected rather than conquered.
"Wataru," he said softly.
---
Far beyond the castle, beyond the book's native reality, William Wataru stood at the edge of a liminal crossing.
The spell book rested in his hands now, heavier than it appeared, its symbols beginning to stir as they recognized new proximity.
He smiled faintly.
"So," he said to the darkness ahead, "the anomaly chooses survival over submission."
The book did not resist him.
That, more than anything, confirmed his suspicions.
Wataru stepped forward.
The crossing closed behind him.
And somewhere between worlds—
The story changed course.
To be continued.