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Chapter 267
The moment Lira uttered that final, impossible prophecy—“Your next word will cost the sky its color”—Kael held his breath and refused to speak. But the silence that followed was not obedient. It cracked.A faultline split the air behind them, rippling outward like a scream still echoing through the marrow of time. It wasn’t a sound. It was the aftermath of one—a rupture held in suspension. The scream Kael had once loosed into an unjust cosmos now vibrated backward, unspooling what should have never formed.And then—reality tore.Not like paper. Not like cloth. But like memory, unraveling at the edge of forgetting.A tear opened in the air above them, hovering like a halo that had been cleaved in half. And through it, they glimpsed a world not born, yet already grieved.It was soft—achingly so. The light was amber and diffused, like a story told only in the golden hour. Trees bowed to unseen breezes. Rivers curled into their banks as if trying not to disturb the soil. Everything shimme
Chapter 266
It began not with a word, but the shiver before language. A ripple in silence.Lira stood in the dripping cave of living ink, but she was no longer Lira in the sense they once understood. Her body shimmered with sentences unformed, her skin pale parchment, veined with script that moved beneath the surface like the memory of forgotten handwriting. She did not breathe in the ordinary sense; she inhaled silence and exhaled narration.She opened her mouth—and the world paused.Kael stepped forward, tentative, his gold-and-grey eyes wide. He meant to say, “Lira?” but the sound never reached his lips. Lira spoke it first, with his voice.“Lira?”He flinched.Selene moved beside him, her presence steady, if silent. Her hand reached out to Lira, trembling not with fear but recognition. But before she could speak, Lira’s mouth moved again, her tone shifting, now mirroring Selene’s precise cadence, whispering the words Selene had not yet spoken: “Please… let us help you.”Selene recoiled.Elias
Chapter 265
Reality twitched.It began with a sound—no louder than a quill’s scratch against paper, yet it echoed across the collapsing sky like thunder. A slow, rhythmic stuttering, as if the universe itself were clearing its throat before a speech it no longer remembered how to give.The page—the prophecy-page—lay on the ground, white and glaring, its ink drained, its predictions spent. After Kael had kissed Selene and stabbed Elias—just as foretold—it had gone blank. And in doing so, it had torn something loose in the weave of reality.The world stuttered.Shadows moved in reverse, lengthening backward like regrets trying to return to the source. Birds flew backward through the sky, feathers reattaching, songs reversing into silence. Language itself began to unravel. Names lost their anchor and became verbs—Selene meant “to grieve,” Pamela meant “to remember,” Kael became “to rewrite and regret simultaneously.”They stood in a meadow that flickered in and out of seasons. One moment snow fell l
Chapter 264
The page glowed.Not with light, but with certainty—the quiet, brutal gleam of inevitability scrawled in fresh ink.It had no title at first, just a thin shimmer, as if reality were too hesitant to name what it was about to become. Then, line by line, the words formed in handwriting none of them recognized, and yet all of them understood.Kael read aloud, breath uneven.“At the hour the mist dissolves, Kael will kiss Selene. He will then stab Elias, once beneath the ribs, and whisper a word that has not existed in any known tongue.”Silence.Then Riva’s hand flew to her blade.“What did it just say?” she asked flatly.Selene stepped forward, voice trembling. “It—it’s writing our future. Not just general predictions. Exact moments. Exact choices.”Kael stood like a man suspended in glass. He reread the line, again and again, as if repetition might erode its truth.“I’d never hurt Elias,” he whispered.Elias said nothing. He was too still. His fingers hovered above the book, not touchin
Chapter 263
They stood in the clearing like exiles at the edge of a revelation.The Inkwound Tree pulsed behind them, groaning in deep, rhythmic tones—like a throat clearing itself before reciting a tragedy no one asked to hear. The book still cried. Not metaphorically. Real, unceasing sobs rippled from its pages. Wet breath. Mournful gasps. It wasn’t only the sound of grief—it was the sound of remembrance struggling to survive its own resurrection.Pamela couldn’t bear it.The sound, the scent of it—blood-ink, old parchment, old loss—dug into her ribs like fingers searching for something buried.“This isn’t right,” she muttered. “This thing… it’s not supposed to be alive. It shouldn’t be.”Her hands trembled, but her conviction didn’t.She summoned fire.A small flame at first, dancing along the tip of her outstretched hand. But as the book continued to weep, that fire grew—a deep, blue blaze, born not of destruction, but revision. This was no ordinary fire. It was the fire that once cauterized
Chapter 262
It began with a whisper beneath bark.Elias had returned alone to the Inkwound Tree, guided not by compass or map but by instinct—the lingering tug of unfinished things. The ground here was soft, too soft, as though it remembered being a sentence rather than soil. The air held a taste of charcoal and wet parchment. Above him, the massive trunk loomed, older now than time, its roots sunk into the marrow of countless narratives.The tree was different now. Since the fusion. Since the Reviser had disbanded itself in fragments of forgiveness and grief.Before, the Inkwound Tree had wept ink. Its bark split with slow bleeding lines, each one a memory leaking backward. But now it grew things.Not fruit. Not leaves.Tomes.Books—raw, unbound, half-formed—emerged from its knots like tumors. Some pulsed. Some sighed. Some rustled their own pages in the windless silence. It was grotesque, in the way beauty sometimes is when it refuses to obey form.Elias stepped closer. His breath caught.One b
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