Prologue : Ashenfold
When I opened my eyes, the sky had lines in it.
Not clouds. Actual fold lines, like someone had tried to fold the entire atmosphere into a paper crane and gave up halfway through.
"...Okay," I muttered. "So either I'm dreaming, dead, or trapped in a cursed stationary set."
I stood up.
The ground? Paper.
Trees? Paper.
Even the distant mountains looked like someone had carved them from stacked parchment.
Everything rustled softly in the wind. Everything. Like the whole world was sighing at once.
Then I looked down.
No shadow.
But where my foot touched the ground, a faint trail of ash bloomed. It spread like spilled ink, curling and fading.
"...That's probably not great."
I took a few cautious steps—each one leaving a blackened print that vanished after a second, like the world was reluctantly tolerating my presence.
A bird flew past me. I think it was a bird. It looked like an origami crane someone had set on fire, except it didn't seem to mind being slightly on fire. It flapped once, twice, then hovered in front of me, eyes glowing faintly red.
> "Blank," it said in a papery whisper.
"…Excuse me?"
> "You're blank. No ink. No name. No script. You don't belong here."
It circled me once, then burst into ash midair. No warning. No goodbye.
"…Right. That's normal. Totally normal."
---
A sound cut through the silence—like a giant book being slammed shut somewhere in the distance.
And suddenly, the flat paper plains started folding.
The sky creased. The horizon bent. Buildings rose from flat sheets like pop-up art. Roads curled and twisted into shape, and glowing paper lanterns unfolded midair with elegant precision.
Before I could even scream, I was standing in the middle of what looked like a massive origami city.
And people—made of paper too, some fully drawn with detailed faces, others sketchy like unfinished drafts—started walking past me like I wasn't the weirdest thing around.
A kid ran past holding a burning envelope. Another one was selling memories at a corner stall.
"Buy one, get a second lifetime free!" he shouted, waving flaming scrolls.
One man lit a memory, breathed in the smoke, and suddenly fell to his knees crying.
Then stood up laughing.
Then casually walked away like that was a completely acceptable afternoon activity.
---
> "You're not from any script I've seen."
The voice came from behind me. A woman, maybe my age, maybe not. It was hard to tell when her face looked like brushstrokes that hadn't dried yet.
She wore robes that shimmered like fresh ink, and her eyes were literally calligraphy—elegant black characters that shifted when she blinked.
"I'm guessing you're the 'protagonist' type?" she added with a smirk.
"…I don't know what I am," I admitted. "I just woke up and everything here is… made of paper."
She tilted her head.
> "Welcome to Ashenfold, Blank. Name pending. Reality not included."