"Every story leaves behind fingerprints. And where there are fingerprints, the Authorhunter follows."— Fragment from the Forbidden Foreword
The world behind the golden door was not a world at all.
It was a library of dead ends.
A hundred floating bridges made of parchment twisted through the void, some crumbling midair, some looped into themselves endlessly. All around us, the echoes of unwritten endings drifted like fog.
I stood beside Veyra again—scarred, but unbroken. Her presence steadied me more than I wanted to admit.
We were in a realm called Apostrophis, once theorized by Zane and me as the resting place for all aborted arcs — places with purpose, but no conclusion.
The ground shook faintly. Somewhere deep inside this place, something was hunting.
As we followed the ink-bridge deeper, Veyra spoke.
"Apostrophis is not meant to be traversed. It's stitched together from rejected subplots and misaligned timelines. It rearranges constantly, especially if it senses... an Author."
"That's bad," I muttered.
"Bad?" she echoed. "No. It's suicidal."
Suddenly, a shriek echoed through the realm—high-pitched, desperate, and undeniably inhuman. The ink-bridge beneath us pulsed like a heartbeat.
Then, it spoke.
"Arin Kael. You've left a trail of revisions too bold. You attract readers. And that draws... it."
I swallowed. "What is it?"
Veyra's voice was barely a whisper now.
"The one who hunts all creators who try to rewrite too much.The one who believes no story should be changed.The one known only as... the Authorhunter."
We ran.
Across a shifting bridge that rewrote itself with every step. Beneath us, fragmented dialogue floated like ghosts.
"...and then he never came back.""Why did the princess turn into a storm?""What do you mean the war ended off-page?!"
These were abandoned character thoughts, cut mid-revision.
"Look!" Veyra shouted.
Ahead was a citadel built of retracted edits. Its walls bled red ink, and spires reached up like cracked fountain pens.
But as we approached it—
A black spear slammed down between us, shattering the bridge.
We fell—
But the page beneath us rewrote midair, forming a platform.
From the mist rose the Authorhunter.
He had no face.
Only a jagged, mirrored mask—reflecting versions of me I hadn't yet become.
He wore a cloak stitched from copyrights and blood-ink contracts. Around his waist hung deleted chapters, fluttering like trophies.
But it was his voice that killed the silence.
"Arin Kael. 247 major deviations from your original outline.14 resurrection attempts.3 authorial lies.Zero permission."
He raised a hand.
A corrupted version of the Binding Quill appeared, darker than black, its nib twisted.
"You're not an author anymore. You're a vandal. And I've come to redact you."
Veyra jumped between us, her blade drawn.
"Go! I'll stall him!"
"No," I said. "Not this time. I've rewritten too much. I face this."
The Authorhunter lunged.
Our weapons clashed midair—his Quill stabbing like a rapier, mine shielding like a truth spell.
The battle was silent but devastating.
Every clash deleted words from the environment.
Every time I parried, part of my own memory vanished.
I forgot my favorite character's birthday.
I forgot the name of my first idea.
I forgot how Chapter 1 ended.
"Your story was fragile to begin with," the Hunter hissed."You patch it with sentiment. You reanimate characters that were never meant to live."
I was on my knees now.
Bleeding words. Literally.
My arms were ink-soaked.
Veyra was screaming something—but I couldn't hear her anymore.
The Hunter raised his quill.
"Time to end the rewrite."
But just before he struck—
A second spear shot from the sky, piercing the Hunter's shoulder.
He screamed—a glitchy, corrupted sound.
The air cracked open—
And a cloaked figure landed behind him, pulling down her hood.
It was Mira. The Prologue Witch.
"You forgot one rule, Hunter," she said coldly."The story isn't over until the pen runs out of ink."
She stabbed him with a rune from her book-robe.
The Hunter howled—and his body folded into itself, dragged backward into a swirling vortex of expired chapters.
The Binding Quill in my hand flickered—then steadied.
The Hunter was gone.
For now.
Mira helped me up.
"You weren't ready for him," she said.
"I needed to see him," I replied hoarsely. "I needed to know what's chasing me."
Mira nodded. "Then come with me. There's something you must see. Something even Zane doesn't know."
We followed her to a chamber below the citadel.
In the center was a frozen sphere of ink and fire. Pulsing. Breathing.
Mira spoke a word I hadn't heard in a long time.
"The Final Epilogue."
My chest tightened.
"Wait... that's real?"
She nodded.
"It's the last page. The one you never wrote. The one that ends everything.But someone is trying to unlock it. Someone who doesn't want a conclusion.They want a loop. An eternal draft."
I stared at the orb.
Because inside it… I saw my name.
And someone else's.
Veyra.
She stepped closer.
"Arin… do you remember now?"
And suddenly—
I did.
She wasn't just our fail-safe.
Veyra was the main character of the last story Zane and I ever planned.But we never chose who she would become—hero or villain.
And now, the story was starting to decide for itself.