The tower trembled again—BOOOMMM!—dust falling from the ceiling like parchment ash. The air rippled with the scent of scorched ink and urgency.
Mira gritted her teeth. "They're breaking in!"
Jace grabbed a thick, leather-bound tome from one of the floating shelves. Its cover glowed faintly with glyphs that swirled like restless dreams.
"We won't have long. This tower is made from forgotten stories—it's strong, but not invincible."
"Then what do we do?" Mira asked, voice rising with panic.
He flipped open the book—fliip-fliip-fwap!—pages fluttering past until one stopped on its own. The ink rearranged itself into a map. A glowing symbol pulsed at its center: The Heartscribe's Quill.
Jace's eyes narrowed. "If we reach the Quill, you may be able to rewrite what's happening. Anchor your reality. But we'll have to get past the Wordhunters."
Outside, the sky cracked again—KRRAA-KZZZAAK!—and red ink lightning lit up the inky stormclouds. Shadows prowled at the edge of the clearing like wolves made of commas and jagged script.
Mira's hands clenched into fists. Her palm still glowed faintly with the sigil. "Then we stop running."
Jace turned toward her. "You'd fight?"
She nodded. "This is my story. My mistake. I won't run from it."
Vwooommm. The room pulsed in response to her words, like the story itself approved.
A nearby shelf collapsed—CRAASH!—sending books tumbling and spiraling through the air. One of them flapped open mid-fall and struck the ground with a WHUD.
Instead of shattering or sliding, the book morphed—skkkrrrtttt!—pages fusing and folding until it became a long, slender blade.
Mira stared.
"A... sword?"
"A Paperblade," Jace said, picking it up and handing it to her. The blade shimmered faintly with a silvery text that constantly rewrote itself across its surface. "Your will shapes its edge."
He reached for another falling volume, and with a similar motion—fwhrrp!—transformed it into a matching blade. "You ready?"
Mira swallowed. "No. But let's go anyway."
BOOOOM!
The main door burst open.
A Wordhunter stepped through. Tall, skeletal, its body made of layered parchment covered in decaying ink. Its eyes glowed red like dying candles.
It hissed.
SKRRRRAAAAAAA!
Mira raised her Paperblade. "You're made of words, right?"
The creature lunged—THUMP-THUMP-CRACK!
Mira ducked the first swipe—SHHNNNK!—and swung her blade upward. It met the creature's arm with a SLIIISH! sound, tearing clean through the parchment limb. Inky ribbons flew.
The Wordhunter screeched again, stumbling.
But more followed—three, four, five—pouring in like corrupted stories hungry to be read.
Jace spun into the fray, slicing clean through a Wordhunter's chest—ZRAAASH!—letters spilling out like guts. "Move! Through the back stairwell!"
They fought their way across the collapsing tower, Mira's pulse pounding in her ears—thud-THUD-thud!
At the base of the back staircase, Jace pushed a bookshelf aside—SCRRREEECH!—revealing a hidden trapdoor.
He pulled it open—*CLANK!—and dropped into the darkness below.
Mira followed, blade still humming in her hand.
THUMP.
They landed in a narrow passage, lit by floating ink-orbs that hovered like jellyfish made of light. The walls around them were made of tightly wound scrolls and paper veins.
"Where are we now?" Mira asked, breathless.
"The Unwritten Tunnel," Jace said. "A space between plots. Dangerous... but fast."
The tunnel shimmered and shifted as they walked, and the ground beneath them rearranged itself with every step—clik… click-click… swshhh…
"This place is alive," Mira whispered.
Jace glanced sideways at her. "It's bound to you. The more you accept that, the more you can control it."
They moved in silence for a while.
Then Mira asked, "When I wrote you… were you alive? Even then?"
He hesitated. "Not like this. I was aware of you. Like a distant voice. But I didn't feel real until now."
She looked down at her blade. "And now?"
He turned to face her fully. "Now... I feel everything."
Their eyes met again. A pause. A pause that could have become something more.
But then—KRAKOOM!
The tunnel split ahead.
And out of the rift stepped a new figure—tall, dressed in armor made of blackened parchment, bearing a burning pen-lance.
"Author Elen," he intoned, voice hollow and echoing, "The Binder has summoned you."
Mira raised her sword. "I'm not going anywhere with you."
The figure's visor lifted, revealing a face Mira hadn't seen in years.
She gasped. "...Father?"
Jace moved to stand in front of her.
"Impossible," he said, voice tight.
But Mira couldn't tear her gaze away. The man in front of her had her father's eyes. His voice. His presence.
"I died," the figure said. "You wrote me back. The Binder found me. He gave me purpose."
"No," Mira whispered. "That's not true."
"Come willingly," the shade said, raising his lance. "Or be erased."
FWOOOOOSH!
The air exploded with inkflame as the first lance-strike was launched.
Mira parried—KLAAAANG!—and the impact sent her flying backwards into Jace.
They tumbled—CRASH-ROLL-THUMP!
"Go!" Jace shouted. "I'll hold him!"
"No!" Mira yelled back. "He's my father. Or… what's left of him."
Mira stood and stepped forward.
"Then let me write the truth."
Her blade pulsed.
And the sigil on her hand glowed blinding white.