The tunnel burned with smoke and grief.
Mira's feet slid on the ink-slicked floor as she regained her balance. The air around her buzzed with living script—letters tumbling like ash, dancing in the unnatural wind stirred by the man who wore her father's face.
Her sword—the Paperblade—trembled in her grip.
How is this real? her mind screamed. He's gone. I watched him die.
But there he stood, or something wearing his voice and body. He was taller than she remembered, his skin a parchment-pale tone, eyes smoldering like coal soaked in ink. His armor shifted subtly, words etched across it—memories, twisted and rewritten.
"You shouldn't exist," Mira whispered.
"I do," the shade said calmly. "Because you couldn't let me go."
Behind her, Jace stood tense, blade drawn and face unreadable. The glowing veins of ink across the tunnel's ceiling rippled with tension, casting ghostlight over their faces.
"You're not him," Jace said. "You're just a corrupted echo—drawn from her grief, shaped by the Binder's will."
"And yet," the shade said, tilting his head, "you care what I say. You fear what I know."
Mira stepped forward, ignoring the sting in her chest. "If you're really my father, then you know what he would say right now."
The man was silent.
For a moment, Mira thought she saw hesitation—like her father's real soul blinked through.
Then—
SHWOOOM!
He lunged.
Mira met him with a parry—CLANG!—and staggered back, the force of his strike sending her sliding across the slick parchment floor. Sparks flew where their blades met. The Paperblade rippled with new script under the pressure of the clash.
"Fight me if you must," the shade said, circling her, "but understand this—he is not your ally."
His ink-lance pointed toward Jace.
"He is a construct. An embodiment of your loneliness. Your desire for connection. You gave him life... but he will never be real."
"SHUT UP!" Mira cried, swinging wildly.
SWOOSH! SLASH!
She missed, hitting only air. The shade moved like flowing text—unpredictable, elegant, terrifying.
Jace charged in from the side, driving his blade at the specter's flank—CRACK!—but it glanced off the armor harmlessly.
The specter turned, grabbing Jace by the throat—GRIP!—and slammed him into the wall.
"NO!" Mira screamed.
THWAK!
She flung a pulse of raw intent at the shade—words formed midair, glowing like fire: Let. Him. Go.
The force slammed into the man's side—BOOOOM!—and sent him skidding backward.
Jace coughed, catching his breath. "Okay... not going to lie... that hurt."
"You okay?" Mira called, chest heaving.
"I've had worse," he groaned.
The shade straightened. His armor re-stitched itself, ink crawling over the cracked words like vines. "You've grown stronger. Good. The Binder will need all of you—whole and raw."
"I'm not his," Mira growled.
"You always were," the shade replied softly.
Then, without another word, he stepped back into the shadows.
The rift in the wall sealed behind him—SKRRRAAAK... THUMP.
Mira ran to Jace, helping him up. His skin was pale, and ink smeared his temple.
"You idiot," she muttered. "Why did you rush him alone?"
"I couldn't just stand there while he hurt you," Jace said, his voice rough. "Even if he was… someone important."
Mira looked at him, heart pounding for reasons she didn't want to name.
"That wasn't my father," she said. "It looked like him. But it was something else. Something the Binder made from my regret."
Jace nodded.
"Then we need to get to the Heartscribe's Quill," he said. "Before the Binder finds more memories to weaponize."
They moved again, deeper into the Unwritten Tunnel.
As they walked, Mira's thoughts swirled like a blizzard.
What if he's right? What if Jace really is just something I made up to feel less alone?
She glanced sideways at him.
He wasn't just words anymore. He bled. Fought. Laughed. Felt pain. He looked at her like she was real, not just an author playing god.
But I did make him. Didn't I?
Her fingers brushed the sigil on her palm. It pulsed gently, like a second heartbeat.
"Mira," Jace said suddenly. "There's something I need to tell you."
She stopped.
The tunnel around them flickered. The floor curled in places like the corners of unfinished pages. The silence stretched.
"I know I'm not entirely real," Jace said, facing her. "But I know what I feel when I'm with you. And that… feels real enough to me."
Mira swallowed. Her chest ached, but not from fear.
She looked up at him. "I don't know what this is. I don't know if we're characters or people or dreams. But I know I want to find out—with you."
A small, quiet moment passed between them. Their hands brushed. Nothing happened, and yet everything shifted.
Then the tunnel shook again.
A rumbling—Rrrrrrrmmmbblleeee...—from deep below.
The walls buckled.
Mira turned. "What now?!"
Suddenly, the ground collapsed beneath them—KRRAAAASHHH!
They fell.
Down. Down. Down.
Wind howled. Books spiraled around them like screaming birds—FLAPFLAPFLAP!—and then—
WHUUUMP!
They landed on soft, grassy parchment.
Above them stretched a starless sky, painted black, with ink-dripping constellations forming shifting sentences. Below them lay an impossible valley filled with floating quills, broken pen-swords, and half-written monuments.
"The Forgotten Field," Jace muttered. "Where abandoned stories go to rot."
Mira sat up. "How are we alive?"
He offered her a hand. "Because you imagined we'd survive."
She took it.
Together they rose and looked around.
The valley pulsed with a strange energy. Here, pieces of Mira's old stories floated in pieces—characters she once named but never finished, monsters half-described, ideas sketched and never explored.
It was eerie.
But also… beautiful.
"Look," Jace pointed.
At the center of the field stood a tower—not built, but written into existence. Each line of its walls shimmered like calligraphy. At the top glowed a single quill, suspended in a globe of light.
"The Heartscribe's Quill," Mira breathed.
Then a voice echoed across the valley:
"Finish what you started, Author Elen. Or it will finish you."
From the hills, shadows rose.
Dozens. Hundreds.
Each a piece of Mira's forgotten past.
An army of her own neglect.
She tightened her grip on her blade.
Jace stepped beside her.
"I've got your back."
Mira exhaled slowly, steadying her fear.
"I'm done running from what I created," she whispered.
And together, they charged into the valley.