Chapter 10: The Lie That BledOpening Line
Some stories cut like knives. But the sharpest ones? They bleed before they're even read.
The Chamber of the Last Rewrite
Aethros stood before the blank script — the one that bled.
It was silent, yet loud.
Still, yet throbbing.
It pulsed not like a heart, but like a wound that refused to close.
The title, etched in shifting ink, changed languages every breath:
"The Last Rewrite"
"Antivaras"
"Epilogos"
"THE UNWRITTEN LAW"
And beneath it, the words: "Authored by: ???"
"It's not written… but it's not empty either," Aethros whispered.
Zeraphin frowned. "That makes no sense."
"Exactly," he replied. "It's a paradox. A story that exists in every ending—but was never started."
The First Author Appears
As Aethros touched the edge of the bleeding page, the entire Library darkened.
Not the kind of darkness that comes from absence of light—but from censorship.
Books screamed.
Scrolls unrolled in panic.
And then… silence.
From the ink pooled around the script, a figure rose — tall, elegant, faceless, clothed in black script stitched with forgotten fonts.
It wore a crown of quotation marks.
Its name hissed into existence:
Verumak: The Preface King.
The first of the Authors of Untruth.
"You shouldn't be here, child," it said, voice like torn pages.
"Your truth rewrites our beautiful lies. Your birth is the only edit we never approved."
Aethros stood still, unreadable. "You used to be a reader, didn't you?"
That struck Verumak like a blade.
"We were all readers once," it said slowly. "Until we learned... it's easier to write what you want than accept what is."
Truth vs. Preface
Verumak raised its hand — dozens of stories materialized behind it.
Fictions wrapped in cosmic glamour:
A galaxy where pain never existed.
A world where time obeyed wishes.
A version of Elenai who ruled with cruelty.
"Pick one," Verumak tempted. "Why live in pain when paradise can be penned?"
Aethros answered with silence.
Then, calmly:
"Paradise isn't truth if it needs lies to exist."
And with that, he opened his own palm.
A single sentence glowed:
"Every false tale weakens in the presence of unedited truth."
It wasn't flashy.
It didn't roar.
But it undid things.
Verumak's fictions began collapsing.
Not violently — but peacefully. Like a sigh finally exhaled.
The Battle Without Blades
The duel between Aethros and Verumak wasn't physical.
It was conceptual.
Verumak launched false narratives: alternate pasts, rewritten tragedies, comforting lies.
Each time Aethros spoke a true memory or uncovered a lost page, those lies frayed and vanished.
At one point, Verumak tried to use Aethros' own mind against him:
"Your origin is a lie. You exist because something greater erased itself."
"Yes," Aethros replied. "But that makes me truth's echo. Even an echo is real."
Verumak began to crack.
Script peeled from its body like ash.
Elenai Intervenes
The strain was too much.
Aethros faltered.
That's when Elenai stepped in.
She didn't fight.
She simply opened one of her preserved memories—her first moment of hope.
A small boy, lost in the infinite library, asking where the stories came from.
That boy was not Aethros.
But her memory was honest.
And it added power to Aethros' presence.
"Even if he wasn't born from truth," she said, "he became it."
That memory became a shield around Aethros.
Verumak's Last Trick
Defeated, Verumak tried one final trick.
"What if I erase myself?" he hissed. "You won't remember this victory. The lie becomes the truth again."
Aethros closed his eyes.
Then, with deliberate calm, spoke:
"Your lie doesn't vanish when forgotten. It vanishes when it's acknowledged as false."
And with that, he wrote in the bleeding book:
"Verumak existed. But he chose fiction over growth, and thus erased himself, not from time, but from relevance."
Verumak screamed, not in pain—but in fear.
And then was gone.
Not dead.
Just… unwritten.
The Bleeding Stops
The Last Rewrite's pages healed.
The bleeding ceased.
But it was still blank.
Zeraphin approached.
"Why didn't it write itself yet?"
Aethros whispered, "Because I haven't chosen how this ends."
Elenai looked at the glowing title.
"Then don't end it," she said.
"Write beginnings instead."
The New Mission
Aethros looked around the Library.
Then at the universe beyond.
Then back at the blank book.
"We don't need one Last Rewrite," he said.
"We need infinite first pages."
With that, he tore the blank script into countless fragments—each one transforming into a floating page.
They scattered across the cosmos.
Each page landed in a different reality.
Each one whispered:
"You may write your truth now."
End of Chapter 10
The lie that bled has healed.
The first Author is gone.
But there are more.
And in the silence that follows… the pen waits again.