The morning sun cast golden light across the mountains, bathing the Flamekeeper Archive in warmth. Birds sang as if heralding a new age.You stood on the balcony outside the scriptorium, watching the world you had rewritten. “This is peace,” Nia said softly, stepping beside you. “But not silence.”You nodded. The Archive hummed with activity, students scribbled ideas on scrolls, elders debated new magical theories, and children raced through the halls giggling about their “story seeds.”Elior passed below, instructing a new generation of warriors. The Programmer had taken a corner of the Archive and converted it into a quantum-coded library of alternate realities.Chapter Zero? He'd become the guide of the Lost, characters once abandoned or miswritten, now restored and given purpose.But the Final Draft sat untouched on your desk. Bound. Complete. Finished. You had written the last sentence. Or had you?That night, a messenger arrived, one you did not recognize. Clad in patchwork armo

The first thing you remembered was not pain. It was silence. No sound. No wind. No whispers. Not even the thrum of your own heartbeat. And yet… you were conscious.Floating in a white void where time had no anchors. Your body wasn’t flesh anymore, it was a narrative. Lines. Phrases. Definitions. A swirling storm of paragraphs, each one struggling to hold your shape together.You tried to scream again, but it only produced a sentence: “I will not be erased.”It hung in the air, vibrating with defiance. The void responded. Words snapped around you like shattered glass.Sentences drifted by, some familiar, others not. One mentioned your first battle. Another your last breath. But none had happened yet. You were in the Between-Chapters.A realm only meant for characters who had been unwritten, but had not yet faded. And you were not alone. Across the blank horizon, you saw them, figures forged from fading lines and fragmented stories.Characters that once lived in the Archive. Some you’d