Noje backed into the wall, heart racing as a tall shadow broke through the light at the end of the corridor.
Zarin
He stepped into view exactly as she'd drawn him — cloak dusted in ash, hand resting on the hilt of his sword, eyes the color of storms, but something was wrong.
His expression didn't match any version she'd ever created.
He looked at her like she was a threat.
Noje opened her mouth to speak but he moved first. Fast and sure, the way she always imagined him in battle.
She flinched as he stopped just short of her.
For a breath they stared at each other.
Then without warning he yanked her forward and hissed low,
"Are you alone"
Noje blinked.
"What"
Too late.
Voices echoed behind him.
Heavy boots. Orders barked in a language she didn't recognize. The torches shook on their brackets. The air changed — sharper, colder, like something ancient had started watching.
Zarin's grip locked tight around her wrist.
"No time. We move."
"Wait. Can you just explain..."
"Later. Or never. Run."
And suddenly they were running.
The corridor rushed past in a blur of stone and shadow. Cold wind snapped at her hoodie as her feet slammed over flagstone. Behind them the boots pounded louder. Voices climbed in a language that vibrated with urgency.
Zarin moved beside her with terrifying ease. Effortless. Unshaken. Too perfect.
"Left"
He yanked her down a narrow path.
The walls closed in tight. Wet stone brushed her shoulder. Symbols passed in flashes — ones she had doodled as filler now glowed faintly with strange light.
She stumbled and scraped her hand against cold rock.
A crossbow bolt shattered against the wall beside her.
She ducked on instinct and gasped.
"They're not trying to capture us"
"Good observation"
Another bolt hissed by. She felt the air part beside her cheek.
They turned again and hit a wall.
No door. No cracks. Just ancient stone stacked with finality.
Zarin pressed his back to the surface and drew his blade.
"Well. This is unfortunate."
Noje stared at the wall. Her mind raced. In the comic, Zarin always had a plan — a switch, a weakness in the structure.
But this wasn't her webtoon. This was real. And real meant they were about to die in a hallway soaked with centuries of dust and endings.
Unless...
"I need something to draw with"
"What"
"Ink, charcoal, anything"
Zarin blinked like she had asked him to sing.
"We're about to die and you want to draw"
"Trust me"
The voices closed in. Thirty seconds. Maybe less.
He swore under his breath and tossed a chunk of charcoal into her hand.
"Artists"
He said the word like it stung.
Noje dropped to the ground. Her hands moved before her fear could catch up. Thick rope, coiled and sturdy. She knew the weight of it, knew the shadows, knew how the fibers curled and caught the light.
The lines shimmered. Then shifted. Then became.
Real rope met her hands. Rough and steady. Heavy with belief.
She grabbed it and vaulted upward. Over the wall. Landing hard and low on the other side.
Zarin stood below frozen.
For a moment neither of them moved.
The rope hung between them. Real and impossible.
Then the guards stormed around the corner with raised weapons.
Zarin grabbed the rope and climbed. He landed beside her in a crouch. His sword still drawn but his eyes locked on the rope like it might turn on him.
"You're not supposed to be able to do that"
His voice was quiet. Flat but not empty. And in it she heard something that didn't belong.
Not fear of death. Not fear of failure.
Fear of her.
The rope still stretched between them. Defying every rule she thought she knew.
Zarin's eyes met hers.
She saw the moment everything changed. The second he understood.
His blade lowered slightly.
"Gods help us. You're the Creator"
Noje's breath caught.
"Zarin. I..."
The rope vanished. No unraveling. No resistance. It was just gone. Like someone had erased it mid-sketch.
Noje stumbled forward as the weight left her fingers.
"Impossible"
Zarin breathed the word like it betrayed him.
That's when she saw it.
A figure in the shadows. Same height. Same build. Same face.
But the eyes were wrong. Flat and painted. A version of Zarin without a soul. The edges of the face flickered like a sketch trying to stay still.
It smiled with Zarin's mouth.
Then it moved.
Too fast for thought. Too fast for breath.
Its hands closed around her throat and lifted her off the ground.
She kicked. Air caught in her chest.
"Zarin"
She choked out the name. But the real Zarin was frozen, staring at his own face in the attacker. His sword raised but motionless.
The thing's grip tightened.
And Noje's vision went dark.