The sky was tearing itself apart.
The crimson beastlands and the iron march of Murim smashed together above us, banners aflame, claws ripping through clouds. Armies roared, beasts shrieked, the heavens groaned.
The survivors clung to rubble, faces pale with terror. Dev swore, his sword raised though his arms shook. The girl screamed something I couldn't hear over the deafening thunder of colliding realms.
[ Error. Script deviation escalating. ][ Anchor probability rising. ]
The system's voice stuttered, breaking into shards.
The ground beneath us splintered. Chasms opened, swallowing stone and flame.
The boy clutched his glowing staff, tears streaking his face. "Reed! What's happening?!"
I didn't answer. Because I didn't know.
✦
The rift widened into a wound that should have consumed us. But instead of falling, everything—time, sound, even breath—froze.
Silence crashed down like a hammer.
The survivors' screams froze in their throats. Fire hung motionless mid-air. The clash of realms stilled, two armies suspended in the sky like painted figures.
And I alone still moved.
The Inkblade pulsed in my hand, shadows writhing as if choking.
Then the world blinked out.
✦
I stood in nothing.
A void stretched endlessly, no sky, no earth, no horizon. Just darkness, heavy and suffocating.
I tried to breathe—my breath echoed too loudly, as if it didn't belong here.
The Inkblade trembled violently, black fire searing up my arm. Shadows coiled around my neck like noose-ropes, choking me.
And then I heard it.
A voice.
Smooth. Cold. Too close.
[ …So you refuse the script. Interesting. ]
I spun, but there was no one. Only the voice, sliding across the void.
✦
[ Do not fear. They cannot hear me. This is for you alone, Ishaan Reed. ]
The Inkblade screeched, shadows lashing wildly, as if to strike at the voice itself. But they recoiled, trembling like cornered prey.
I forced words past my dry throat. "Who are you?"
The voice chuckled, low and amused.
[ Names do not matter. Not yet. Call me… Unknown. ]
The void rippled like water, and for a heartbeat I saw something—shrouded in fragments, blurred like broken glass. A figure too vast, too old to hold in my eyes.
Then it was gone.
[ What matters is this: you are not in their script. ]
✦
The words hit harder than steel.
[ The system is no impartial judge. It is a theater, written by gods who hunger for war. Every trial, every survivor, every death is their stage. But you… you are not written. You slipped through. An error. A fracture. ]
My chest tightened.
[ That is why you bend their rules. That is why the system stutters around you. That is why they fear you. You are not a Player. You are not an Observer. You are something between. ]
The void shuddered. Voices pressed in from all sides.
"…Anchor probability rising…"
I clenched my teeth. "What does that mean? What Anchor?"
Unknown's tone sharpened.
[ That is not for now. Only this: the Anchor will not come for you. You must endure alone. ]
✦
The void thickened, pressing against my skin. My legs shook.
"Then why me? Why throw me into this at all?"
[ Because the Creator wills it. ]
The darkness split, revealing veins of burning script too vast to read, written across the void like scars.
[ Our world ended. Yours continues. They are not connected. Yet the Creator commanded us to guide you, to shape you strong enough to stand when no one else could. ]
My voice cracked. "So you're helping me?"
[ No. Preparing you. ]
The words cut colder than blades.
[ If we interfere too much, the crack will open again. And if it does, the Anchor will be forced to fight once more. We cannot allow that. ]
The void pulsed. I staggered, choking on the weight.
[ That is why you must walk alone. That is why we must not save you. ]
✦
The void breathed.
It wasn't air, but something older, heavier. The Inkblade's shadows clawed at my chest, as if begging me not to listen.
Unknown's voice slid closer, velvet and iron all at once.
[ You want answers, Ishaan Reed. Yet answers carry weight. Can you bear them? ]
I forced a laugh, brittle. "Do I have a choice?"
[ No. ]
The void split open. Light burned across the nothingness, painting visions against the dark.
✦
I saw another sky. One filled with towers of glass and oceans of lightning. A city screaming as shadows devoured it whole.
Then it was gone.
I saw warriors dressed in golden flame, marching into an endless storm. Their faces were hidden, their steps unbroken.
Then gone.
And last—I saw a colossal figure chained in the depths of time itself. Not moving. Not alive. Yet the air around it trembled with fear.
The Anchor.
✦
I staggered, clutching my head. "What… what is this?"
[ Our world. Our end. You stand in what remains. ]
My pulse thundered. "You said your world ended. But mine—"
[ Continues. For now. ]
The voice was neither cruel nor kind. Just certain.
[ Understand this: your universe and ours are not connected. If we continue to interfere, the crack between them will widen. And if it does… the Anchor will awaken. It will fight once more. ]
I shuddered, the image of the chained figure burned into my mind.
[ That is why we must leave you to endure alone. ]
✦
My throat was dry. "So you're just… abandoning me."
[ Abandoning? No. We obey the Creator. ]
The void rippled with script again, burning lines I couldn't decipher.
[ The Creator commanded: help him enough to stand, but no more. Give him strength, give him choice, give him the will to defy. The rest he must carve himself. ]
My voice cracked. "Why me? There are hundreds—thousands—who could fight."
Unknown chuckled, low and cold.
[ Because you are the only one the script cannot contain. ]
✦
The words echoed too loud, as if the void itself repeated them.
[ You are not meant to exist in their story. And that makes you dangerous. To them. To us. Even to yourself. ]
The Inkblade throbbed like a second heartbeat, its whispers hissing, "…break more… tear deeper… anchor…"
I clenched the blade tighter, forcing it silent.
Unknown's voice softened.
[ Listen well, Ishaan Reed. You will not be saved. The gods will hunt you. The system will twist against you. The Anchor will not come. You must walk alone. ]
✦
The void began to crumble. Pieces of it peeled away, like paper set aflame.
Unknown's tone lingered, final and sharp:
[ Don't die. If the Creator wills it, we will meet again. Until then… take care. ]
The words pressed into me like a seal.
And then the void shattered.
✦
I gasped.
The plaza returned, broken and burned, survivors frozen mid-scream. Time snapped back into motion with a thunderclap.
The rift above us had vanished. No beasts. No armies. Only sky, painted in cruel dawn.
The survivors stumbled to their feet. The boy cried out, "Reed! You vanished—just—just for a blink!"
The girl's eyes narrowed. "No. His eyes… they're different."
Dev studied me silently, sword still in his grip.
I forced my breath steady. "It's over. For now."
But inside, the words still echoed.
You must walk alone.
✦
The survivors argued, whispering about what they'd seen. Some stared at me with awe. Others with fear.
The mother pulled the boy closer, but her gaze was soft, almost trusting.
Dev finally spoke. "I don't know what happened to you in there. But whatever it was… it just made things worse, didn't it?"
I didn't answer.
Because he was right.
And I couldn't tell them what I had seen—the chains, the Anchor, the voice that came from beyond worlds.
Some truths were too heavy to share.
✦
As the survivors settled uneasily, the Inkblade pulsed once more, whispering like a secret.
"…break the script… walk alone… we will feast…"
I gripped it tighter, my knuckles white.
The sky above was too bright. Too quiet.
And I knew this peace would not last.