2025-08-31 13:50:18The forest was a blue and purple blur as Felix Kane ran, his own heart thudding against his ribcage. The shouts of his pursuers cut through the unfamiliar twilight, harsh and unforgiving.
"Energy reading decreases—he's using the Codex to hide his trail!" "Never mind. The anomaly can't evade capture." Felix's lungs burned with each wheeze of the oxygen-rich air. His teaching shoes, never intended for galloping through alien undergrowth, skidded on the luminescent moss. He braced himself against a tree whose bark curved in spirals that seemed to shift when he made contact. The Codex thrummed in time with him, pages flashing information: · Energy: 70/100 · Pursuers: 2 Scriptorium Archivists. Threat Level: High. · Recommended Action: Erasure or Diversion. Erasure. The word had echoed in his mind. In his other life, it had meant clearing chalkboards or correcting students' papers. Here, it meant something far greater—and chilling. He had dashed for cover behind the thick trunk of a fat tree, clamped himself hard against the abnormally warm wood. The hunters emerged into an open space twenty yards away. The woman had a device vibrating with energy—a Reality Anchor, the Codex explained. The man scanned the space with a radiant wrist-band. "Surrender the Codex," the man commanded, his voice level. "You don't own it." Felix's teacher instincts kicked in—ask questions. "Whose is it? The ones who burned my library? Who murdered me?" Her gaze narrowed. "Your death was a revision required. The Codex must not be in unauthorized hands." The Codex warmed in his hands, pages spinning wild: Revision Log Detected: Earth Event #7382 (Felix Kane's Death). Authorized by Scriptorium Lord Malakar. Confirmation. The fury that churned in Felix's gut was hotter than the flame that had consumed him. He was not a casualty of circumstance; he was an edited sentence crossed out from existence. With shaking hands, he focused on the Erasure command. If they could rewrite the past, so could he. He pictured the Reality Anchor—its crystal heart, its energy matrix—and typed: "The Reality Anchor's core crystal shattered in transit, rendering it useless." Power was drawn from him—20 units—leaving him stumbling. The device held in the woman's hand sputtered and went dead with a gentle crack. "What did you do?" she snarled, throwing the now-useless device against her leg. Felix didn't pause to justify. He turned and sprinted deeper into the woods, following the throbbing waypoint the Codex indicated—a single word: Sanctuary. The wood grew thicker, the trees tall, their leaves tangling over one another to blacken the light of the twin moons. Glowing plants anomalously lit from within, casting shifting patterns on the ground ahead of him. He was still hearing the hunters behind him, their footsteps steady and firm. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of flight, the Codex glowed with greater intensity. "Sanctuary proximity: 50 meters." Before him, a waterfall moved upwards, defying gravity as it plunged towards the sky instead of the earth. Behind this impossible sight was a cavern entrance screened off by luminescent vines. Felix didn't pause for more than a second before diving through the watery veil. To his astonishment, the "water" was actually energy, not liquid, and it buzzed as it flowed over his skin but left him bone dry. The cave took his breath away. It was not a cave naturally formed but a library carved out of the living rock. Scrolls were wedged into stone-carved shelves, glowing runes glided along the walls, and shattered texts floated suspended in mid-air, trapped in some unseen energy. Ancient power vibrated in the air. The Codex vibrated with exhilaration in his arms, pages spinning around as it recorded the lost knowledge that permeated the chamber. New Function Unlocked: Access to the Past. You may now view lost or altered histories of Aethyra. Felix ventured deeper into the cavern, his historian's soul rejoicing at the riches therein. He traced glyphs of robed figures fighting rebels with ink-quill arms. A man like him—a Codex Wielder—was depicted on one wall breaking apart a heavenly manuscript, freeing a constellation of facts. The Codex decoded a shattered inscription: "Here rests the Sanctuary of Unwritten Truths, last haven of the Forgotten Scribes who defied the tyranny of the Scriptorium." A voice shouted from the entrance: "You found it. I knew you would." Felix spun, brandishing the Codex like a shield. A young woman stood before him—her robes tattered, eyes aglow with knowledge. She bore no sword, merely a satchel full of scrolls. "Liora Vey," the Codex indicated. "Shamed scholar. Master of forbidden histories. Ally." "You're the one that the Scriptorium is looking for," she said, stepping closer. "The Codex Wielder. I've been trying to find this place for years. They told me I was mad to believe that the old legends were true." "Why help me?" Felix asked, his voice cautious. "Since you broke their Anchor. Only a Wielder can do that. And since." She rolled out a scroll—a map of Aethyra with some places labeled "Official History" and others "Forgotten." "I wish to burn their lies to dust." Liora explained the Scriptorium's grip on Aethyra as they moved further into the cavern: · They controlled knowledge by way of Heavenly Manuscripts—reality-defined artifacts. · Anyone questioning official history was "edited" (deleted, imprisoned, or killed). · Felix's Codex was just one of several lost "Counter-Codicies" designed to stop their grip. "Your arrival wasn't by accident," she said to him. "Prophecies speak of an Outsider who bears the Living Codex. They feared you enough to have you killed in your own world." The Codex began to glow, supporting her words with text: Cross-Reference: "Prophecy of the Author" (forbidden ed., Scriptorium Index #777). Felix smiled nastily. "I'm a history teacher, not a hero." "No," said Liora, her face hot with anger. "You're the first writer who can retell their story." She challenged him to drive the Codex further. On the wall hung a faded fresco of a knight killing a dragon—the "official" foundation myth of a nearby kingdom. Liora pointed to a corner: "The truth is there. The knight was cowardly. The dragon was a gentle guardian. The Scriptorium erased the true tale." Felix's eyes were refixed on the Codex. Erasure Function. He pictured the braveness of the knight—a lie—and wrote: "The knighthood's bravery was an invention imposed by Scriptorium Archivist Valerius." Energy drained—30 units. The mural radiated. The face of the knight collapsed into coward's; the dragon's snarling mouth eased into sorrow. Reality distorts them. A tremor shook the cavern. Dust cascaded down from above. The Codex flashed warnings: Reality Instability Detected. Erasure of sanctioned historical events provokes cosmic recoil. Liora gripped his arm. "They sensed that. They'll come." But Felix wasn't done. He mentioned the Historical Access function, and the Codex opened up to the truth: The dragon was a guardian of a sacred library. The knight borrowed its knowledge for the Scriptorium, then painted himself as a hero. The dragon's name was Ignis, and it had loved the humans it protected. "We can restore it," Felix panted. "Inscription Function." Liora's eyes widened. "Felix, no—writing a creature into being could ruin reality!" But he was already writing, spurred by the anger of a teacher at lies masquerading as truth: "Ignis, the last dragon, slumbers under the Verdant Wilds, awaiting the call of truth." The energy cost was catastrophic—50 units. The Codex screamed in his mind, the pages blackening at the corners. The earth裂开, and a roar echoed out from within—not one of anger, but of grief. The door to the cavern blasted open. The Scriptorium hunters materialized there, supported by four others. Their leader, a man whose eyes glowed like polished obsidian, raised a quill that smoldered with unadulterated authority. "Felix Kane," he stated. "In the name of the Scribe Lords, you are accused of deviation from history. Surrender the Codex, or be erased." The Codex displayed his name: Scriptorium High Archivist Malakar. Authorized to redefine reality on a planetary scale. Malakar smiled. "You can't win. Every fact you inscribe, we can erase. Every lie we write becomes the truth. This world is our manuscript." Felix clutched the Codex, power nearly depleted. But he felt something awake beneath him—something old and great, waking at his behest. The dragon Ignis was awakening. The ground buckled. Stone collapsed, and a mighty wing tipped with glinting scales shot up from the earth, shaking the very Sanctuary. Ignis was no beast of raging devastation but a creature of legend and memory, its eyes heavy with buried millennia. Malakar's bluster wavered. "What have you done?" The Codex blazed one final, triumphant message: Inscription Successful: Mythical Entity Restored. Reality Recalibration Imminent. But Felix's victory was short-lived. As Ignis thundered a challenge that shook the very fabric of time itself, the Codex gave its last warning: Energy Critical: 5/100. System Shutdown at 10… 9… Malakar lifted his quill, ready to strike Felix from the page. Liora drew a dagger, standing between them. "Run, Felix!" she shouted. "Search out the other Counter-Codicies! I'll keep them—" The quill moved. Reality撕裂 around them. Felix tried to reach for the Codex, but his hand passed through it as though fog. The world faded to gray. The last he heard was Ignis's roar—and Malakar's cold laughter. ---
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Chapter 185 – Echoes of the Teacher
The memory of Inkwell was a frozen flame in the heart of Felix, the revelation of his murder a magnet that sucked him along with evil purpose. The Primordium was a realm of belief, and belief was a hall of mirrors. Leaving behind the origin of creation, the cold geometry warping, the frozen ideologies of the floating spires slackening, their tines adapting to something more natural, more. familiar.He was walking not on hardened conviction but on creaky floorboards. The air shed the ozone bite, filling with the scent of old paper, dry-erase markers, and the faint, sweet smell of discarded apple cores. The light dimmed, emitted by fluorescent tubes humming overhead. He was in a hallway of lockers, their metal faces scratched and dented, that seemed to stretch to impossible lengths.The door to the classroom was ajar. Through the window, he could glimpse rows of vacant desks across from a whiteboard. And facing the whiteboard, his back to the door, stood a man dressed in a plain, well-t
Chapter 184 – The Inkwell of Stars
The Forgotten Seven did not lead him in words, but by the mutual, wordless tug, a shared memory of a place both birth and burial. They moved as a single mind through the remote, unwritten regions of the Primordium, where the formation of belief dissipated into the unshapen geology of conception. The air cooled, not with temperature, but with the chill of potential before it was defined. The light came from nowhere and everywhere, a steady, source-less light that produced no shadows, as if this world had existed previous to the moment when 'shadow' became a thing.And then, they came to the edge.It was not a cliff looking out over an abysm, but a beach. The obsidian surface, a cool, black material that was like a chilled reason in texture, met a liquid that was the reverse of liquid. It was black, but a blackness somehow luminous, full of pent-up color and released light. It did not ripple or flow like water, but it churned with the stately, deliberate dignity of galactic arms. Pinpri
Chapter 183 – The Garden of Forgotten Gods
The escape from the buzzing, frantic Hall of Aethernom was down, away from glittering spires and humming lines of prayer. The crowded faith beneath Felix's feet turned soft, then dissolved into a fine, grey dust that reeked of mothballs and regret. The fluid-light air dissipated, opening into a still, vacant twilight that seemed to devour sound. He had stepped from the engine room of divinity into its attic.This was the Garden of Broken Deities.Not a garden of flowers, but of ideals. Wilted, petrified trees remained suspended mid-gesture, their bark the touch of withering parchment—gods of nullified promises. Puddles of water, glassy and motionless, reflected nothing—deities of reflections and echoes who had lost their fountain. Frayed tapestries of light folded in rags from invisible looms, their patterns and the laws of physics and ethics withdrawn by popular consensus. The air hung thick with the scent of nostalgia, a cloying, mournful perfume.And over this quiet, carved cemeter
Chapter 182 – The Atlas of Belief
The further Felix penetrated into the Primordium, the less the ground felt of faith and more of bureaucracy. The churning, fluid radiance of the air hardened into great, vaulted ceilings supported by pillars of encapsulated doctrine. The whispering temples yielded to silent, massive repositories. He had arrived at the Hall of Aethernom, the bureaucratic core of the divine machine.The air itself was still, dry, and had the smell of vellum dust and ozone. The hysterical rumors which had tried to incriminate him were gone, replaced by a low, insistent drone—the whir of processing data on a cosmic scale. This was not a temple; this was an accounting firm.And hanging from the center of the hall was the cause of the drone: the Atlas of Belief.It was not a map, not in any conventional way. It was a three-dimensional ever-shifting tapestry of light and link, so vast its boundaries merged into the architectural shadows of the hall. It was a web of faith, a celestial model of the interface b
Chapter 181 – The Gates of Myth
The transition was not a step, but a sigh. One moment, Felix stood in the radiant, pulsing world of the Age of the True Word, the weight of his own death a known shroud draped across his shoulders. The next, the solidity of the world softened at the margins. The stones of Aethelgard were transformed into stone suggestions; its people's voices melted into a distant, harmonious hum—like the ghostly humming noise which still vibrated through the other room. A fissure in the air before him—not a tear of wrath, but an ethereal, hot fissure, such as craquelure on a masterpiece painting, that gave way to a blinding, hotter light beneath.It was the veil between the written world and the world in which there had been a beginning of writing. And it was calling to him.He did not make himself go forward. The crevice inhaled, and he was sucked through.He emerged into the Divine Realms, and for a moment he thought he was deaf. Then he realized the silence was because the very air was sound, cond
Chapter 180 – The Break of the True Word
The hush was not broken. It was scattered. It was not shattered by a boom or uttered by a whisper, but gently shoved away, as night yields to dawn, by a single, pure note. It was a note holding within it the potential of all music—the first cry of a child, the first chord of a symphony, the first word of a story told over a proto-historic fire. It was the Song of Retold Creation.Felix was at its heart. The domain of half-forgotten stories vanished, carried away by a living, breathing, singing reality. He stood on a sea of living light, beneath a sky being forged in the instant from tapestries of nebulae and strange constellations whose stories were not yet to be told. The air itself vibrated with potential, every molecule a tiny, humming library of what could be. No single source of light; they were all emitting intrinsic luminescence, a starry universe written by themselves.He looked down at his hands. They were just hands. The mortal aches and pains of a mortal body were returning
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