The horizon split open like paper ripped in half.Black ink spilled across the sky, and the words above him rearranged themselves mid-air.
Lucien ran toward the light.Every step he took erased a sentence behind him, as if the story was trying to delete his existence.
"Show yourself!" he shouted.
A whisper answered—too calm, too close.
"You were never meant to be written twice."
The voice came from nowhere and everywhere at once.Then the ground trembled. A gigantic quill—pure shadow—descended from the clouds, its tip carving symbols into the air.Each symbol ignited, rewriting the world around him. Mountains turned into walls of text, the sky into parchment.
Lucien drew his blade, its glow flaring blue.
"Are you the Author?" he demanded.
"I am what your Author left behind," the voice said. "The rule that keeps stories pure."
Lines of ink burst from the quill, coiling toward him like serpents.Lucien dodged, slicing through one, then another.Each strike sent splatters of ink flying—ink that hissed as it hit the ground, burning through the surface like acid.
He gritted his teeth. "You're rewriting me, aren't you?"
"Correction," the voice replied. "I'm restoring you. You were never supposed to love her. You were supposed to die."
Lucien lunged, slashing upward. His blade met the quill's edge, the clash sending a shockwave of light and darkness.The echo of Sera's voice flickered in his mind—Don't open it alone.He felt her warmth steady his hands.
"I decide what I'm supposed to be," he growled.
He spun the pen-blade, tracing new runes in the air. Words appeared—Rewrite: Resistance.The quill shrieked as the letters wrapped around it, halting its motion for a moment.
But the pause didn't last. The quill snapped free, plunging straight at him.Lucien blocked, the force throwing him back into the text-walls. Letters scattered like glass.
Pain seared his arm.He looked down—ink was crawling into his veins, trying to overwrite his body.The voice laughed softly.
"You are only words. Why fight?"
Lucien clenched his fist. "Because words can change."
He drove the blade into his own shadow.The ink veins recoiled, howling, their script dissolving under his pulse of light.
He rose again, eyes glowing. "You're not the only one who can write."
He thrust his blade skyward, shouting a new command—Rewrite: Flame of Freedom!
The world ignited. Letters turned to sparks, and the black quill began to burn.For a heartbeat, everything stood still—silence except for the sound of fire eating through language.
Then the quill screamed. Its form split open, and from inside stepped a figure—human, almost. Cloaked in smoke, carrying a smaller quill like a dagger.
Lucien recognized the face.
"Evan…"
But the figure smiled wrong—too sharp, too hollow.
"Evan is a draft," it said. "I'm what he became after he tried to replace the author. I'm the Quill in the Dark."
Lucien's heart thudded. "You're the one writing my steps."
"I'm the hand that holds every villain," it said. "And you, Lucien, are my masterpiece gone rogue."
It lunged.
Lucien met it head-on.Their blades collided—ink versus light, story versus will. Each clash shattered a paragraph of the world around them.
"You think you're real?" the Quill hissed. "You're just a line that refused to end."
Lucien gritted his teeth. "Then I'll be the line that rewrites the ending."
He pushed forward, forcing the shadow back.Every strike recalled Sera's face—her smile, her warning, her touch.He drew power from that memory, burning brighter each second.
The Quill faltered. "Love is not canon."
Lucien roared. "Then I'll make it canon!"
He plunged his blade through the shadow's chest.Light exploded outward, erasing half the darkness in one blinding surge.
When the glow faded, the Quill was gone—only a single feather remained, black and gleaming.
Lucien fell to one knee, breathing hard. He reached for the feather. It pulsed once, whispering:
Page 30… awaits.
He clenched his fist around it.He didn't know if he'd won or if he'd just triggered something worse—but the feather's weight told him the fight wasn't over.
He looked up. The torn sky was healing, faint words stitching themselves together again.One line glowed brighter than the rest:
The villain walked toward his final truth.
Lucien stared at it for a long moment, then stood. "Then let's finish the story."
He walked forward, the feather fading into his hand, merging with his mark.
Somewhere ahead, beyond the restored horizon, the door waited.And behind it—truth, memory, and the love he still refused to lose.