The air cracked.
Pages peeled from the walls.
The Editor descended from the void between bookshelves—an entity bound in scripture and silence. His ten masks spun around his head, each one bearing a title: Judgment, Revision, Erasure, Control… and the last, blank.
Lucian's breath frosted.The pressure wasn't magical.It was narrative.
The Editor pointed a pen made of bone and black ink at him.
"You were removed from the canon, Lucian. Erased. Lost to time by divine command."
"And yet you returned. Unauthorized. Undocumented. Dangerous."
He floated above the ground, not flying—but re-aligning gravity around his presence.
"Correction is required."
Lysia stepped forward, sword glowing.
"Back off."
But the Editor didn't look at her.
Instead, he flicked his pen—
And reality rewrote.
Suddenly, she was behind a wall of books that hadn't existed seconds ago.
"Your narrative relevance is insufficient."
Naia growled and launched a blade of mirrored light.
It struck one of the Editor's masks—the mask of Control—and cracked it.
He staggered slightly.
Lucian's eyes narrowed.
"You're not invincible."
The Editor turned toward him.
"No. But neither are you. Especially… here."
He raised the pen again.
Words flowed midair, glowing.
[Lucian falls to his knees.]
Lucian's legs buckled.
He gritted his teeth.
The words were not magic—they were meta-truths. In this place, to write was to command reality.
Lucian forced himself to stand, every muscle screaming.
"You think… that's enough?"
The Editor wrote another line:
[Lucian forgets the name of the girl he once loved.]
Naia gasped.
Lucian blinked.
"Naia…?"
The image of her face—so clear moments ago—now wavered like ink in water.
She clenched her fists. "Don't listen to him. It's me, Lucian."
But the damage was done.
Lucian hesitated.
And in hesitation—
The Editor struck again.
Ten quills emerged from his back, each targeting a different memory.
Lucian's eyes widened.If they landed, he wouldn't just lose his memories—he'd lose the truths that defined him.
Suddenly—
Naia stepped in front of him.
And took the hit.
Time slowed.
The quills pierced her shoulder, side, heart.
But no blood spilled.
Instead—fragments of mirrored memories shattered outward.
Lucian saw them flash:
A quiet garden, where Naia laughed beside him.
A moment where she held his hand and whispered, "If they take your name, I'll still remember."
Her choosing to forget him, under divine order… to protect him from the wrath of the gods.
Lucian's voice cracked."Why… why would you—"
Naia smiled faintly.
"You rewrote me once… to forget you. So I'd survive."
Tears welled in her mirrored eyes.
"But I remembered anyway."
Then she collapsed.
The Editor's voice echoed coldly.
"You see, Lucian? Even your allies are footnotes. You may struggle, you may rise—but here, I hold the pen."
Lucian knelt beside Naia.
Her body flickered—half-solid, half-glass.
The world tried to delete her.
But something inside Lucian snapped.
Not rage.
Not despair.
Clarity.
He stood slowly.
And reached toward the book on his hip.
The one titled "The Day Lucian Rewrites Destiny."
The Editor sneered.
"You have no right to write. No authority."
Lucian smiled.
"No. I don't write lies like you."
He opened the book.
And whispered:
"Let's edit the Editor."
The book burst with golden fire.
A quill of concept formed in Lucian's hand—made not of ink, but remembrance.
He wrote a single line in the air:
[The Editor realizes he never had authority. Only borrowed power.]
The Editor froze.
The mask labeled Control cracked fully.
He screamed.
"You cannot—this isn't—"
Lucian wrote again:
[The false pen breaks.]
The bone pen in the Editor's hand snapped in two.
Power drained from him like smoke from parchment.
Lucian stepped forward, pages swirling around him like a storm.
His voice cut through the library:
"You edit truth for gods. I am the truth they feared."
The Editor stumbled back.
"No. You're a glitch. A remnant. You were never meant to—"
Lucian raised his quill one final time.
And wrote:
[The Editor disappears from the story.]
And just like that—
He was gone.
Silence fell.
The Library trembled.
And then, slowly, accepted the revision.
Lucian rushed to Naia's side.
She flickered, fading.
But now that he remembered everything—
He could write once.
Only once.
A line not of control, but of permission.
He whispered:
"Naia, choose to return. On your terms."
He handed her the quill.
Her fingers closed around it.
And she wrote:
[I choose to stay.]
Her body solidified.
The light in her eyes burned anew.
And for the first time in ten thousand years—
Naia remembered love.
[System Update]
Threat: Editor – ErasedMemory Restored: [Lucian's Rewrite of Naia – Sealed Chapter]Trait Gained: [Permission Over Power] – Lucian can no longer rewrite others without their will, but gains resistance to outside narrative controlAlly Recovered: Naia – Fully UnlockedLibrary Stability: Restored (Temporarily)Authority Surge: 33%
But far above the Library, in the Realm of Divine Consensus—
The Gods stirred.
And Elyon slammed his palm onto the divine map.
"The Library has been compromised."
"He's rewriting himself."
A goddess with ash-black wings whispered:
"Shall we begin the hunt, then?"