The sound that filled the air was not a splash it was like the earth shattering. The frozen sea cracked into a thousand pieces as a black wall came out of the depths. This wall was as tall as a three story building. It was covered in a dark liquid that looked like ink. The shadow of the wall fell on our boat like a weight. The boat. Groaned as the wood started to break.I held on tight to the side of the boat as I looked up at the wall. There was a sword stuck in the wall its handle wrapped in old leather. The sword was. It was vibrating with a low noise that matched the burning feeling in my arm. Under the sword someone had written a name in ink that looked like blood. The name was The Carrion King.This is a mirror draft I said loud. My friend Mani did not close the server he just gave the keys to someone. My skin started to glow with a light as I said this.Mikhail look at the floor Maeve screamed from the back of the boat. The floor was changing fast the words and symbols on it we

The deck of the ship opened wide like a dry ribcage cracking open.​CRACK-CREAK—The rotten wood of the ships front peeled back showing a huge empty space inside the ship. It didn't make sense given how big the ship was. The air that came out was super cold smelling like cologne and old dry dust from a library.There sitting on a big throne made from an old printing press was the guy in the royal blue suit.His hair was still perfect his beard was still nicely trimmed. He still had that confident look.. His eyes weren't dark anymore. They were two glowing white holes and his hands, which were resting on the armrests were stained dark red from his fingers to his wrists.​"Mani " Maeve whispered from behind me. She was shaking. "No... That's not Mani."​"The pen name was a fake name " I growled. My fingers tightened around the leather handle of my big sword. The sword was shaking in my hand. The red writing on the blade was pulsing like a heartbeat matching the guy on the thrones.The g

The sound of the silver drawer sliding open was not loud but what came out of it made the floor feel like it was made of thin ice.SLIDE.The creator did not pull out a weapon. He did not need one. He picked up a leather book with our names on it and put it on the green blotter. Next to it he placed a pen. It looked like the one that broke at the crossroads. It was shiny, heavy. Had dark ink in it.I said, "You think this is a version." My hand got tighter on the iron sword. The sword felt heavier now. The frost on it was. Dripping onto the floor.The creator said, "The number of words is a measure, Mikhail. It is not a limit." He did not look up as he opened the pen. "Mani Mayox built the road. The editor decides who stays on the last page. The book is open."He opened the book. The first page did not have any codes or signs. It had three paragraphs written in small perfect letters. They were about our lives, our fears and how we would fail.POV: ElaraWhen the pen touched the paper

​The wood didn't give way under my boots; it exploded.​CRACK.​I pushed off the fracturing edge of the mahogany plank launching myself directly over the trench. The air in the center of the room was thick and heavy pressing against my chest like a wall as I reached for the hovering black pen. The swirling static of the text lines below roared in my ears, a deafening metallic hum that vibrated straight through my skull. It felt like I was jumping into a storm.​My fingers slammed around the cylinder of the pen. It felt solid in my hand.​The moment my hand locked onto the plastic a violent jolt of electrical heat surged up my arm tearing through the old silver-gray grain of my skin. The crimson light from the broadsword in my hand flared blindly fighting the sudden pressure. I didn't fall. The momentum carried me across the six-foot gap my heavy boots crashing down onto the slope of the floor just inches from the edge of the oak desk. I landed hard. I didn't lose my grip on the pen.​

The iron blade did not hit the leather with a sound. Instead it cut into a wall of wind.WHOOSH—The moment our combined strength drove the broadsword down toward the center of the charcoal- ledger the creators arms threw wide. Overhead the thousands of suspended blue books did not just fall. They disintegrated in mid-air. Their bindings snapped with a sound like gunfire. Millions of loose white pages erupted from the shelves descending upon the desk in a blinding roaring blizzard of paper.I shouted "Hold the grip". My voice was swallowed by the rustling scream of the storm.The air turned into a vortex of edges. Pages scraped against my face tearing at my cheeks. Each sheet was blank and blindingly white under the raw magnesium light. I could not see Elaras hand next to mine on the hilt. Could I see Maeves weight on the flat of the steel.. I felt their fingers lock harder onto the metal as the resistance beneath the blade grew heavier.The desk was vanishing beneath the mounting sno