2025-03-27 04:10:52Rain began to pour heavily, drumming a mournful rhythm on the roof of the dilapidated old house. The dim light from the hallway lamp cast eerie dancing shadows on the decaying wooden floorboards, as if they had a life of their own. The scent of wet earth crept in through the cracks in the windowpanes, mixed with the smell of dust and something more pungent, like burning wood.
Alina stood stiffly, her breath coming in gasps. Her heart pounded fiercely, as if it wanted to break free from her chest. In front of her, the old man with the scarred face smirked faintly, while Darren stood tense beside her, gripping his folding knife tightly. Bang! A loud sound echoed from upstairs. Something fell, or maybe someone. Alina flinched, her eyes widening. Darren immediately grabbed her arm. "We have to go, now!" However, the old man remained standing in place, his expression calm, even seemingly relaxed, which only made Alina shudder. "What's up there?" Alina whispered, her voice barely audible. The man stared at her for a long moment before answering, "Them." Creak... Creak... Footsteps were heard from above, more than one pair. Heavy and slow, as if someone was dragging something behind them. Alina took a step back, her back against the cold wall behind her. The shadows on the floor seemed to move more strangely, on their own, as if alive. Darren tightened his grip on the folding knife. "Alina, if you want to live, don't listen to him." However, Alina shook her head, though her body trembled. She couldn't just leave. There was something she had to know. She looked at the man sharply. "Who is trying to kill me?" The man smiled crookedly, showing his yellowed teeth. "Those who claim to love you." Thump. Thump. Thump. The footsteps from above grew closer. Darren swore softly, then grabbed Alina's hand. "We really have to go!" But before they could move, the door at the end of the hallway opened with a long, ear-splitting creak. Darren turned, and his face immediately went pale. Behind the gaping door, a figure stood still. Its eyes were pitch black, empty, and its thin hand held something that gleamed in the lamplight, a large knife dripping dark, thick liquid. Alina held her breath. The figure stepped forward, slowly, with stiff movements like a doll controlled by invisible strings. Darren pulled Alina behind him. "Run!" Without a second thought, Alina turned and ran as fast as she could, while the sound of tap! tap! tap! from the figure's footsteps echoed behind them. Darren followed, but the old man didn't move at all. He just smiled faintly, then whispered softly, "Welcome back, Alina." DUAR! A flash of lightning struck, illuminating the entire house, revealing strange shadows lurking in the dark hallways. Alina and Darren kept running past the back door, while the harsh breathing of the creature grew closer behind them. However, before they reached the exit, Alina heard something. A whisper. Soft, almost inaudible. Her name. "Alina..." She stopped abruptly, her body stiffening. Darren almost ran into her. "What are you doing?!" Darren whispered sharply. But Alina couldn't move. She recognized that voice. The voice of someone from her past. And it came from behind a cracked window beside her. Slowly, with trembling hands, she turned towards the glass. And as she looked into it, her eyes widened in horror. The shadow in the glass wasn't her own. It was another version of herself, with bloodshot eyes, a torn lip forming a gruesome smile, and hands that were dirty as if they had just dug a grave. And even more terrifying, the shadow whispered again. "You won't be able to run from this, Alina. You are part of this darkness." DRAP. DRAP. DRAP. Their footsteps clashed with the fragile wooden floor, creating a long echo that sounded louder amidst the increasingly heavy rain outside. Lightning flashed again, momentarily illuminating the room and revealing black shadows creeping on the walls. Alina was still frozen, staring at the shadow in the glass. It wasn't her, it was something else. Something that shouldn't be there. The shadow tilted its head, as if observing Alina with curiosity. Its smile widened, revealing inhumanly sharp teeth. "I've always been here..." The voice crept into her mind, soft yet threatening. Darren pulled her arm roughly. "Alina! Don't look at that!" But it was too late. The shadow in the glass suddenly raised its hand, and in an instant, CRASH! The glass exploded! Fragments flew in all directions, reflecting the flickering light from the almost extinguished hallway lamp. Alina screamed and covered her face, but shards of glass still cut her skin. A stinging pain spread through her arm. Darren didn't hesitate. He pulled Alina into his arms and ran towards the back door. But before they reached it, something appeared before them. The figure, with a stiff, thin body, pitch-black eyes, and a large knife still dripping dark liquid. Tap. Tap. Tap. The figure stepped forward, one by one, with stiff movements like a broken doll. The heavy rain outside made the light even dimmer, adding to the terrifying impression of the figure now standing only a few meters from them. Alina felt her breath catch in her throat. Darren held his folding knife tightly. "Do you know him?" Darren whispered without taking his eyes off the creature. Alina shook her head, but something within her said otherwise. Something unfamiliar yet familiar. The figure raised its hand, pointing directly at Alina. "You... are back..." Its raspy voice sounded like the rustling of dry twigs being stepped on in a forest. Suddenly, the hallway felt narrower. The air grew colder. Alina's breath fogged, and somehow, she felt like she was back in her childhood, standing alone in a dark place, surrounded by voices calling her in the same tone. "Don't trust them..." The voice appeared again in her head. Not Darren's voice. Not the old man's voice. Not the voice of the terrifying figure in front of her. The voice came from herself. Alina gasped. "Darren, we have to get out of here!" Darren had already moved. He kicked a wooden table beside him, making it fall onto the figure. BRUK! The figure groaned, pushed back, giving them a chance to escape. Without wasting time, Darren grabbed Alina's hand and ran out of the house. CREAAAKKK! The old wooden door swung open loudly, almost coming off its hinges. They were immediately hit by the cold, piercing night air. The rain was still pouring down, soaking their bodies in seconds. Alina gasped, her legs felt weak, but Darren wouldn't let her stop. They continued to run through the overgrown yard and past old, leafless trees. But before they reached the main road, Alina heard a rustling sound. Like someone whispering right behind her. She glanced back, and her heart almost stopped. In the darkness, under the downpour, the figure was still standing in front of the house. But now, not just one. There were more. Black shadows with empty eyes emerged around the house, standing still like statues. They were all facing Alina. Then, simultaneously, they began to move forward. Tap. Tap. Tap. Their footsteps were in unison, moving closer at a terrifying speed. Alina couldn't breathe. "Darren..." Darren looked back and his face immediately paled. "Damn it!" He grabbed Alina's hand again and ran faster, almost dragging her. Alina bit her lip, fighting the panic that almost made her lose control. Her body was already trembling violently, but she knew that if they stopped now, they wouldn't survive. They finally reached a small path leading to the main road. However, before they could go any further, something caught Alina's foot.
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THE END
The evening light stretched gently over the hillside, casting a golden glow on two figures standing hand in hand. The world was slowly stabilizing—the cracks in the sky mended by threads of love, chosen and stitched by true readers across countless dimensions.Lyra turned to Darren. Her face was radiant, soft, yet her eyes still held the resolve forged through long battles. Darren returned her smile and kissed her forehead—a promise beyond words.Behind them stood Rey, Maeve, Seraphina, and Nadir—who had chosen to remain in the Margin, guarding the heart of their narrative—watching with emotion. True companions. A small family born from wounds and bound by hope.In Nadir’s hands, the white book—now titled The Margin Chronicles—glowed softly. It was no longer empty. It brimmed with knots, notes, and cries inked in rainbow hues.“Our time here may be over,” Seraphina whispered. “But our story... will live on forever.”Lyra nodded, touching Seraphina’s shoulder. “And we have love… that w
When the Reader Becomes the Weaver
The sky froze—not from snow, but from the gaze of millions of unseen eyes.Every pixel of a screen, every turned page of a book, had become a weapon:blue and white light piercing into Lyra’s world and that of her companions.Reality trembled, looped, as if touched by the reader’s hand flipping backthrough page after page, word after word.They had just returned from the hearing with no pages.The Margin still trembled in Nadir’s chest,and Rey’s book—once blank—began to swell,filled with faint text drawn from their shared experiences.But now, the narrative no longer belonged only to them.It was being read… and imagined by real people.Lyra stood on the edge of a silent green valley.Suddenly, digital mist swept across the grass,creating a glitching effect. Darren watched the trees—some trunks cracked, pixelating, then vanishing.Seraphina brushed the air, collecting fragments of magical energy. “The transmission has begun. The narrative now lives in their minds—those who are re
The Trial Without Pages
The cracks in the sky widened, gaping like the mouth of a giant ready to devour the world. In the void between margins and narration stood the Readers’ Jury: abstract beings from the Fourth Dimension—formless, pure energy, filled with the voices of millions of stories once read or rejected. They arrived in echoes that shattered the silence and demanded judgment.The Curator stood at the front, his silver pen trembling yet firm. In his lap lay an untouched white page, where the trial unfolded—without an amphitheater, for in this dimension, physical space was obsolete.In a corner of the margin, Lyra gazed at Nadir’s body. The weaver child lay there, fading—not dead, but erased from a narrative still undecided. Rey wept, embracing him, but the thread of Nadir’s identity remained tethered to the white page, refusing to vanish.Meanwhile, Maeve, Darren, Seraphina, and Rey stood side by side in the heart of the trial.The Readers’ Jury spoke—their voices like the whisper of thousands of pa
The Coverless Editor
No sound.No time.No page.That was the state of being when they hid in the Margin—a blank space born from unsanctioned knots. In this place, stories had no narrator. No dialogue. No descriptive prose. Only pure existence suspended—like a breath caught between an unfinished sentence.Yet even in this void, they knew something was hunting. Not from within the story.But from outside.“Silence,” Maeve raised her finger to her lips. “They can hear intent.”Seraphina nodded. “They don’t hear words. They sense patterns.”Lyra stared at the margin wall, thin as mist. Faint scratches appeared on its surface—signs that the Coverless Editor had found a trail.Nadir sat cross-legged, the zero-knot on his small chest glowing faintly, like a heart refusing to go out. He clutched the unwritten white book, his fingers trembling. The threads that wove the Margin were no longer neutral. They were beginning to be contaminated by foreign ink—ink not written by any known Weaver.“We can’t last here,” R
The Last Reader
The crack did not come from Kael’s world, nor from the Zero Knot created by Nadir. It rang out like a shriek woven into the threads of time—a sound not just heard, but felt deep in the spine.Darren immediately drew his sword, his eyes scanning the gray sky that had just crumbled. Lyra clutched her left chest, not from pain, but from a warning pulsing from the knot within her. Her own knot—the Fifth Star Knot—was reacting violently to something they had never encountered before.“What is that?” Maeve asked, her sharp voice now laced with tension. “Our time-threads aren't enough to explain this…”Seraphina closed her eyes, lifting both hands to the air as if sensing ripples on an invisible surface. But what she felt wasn’t ripples—it was eyes. Millions of eyes, watching them from beyond the story’s veil, piercing through the knot, through the narrative.“Someone’s reading us,” she whispered. “But… not like an ordinary reader.”Nadir stared at the book in his hands. The final, unwritten
The Narrative That Devoured the Weaver
The world they knew began to fracture from within. Not because of war. Not because of the dark creatures that invaded from the outside. But because of something far more subtle—more lethal. A narrative that had never been born, yet crept silently into every living story. In the world of the Weavers, this was the most feared nightmare: a story that began to write itself, beyond anyone’s control.Lyra stood staring at the book on the lap of the nameless boy. Its pages trembled, not from wind, but from something trying to emerge from within. The book was no longer just an artifact, but a battlefield. Inside it, Kael was rewriting himself as the main character of a story that was never permitted to exist.The boy gazed into the dying fire. The light from the zeroeth knot still flickered faintly at the end of his wooden staff, like a final candle before extinguishing. Though he had no name, he could feel the weight of responsibility beginning to shape him. He had sewn the knot no one recog
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