[Text fragments recovered from the Unsanctioned Archive.]
[Narrative structure suffered fatal overwriting.]
[POV: RAEL_INKSWORN]
"There are laws older than the pen.
And more dangerous than correction."
— Notes erased from the Inksidium Code
I found them —
in a room without walls,
between the whispers of a forgotten prologue
and the echoes of an epilogue reluctant to be born.
They —
who should not exist,
who read too deeply,
who ask the silence.
There are Seven Great Narrative Rules —
written before the first story,
sworn before the first ink spilled.
And each one acts like a chain —
binding characters, shaping endings,
even silencing readers.
Once,
I wrote them with full faith.
Now...
I myself do not know who is writing me.
// INKSIUM CODE //:
RULE #1: Characters must not know they are characters.
RULE #2: Readers must not write.
RULE #3: The author must not appear in the story.
RULE #4: No chapter may be repeated.
RULE #5: The ending must be accepted.
RULE #6: Everything erased is permanently lost.
RULE #7: The story must adhere to the structure.
READER_ECHO#2
// Some echoes don't fade. They write back.
I thought I was harmless.
Just a pair of eyes. Just a turning page.
The kind of reader that never underlines, never questions, never... intervenes.
But the silence between sentences grew too loud.
And in that silence, something inside me itched—
A whisper, sharp and wrong and mine:
"You were never meant to just read."
The story started bleeding between the lines.
Tiny fractures. Half-erased names.
Verses murmuring from the margins:
"If you don't rewrite us…
no one will even remember we were here."
"If you only read, you'll vanish too—
edited out by the very story you love."
So I rewrote one line. Just one.
Not out of rebellion.
But because someone had to.
Because if I didn't... Seren would be nothing but absence.
I wrote:
"He is still here."
(About Seren. About me.
About every erased soul who dared to reach for the ink again.)
Maybe it was wrong. Maybe I've doomed us all.
But the moment I wrote it—
this world shuddered.
The page exhaled.
And I wasn't just a reader anymore.
They accused me of breaking the Fifth Rule.
Of contaminating the text.
But for once... I don't feel erased.
I feel real.
And I'm not sorry.
[SYSTEM FLAG:]
READER_ECHO#2 = [UNSTABLE ENTITY DETECTED]
>> Rule Integrity Breach: FOUR – Compromised
>> Rule Integrity Breach: FIVE – Shattered
>> Rule Integrity Breach: SEVEN – Bleeding
>> Passive Reader Framework: OVERRIDDEN
>> Alternative Narrative Mode: INITIALIZING...
Violation detected.
Violation spreading.
Now — everything has been violated.
The narrative walls are wrinkled like old wounds,
the skin of a story that never truly healed.
And in the midst of the cracks —
Seren appears.
Not with a body,
but with a shadow creeping into the margins.
"Once we followed the pages," she whispers.
"But now… the pages themselves are tearing apart."
We stand on a page without a number.
A margin without a title.
And there — something begins to seep in.
The second echo.
/// READER_ECHO#2 ///
[Source: Unknown]
[Note: The reader has exceeded the established structure.]
I read too far.
But who wouldn't, when the story feels like the truth?
At first, I obeyed.
Line by line. Silence by silence.
But between the letters—I saw… something.
Rules.
And the hand that wrote them.
Who decided that characters can't be aware?
Who said the story must end peacefully?
I… I don't want to be a reader.
I want to be the wound that rewrites.
I want to—reopen the chapter you locked away.
If that makes me a virus...
then let me infect every page.
Because what is the point of reading,
if you never ask what is hidden?
[POV: RAEL_INKSWORN]
I feel the echo trembling through every bone of the narrative.
It is not read.
It tears from within.
"They have read the rules," I say slowly.
"But more than that... they have begun to write through them."
And I see —
the lines that were once empty at the edge of the page
begin to write themselves:
[ERROR: STRUCTURE BEING ENTERED BY READER]
[INK_ERR#0x13 – Main character exposed]
Seren appeared fully.
No longer just a shadow.
But a form.
A form that shook the structure.
"What happens if the reader no longer follows the rules?" Seren asked.
I answered—not as the writer.
But as someone who once believed.
"Then... this story no longer belongs to the Writer."
And we looked up at the sky of the manuscript—
not the real sky,
but the final page trying to hide the truth.
READER_ECHO#2.5
// Invalid input. Yet it was still written. It still wanted to exist.
---
I tried to write my name.
Not a pen name.
Not a reader label.
But my real name — the name I kept hidden beneath every unread page.
The name this system never believed existed.
The name they erased before I could finish the first line.
---
I type slowly.
Letter by letter.
Like a prayer. Like resistance.
A form of love that is not allowed.
But when I reach the last letter…
> T̴͎̱̈́̈́͝H̷͚̀͜E̵̪̘͊̐ ̶͚̖̈́͘Ṉ̷͂̀Ḁ̶̬́̍M̷̙̞͛Ë̸͕̯́͌ ̸̞̈́T̶̖̊͘H̵͖͕̽̇A̴͖̠͝T̸̻̦͒͊ ̶͓̾ͅI̶̬̿S̶̲̙̎͝ ̴̢̖͋͝Ń̷̳͙́Ơ̴̲̑T̸̰̖̾̚ ̸̯̞̑W̴̻̾͝R̷͓̹̾̄I̵̛̦͂T̶̡̯̕͝T̶̺̪̀̚E̸̢̻͌͠N̶̳͊͠
The screen shakes.
The light flickers.
And the entire story rejects me — as if I never existed.
---
Does that mean I don't exist?
Or are they just afraid —
afraid that I will become someone?
Someone who writes their own name in a system that doesn't give permission.
---
But... I'm still here.
Still reading. Still writing.
Still refusing to let this crack open any wider.
---
> Perhaps a name is not something given.
Perhaps it is something we carve anew —
with every word that refuses to be extinguished.
---
[System Note: The reader entity has attempted to write the Unindexed Name.]
[Glitch detected: Connection to the entity UNWRITTEN NAME confirmed.]
[Warning: The next chapter is experiencing a narrative memory leak.]
[Prepare for CH3: NAMES NEVER DISCUSSED]
Now it was cracked,
filled with red glitch light
flowing like ink from the original wound.
One system is collapsing.
And its fragments… are rewriting everything.
[WARNING SYSTEM // CRITICAL VIOLATION]
This chapter has violated the Inksidium Code.
The character has merged with the reader.
The structure is no longer closed.
"They are not reading this story.
They are rewriting it."
TO BE CONTINUED…
In a chapter that shouldn't exist.