The Shelf of Prototypes fell silent behind them.
Ash drifted through the air like snow, the remnants of the Sovereign dissolving into nothing. Hunters limped, bandaged, half-carried by their comrades. The banners of guilds hung torn and bloodied, symbols of power reduced to rags.
They had come as conquerors. Now, they marched as survivors.
At the head of them all walked Elias. His coat was torn, his glasses cracked, blood still dripping faintly from his wounds. Yet his stride was steady, Codex hovering at his side, its pages turning in an invisible wind.
No one dared walk before him.
---
The shelves gave way to an open space, vaster than anything they had seen yet. A hall stretched endlessly, its floor polished black marble that reflected like ink.
Above, there was no ceiling — only a sky of parchment, scrolls unraveling like clouds, words drifting down like falling stars.
At the center stood a colossus: a door of pure script, so tall its top vanished into the parchment-sky. Chains of glowing runes bound it shut, each one humming with divine power.
Caleb stumbled forward, his ink-stained fingers trembling as he scribbled what he saw. "The Atrium… this is it. The catalog of beginnings. The place where the Authors store every draft — every world they wrote and abandoned."
Lyra's violet eyes widened. "And beyond that door?"
Caleb swallowed, his voice hoarse. "The Original Manuscript."
---
Hale leaned heavily on his broken axe, blood dripping from his lip. His scarred face was pale, his voice ragged. "We've lost too many already. If there's something worse behind that door… we're all corpses."
Seraphine, her newly healed arm flexing, smiled faintly. "And yet we walk forward, don't we? Because none of us can leave without answers now. Not after what we've seen him do."
Her golden eyes lingered on Elias. "A reader who rewrites pain itself… Tell me, Elias Crowe, what else can you rewrite?"
Lyra stepped closer, placing herself subtly between them, her voice sharp. "Enough to keep you alive. That doesn't make him yours."
The tension crackled like lightning.
Elias ignored them both, eyes fixed on the great door. His glasses glinted in the script-light. "This isn't about guilds anymore. It never was."
---
The ground trembled.
Every hunter froze as words bled across the marble floor in glowing script. Not carved, not written — appearing.
> [Unauthorized Readers Detected.]
[Commencing Review.]
The parchment sky rippled. Scrolls twisted into faces — blank, eyeless, vast. Whispers filled the hall, quills scratching across the void.
Lyra gasped, clutching her staff. "It's them. The Authors."
Hunters fell to their knees, trembling as the weight of the presence pressed on them. Even Seraphine's smile faltered, her breath catching.
Elias alone stood steady, Codex burning brighter. His voice was calm.
"Then let them read me."
---
The great door's chains rattled, glowing brighter, trembling as if resisting something on the other side.
The whispers grew louder, quills scratching faster, echoing in every mind:
> [The Reader has gone too far.]
[Prepare the Atrium for Redaction.]
The floor cracked, runes blazing. And from the shadows of the Atrium, something vast began to stir.