Rain poured over the city, streaking the streets in silver and gray. Neon signs reflected in puddles like fragmented stars, but to Aeryn Vale, it all felt dull and lifeless. He sat on the edge of his bedroom window, pencil hovering over a blank sheet of his notebook.
School had mocked him again. Classmates held glowing pages—the Ēteru Sukuriputo—and effortlessly shaped reality: fire igniting from ink, objects repairing themselves, air bending with symbols. They laughed and flaunted their power, weaving magic as easily as breathing.
And he?
...
Nothing.
"Maybe they're right," he whispered, voice barely audible over the rain. "Maybe I really am useless…"
His fingers traced a rough outline of a bird, but it stayed just a normal drawing on paper. No magic, No movement, Nothing. The graphite lines seemed almost pitiful compared to the vibrant magic swirling around him at school.
A gust of wind rattled the window. Loose sheets scattered across the floor. One fluttered into his lap—a torn, old-looking piece of paper. Different, Old, Fragile. And yet… it felt like it was destined to be his, it felt like it's alive.
Aeryn's heart thumped as he picked it up. The moment his fingers touched it, the ink shifted, forming words as if someone—or something—was watching him:
"User detected."
The page trembled, glowing faintly. Aeryn's pencil moved without thought. He drew the bird again. This time, its outline pulsed. Then—the graphite lifted off the page, forming a real, living bird. It flapped wildly in the rain, wings soaked but alive.
Aeryn stumbled backward, chest heaving.
"Impossible…"
A shadow fell over him. Rain froze in midair. The bird froze mid-flap. He felt the air tighten around him like invisible hands.
"That page… is not meant to exist," a voice said.
An Archivist emerged from the alley. Cloaked, precise, with eyes that seemed to pierce his soul. Symbols glowed faintly in the air around him. With a gesture, he activated his Script:
静止記述"ステイシス・スクリプト" (Stasis Script)
Time stopped. Rain froze mid-drop. The bird hung in the air. Aeryn could barely move. Fear froze his limbs, choking him.
"Hand it over," the Archivist demanded.
Aeryn's fingers clenched the glowing page. The page pulsed as if it's alive, whispering to him, urging him to act. Something primal, instinctual, flared within him.
He drew a jagged line in the air—a simple stroke. The line shimmered, growing, stretching. Reality shattered, a ripple of blue light erupted, smashing the frozen stasis. Time flowed again. The bird flew free.
The Archivist's eyes widened.
"…An Unwritten?"
Aeryn ran, heart pounding. The page pulsed in his hand, Alive, Watching, Waiting.
That night, under dim streetlights and heavy rain, Aeryn whispered to the page:
"What… are you?"
Far away, in the Grand Archive, a massive hall filled with books, a figure sat on a throne made of paper. Eyes glowing faintly, High Archivist Solmire spoke:
"A fragment has awakened."
The first ripple of change had begun.
...
The morning after the incident, Aeryn avoided school.
He didn't know how to face anyone—not after discovering the page's strange, uncontrollable power.
He wandered the rain-soaked streets, the page tucked safely in his jacket.
Curiosity gnawed at him. He had to understand it. He needed answer.
He returned to the alley from the day before, sketchbook open. He drew cautiously at first—a small bridge to cross a flooded street. The page pulsed. Ink stretched and grew into reality, forming a fragile, shimmering walkway. Water parted just enough for him to walk across.
"It's… real…" he whispered.
A trace of blue light glowed around his hand, leaving marks where the page had touched reality. Each stroke left a pulse of energy on him, like the page was feeding off his own life force.
A soft sound caught his attention. From the shadows, a girl stepped forward. Silver hair, sharp eyes, calm but commanding. She observed him silently, unafraid of the floating papers around them.
"I've been looking for you," she said.
She introduced herself as Lyra Solenne, a former apprentice of the Grand Archive. She knew the page's nature, its history, and its danger.
"That page… is dangerous. And they will come for you," Lyra warned.
Before Aeryn could respond, the ground trembled. Papers swirled violently around them, caught in an invisible whirlwind. From above, a massive, armored Archivist descended. His eyes glowed red, each step resonating with authority.
"The fragment must be contained," he roared.
Instinctively, Aeryn drew a barrier—a cage of ink, shimmering blue, wrapping around him and Lyra. Reality bent around the edges, the air crackling.
Lyra leaped beside him. Her hands glowed, 再生頁"リジェネ・ページ" (Regeneration Page). She reinforced the barrier, patching cracks as the Archivist's strike tore at it.
"We'll need to move," she said. "Now."
The two ran through the twisted alleyways, chased by the shadows of the Archive. Rain and paper swirled around them.
Aeryn's heart pounded with fear—and something else. Excitement. Power. For the first time, he felt alive.
He glanced down at the page, glowing faintly, almost smiling. A whisper echoed inside his mind:
"Draw… fight… survive…"
"This is only the beginning," he thought, gripping the page tightly.
As they disappeared into the misty streets, far above, in the Grand Archive, a figure watched through glowing runes:
"Prepare the hunters," High Archivist Solmire said, voice echoing.
"The fragment is awake."
And in that moment, Aeryn knew the world had changed—and that he was no longer just a boy with a sketchbook.