Yūma's senses were on edge as he stood beside Kaelen, their eyes locked on the growing chaos of the Trials unfolding before them. The Citadel was alive, and yet, something about it felt unnatural — like it was watching them, studying them, waiting for them to make their next move.
In the midst of the battle with the Sentinel, an unexpected silence fell over the arena. The ink swirling in the air hung motionless, as if time itself had paused. And in that silence, the whispers began.
Echoes of the Past
"The first ink was spilled not in battle, but in creation."
The voice was distant, almost imperceptible, as if it were floating through the ink itself. It was ancient — timeless. Yūma's skin prickled. The words weren't meant for him, but for something else. Someone else.
"The Council was born from the void of forgotten names. We are the keepers of fate... and the writers of all who fall within it."
Yūma blinked. The voice was everywhere and nowhere at once, slipping beneath the cracks of his consciousness.
"To rewrite is not to erase, but to claim. You cannot escape us. You were never meant to."
A shiver ran down his spine. This wasn't just a threat — it was a proclamation, one written in ink that had existed before the beginning of time. It was the voice of the Inkborne Council, the rulers of this twisted empire, and it had been watching them since they first stepped into this world.
The Inkborne Council's History
The Inkborne Council wasn't born from any one world. They were the architects of reality itself, stepping from the void between dimensions to claim dominion over all realms. Their origin was lost in the folds of forgotten lore, but some stories persisted — whispers carried on the wind, in the pages of forbidden books.
Long ago, before the worlds were woven together, the Primordials ruled the void. They were the first beings to emerge from the fabric of creation, born from the raw potential of the universe itself. They were chaotic, untethered, and wild.
Then came the Inkborne — a collective of beings who discovered the power of writing, of creating truth from nothing. They began to write history, binding the fabric of reality with ink. Each stroke of their quills became law, each word etched into existence was woven into the very bones of the world.
They erased what they could not control, twisted fates to their liking, and ultimately began to govern the realms with an iron fist. The world as it was known was shaped by their will, their ink. And all who dared to challenge their authority were wiped from existence.
The Trials of Inkborne
The Trials were more than just tests of strength or will. They were a test of one's ability to be rewritten, to accept the ink that flowed through their veins. To bend, to break, to be rewritten in a way that served the Council's goals.
The Sentinels were merely the guardians of this twisted doctrine, sent to punish those who sought to disrupt the ink's flow. They were the instruments of judgment — walking, breathing symbols of the Council's unyielding authority.
To pass the Trials, one had to demonstrate an understanding of the ink's power, its ability to shape the world, and to write one's destiny with the Council's consent. Only then could they ascend, becoming part of the Council's collective will, forever etched into the pages of eternity.
But for those who failed? They became part of the ink itself, their existence erased from history, their names wiped from the scrolls, their memories lost to time.
Yūma's True Name
As the battle raged on around them, Yūma felt something stir deep within him — a sense of dread that came from the ink itself, something ancient and malevolent. The ink flowed in his veins, pulsed beneath his skin, and there was a lingering sense that his very existence had been written into this place long before he ever arrived.
Kaelen's voice broke through his thoughts.
"Yūma! Focus! The Sentinel is weakening, but we need to act fast!"
But Yūma wasn't listening to Kaelen. He could feel it now, the true meaning behind the words spoken by the Council. His name, his very existence, wasn't a blank page waiting to be written. It had already been written — by someone else.
His true name, hidden beneath the ink of his past, was Yūri.
He had been erased, forgotten by the Council, his name wiped from history. What stood before the Council now was nothing more than a shadow of what he had once been. The ink had claimed him, rewritten him, and the truth was clear — he was never meant to exist.
But there was something else.
He remembered the Oath of Ink he had taken, the vow to defy the Council's control. To fight back against the fate they had chosen for him.
"Yūma," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "My name is Yūri."
Kaelen turned to him, confusion in his eyes.
"What are you talking about?"
But Yūma knew the truth now. He wasn't just fighting for the world. He was fighting for himself — to reclaim his identity, to rewrite the story of his life.
The Final Trial
The Sentinel's body trembled, its ink shield weakening. But the battle was far from over. The ground beneath them began to crack, and a deep, rumbling voice echoed from the walls of the Citadel.
"The ink will consume you. You will be rewritten."
The voice of the Council resounded through the arena, its presence overwhelming.
"The world will return to its true form."
Yūma's fingers clenched around his Inkblade. He knew what had to be done. The trials were not just about survival — they were about resistance.
"We will rewrite our own story," Yūma said, his voice filled with conviction.
And with that, the battle took a new turn. The ink around them began to warp, twist, and churn, as if responding to Yūma's declaration.
The ink could erase. But it could not unwrite the resolve of those who refused to be bound.