Chapter 4:
The next 24 hours were the longest of Ellie's life. Every flicker of a fluorescent light, every stutter in a friend's conversation, sent a jolt of panic through her. She followed Kael's rule with white-knuckled determination: she didn't edit a single thing. The script played out around her, a relentless stream of minor social awkwardnesses and small failures she was powerless to stop. It was maddening.
[CHLOE]: "You've been so quiet today. Are you mad at me?"
[NARRATION]: She was not mad. She was terrified. She could not say that.
She just shook her head, forcing a smile. "Just tired."
When the final bell rang, she nearly ran to the deserted courtyard. Kael was already there, leaning against the same brick wall, looking like he'd been waiting for hours. He didn't greet her.
"Show me your hands," he commanded.
Confused, Ellie held them out. They were trembling slightly.
"Your power has a physical toll. It's not just headaches," he said, his voice all business. "It's called the 'Ink Cost.' You're burning through your own life force to make those changes. Minor edits, minor burn. Major edits..." He gave her a significant look. "You're lucky you just got a migraine."
A cold chill ran down Ellie's spine. "Life force? What does that even mean?"
"It means if you try to rewrite history or bring someone back from the dead, it will kill you. Instantly." He said it so matter-of-factly it was more terrifying than any dramatic delivery. "Now, look at that bench." He pointed to the stone bench she'd sat on yesterday.
The script above it was simple and unchanging: [SCENERY]: A stone bench, weathered and cold.
"Read it to me. Don't change it. Just... feel it. Feel the data stream."
Ellie focused. She let the words settle in her mind, not as a sentence, but as a piece of code. She felt a faint, staticy hum in the back of her teeth, a low-grade version of the headache.
"Good," Kael said, a note of surprise in his voice. "You're receptive. Most new Weavers are too arrogant to listen to the static. Now, try a nudge. The smallest change you can possibly imagine."
"What should I change it to?"
"It doesn't matter. Change 'stone' to 'concrete.' Change 'cold' to 'hard.' The value is irrelevant. I need to see how you work. I need to see your... process."
Ellie took a deep breath. She focused on the word stone. She imagined it highlighted, like text in a document. She mentally pressed 'backspace' and thought, concrete.
The change was effortless. A tiny, almost imperceptible twinge behind her eyes. The script updated.
[SCENERY]: A concrete bench, weathered and cold.
And on the physical bench, a subtle shimmer passed over it. For a fraction of a second, the porous, weathered granite looked like smooth, grey concrete, before snapping back to its original state.
"It reverted!" Ellie said, alarmed.
"Of course it did," Kael replied. "Scenery has high stability. It's part of the world's foundation. Changing it requires a massive, sustained energy output. You changed the label, but not the underlying asset. That's the first lesson: everything has a stability rating. People's moods are low stability. The laws of physics are high. You broke a medium-stability rule yesterday by freezing a character. Don't do it again."
He was talking about Liam like he was a game asset. It was dehumanizing, and she knew that was the point. This wasn't a game to him; it was a survival manual.
"Your turn," Ellie said, a spark of defiance in her eyes. "Show me how you do it."
Kael's expression closed off. "I don't perform on command."
"Come on. You want me to learn? Show me what 'good' looks like. Do something small. Please."
He held her gaze for a long moment, then sighed. He looked at a lone leaf skittering across the pavement. Its script read: [SCENERY]: A dead leaf blows in the wind.
Kael didn't tense up or concentrate. He simply flicked his fingers, a minute, dismissive gesture.
The script didn't glitch or shimmer. It simply... changed.
[SCENERY]: The dead leaf is caught in a sudden gust, spinning in a tiny vortex.
And on the ground, the leaf obediently spun in a perfect little circle before continuing on its path. There was no strain on his face. No headache. It was as natural as breathing.
"How did you do that?" Ellie whispered, awestruck. "There was no cost."
"There's always a cost," he said, his voice tight. He held up his right hand. For the first time, she noticed the faint, silvery scars that crisscrossed his knuckles, like old, faded cracks in porcelain. "I've just learned to distribute it. To bleed the pressure off slowly, over my whole body, over time. You channel it all through your mind. You'll burn out your synapses before the year is over."
The horror of it settled over her. This power was a poison. It was slowly killing him, and it would kill her too if she wasn't careful.
"Why are you helping me?" she asked.
Before he could answer, the world lurched.
It wasn't a sound or a light. It was a sensation, a visceral dropping feeling in the pit of her stomach, as if the entire planet had skipped a frame. The script in Ellie's vision dissolved into a mess of garbled characters.
[ERR0R: C0NT1NU1TY_BR3@CH]
[L0@D1NG C0RR3CT1VE_ACT10N...]
Kael froze, his body going rigid. "No," he breathed. "They're not just correcting. They're retconning."
"What's happening?!"
"They're not just fixing Liam. They're rewriting the cause." His eyes were wide with a fear she hadn't seen in him before. "They're making it so he was never frozen. They're creating a new reason for the paradox we created."
The garbled text resolved, cold and final.
[NARRATION]: As Liam Carter walked down the hall, he was suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of grief for his grandmother, who had passed away the previous year. He stopped, collecting himself, unnoticed by anyone.
Ellie stared, her blood turning to ice. "His... his grandmother? But she's alive. I saw her at the fall festival."
"Not anymore," Kael said, his voice hollow. "In this version of reality, she's been dead for a year. They killed a memory to fix a plot hole. They edited a person's past to maintain their narrative."
The true, monstrous nature of the Writers crashed down on Ellie. This wasn't just about changing a grade or a conversation. They could reach into the past and unmake lives. They could rewrite a person's very soul.
Kael looked at her, his grey eyes stark.
"Now you know," he said. "This is what we're up against. This is why you need to learn. It's not about getting a better life, Ellie. It's about saving the one you have."