The other writers, warriors, reflections—all blinked out of existence like lines struck from a failed manuscript.
The arena fractured.
The parchment sky bled black.
And Aiden—he stood alone, at the center of a page being torn in half.
But he didn't fall.
The Quill burned brighter, protecting him from the unraveling with a shield of potential.
And in that silence, he wrote.
Not a sentence.
Not a spell.
A name.
"Elyxur."
The Eye flinched.
The air rippled.
A thousand whispers exploded into screams.
Elyxur—the oldest of the Outer Gods.
The Authorless One.
The god who had no story, for it was said the act of recording it would destroy the page it was written on.
"You remember," the voice snarled.
"You utter a name forbidden since the First Collapse."
"You dare—invoke the Nameless?"
Aiden did more than invoke.
He began to write again.
His hand moved in defiance, forming runes on the empty air, each letter resisting the very laws of reality.
