Thud.
Mira stumbled backward as the page disintegrated mid-air, leaving behind a shimmering trail of glowing letters that slowly sank into her skin—zzzip… zzzzt…
No. Not zzzt this time.
Whirrrrp.
The sound was softer now, like a thousand pages being turned all at once.
She stared at her hands. The glow faded, leaving a faint, swirling sigil burned into her right palm—an open eye surrounded by an ink drop.
"I don't understand," she whispered.
Beside her, the boy who had emerged from the page—his golden eyes still dimly glowing—stood silent, watching. His presence radiated something both warm and unfamiliar, like a word she hadn't learned yet but somehow recognized.
Then he spoke.
"Are you my Author?"
Mira blinked. "What?"
He stepped forward, his boots making soft tap… tap… tap… sounds on the polished wooden floor. "You called me. I was… nowhere. And now I'm here."
"I—I didn't call anyone," Mira stammered, heart hammering in her chest. "I just opened a book."
His head tilted slightly, studying her. "But it was yours. You wrote it, didn't you?"
She opened her mouth to protest, to deny it. But the truth stuck in her throat like a jagged shard of memory.
Years ago, she'd begun writing a story. A boy with golden eyes. A realm of living words. An unfinished tale she'd abandoned after her mother fell ill.
That book… it wasn't just a draft.
It was a portal.
Tap...
Another step closer.
She backed up. "Who are you?"
The boy looked down at his chest, as if the answer might be written there.
"I was a character once," he murmured. "But then everything ended. Time froze. Pages faded. I became dust."
His voice deepened, layered with sorrow. "Until now."
A gust of wind blew in through the window—shhhHHHH!—making the loose pages in Mira's apartment flutter wildly.
Then—SLAM!—the door burst open behind them.
Mira spun, heart jumping into her throat.
Standing in the doorway was a figure cloaked in black parchment robes, face obscured beneath a hood smeared with red ink. In his hand was a long staff, dripping fresh words like blood—drip... drip... splat.
"Author Elen," the figure intoned, voice deep and hollow, like echo through an empty cathedral. "You have violated the boundary. Summoned the Unwritten."
"What?" Mira breathed. "I didn't mean—"
CRACK!
The staff struck the floor, sending out a ripple—WHUUMMM!—that threw her backward. She hit the ground hard—THUD!—air knocked from her lungs.
The boy stepped forward, calm, unflinching.
"Don't touch her."
The cloaked figure's head tilted. "Ah. The Wordborn protects her. How quaint."
Mira struggled to rise. "What are you talking about?! Who are you?!"
"I am an Enforcer," the figure said. "A servant of the Binder. Your creation was not authorized. The Wordborn must be erased."
BOOOM!
The staff exploded with light—blinding and raw—and a jagged bolt of ink-magic surged toward the boy.
"NO!" Mira shouted.
But before the blast could hit, the boy raised his hand. The sigil on Mira's palm pulsed in response—thrummm...—and a shield of glowing letters burst from the air—THWAAAAM!
The bolt struck the barrier and scattered—SPAK! SPSSHH!—across the walls.
The Enforcer staggered. "Impossible."
The boy's eyes glowed brighter now, like golden fire behind glass. "She wrote me. She gives me power."
The Enforcer hissed. "Then I'll erase her first."
He lunged.
CLANG!—A sudden clash of magic as he swung the staff again.
Mira ducked. The impact shattered a nearby bookshelf—CRRRAACK!—and paper rained like snow.
"RUN!" the boy shouted.
Mira scrambled to her feet and bolted toward the hall—pat-pat-pat! Her heartbeat thundered louder than her steps. She didn't know where to go, only that she had to get away.
The boy followed, covering her with bursts of inklight—FWOOOM!—each blast burning with symbols she couldn't read.
They burst out of the building and into the open night.
But it was no longer her city.
The skyline had warped. The streets ran like wet ink. Lamps flickered with glyphs instead of light. Buildings twisted into letters rising into towers.
"Where are we?!" Mira gasped.
The boy grabbed her wrist, steadying her. "The threshold. Your story is bleeding into the real world. You brought the Inkrealm here."
"But I didn't mean to!"
"You don't have to mean it," he said. "You only have to feel it."
Behind them, the Enforcer rose from the shattered doorway, cloak trailing black smoke.
"You cannot run from the Binder!" he howled.
His voice echoed in the sky—KRAAAAA!
The air crackled. A portal opened above them—WOMMMMMM—a ring of burning ink spiraling outward.
The boy turned to her. "What's your name?"
She blinked, confused. "What—?"
"Say it."
"Mira. Mira Elen."
He nodded once. "Hold on, Mira."
Then he stepped forward and slashed the air with his fingers—shrrrrk!—tearing a glowing seam into nothingness.
A doorway.
He yanked her through just as the Enforcer screamed again—SKREEEEE!
Darkness swallowed them.
For a breathless moment, there was only silence.
And then—flicker… flicker… thmp.
They landed in a field of floating ink blossoms, suspended in starlit air.
Mira fell to her knees, panting.
The boy kneeled beside her, golden eyes dim but focused. "You're inside your story now."
She looked up at the horizon. There were towers made of books. Rivers of glowing text. Trees whose leaves whispered verses when the wind passed—swishhh… hushhh… whisperr…
"I don't understand," she said again, voice shaking.
"You're an Author," he said softly. "One of the few. Your words can build worlds… or destroy them."
She stared at him. "Then who are you really?"
The boy offered a faint smile.
"I'm Jace. A character you forgot... but never truly left behind."