The Hall of Drafts groaned.
The scroll-walls trembled, runes glowing like veins. Then, one by one, parchments peeled free — folding, twisting, reshaping into blank-faced Editors.
Not one. Not two.
Seven.
Each bore a different quill: jagged, curved, dripping ink like blood. Each radiated a different weight of absence.
The hunters froze. Even seasoned elites knew the cost of facing a single Editor. To see so many…
The air burned with text:
> [Multiple Unauthorized Readers Detected.]
Commencing Mass Redaction.]
The Editors raised their quills. The hall collapsed into chaos.
---
The Guilds Struggle
The first stroke erased gravity. Hunters screamed as their bodies lifted, drifting weightless, slamming against shelves. Weapons spun out of reach.
The second stroke erased heat. Flames sputtered and died, leaving mages clutching frozen hands. Breath misted in the air, armor cracking from the sudden cold.
The third stroke erased names. Hunters shouted to one another, but their voices produced only silence where names should be. Panic surged — they couldn't even call for allies.
Crimson Fangs lashed out blindly, swinging axes in the air. Spirewatch mages scrambled to form new sigils without warmth. Elysian Dawn elites clustered, golden light flickering weakly.
Lyra's violet bolts carved across the void, but even she stumbled, her voice catching when her own name vanished mid-shout.
The guild masters bellowed orders, but confusion reigned.
The Editors advanced, quills slashing reality line by line.
---
Elias's Command
Elias stood calm in the storm, Codex blazing at his shoulder. Pages spread wide, glowing with layered runes.
"Hold your ground!" he shouted, his voice amplified by script. "Don't fight the absence — fight the rhythm!"
His blade manifested, cutting an Editor's stroke before it landed. Sparks of text scattered. A shield of script rose, anchoring hunters as the absence of gravity tried to pull them away.
He was everywhere at once, rewriting collapse into order.
But it wasn't enough. Even he couldn't anticipate every erasure.
---
Caleb Steps Forward
Amid the chaos, Caleb crouched low, his satchel spilling parchment. His hands shook as he sketched furiously, eyes darting across the Editors.
"Not random…" he muttered. "Never random. They redact in sequence. They… follow editorial marks."
Lyra staggered toward him, voice breaking. "Caleb, what are you—"
"Look!" he shouted, slapping his notes down. His cracked glasses gleamed with conviction. "This one always erases foundations — gravity, ground, balance. That one erases connections — names, bonds, recognition. They don't improvise, they proofread. They're bound by editing rules!"
Hunters blinked, stunned.
Caleb's voice grew stronger. "If we anticipate their line of edits, we can dodge the stroke before it lands. If we predict the draft, Elias can rewrite the counter!"
Elias turned, his glasses catching light. Their eyes met — and for the first time, Elias gave Caleb a sharp nod.
"Call the edits," Elias said.
Caleb's chest surged with adrenaline. "Right! The tall one — it's about to strike vision!"
---
The Counterstrike
An Editor's quill slashed. The hall dimmed, light bleeding out.
"Vision!" Caleb roared.
Elias's Codex snapped open.
> [Annotation: Erasure of Sight → Guiding Script.]
Runes flared across the hunters' eyes. Though the world turned black, glowing lines traced the floor, marking enemies, allies, pathways. Hunters gasped — they could see in script what their eyes could not.
Another quill slashed, aiming for movement.
"Movement!" Caleb cried.
> [Annotation: Erasure of Movement → Kinetic Archive.]
The hunters' halted limbs surged with new momentum, their motions rewritten into fluid strikes.
Step by step, strike by strike, Elias countered the Editors — not by reacting, but by reading their edits through Caleb's calls.
---
The Turning Tide
Guild elites began to rally. Crimson Fangs anchored themselves with chains. Spirewatch cast layered barriers timed to Caleb's predictions. Elysian Dawn lit the hall with golden arcs.
For the first time, the alliance functioned — not by their guild masters, but by Elias and the outcast scholar shouting corrections like a conductor.
Caleb's voice cracked, but he didn't stop. "Next! Next one's… erasing sound again! Be ready!"
Elias's pages flared, intercepting the stroke before it landed.
The Editors faltered. Their sequence was broken.
---
Elias's Rewrite
The Codex blazed, brighter than ever.
> [Mass Annotation: Erasure + Archive + Reversal → Draft Collapse.]
Pages swarmed, forming a storm of script that circled the Editors. Each stroke they wrote was seized midair, reversed, and turned inward. Their own quills slashed their parchment bodies, tearing their blank faces into ribbons of text.
One by one, the Editors convulsed, dissolving into ash. Their quills shattered, scattering like broken pens.
Silence fell.
Hunters collapsed to the ground, panting, bloodied, but alive.
---
Lyra dropped beside Caleb, her staff trembling. "You… you saved us."
Caleb blinked, sweat soaking his shirt, his notes trembling in his hands. "I-I just read the pattern…"
Elias stepped forward, Codex closing softly. His gaze fell on Caleb, steady and sharp.
"No. You read the Editors," he said. "That makes you more dangerous to them than any hunter here."
Caleb's throat tightened. For years he had been dismissed, mocked, exiled. But in Elias's words, there was no pity. No mockery. Only recognition.
Lyra smiled faintly, brushing his shoulder. "Welcome to the story, scholar."
Caleb laughed shakily, almost in disbelief. For the first time in his life, he felt like he belonged.
But deep within the Hall, the scroll-walls shifted again. The whispers of ink grew louder.
The Editors were not finished.
And deeper still, the Authors were watching.