The next morning, they set out with the sun at their backs. Gao Yang had woken up early and carved himself a new staff from a pine tree he'd found by the river—taller than the last one, with a smooth handle and a sharp tip. He twirled it as he walked, making it sing through the air.
"Listen to that," he said, grinning. "This staff's got a voice. Better than my old one—way better at hitting bad guys."
Lin Chen watched him, his eyes on the staff. As it spun, the light caught a faint curve in the wood—another black line, almost identical to the one on the broken branch, the stone, the page in his book. It was like a refrain repeating through the story, soft but unshakable.
They'd been walking for an hour when they heard the sound of hooves. A group of travelers rode up—merchants, by the look of their loaded carts. One of them, a young man with a scar across his face, pulled up next to them.
"Watch yourselves up ahead," he said, his voice grave. "There's a band of raiders who've been attacking caravans. They call themselves the 'Fate Cutters'—say they erase people's stories to 'clean up the narrative.'"
Gao Yang twirled his new staff. "Fate Cutters? Sounds like they need a lesson in how to write, not erase. Count me in if we run into them."
Lin Chen felt the crystal from Master Lian warm in his pocket. The threads ahead were tangled, and among them, he saw the Fate Cutters—their own stories marked with violence and emptiness. But there was something else too: a single thread that tied directly to Gao Yang's new staff, pulsing with the same faint light as the flickering star.
They reached a narrow pass in the mountains—perfect for an ambush—when the raiders struck. A dozen men in black masks jumped out from behind the rocks, their weapons glowing with dark energy.
"Erase their stories!" their leader yelled.
Gao Yang charged first, his staff singing through the air. He hit one raider in the chest, sending him flying, then spun to block a blow from another. "Come on!" he yelled, laughing. "Is that all you've got?"
Yu Qing pulled out her notebook and read a line from an ancient battle record: "The ground shall rise to shield the righteous." A wall of stone shot up from the ground, blocking a wave of dark energy.
Lin Chen stood back for a moment, watching. He could end this with a single line in his book, but he wanted to see Gao Yang fight—wanted to see the staff sing, the potential in every swing. But as he watched, he saw it: one of the raiders was creeping up behind Gao Yang, his weapon raised.
Lin Chen moved without thinking, writing a line in his mind: "That blow shall miss."
The raider's arm froze mid-swing, then he stumbled and fell. Gao Yang turned around, grinning. "Nice save! Told you this staff's lucky."
But as the fight went on, the leader of the Fate Cutters stepped forward. He was a tall man with grey hair, his eyes cold as ice. "The Unwritten One," he said, looking at Lin Chen. "I've heard of you. You think you can change the narrative? But some threads are meant to be cut."
He pulled out a sword that glowed with dark energy. "This blade cuts through stories," he said. "Even unwritten ones."
He charged at Lin Chen, but Gao Yang stepped in front of him, his staff raised. "Not gonna happen," he said, his grin gone, replaced with a look of determination.
The sword clashed with the staff, and a burst of light exploded from the impact. For a moment, everyone froze. Then, they heard a soft crack.
Gao Yang looked down at his new staff. A small break had appeared in the wood—right along that black line.
The leader laughed. "See? Even your lucky staff can't escape fate."
But Gao Yang just smiled, a slow, steady smile. "Fate can crack the staff," he said, twirling it despite the break. "But it can't stop the song."
He charged at the leader, the staff singing louder than ever. He swung it with all his strength, and this time, the blow landed true. The leader's sword flew out of his hand, and he fell to the ground, defeated.
The remaining raiders ran away, and the pass fell silent. Gao Yang looked at his broken staff, then at Lin Chen. "It's okay," he said. "I'll carve another one. Better than this one, even."
Lin Chen walked over and touched the break in the staff. The black line was now a deep crack, running all the way through. He felt that familiar tightness in his chest—but also something else: a sense of acceptance, tied to the core truth of his story. Potential wasn't about never breaking. It was about what you did after.
They continued on their way, Gao Yang carrying his broken staff like a trophy. The sun was setting, and the flickering star was now just a tiny pinprick in the sky. Two more chapters until 15. The refrain was getting louder, but it was still soft enough to miss—if you weren't listening.
"Hey," Gao Yang said, breaking the silence. "When we get to the next town, let's find a carpenter. I want to carve that new staff with a little white patch on it—like Blank. Make it really lucky."
Lin Chen smiled, looking at his friend's bright face. The ending was coming, hidden in cracks and lines and flickering stars. But for now, the staff was still singing. And that was enough.