"If history bleeds, it is because someone rewrote the wound." — From the Fragmented Manuscripts of Queen Orynne
The Council Hall of Evalia trembled.
Outside, the rails hummed like veins under the city, pulsing faintly in blue. Inside, King Qinglua stood before the council dais — his expression calm, though his eyes betrayed a thousand storms. Around him, the nobles and scholars argued, their words overlapping like the clash of steel.
"They claim Durama fell to a natural quake!"
"Then explain the light beneath the ruins!"
"The Compact forbids the unsealing of ley-lines—"
"The Compact forbids nothing if the world's dying!"
The noise ended when Qinglua raised his hand.
"Enough."
Silence struck the chamber like a blade.
Ken, Kabe, and Reka stood beside the throne, the sealed shard of Kurogane lying on a stone table between them. Its spiral mark pulsed faintly with every word spoken.
Qinglua looked toward them. "You found proof the seals are breaking?"
Reka nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty. Durama's seal fractured. The Queen's memory confirmed it."
Kabe added, "And she warned us of something called the Authors."
The moment that word was spoken, several councilors flinched. Others exchanged wary glances.
Qinglua's gaze hardened. "So the rumors were true."
The Hidden Name
When the others had left, Qinglua faced them alone.
"My father once told me of the Authors," he said quietly. "Not myths. Not gods. People — scholars and editors of old who believed they could rewrite what the Rift destroyed. They shaped memory, history, and even reality through what they called draft seals."
Reka frowned. "Reality written as text…"
Qinglua nodded. "The Rift wasn't just a tear in the land. It was a tear in meaning itself. The Authors tried to bridge that by writing new versions of truth — scripts so powerful they altered what people remembered."
Ken clenched his fists. "Then everything we know… could be a draft?"
The King met his gaze. "Perhaps. But the Queen destroyed the last of their scripts and bound the rest beneath Durama. Until now."
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The Dream Corridor
That night, Ken dreamed again — though this time, it wasn't Rudhana who called him.
He stood in a hall of floating pages, each glowing faintly with ink that moved like living veins. Words shifted across the parchment, changing shape and meaning before his eyes.
"You're late," said a voice.
Ken turned. A woman stood there, wrapped in crimson cloths that shimmered like torn curtains. Her hair floated weightless, her eyes hollow with mirrored text.
"I am Lady Varynn — last of the Editors. One of the Authors your Queen sealed away."
Ken drew his blade. "If you're one of them, then—"
"Then I am also your ancestor's mistake."
Her smile was faint, sad. "The Hiroki bloodline carries ink in its veins. The first to carve the rails, the first to seal the Rift — and the first to forget why."
The dream began to collapse around them, words unspooling into darkness.
"Find the Draft of the Fifth Rail," Varynn whispered. "Before Kurogane finishes writing theirs."
Ken awoke with blood on his hands — but it wasn't his.
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The Morning After
Kabe found him sitting by the window at dawn, pale light spilling across his face.
"You saw something again, didn't you?"
Ken nodded slowly. "An Author. She said our bloodline wrote the first rails. And that Kurogane's rewriting them."
Kabe was silent for a moment. "Then this isn't just war anymore. It's revision."
Reka entered, carrying new scrolls from the archives. "The Queen left more than memories. She left drafts. We found one — marked with your family's crest, Ken."
Ken took it carefully. The paper was centuries old, yet the ink still shimmered faintly.
In the center of the page was a phrase written in Tilbaran and Kuroganean script intertwined:
"When rails hum again, the Authors return — and the trail shall be rewritten."
Ken looked toward the horizon.
"The northern wind's changing. The next trail begins there."
Qinglua's voice echoed in the hall behind them.
"Then Tilbara moves again. Prepare the trains."