The world had changed.
But not completely.
Kael knew that much as he walked through the village of Thressil — a place that hadn't existed five years ago. A place built from stories, where children played tag across rooftops designed by dreamers, and bakers sang spells into their bread.
This was the world they'd fought for.
A world free of the Editor King.
Free of scripts.
Free of chains.
So why did it feel… unfinished?
The Echo
It started with a whisper.
A child named Brenna had gone missing.
Then another. Then a whole family.
No signs of struggle. Just vanished, their homes filled with pages that no one remembered writing.
Kael knelt in the center of the last home, examining a single, crimson-stained scrap:
"She was never meant to exist. So I helped her forget."
Kael's blood ran cold.
Not because of the message.
But because of the style.
The ink. The rhythm. The voice behind the line.
It was his.
Or at least, it used to be.
Back when he rewrote the world.
The Red Ink
Eli arrived by dusk, bags under his eyes and notes spilling from his arms.
He said nothing at first.
Just handed Kael a sheet.
Kael read it once. Twice.
It wasn't a warning.
It was a manifesto:
"Let every character speak? Very well. Let them scream. Let them drown in their own voices, until they beg for silence."
— Signed, The Red Quill
Eli muttered, "Kael… someone's using the old Source Pages."
Kael looked up. "That's impossible."
Eli shook his head. "No. It's worse. They're not using them."
"They're becoming them."
A New Player
The attack came at midnight.
Not soldiers. Not beasts.
Genres.
A horror fragment in the town square — a stitched-together nightmare of tropes and clichés.
A tragedy field blooming around a schoolhouse — anyone who stepped in remembered a heartbreak they never lived.
Kael and Eli fought them off with anchored stories — binding memories to their rightful tellers, stabilizing reality.
But something was watching.
A figure on the rooftop.
Cloaked in red.
Eyes like bleeding punctuation.
When Kael leapt up to confront it, it had already vanished — leaving only a smoldering page:
"You rewrote the world, Kael. Now I'll show you what happens when a story rejects its author."