The corridor opened into a vast chamber, filled with towering shelves of floating pages. Each page shimmered with faint light, as if holding a fragment of a story waiting to be claimed. The air was thick with whispers, murmurs of characters long forgotten and tales that had never been finished.
They paused, taking in the enormity of the space. "What is this place?" they asked.
"The library of drafts," the small figure said. "It holds every story that was written but never completed. Every character who was erased, every chapter that was abandoned. And it has guardians."
"Guardians?" they echoed, unease curling in their stomach.
"Yes," the figure said. "Beings born from the drafts themselves. They are tasked with keeping order, ensuring that nothing escapes, that the stories remain as they were intended. Some are gentle. Some are… less forgiving."
A movement caught their attention. From the shadows, shapes began to emerge. They were tall and imposing, made of words and ink, their forms shifting like liquid letters. Their eyes glowed faintly, scanning, calculating.
"They've noticed us," the small figure whispered. "Stay close. Remember, we move carefully here. One wrong step and the guardians will try to return you to the script."
Heart pounding, they stepped forward, each footfall echoing in the chamber. The guardians watched silently, their presence heavy and suffocating. But instead of fear, a spark of determination rose within them. They were not the character the story wanted them to be. They were more.
A guardian approached, its form flickering, ink dripping from its limbs. It spoke without moving its lips, the words resonating directly in their mind:
"You do not belong here."
"I do," they answered firmly, voice steady. "I am choosing my path. I am choosing to exist."
The guardian paused, its form quivering. The words hung in the air like a challenge. And then, slowly, it stepped aside, allowing them to pass.
"Not all will yield so easily," the small figure warned. "We have to move quickly and claim what we can. The story notices more now. Every choice you make here leaves a mark."
As they continued deeper into the library, they saw other forgotten characters—some hiding, some wandering aimlessly, all watching them with curiosity or suspicion. For the first time, they realized they were not alone.
The guardians were not just obstacles. They were tests. Every trial, every confrontation, every choice would strengthen them, shape them, prepare them for the challenges that awaited beyond the drafts.
And somewhere in the shifting light of floating pages, a quiet thrill surged. This world, this place of forgotten stories, was theirs to navigate.
And they would survive.