2025-08-31 13:52:03Felix's connection to the Codex dissolved into nothing but white noise as the world turned gray. Malakar's quill emitted malevolent intent, eager to rewrite Felix out of existence. Liora's knife slipped to the ground as she stood between them, but Felix realized it was futile—against a High Archivist, they were both insects to be crushed.
Think, Felix! His brain spun with his teacher's. If active operations in Erasure and Inscription cost energy, how much more for passive ones? The Codex, its faint glow fading, still displayed one line: Historical Access: Active. Energy not sufficient for active operations. Felix clung to that thread. Historical Access does not cost energy? He focused on Malakar, and the Codex reported: Scriptorium High Archivist Malakar. Written by Scribe Lord Valerius. Historical revisions: Earth Event #7382 (Felix Kane's death), Dragon Ignis Erasure (Year 327 of Scriptorium Rule). Psychological profile: Perfectionist. Phobia: Scriptorium authority undermined by historical inaccuracy. A plan smoldered in Felix's mind. He was unable to conquer power with power—but he was able to conquer lies with truth. "Malakar!" Felix shouted, his voice cutting through the cavern's tension. "Your editing of the Ignis incident was sloppy. The cowardice of the knight was too impeccably erased. Anyone double-checking the Annals of Lost Truths would detect the discrepancy." Malakar's pen stuttered. "The Annals were incinerated centuries ago." "Were they?" Felix supplied a confidence he did not possess. "The Codex remembers what you burn." The Codex flashed, projecting an holographic page into space: Cross-Reference: Annals of Lost Truths, Fragment #12. "Knight-Captain Valen fled the dragon's hoard, abandoning his men to steal the Orb of Truth." Malakar gazed aghast. "Impossible! That fragment had been wiped out!" "Nothing is ever wiped out," Felix replied, parrot-fashion, of Liora's earlier comment. "Only forgotten." The distraction worked. Ignis, completely materialized, roared—a scream of anger and desperation that shattered the stalactites in the cavern. The Scriptorium agents fled as rubble cascaded down. Malakar slipped, his quill scratching against the floor. Liora snatched it. "Run, Felix! The quill's power can restart the Codex!" She tossed it to him. The moment his fingers touched the quill, the Codex came to life: Energy Source Identified: Scriptorium Quill (50 units). Absorb? Y/N. Felix executed the mental confirmation. Power ran through the Codex, and pages flailed open. Energy: 55/100. Systems running again. But Malakar was already rising, his eyes burning with rage. "You believe a stay of execution changes anything? The Scriptorium has rewritten galaxies. You are a footnote." He raised his hand, and the air itself thickened with intent. Reality Anchor: Regional Override. Cavern walls began to pixelate, disintegrating into text strings. Felix witnessed his own frame weaken—he was being inscribed out of the narrative. Insufficient power for counter-inscription, the Codex warned. Recommendation: Intentional historical revelation. Felix struck Malakar's worst fear—defect. "You omitted a line in the Annals, Archivist. 'Valen's treason was witnessed by a scribe named Alara Vey.'" Liora gasped. "Vey? That's my surname!" The Codex revealed another fragment: Scribe Alara Vey: Exiled for witnessing Valen's cowardice. Her texts were the spark of the Forgotten Scribes' uprising. Malakar snarled. "Her texts were burned! "But her heritage prevailed," Felix said to her, gazing into Liora's eyes. "And her heir just found your quill." Liora smiled, accepting the quill from Felix. In a swift motion, she inscribed in the air: "The Reality Anchor override feature is disabled by order of Alara Vey's heir." Pixelation was undone. Malakar staggered, spurting ink. "Heritage-based command? How—?" "You shouldn't have erased my heritage," Liora said, her voice cold. Ignis attacked at that time. Malakar was knocked off the floor by the dragon's tail, slamming into the wall of the cavern. The remaining Scriptorium agents fled, their leader disabled. Too soon to rejoice, though. The cavern convulsed in fury—Ignis's arrival had destabilized the Sanctuary. Stone pillars creaked and shattered, and the library of unscripted truths came tumbling down. "We have to get out!" Liora cried, dragging Felix through an unseen passageway. Ignis lowered his head, blocking their path. Instead of attacking, he spoke to them in the voice of grinding stone: "The Codex Wielder must learn the price. My return has torn reality apart. The Scriptorium will dispatch more than Archivists from now on." "What price?" Felix asked. "For every myth I wrote, a lie needs to be erased. For every truth you brought back, a falsehood unwinds. You've restored me—but somewhere far away, a kingdom now believes its founder was a fake. Civil war may already blaze." The Codex confirmed: Reality Recalibration: Trade-off detected. Kingdom of Lys's origin myth destabilized. Probability of conflict: 87%. Felix's stomach churned. He'd wanted to uncover deceptions, not cause chaos. "How do I undo it? "Balance," Ignis said. "The Codex is not a vessel of unfettered power. It is a balance. To create, you must uncreate. To bring into existence, you must relinquish." The dragon shoved a rolled scroll in Felix's way. "This contains the true history of Lys. Write it—but understand that to steady their truth, you must erase another's." Liora put a hand on Felix's arm. "We don't have time. This building is collapsing!" Felix accepted the scroll. "Codex: Scan and store." The Codex glowed softly as it absorbed the information. New Quest: Stabilize Kingdom of Lys. Reward: 100 Energy, Historical Insight: Scribe Lords' Weaknesses. Penalty: Reality fracture increases if failed. Malakar groaned, smiling weakly amidst the ruins. "You see now? You can never win. Every 'correction' creates new disasters. That is why the Scriptorium controls history—we maintain harmony through edited lies." "Oppression-based order isn't order," Felix snapped. "It's silent." "And chaos is better?" Malakar spat out ink. "You are a teacher. Didn't you carefully lay out knowledge to your students? Did you give them every unvarnished, brutal truth? Or did you adapt it to protect them?" The question stung Felix. He remembered censoring lesson plans in order not to traumatize students from the horrors of history. Was that so different? Ignis roared once more, and they were reminded of the collapsing ceiling. "Run! I will hold this building together long enough for you to get out. Take the other Counter-Codicies. Both of you together can balance." The dragon spread its wings to provide a dividing wall between the collapsed ceiling and themselves. Liora pulled Felix through the corridor as the door closed shut behind them. They moved through dark corridors, the light of the Codex their only guide. Having run in desperate minutes, they emerged into a forest clearing beneath Aethyra's twin moons. Felix fell to the ground, exhausted. "What did we do?" "What we had to do," Liora said, her hands trembling. "Malakar wasn't entirely wrong, though. Altering history has consequences." The Codex beeped: Energy: 10/100. Low. Suggest conservation. New Power Unleashed: Reality Echo. View other timelines which were formed by your writings. Felix employed it. The air rippled, and two visions appeared: · Vision 1: The Kingdom of Lys burns because two factions battle over their competing histories. · Vision 2: Lys flourishes under one truth, but a nearby village now believes that their river didn't exist—and it vanishes, the farms drying up. "There is no good option," Felix whispered. No," Liora agreed. "But inaction is also a choice. The Scriptorium's 'order' is a slow poison. Your chaos may be a painful antidote." The Codex started to flash again, this time with an urgent message: Incoming Transmission: Sender: Kael Draven, Stormguard Sect. Message: "Codex Wielder. I possess what you seek: the location of the Second Codex. Meet me at the Sunken Library of Caledon. Alene. Your scholar acquaintance's life is forfeit should you refuse." A map appeared, displaying a location on the opposite side of the continent. Liora's eyes narrowed. "Kael Draven. His sect murders Codex Wielders. It's a trap.". "Evidently," Felix replied. "But he's aware of another Codex. And he's got a hostage." "Since when do you give a damn about some arbitrary hostage?" "Because," Felix explained, reading the Codex's update, "the hostage is a student from my reality—somebody who died in the same library blaze that I did. The Scriptorium didn't merely transport me here." The Codex displayed: Hostage Identified: Emily Chen. Student, Oakridge High. Status: Alive, displaced. Felix's knuckles locked into fists. Emily—the sole student to have ever loved history. The one who'd said "See you tomorrow" seconds before he died. She was here. And the Scriptorium contained her. Liora saw his face. "You can't possibly be considering this." "I'm a teacher," Felix growled. "I don't abandon my students." He stood, energy crackling around the Codex. "And Kael wants to tinker with history? Let us show him how a teacher handles a failing student." The Codex throbbed, mirroring his resolve: Quest Accepted: Save Emily Chen. New Goal: Retrieve Second Codex. Warning: Stormguard Sect is a master of anti-reality tactics. Ambush chances: 99%. Felix smiled grimly. "Field trip time." In the distance, a wolf was howling—or perhaps a Scriptorium hound. The game was on. ---
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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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