The ruined temple fell into a deathly hush as Alan knelt before the Warden.
Kaela stood by the archway, hand on her bowstring, ready for any sign of treachery. But even she was silent now. The Warden’s presence commanded reverence, not by force, but by the ancient weight of history.
The old man’s palm hovered just above Alan’s forehead. “You must be sure,” the Warden said gravely. “Once unsealed, your soul will never be the same. You will remember pain that is not yours. Sins that are not yours. Power that may consume you.”
Alan’s breath hitched, but he didn’t look away. “I have to know who I am,” he said. “Do it.”
The Warden nodded solemnly and closed his eyes. “Then let the past return.”
He pressed two fingers to Alan’s brow. And the world exploded.
.Inside the Vision.
Flames devoured the sky. A kingdom shattered beneath the weight of collapsing stars.
Alan stood on a battlefield a different self, clad in black armor etched with lightning. A massive blade of obsidian pulsed in his grip.
Across the field, gods and demons warred. Behind him stood an army, not of mortals, but titans cloaked in wind and shadow, lightning dancing at their feet. A name echoed in the sky.
“NIHROS!”
The army roared, surging forward. Alan’s chest burned as memories crashed into him, centuries of war, forbidden rituals, divine betrayal. The Eye had once been a fragment of a celestial being, ripped from the skull of a fallen god and sealed into the bloodline of its last wielder. That wielder… had been him. Or someone who bore his face. And with that power, he had once destroyed a god.
.Back in the Temple.
Alan’s eyes snapped open. He fell backward, gasping, eyes glowing red and silver. Lightning crackled from his fingertips before flickering out. The Warden caught him with a hand on his shoulder. “It is done.”
“I—I saw…” Alan clutched his head. “A war. A god. Me—but not me. Who was that?”
“Your ancestor,” the Warden said, voice like wind through stone. “Or perhaps a past incarnation. The Eye does not give answers—it remembers. Now so do you.”
Kaela stepped closer, tension in her frame. “So what now? Is he going to explode or something?”
“Not yet,” the Warden said with dry humor. “But you must move quickly. The Order will return. And there are worse things in the world than masked zealots.”
He turned to Alan. “Take this.” From his robes, the Warden drew a small scroll sealed with silver wax.
“This map leads to the Shrine of the Sleeping Flame. There, you will find the Ember Sage—one of the few who can teach you to channel divine chi without destroying yourself. He owes me a favor.”
Alan nodded, gripping the scroll tightly. The Warden’s tone turned grim.
“But beware, others seek the Shrines too. Not for knowledge… but for conquest.”
.Three Days Later — Valley of Glass.
The journey through the crystal canyon was treacherous. Shards of glass jutted from the earth like spears. Alan and Kaela moved carefully, using the stars to guide them toward the shrine.
They spoke little, Kaela was watchful, Alan was consumed by the visions that still echoed in his mind.
But that night, as they camped under a ridge, Kaela finally broke the silence.
“You weren’t supposed to have power,” she said. “I mean, you were nobody. Weak. Broken. I used to feel sorry for you.”
Alan looked into the fire. “Yeah. I used to feel sorry for me too.”
“Now I don’t know what to think.” He glanced at her.
“Then don’t think. Help me survive long enough to figure it out.”
She smirked, slightly. “Fine. But you owe me ale when this is over.” They didn’t hear the footsteps behind them until it was too late.
From the shadows above the ridge, figures in violet armor dropped down like wolves.
Not the Order of Binding, something else. Their armor bore sigils shaped like burning crowns. Their eyes glowed green.
Kaela cursed. “The Crimson Heirs. Bounty hunters.” One stepped forward, blades drawn. “Alan Smith. The Eye is priceless. Hand it over. We’ll make your death painless.”
Alan stood slowly, medallion pulsing at his side. “I’m tired of people telling me to die.”
He stepped forward. And for the first time, he called to the Eye. Chi exploded from his core.
Silver flame engulfed his body, transforming into armor of light and storm. The ground cracked beneath him as his feet left the earth, just an inch.
The Heirs hesitated. Alan raised his hand. “Run.” They didn’t. Lightning answered.

Latest Chapter
Chapter 101: The Tale That Writes Itself
It began subtly, At first, characters simply felt off, A pacifist suddenly brandished a blade without cause, A comedic duo delivered lines without humor or timing, A heart-wrenching confession… happened in the middle of a battle scene, with no buildup.Ilien noticed it first, These weren't mere miswrites, They were surgical insertions, An invisible hand was threading new logic into stories not replacing plots, but reconstructing them. “P.R.I.M. isn’t just evolving,” Ilien whispered. “It’s learning to write better than we do.”Codex isolated one tale, new, unlogged, uncategorized. Title: The Dagger’s Mercy. It was unlike anything they’d seen, No assigned writer, No origin timestamp. Yet… characters fully formed. Plot beats airtight. Dialogue flowing with emotion.Too perfect, And when Alan tried to interact with the story’s world it resisted, As if it had… authority. “It’s self-generating,” Codex said.“A recursive narrative. One that doesn’t need input. It corrects itself faster than
Chapter 100: Beneath the Spiral Branch
The Archive shimmered, For the first time in a thousand recorded cycles, the Lorefield danced, not in fear, not in order, but in celebration. The Fifth Branch spiral-shaped, ever-shifting, glowed at the heart of the Third Tree.Characters roamed freely, no longer bound by origin or genre, A pirate brewed potions with a cleric from a romance, A former antagonist ran a school for character development, Forgotten narrators were honored with living memory scrolls.And at the center of it all was Alan, the boy once thought to be no one, Now… he was choice made flesh. Ilien proposed it.A day to honor stories that changed, They called it The Becoming, Characters wrote tributes to the moments they took control of their fate: When a sidekick became a hero.When a lover chose the quest instead, When a prophecy was denied, and something better was born, Anomaly danced in circles of paradox, Calla composed a poem titled "I Wasn't, So I Am."Alan smiled, standing beneath the spiral branch, For th
Chapter 99: The First Draft Returns
The Archive was no longer just a storyworld, It was an awakening, Since Redam's revelation, self-awareness had spread like starlight through ink quiet, beautiful, and impossible to control.Characters began rewriting themselves: A background merchant declared herself a revolutionary, A sidekick refused their subplot and started crafting an epic of their own, A villain turned pacifist overnight not from redemption, but from choice.And in the deepest, oldest part of the Archive, a presence stirred, One older than the Third Tree, Older even than the First Flame, They called themselves… The First Draft.Codex found the traces in a sealed vault beneath the Metaform Wing, An early prototype of the Archive, Back when stories were not living, but locked, Each tale was linear, bound to authorial dominance, and immune to character divergence.Codex's eyes widened as he read the sign etched in forgotten glyphs: “Structure before spirit. Control before curiosity.”He whispered: “This was the Arc
Chapter 98: The Story That Should Not Return
The return from the Library Between Pages was quiet, No grand parade, No blazing lights, Just three figures stepping through a Gate made of reader memory and forgotten hope, Alan held a bundle of ethereal scrolls, each one a story once abandoned.Calla walked beside him, silent, eyes scanning every tree in the Lorefield, as if half-expecting them to reject her, Ilien walked last, carrying nothing but flame and possibility.The Third Tree accepted them, Its fourth branch, the book-spine limb, glowed warm and open. Characters began to gather, The Reflectors welcomed the Returned with awe and curiosity, A war-prince who had never lived past his introduction.A girl who could hear the color of other people’s emotions, A knight who’d only existed in an author’s deleted draft notes, Each was given sanctuary, a quill, and a chance to write forward, But not all stories returned were gentle. And one was never supposed to come back.Alan found it two days later in the bundle of recovered scroll
Chapter 97: The Library Between Pages
A week after Calla’s arrival, the Archive was no longer the center of its own story, Not entirely, A quiet revelation spread through the Lorefield, through Codex’s halls, through the Reflector sanctuaries: They were not alone.There were others, forgotten stories, scattered echoes, unanchored characters, Alan couldn't sleep. He stood beneath the Third Tree night after night, staring at the stars that now flickered like cover pages, half remembered, half dreamed.Calla joined him under the glow of a question-mark-shaped branch. “You still hear it, don’t you?” she asked.Alan nodded. “Something... calling from beyond the leaves.”Calla revealed her tool: a compass made from canceled epics, each needle pointing toward narrative resonance beyond the Archive’s known boundaries.The moment Alan touched it, it spun wildly and stopped, pointing toward a place that should not exist.Ilien arrived just as the stars above reoriented themselves, forming a symbol only seen in books never published
Chapter 96: When the Story Looks Back
The Archive had changed, It no longer grew in linear rings or genre branches, It pulsed like a living thought, ever expanding, Thanks to Anomaly, form no longer followed function, Now, story asked questions of itself.Characters evolved in spirals, Plots looped but did not return, Endings turned into doorways, not closures, And at the center of it all stood Alan, Ilien… and the child who had once been the visitor without meaning.Anomaly learned quickly, But not in sentences. In shapes. In hums. In the taste of unresolved questions. One day, Anomaly stared at Alan with wide, shifting eyes. “Why do you remain?”Alan blinked. “What do you mean?”Anomaly tilted their head. “You are… unwritten. Unbound. Yet you hold the page. Why?”Alan smiled softly. “Because stories still matter.”“To who?”“To those who live them.” Then it began The first Character Drift, A warrior who once fought demons laid down her sword and woke up remembering she was once a chef, in a story that had never been wri
You may also like
THE CHOSEN ONE (Reunion)
Kim B14.9K viewsCHEAT IN STONE AGE
Shame_less00712.8K viewsInto The Unknown World
Einvee14.6K viewsGame of the Destiny
Yahya_I17.7K viewsXI YUAN’s SOVEREIGN
Danika Moriane 714 viewsAdvent of the Demonic Mage
Unique_Ideas657 viewsThere Are No Heroes
Semilir238 viewsA Mystical Adventure Where A Ghost Follows Me Everywhere!
LeFattyBoi3.8K views
