The Phoenix slept, or perhaps rested in something deeper—something sacred. She lay curled in the crook of the branch-nest, her breathing soft and warm. I was too small to reach her face, but I sat beside her wing and watched the rise and fall, the glow and flicker of dying embers in her feathers.
Then something shifted.
The nest wasn't made only of twigs and feathers. Hidden beneath the tangle, near its center, a broad, cracked stone slab lay sunken into the wood. It pulsed faintly—as though it breathed.
I stood.
My legs, still unsteady from the flight and thinner than a newborn's, almost gave out. But something beyond exhaustion pushed me forward. The slab called. Not in voice or song, but in silence—a silence that demanded I break it.
The Phoenix didn't stir.
I crawled the last few steps to it. The nest dipped slightly under my weight, and when I reached the slab, I saw it clearly.
There was an engraving on its surface.
A woman.
Tall. Ethereal. She stood with one arm outstretched, a staff raised high. From the tip, lines of light erupted, not inked but etched into the stone with such care I felt I could touch the radiance. Her hair flowed like starlight. Her figure stood atop an empty world. She wasn't summoning power—she was giving it.
A goddess.
I should've known her. I should've remembered.
In the Before—before I woke in this child's body, before the Phoenix, before the fog—I'd created so many gods, sketched out pantheons in notebooks, imagined their temples, their myths, their prayers. I remembered every one of them with frightening clarity.
Except her.
Why didn't I remember her?
Was this a lost draft? A character I once imagined and abandoned? Or… was my mind slipping already?
I reached out. My fingers, small and trembling, brushed the carved light.
And everything broke.
---
Like lightning through bone.
The moment I touched the stone, a current of energy exploded from the slab into my body. My mind screamed—not in pain, but in volume. A thousand thoughts burst open. My limbs locked, eyes rolled back, and a voice—not mine—spoke inside my skull.
---
[WORLD VOICE: SYSTEM ANNOUNCEMENT — UNAUTHORIZED ENTITY DETECTED]
> "Analyzing foreign presence..."
> "Cognition thread established."
> "Your existence has been recognized by the Great Continuity."
> "Existence: Confirmed."
---
I couldn't move.
Couldn't breathe.
Could only listen.
---
[STATUS: "Child of the Prophecy" — ASSIGNED]
> "Eliciting Profile..."
> "Parsing meta-narrative identity..."
> "Analyzing authorial link to world core..."
---
My mind was spiraling. Words lit up like neon signs behind my eyelids. Threads of gold, tangled and infinite, stretched through a black void.
Then, the voice paused. A tremor of confusion, almost… fear?
---
[ERROR: CLASSIFICATION OVERRIDE DETECTED]
> "Warning: Subject exceeds narrative framework boundaries."
> "Re-evaluating..."
---
[NEW STATUS ASSIGNED: ADMINISTRATOR]
> "Reason: Subject qualifies as a Foundational Archetype."
> "Result: Classification forcibly elevated to meta-authority tier."
---
[SSS+ STATUS PROFILE: SYRES VALE]
Name: Syres Vale
Age: 16
Origin: Earth
Meta-Narrative Role: The Author
Lore Title: The Sickly Girl from Earth Who Created Artelia
Class: The Creator
Rank: Unclassifiable
Existence Type: Meta-Constructed Architect
Status: Administrator (Absolute)
---
[Authorities]
Basic Command: Access to foundational narrative systems
Story Thread Weaving: Create, alter, or erase narrative arcs at will
World-Line Override: Force reality rewrites across timelines
Character Retcon: Restructure identities, origins, or fates
Continuity Immunity: Unaffected by paradoxes or temporal erasure
---
[Domains]
(None assigned)
---
[Legacy Marks]
(None recorded — Creation dormant)
---
[World-Building Privileges]
World Seed Authority: Can create sub-realms or dimensions
Law Scripting: Write or overwrite the rules of existence
Myth Anchor: Legends born from thought alone
---
[Meta-Narrative Access]
Fourth Wall Touch: Can hear and sense narrative architecture
Fictional Awareness: Can perceive the genre, tone, and tropes influencing reality
Narrative Inertia Control: Adjust the pace, stakes, and emotional gravity of events
---
[Titles]
SSS+ The One Who Writes the Stars
SSS+ Architect of the Unwritten Fate
SSS+ Eternal Quillbearer of the Continuity
SSS+ Godmother of the Birthless Realms
SSS+ First and Final Ink of Artelia
SSS+ The Silent Origin
---
[Achievements]
(None — No actions recorded since Rebirth)
---
And then—eyes. Countless eyes. I couldn't see them, but I felt them. From every corner of the world below, gazes pierced the clouds, turned toward the mountaintop tree.
Toward me.
Sinister. Curious. Hungry.
A weight like eternity pressed on my chest.
---
[ALERT: EXISTENCE OVERWHELMING]
> "Warning: Subject's presence distorting cosmic equilibrium."
> "Power dampening initiated..."
[Current Effective Power Level: C-]
> "Balance protocols engaged. True potential locked."
> "Administrator privileges remain intact, hidden from common awareness."
--
And just like that, the gazes vanished.
Gone, like phantoms burned by light.
I collapsed.
My hands shook. My breath came fast and shallow. The stone slab had dimmed again, but I could still feel it thrumming, as though whispering, you are known now.
Then silence.
And warmth.
The Phoenix stirred beside me, pressing its wing gently over my body. I leaned into it, no longer afraid of the height, or the fog below, or even the truths I couldn't understand.
I was Syres Vale.
And I remembered everything... At least that is what I would like to say but actually I have no clue
But what came next... would be something no Author had ever written.
Not even me.
I stood frozen, my fingers still tingling from the light that had burst out of the stone slab. My heart raced, thoughts tumbling over each other in disarray. That voice—no, those voices—still echoed faintly in the back of my mind, like a song I hadn't heard in years but somehow knew by heart. Administrator… Foundational Archetype… Creator… It was absurd. Impossible. Yet real.
I needed to make sense of it.
So I did what I always did when I was overwhelmed—I started analyzing, piecing things together like a puzzle with too many missing pieces.
First: I had touched the slab, which contained an image of a goddess I didn't recognize. That alone was strange. I had created so many myths in Artelia—gods, monsters, civilizations—but this one… this goddess with the golden staff? She wasn't in any of my drafts. Had she formed on her own? Or had I forgotten her?
Second: The system's voice. It identified me. Not just as a visitor, or a stranger—but as the Author. Not metaphorically. Literally. My name, my history, even my old nickname—the Sickly Girl from Earth—all of it had been transcribed like I was part of the code that made this world breathe. It was all too much.
Then there were the eyes.
When they appeared, I hadn't seen them with my physical sight. It was more like a feeling—raw, cold awareness. Like being watched by a billion unseen predators across the globe. Their stares burned. I could feel them, some hateful, some curious, but all unnatural. My skin had crawled.
I tried not to think about what would've happened if the system hadn't intervened. Overwhelming existence, it said. That phrase terrified me more than I wanted to admit.
I wrapped my arms around myself, instinctively trying to shield what little I understood of my being. A part of me wished, desperately, that there was a guidebook or manual for this. Something like: "So, You've Just Become a Reality-Warping Meta-Goddess: A Beginner's Guide." I would've read the entire thing in one sitting, no questions asked.
A soft sound snapped me from my spiral.
The Phoenix. I had almost forgotten about it.
It stood perfectly still, talons wrapped gently around the nest, eyes burning—not with fire, but with awe. Its head tilted slightly as it looked at me. Not the way a creature might observe another animal. No, it was the way a priest might stare at a vision from heaven.
I blinked. "What…?"
The Phoenix's wings twitched, and then, without warning, it launched into the air.
"Wait!" I yelped, stumbling back—
But it didn't attack. Instead, it circled me. Once. Twice. Then again. And again. Faster and faster, like a blazing storm of feathers and divine heat swirling around my body. I instinctively dropped to one knee, shielding my eyes from the sheer intensity of its presence.
Then it stopped.
No—descended.
The Phoenix landed right in front of me with the grace of a falling star. Its wings folded inward, and it bowed.
To me.
Beak to the ground. A gesture of reverence.
My mouth went dry.
"Are you… worshiping me?" I muttered. "Why?"
The Phoenix didn't respond, of course. But it didn't have to. I could feel it. It wasn't loyalty out of fear or instinct. It was something deeper—like recognition. It had seen what I now was, what I represented. Not just a girl. Not just a visitor.
But a creator.
I wasn't sure if I should be honored, or horrified.
"Stop bowing," I whispered, stepping back. "I don't even know what I'm doing yet."
But it didn't lift its head.
Confusion swelled inside me again, thicker this time. My hands trembled. My mind raced with possibilities, dangers, implications.
What was I now?
What did I just awaken?
And why, deep down, did it feel like the entire world was just waiting for me to make the next move?