The revelation settled on Alex not like a cloak, but like a mountain. Every minor act of rebellion fixing a toy, mending an oven now felt like a tremor sent through the foundations of a cosmic jail. He hadn't been a nuisance; he had been picking at the locks of a deity's cage.
"The Scribes... they'll send more than Quillords now, won't they?" Alex asked, his voice hollow.
Corbin nodded grimly, dousing the fire. "A Lexicon was for study. A Quillord was for capture. Now they know what you are, they will send an Edictor a Scribe's personal executioner. Beings who don't just enforce or write laws, but who can speak a Law of Erasure that unmakes a man's very history from the world. They won't capture you. They will delete you."
The cave suddenly felt exposed. The very air felt like it could be weaponized against him. His power, which had felt like a secret strength, now felt like a beacon screaming his location to god-like entities.
"You have two choices, White Wraith," Corbin said, using the name he'd heard whispered even in the wilds. "You can run to the edge of the world and hope they never find you. Or, you can learn. You can understand the prison you're trapped in, so you can learn how to break its walls properly."
He tossed a small, smooth stone to Alex. On it was carved that same crude symbol he'd seen in the bell tower: a circle with a line through it. The broken Ouroboros.
"There are those who remember the old world. The free world. We are scattered, hidden. We can teach you. But the choice is yours. Stay in the light, and the Edictor will find you. Or, come into the deeper shadows with us."
Alex looked from the stone in his hand to the mouth of the cave, beyond which lay a world that saw him as a virus to be purged. He was no longer just a fugitive from a town. He was a fugitive from reality itself.
He closed his fingers around the stone. The choice was made.
"Where do we start?" Alex asked, his voice now steady, the ghost of the carpenter's son finally laid to rest.
---