The next day, Kael returned to the forgotten annex with Eli by his side. Neither of them spoke as they passed under the rune-marked doorway. They didn't need to. They both felt it now — the pressure in the air, like walking into a place not meant for the living… or at least not meant for people with no place in the story.
The Threadkeeper's Ledger was waiting.
This time, the book was open.
New ink bled across the page the moment Kael touched it.
"The thread frays."
"Two exist where there should be none."
"But the Lost Chapter can yet anchor them."
Kael frowned. "Lost… chapter?"
The ink darkened.
"Removed from the story before it was told. Hidden to preserve the balance."
"But it holds the truth. Of why you're here. Of what was meant to be."
Eli leaned in. "You think it means this story had another version? One we were meant to be in?"
Kael nodded slowly. "Or maybe… someone tore us out of the version where we mattered."
The Forbidden Vault
They followed the Ledger's final clue — a riddle embedded in the margin:
"Where flame sleeps beneath the quill's eye,
In inkless halls where ghosts still lie."
It took them hours of cross-referencing Academy maps and forbidden scrolls, but they found it:
The Vault of Redacted Histories.
An ancient storage chamber, sealed beneath the east wing — where records deemed too dangerous, contradictory, or corruptive were hidden from public knowledge. No students allowed. Even most staff avoided it.
It was guarded by a door of solid blacksteel, etched with wards that pulsed with resistance.
But Kael… could feel the lock.
Not just the physical mechanism — the narrative barrier woven through it. A kind of metaphysical boundary designed to keep characters out.
And Kael?
He wasn't just a character anymore.
He pressed his palm to the steel.
The door hissed… and opened.
The Lost Chapter
Inside were shelves upon shelves of documents. Scrolls scorched at the ends. Books with pages torn free. Names scraped from bindings. It was like walking into the graveyard of forgotten plotlines.
And at the very center, on a pedestal of petrified wood:
A book without a title.
Kael opened it.
Words danced and flickered like fireflies — unstable, fighting to exist.
But then, they settled.
"In the original draft, the Hero was not one."
"He was two."
"Bound by a bond across worlds. Pulled from reality by the Threadkeeper's rivals, who sought to overwrite the world with a cleaner tale. Simpler. Safer. Predictable."
Eli backed away. "Kael. We weren't accidents. We were erased."
Kael turned the page.
"But stories resist. Especially the true ones."
The final passage was sealed by a strange symbol — a circle split by a jagged line, inked in red.
Kael touched it.
Pain lanced through his skull. Visions of fire. Of a tower collapsing. Of Rowan bleeding in the snow, whispering Kael's name with fear.
Then… darkness.
The Choice
When Kael came to, Eli was shaking him. "Hey! Hey, are you—?"
"I saw it," Kael whispered. "The real story. The ending they buried."
"What was it?"
Kael looked up, eyes burning.
"We were supposed to win."