《Where Did My Fave Author Go?》


 Chapter 1 - Help Wanted

    Bloody hell! It happened again!


    My life is a monotony. An endless deluge of capitalist delusion that I will one day get ahead of the curve and make something of myself when the curve is just a spiral to our demise. Everyday I wake, I eat, I work, I sleep. Recently I had taken to adding one more pleasure to the mix: reading.


    Like most people caught up in the light novel craze I started with anime. A cool show or fight scene, a friend asking "have you seen this?" and the next moment I am six seasons deep into a series about scary mega giants and medieval conspiracies. Or farming. A little slice of life is nice sometimes.


    Although there is a lot to watch, I eventually got bored with the speed of content being released. I needed the updates faster, or the anime had one season but the manga already had 5 seasons worth. Same with the shows on MeshFlix: I would binge it and then wish I hadn''t as I wait eight months to 1.5 years for the next season. So then I moved to manga and manwha. This helped for a bit, but even then the updates were slow and out of step - some updated weekly and others monthly. It wasn''t enough for my fix! Anything to make me mean something; feel something.


    As always it was the comment section that did it.


    "I don''t know why they changed it from the LN. The LN was better!" said CharismaticPanda12.


    "Where can I read the LN? What did they change?" asked YourPrincessIsInMyCastle.


    "They cut out the best bits of the training montage and my fave character! They had a mini ninja turtle that taught the MC a secret alchemygenesis move but in the manga the MC just finds the answer in a book! Was probably worried about copyright or something I guess" CharismaticPanda12 replied.


    After Goggling what an LN was I landed in the terse and crazy world of light novels. It was fantastic! The world of Young Masters, status screens, broken skills, monster evolutions and overpowered chickens was delightful.


    It got repetitive, sure. There are only so many times you can read about an MC that wakes up/in a new body/a kids body in another world/in a forest for some reason with a System/inherited knowledge/time loop ability/bugged class! Living life as an orphan/successful business person millionaire/assassin/martial artist where the MC must work through challenges as a non powered person with secret OP ability/noble child/evil npc who dies/demon king/monster before they die/time loop ends/nemesis kills them/system is evil/family will kill them/are married to the enemy/end of the world/die by a certain age!


    Sometimes you get gems though and they are well worth reading and wading through the trash for. But it wasn''t that long after deep diving into these novels that I understood the tyranny of the word that was every LN fan''s greatest fear: HIATUS.


    ~I''m just going on a short 1 week hiatus to get my health in order and take up some more shifts at work. Chapters will return next week every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday!~ Post by secretlyadragon 7 months ago.


    ~I''m feeling a bit out of it this week. I''m going to go on a holiday over the long weekend and will resume chapters when I return~ Post by GoldCoastBestCoast 2 years ago.


    ~Someone is out to get me and I don''t know who I can turn to~ Post by EndemicLiar 27 days ago.


    ~I''m going to take a month off as I figure out how to end this story and make sure it is better than the eighth season of the tv show~ Post by NotGRRM 3 years ago.


    And then there was the novel I was currently reading: The Last of Them. A new author with no previous works just started releasing chapters. Releases were only once a week but the chapters were long and interesting. The lore had depth, the magic system was unique and mysterious, and the action didn''t tie up the story like a badly managed BDSM session. The main character was young and clutching at straws, magic systems and circuits. Characters communicated and used their intelligence to overcome obstacles rather than some last minute revelation or phronesis when at the edge of death.


    The novel made it to the top of the Rising Stars ladder on commonersroad, the premier light novel reading website. A Blisschord server was made and the author joined, answering questions from time to time. A community grew, people overstepped, rules were made, and generally people just had fun... Until it ended.


    I looked at the silent channel like it was an abandoned graveyard. People only posted once every few months now. The gaps between posts kept getting longer and longer. What once was a discussion for the novel we loved was now a dessicated husk, becoming a sequestered space away from it all where we recommend novels to each other, searching for the thrill that The Last of Them once gave us. Sometimes we found it, we thought. A novel that could give us the same rush. Except it wasn''t *exactly* the same; it wasn''t the same rush; the people were different, but I guess the tropes were somewhat repeated. The former readers drifted aimlessly through the commonroads novel list, searching for a diamond in the rough that would give them the glimpse of wonder at the beginning of a world with untold depths and characters you empathised with. Or at least a novel with few spelling mistakes.


    I blinked and snapped out of my mental paralysis. A new message notification flashed across the screen.


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    "''The Red Poppy'' novel just went on hiatus too," said AragonxEragon.


    I sighed in resignation as I cracked my fingers. Stretching, I tippy-tapped my reply on the keyboard. "What was the reason AxE?" I asked, my username PsyKick blipping into chat.


    AxE responded almost immediately. "She said that she needs to focus on moving interstate for a new job opportunity. So reason 8 then."


    Reason 8.


    We began tracking hiatus messages as a way to deal with our gripes at first, a way to measure out complaints, but then we started cataloguing them, writing them down. It had gotten to the point where we could categorise the responses into 10 reasons.


    "No indication she was fearing for her life?" I wrote.


    "No Psy. C''mon you need to get over that." said AxE. I could feel AxE''s exasperation  punctuated by purple laughing devil emoji.


    Ellipsis loaded at the bottom of the screen as AxE wrote a longer response. I waited for the regular beration I knew was coming. It had become a pattern to our recent chats.


    "There is no conspiracy Psy. Nothing. Your fave author just stopped writing. We don''t know where they went and never will. For all we know they didn''t ''go'' anywhere."


    I heard a polite knock on my front door but I ignored it, too involved in the argument that we retread once again. I hadn''t ordered any FooderEats so whomever was knocking couldn''t be that important.


    "Too many books end early AxE, and it is almost always the best ones. The absolute gems. The ''tattoo it on my skin''-worthy stories. It doesn''t make sense." I wrote.


    "I know. But this won''t get you anywhere Psy, you need help. You''re getting nowhere in particular."


    The knocks got louder.


    "I don''t need help; I''m good on my own. I can figure this out. I''ll find the authors and help them continue their stories one day." I knew it was a feckless dream but it was insistent. I have know idea how I''ll go about achieving it but I know I want to. I want these stories to last.


    The ellipsis sprung pranced around the chatbox as AxE compiled her reply. It took a little bit longer the usual this time, the ellipsis pausing and flashing irregularly to indicate she was deleting her words. Backtracking and re-wording. Whatever she wanted to say she was definitely putting the effort in.


    I hummed a theme song of a well-known anime as I waited. The knocking on my front door had finally seemed to stop at least.


    "Figure out what though?" AxE asked. It was short and sharp. She must have changed her mind about what she was going to ask about.


    I sighed as I worked up the energy to respond. "All of this. The end of the story I guess? They can''t just have disappeared right? Maybe someone took them..."


    The knocks returned and they didn''t sound like knocks anymore. They were louder. More spaced out... Wait... Were they trying to kick my door down!?


    "Ok, ok! I''m coming!" I yelled as I was struck by the urgencys, scrambling down the loft stairs to my front door.


    I turned the latch and angrily yelled -


    "What the hell are you-" and my voice caught in my throat.


    My anger evaporated as in front of me stood a really short woman, a face full of freckles and her mold draped in tanned skin that would make most professional beachgoers envious. I don''t know what I was expecting but from the sheer ferocity of the knocking but it wasn''t a short mujer.


    "Hey Psy, I told you that you needed help."


    I froze like a frightened cat at the sound of my name. Seizing her moment she pushed on my shoulders with one hand AND - I - FLEW through the air, landing on my couch not 10 metres away.


    I was shocked and oddly... Unharmed? How was I not hurt?


    My eyes searched the apartment and found the offender. Rather than yeeting me across the room with a superhuman push did this shorty just carry me at some insane speed and just drop me on my couch?


    "Fuck." I said.


    She smiled at me. All of a sudden I was a rotisserie chicken and she was hungry, pondering where to slice. Breast or thigh?


    "Yes, fuck. You were hard to find Psy. That''s good. I need help and you need me," she said.


    "Who the fuck are you!?" I tried to stand but she pressed down lightly on my shoulder, pinning me. I couldn''t move. A cute shorty had me pinned to the couch cushions with one hand.


    I tried to calm myself, to think properly during this home invasion. "What the fuck is going on? What do you want?"


    "See, that''s a bit better." She said. Her smile widened like a Cheshire cat. She stepped back and her hand left my shoulder. I could move now but if her *superstrength* - does she actually have superstrength!? - was real then I was as good as dead if she wanted me to be.


    "I''m not killing you Psy. I''m here to help..." She paused and started pacing, her cherry coloured Roc Spartan shoes not making the slightest sound on the wooden floorboards of my loungeroom. *That was strange.*


    "You are the most persistent compaliner about your fave novels going on hiatus but you''re one of the only ones who has actually thought about doing anything about it. So I''m here to take a chance." She said as she exhaled loudly. How is her breathing louder than her footsteps?


    "I know what is happening to the authors. Most of them at least... I can help you find them, even save them but it''ll be dangerous, and it''s not something we can go to the police about for reasons that will become clear if you accept. Did you want-"


    "Yes." I interrupted. She seemed bemused by my eagerness but to be honest, something like this. It gives me purpose. More than the void of endless work. I was definitely not enticed by a fantasy of getting superpowers, definitely not.


    I shook my head and tried to focus my thoughts.


    "Yes" I repeated.


    "Yes I will help you. I want to know what happened to the authors. I want these stories to finish. I want to see their ending. I want to read the end of The Last of Them!"


    My voice got louder as I went on so that by the end I was almost yelling. I didn''t realise at first how much this meant to me but by saying it out loud I understood. I wasn''t just carrying my misery either; if I could bring these authors back and get them writing again then millions of addicted LN readers will be uplifted. It was more than me. It was for all of us.


    "Calm down Mister Hero," she huffed, crossing her arms in mock exasperation. "You ruined my moment anyway. I had a whole speech planned."


    "Did you practice it?" I quipped. Where did my confidence come from? This chica yeeted me across the room not a moment ago? She could scrunch me up and turn me into an onigiri rice ball.


    The beginnings of a blush adorned her cheeks before it was replaced by a look that could melt steel, which she might actually be able to do.


    "Yes," she said. "I practiced. You are my first recruit." Well that''s it. I wasn''t expecting this superpowered shorty to be self conscious. She sighed deeply again. It was really, really loud.


    The woman reached out a hand and grabbed my arm, lifting me to my feet as if I weighed nothing at all.


    "Welcome to the Epilogue, PsyKick."

 Chapter 2 - Reason 11

    If this was a movie the corny line this short mujer delivered would have been met with a radiant smile from the main character, maybe a zoom in on their clasped hands as he was helped to his feet, and then a quick - CUT - to the headquarters or warehouse containing the secret training facility, maybe hidden within or underneath some speciality goods store like a tailor.


    That''s not what happened here though.


    I stared at the woman whose name I still didn''t know with a blank look, devoid of any emotion or hope.


    "That is a horrible name," I said.


    Her brows knitted into a frown as she refuted me. "It is not." She said, "It''s what goes after the story, right? I thought about this. If we are gonna help get these stories written then we are working towards the Epilogue, the "after story" in a way." Her voice struck with finality, gaining confidence and weight with each spoken word, her hands keeping pace like she was instructing an orchestra.


    She was passionate enough about it that I took pity on her and decided to quell my protests.


    "So the name of our team is the Epilogue?" I asked as I rose to my feet and walked to the front door, closing it. Her eyes traced my passage like how a hunter seeks prey.


    "Well it''s-"


    **MROW?**


    My fat ginger cat interrupted our discussion. Her purr was like the acceleration on a Pete Davidson motorcycle, loud enough to shake the windows and so disarming it could date a Kardashian.


    "Oh what a cutie-pie! Aren''t you a smushy-wookems!" She squealed, kneeling to the ground and taking Toosey''s head into her hands. The purrs grew in intensity as Toosey leaned into the embrace, marking this new being as *hers* with the cat''s scent.


    "Are you overfeeding her? She''s so fat!"


    "I''m not! I don''t know how she''s getting so fat, she probably bothers the neighbours down the street or something. She sometimes disappears for days at a time but I leave the food out for her anyway and it always disappears." I said in my defence.


    Ignoring my platitudes, she continued. "I''ve always wanted a cat Psy, you know that. How come all this time you never told me you had one!" She was somehow more annoyed than when I dissed the team name.


    And then what she said struck me.


    "All this time? Wait... Are you AxE?" I asked.


    She smiled widely as she nodded. "Yep! She admitted, "Amaia is what I go by but you can call me AxE if you like. It''s how we''ve chatted to each other over the last three years. What is your real name anyway?"


    "You know my address but not my name?" I spluttered, incredulous. How had I been hunted down?


    "You don''t use a VPN, like an idiot. It wasn''t hard to find your address. You also weren''t very circumspect about whereabouts you live in chat so-" She shrugged, "- it would have been easier to find you if you didn''t move so much so... Eh, I enlisted the help of a friend. It wasn''t hard to flex my need for help." AxE''s muscles bristled with the word flex as if to add emphasis. I have no idea if this was on purpose, but it brought a significant question to the fore that I really *really* should get to the bottom of.


    "So you have superpowers? And more importantly can I get some?"


    "Name. First." AxE demanded.


    "I''m Simon. Simon Bastien."


    "Ok, nice to meet you Simon. Uh, well..." She paused, her confidence visibly wavering, as if deliberating how much to tell me.


    Instead of telling me how to arrange for me to be bitten by a altruistic radioactive spider at an appointed time that works for both of us the conversation went in a direction I hadn''t expected.


    "Want to go on a date?"


    ~~~


    We bundled in to the back seating area of a quaint Greek bakery in Newtown that doubled as a caf¨¦ because every store in Newtown doubled as a caf¨¦. I''m sure the local law firms have both baristas and barristers on staff.


    The bus ride was awkward as I didn''t exactly live close by. The 30 minutes of travel was made weirder by AxE''s insistence that we bring Toosey along. By some miracle of untold proportions Toosey actually sat still long enough for me to put on a collar and lead, the first time I had ever used them. I was expecting Toosey''s passage to be blocked by the bus driver but he didn''t even glace at the ginger ruffian, almost like he couldn''t see her. Toosey spent the ride on AxE''s knees, perfectly content to molt all over her, staining AxE''s dark jeans a scattered orange.


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Looking across the pine wood table at AxE and the almond croissant she was butchering, I stifled a laugh as my imagination wandered. *"How Did I Meet Your Mother? Well kids, it all happened when a short tanned Latina woman with superhuman strength invaded my home, stole my cat, and took me to a tiny Greek bakery."*


    "What are you thinking about?" AxE asked, breaking me out of my reverie.


    "Nothing important." I said, exerting superhuman will to keep my face cool and expressionless.


    Appearing disinterested, she continued to pick at the almond croissant for a time more until she got down to business. Her steel cutlery clattered on the plate as if to announce the beginning of the act.


    "So you asked about my superpowers?" She said.


    "Should we be talking about this in an public place?" I asked, my eyes darting over to the yiayia at the front counter.


    "This place checks out. Thalia is cool with it." She nodded her head to the old lady at the front and was met with an explosion of Greek words I couldn''t quite catch.


    AxE answered with what I assume were Greek pleasantries before she returned her attention to me, stroking Toosey''s back absentmindedly. The cat sat on the table and yet the yiayia Thalia did not protest.


    "Thalia is on our side. She used to be a philosopher in the 60''s and wrote a bunch back then, before drifting into writing cookbooks. Interesting stuff too. Bit avant garde for the time."


    AxE leaned in conspiratorially. "Have you ever heard the phrase that ''the Pen is Mightier than the Sword?''"


    I nodded, very confused where this was going, but I leant in anyway.


    "Did you think that was just a cute saying, Psy? The reason for the focus on reading and writing in the final years of schooling in most countries is the hope that hints of superhuman powers will show and can be grown. Ever get accepted into a gifted and talented program or similar as a kid? Kind of the same thing."


    She waited for the reality of what she said to sink in.


    "Writing... Gives you superpowers? That''s ridiculous." I said.


    "It *can* give you superpowers, it doesn''t always... If I was to ask a random person off the street to name the most fraught period of human history where humanity was closest to death, they would probably say the Cold War. And in a way they would be right. A miscommunication, an inopportune rise of anger in a person with power, and **Boom**. End of life and existence as we know it." As if to punctuate the gravity of what she was saying she took a very deep sip of her oat milk latte. Having whet her palate she continued.


    "Well, they would be wrong. The earth came closest to its demise twice in written memory. Once was during the Renaissance in Europe. The second was the cultural revolution in China. That''s not to say that the historical events that took place happened *because* of the writers phenomenon. The writers phenomenon happened in tandem. It didn''t cause these events but it may have exacerbated them, or accelerated clashes between groups. All because of the powers that be."


    She had lost me, and she could see it on my face. Neurons tried and failed to fire, to take it all in.


    She changed tack, switching to an area I knew much more about.


    "Have you heard of Battle Royale?" She asked.


    "You mean like that video game, Bi-weekly?" I said.


    AxE sighed so deeply I could hear the window by the front counter of the bakery vibrate, followed by the sound of Thalia scrambling around and making sure that nothing fell.


    "In a way, yes, except that flossing back then was the use of a dental health tool rather than a dance move. The game style is derivative of the book Battle Royale which released in Japan to much controversy. Anyway, the premise of the book is that a bunch of school kids are released on an island and are told that only one will survive - and so they kill each other until only one survives. Many pieces of media since then with a one-winner-takes-all theme have attributed Battle Royale as an inspiration in their work, like that popular Korean MeshFlix show... Uh, what was it called. Squid? No, it was Calamari Games."


    She spoke in a rush but I hung on every word. Also Calamari Games was a great show, you should watch it.


    "You ever notice how the number of apocalypse and zombie movies exploded in western media after the 9/11 attacks?"


    "Uhhhh," I said intelligently. She had lost me again. What did this have to do with falling into a vat of radioactive sludge and gaining superpowers?


    "Well they did, you can look it up. Media, be it writing or art or film or whatever, it often echoes the sentimentality of its time. Add on human made climate change and the ever present possibility of nuclear war and you have a desire for post-apocalyptic pick me ups. Sure the world is dead but at least there is some hope for some of us right? We can rebuild, right?" she said.


    "Ok, ok, ok. I get it. What the hell does that have to do with superpowers?" I finally asked.


    She grinned, the Cheshire cat returning once again, only to disappoint me. "We don''t know?"


    "What?"


    "Well we don''t know, not fully. We know a bit. We think that it only seems to happen from writing and not other media, or at least that it''s most common in writing. The superpowers you ask about are more like Lexiconicy or Pentifery. We can use our words to manifest powers and affect the physical space about us."


    My mind worked overtime. I could see AxE biting back a laugh as gears turned in my head that hadn''t turned in years, rusted over and dulled by monotonous menial work. I could *feel* the strain and struggle as my mind dusted itself off, whirring into action.


    "So..." I said, begging my mind to keep up with my words. "What you''re saying is you are a writer?"


    I could hear a the beginnings of a giggle being stifled by the front counter.


    "That''s the first thing you want to ask!?" AxE''s brows knit itself back into a frown I was soon becoming familiar with. It would be kind of cute if her superhuman strength didn''t mean she could rip me limb from limb. Or maybe that made me more into it? Geez just what am I into - it''s been too long since anyone has been into me romantically. Was she into me romantically? What the hell Simon, get it together!


    "Don''t be so surprised!" She said, shocking me back to the present and away from my horny thought-whirpool of doubt.


    "You know my username right AragonxEragon? The Yuri fanfic I wrote is really popular, so I have kept it going."


    Another pause. They were becoming quite common now.


    "You got your superpowers from. A. Yuri. Fanfic?" I said, labouring over each point like a builder pouring cement.


    "What, like it''s hard?" AxE said, channeling the movie Solicitor Brunette to the tee.


    She took another sip of her latte as I took a moment to collect myself. Again. Why was she saying this? Writing can cause superpowers but it doesn''t always?


    "So... Our fave authors were killed because they developed super powers?" I asked, slowly putting pieces of the puzzle together. I think.


    "Mmmm, not usually. They are often kidnapped and made to sign a contract with either a Lexiconicy or Pentifery Publisher. We can explain that more when you meet the rest of the crew."


    Kidnapping. I guess that''s Reason 11 then, a new one. One I had jokes about but never really listed.


    Then it hit me and I understood. I knew why they needed me. The words had left my mouth before I had even considered them, filtered them, made them appropriate for the audience. But by her microexpressions I knew I had hit the bullseye. They *needed* me and *many* more like me.


    She feigned mock surprise at my response and before she could furnish an add-on I spoke. "Before things went to shit I did a Science and Arts degree at University, majoring in Biology and English. I understand the scientific method at the bare minimum, Axe. Not my fault the government defunded research."


    I paused, *hoping* it added some level of gravitas.


    "Bottom line: You need test subjects and I volunteer."

 Chapter 3 - Hiatus is the enemy

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    Writing an army-building novel is a pretty cool goal, I thought.

 Chapter 4 - Fates and Flames

    ¡°SQUEEEEEEEE!¡±


    The sound of a high pitched hyperventilating pug that lived within her escaped Chloe''s mouth as she scrambled to the table and grabbed a pen I had not noticed before. She scribbled her name on the left-most page and I watched as the parchment was drawn to her pen, reluctant to end its embrace as her name ended in a clumsy flourish.


    ¡°And the next column, Chloe,¡± Walker directed, not unkindly. ¡°What do I write there?¡± Chloe asked, her speckled face returning to the scrunch that may just be her resting expression.


    ¡°The next statement is one of trust. You must write ¡®I bear no malice or ill will to the cause I have signed my name in this book to. I trust myself to the devouring should I write a lie.¡¯¡±


    As Walker spoke, I noticed that the mood in the room had changed. All eyes were glued to Chloe among the old hats who were still seated, as she scrawled a semblance of words in the next column. When she dotted the final full stop, the words glowed blue and red before settling on green.


    Then the power Awoke.


    The language leapt off the page as if living and showered Chloe in prose and sophistry. Language known and not-, both graced her skin as it scoured her flesh, spinning around and round, within and throughout. It seeped and seethed, but the bulk flew towards her eyes and turned it a milky white. Two Chinese characters wrote their jade sigil into the window where her pupils once were before the dappled and glowing text covering her body pulsed three times more, only to settle on her skin, faring into her pores. Her green eyes retained their colour.


    Chloe looked shocked.


    ¡°Can you hear me?¡± she asked the room, but not one person answered, at least to my hearing.


    ¡°Uh, yes. Hello? Are you alright?¡± I asked, attempting to break the silence. Why was no one else speaking?


    Rather than acknowledge my words straight away, Chloe''s eyes seemed to glaze over, her focus elsewhere. Then her eyes snapped back to me with a distracted look, like I had interrupted a conversation that had required her full concentration.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± she said, her voice void of any inflection. It was machine-like.


    ¡°You go next,¡± Colin said, his eyebrow raised. His fingers twitched and I could imagine in a visceral sense the cold clammy touch of his hands from where I stood.


    He was nervous. So was I.


    I gulped as my feet brought me towards the leather-bound book with hungry pages. As before, the parchment embraced the pen as I wrote, rising to meet it. With each letter born on the page, I felt a light wind ruffle my clothes, an airy breeze caressing the small of my back in comfort and a warmth shining on my face. The hint of a giggle met my ears as I finished writing my name, and my hand tingled as if held by a much larger hand.


    ¡°Now you must write as Chloe did,¡± Walker said, and I spelt each letter as he spoke.


    I bear no malice or ill will to the cause I have signed my name in this book to, I wrote. I felt weaker with each word, as if I was giving something of myself to the page, a link to the unwritten. As with Chloe, the words glowed blue and red before resting on the page in green livery.


    I trust myself to the devouring should I write a lie, I continued. On the end of the last word, I staggered back as if struck by an uppercut. I fell to the floor but did not land on the boards, the slight wind in my back holding me up, far stronger than I had thought it. The invisible grip in my hand tightened and held, duplicating and now grabbing both my wrists, keeping me secure from the maelstrom of words erupting from The Book.


    And then, Absence.


    [A new story Awakes,] said a matronly voice to my deaf ears.


    I was not kin to Audites, so I did not Hear. I was not taught by the Spoken, so I did not Answer. I was not betrothed to the Artful, so I did not Compose. This was Known. My existence was pulled taut like a strand of hair, thin enough to be cut by a wayward wind. Around me was only darkness.


    [So it does. The growth of our new House is welcome. It has been too long since these weary bones cast judgment,] another voice agreed. My strand was buffeted by the warm summer breeze and my very being wished to fall into the embrace of the inviting sun. I nearly did, all goals and desires gone, all regrets forgotten, before a chill refrain like a thousand frozen doves striking string sent a shudder through my strand as if it were an instrument.


    I thrummed, and a chord responded, even though I was only a single strand.


    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    [A pleasant sound to this one. Try not to break him, Sisters, or our new House may desert us.]


    I tried turning my head to see who spoke, but I had none. My shape was string alone, a hair¡¯s width and a hair¡¯s depth, my length unknown.


    [He''s trying to see us, Sisters!] one of them cackled. Lightning struck me in tune with her laughter, but I felt no pain, for I had no use for it. My strand emanated steam in response, but this only seemed to make her cackle even louder.


    [Hush Sister,] another Sister scolded, [We are wasting time and even now he is drifting closer to the Absence. We must Ask and record his Answer.]


    I couldn''t see it, but I could feel the remaining Sisters nod, one of them suitably chastised but still in good humour.


    [Simon,] they chorused, [before you can enter the rolls of the House as a peer, we must confirm. Do you or your masters bear any malice or ill will to the cause of your House and its Thesis?]


    My masters? And what''s all this about a House and Thesis? I''m not doing an Honours year or a PhD, I thought.


    A Sister snorted and my strand felt as if covered in yoghurt, thick and wet consistency clung to my thread in annoyance.


    Maybe they can read my thoughts?


    Silence greeted me this time. There was only myself and the gnawing Absence to my awareness now.


    ¡°I bear no ill will or malice and I have no masters other than myself. I¡¯m not sure what this House thing is or what thesis you are talking about but I''ve spoken to AxE for years on Blisschord. I think I can trust her.¡± I said without a mouth or words that could be heard, but I knew they were listening.


    [Understood. You will be entered into the annals of the House and your Answer and your future journey will be recorded.]


    I heard the rustling of pages being flipped through and felt the wind on my strand, tasting of libraries and fantasy and old books.


    [Now. What do you want to Write-Speak-Compose Create?] they harmonised across three sets of notes, the last word shaking my strand with a booming timbre as if every key on an organ were pressed at once.


    I knew my answer.


    ¡°I want to search for the authors that have been stolen and the stories that never finished, but deserve to be. A fulfilling beginning and an end is what I want to [Create]. [I want to bring about a world where the unwritten is read],¡± I Spoke.


    [GREEDY!] the Sisters shrieked, their harmony turning discordant. I felt an awareness of the length of my strand and gathered the notion that I was being reduced, my time growing shorter.


    [GREEEEEEDY!] the discordant chorus repeated. [You wish to bring about what is not into existence? The unread is one thing, but the unwritten? You seek to bind the Fates to a cause worse than trying to save the burning tomes in the Library of Alexandria, and look what happened to Serapis? Spurned and burned for his efforts, the names of his pantheon struck out or deserted.]


    The Sisters who spoke as one drew themselves in, as if to take a breath, their exhalation teeming with their madness. But before they could continue their tirade against my wrong Answer I was stung by a sky-blue actinic flare from the darkness of the Absence. In its light I could finally see the faces of the Sisters towering over me: a child, a woman, and a matron, each draped in the finery of the stars and festooned with colourful flowers.


    [Moiraget¨ºs!? Why have you wrought this share of destiny upon us? We cannot cut away this thread with your light!], the Sisters yelled in unison. Their faces once again faded into the darkness of the Absence and I felt a need to forget their faces rebuffed by the blue coursing through my strand.


    [On a whim, my daughters. The greatest story may be within the unwritten and the pantheon grows weak. Mayhap this man will breathe life into new Words and Reawaken their chronology,] the Lightning replied, [It is worth the risk].


    My existence in this space was ending. The last words I heard as I faded back into my reality thrummed through my strand and into my body. [Good luck,] I Heard, and a small strand of my thread-self rode with me, latching itself to the wrist of my proper body.


    SLAM!


    The spirits that held me aloft dissipated, and I crashed to the ground in a sprawl of limbs.


    [Are you alright?] AxE asked me, and I felt her concern.


    [I¡¯m fine I th-]. I froze. I had not said a word, merely thought and felt the phrase, and AxE had heard.


    [Now he gets it,] a voice said. It was not one I had heard before, and it had a strong accent through the connection.


    [Jeez. I didn¡¯t look this confused when it happened to me, did I?] said Chloe, her smirk tangible in her words.


    [No. This is a particularly severe case,] Walker grumbled.


    ¡°What the fuck happened?¡± Asked Colin. His voice was skittish and wary.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine, I¡¯m fine. Just not what I expected,¡± I said quickly, scrambling to my feet and stepping back.


    ¡°That¡¯s not what I asked. What? Happened!?¡± He repeated. ¡°That¡¯s enough of that,¡± Walker interjected. ¡°What you experience in writing in The Book is between you and fate. Are you still committed to our cause, Kal?¡±


    Colin gulped, just as I did. He sheathed his trepidation and approached The Book. The pen guided his hand as he wrote his name, for which the words glowed blue and red before the glow melted away, settling on the black ink of the pen alone.


    [That¡¯s not a good sign,] said the guy with a strong accent. I looked at him, dressed in a tan overcoat like Inspector Contraption from the cartoons. [I¡¯m Yongwen, nice to meet you Simon] he sent me, for as far as I could tell, it was for me alone.


    [It is not,] replied Walker to us even as he spoke to Colin. ¡°Now please write ¡®I bear no malice or ill will to the cause I have signed my name in this book to. I trust myself to the devouring should I write a lie.¡¯¡±


    Colin wrote as if the effort involved a hike through waist-deep mud. Slow, sweaty and clammy, the written language on the parchment was akin to a swamp infested with mosquitoes. I fought off the urge to scratch a suddenly itchy spot on my upper left arm.


    As Colin finished writing, it felt like an age had passed, and the tension in the room was palpable. I¡¯m not sure if Colin noticed it, though.


    [$50 if he isn¡¯t cremated,] AxE said to the group. [I¡¯ll take those odds,] Gretta replied, [He¡¯s my candidate anyway]. Before I could ask the question that I sought to ask I felt AxE¡¯s attention: [Just watch] she said. Her voice and intention were a lot more concerned than her bravado to the group displayed.


    And then Colin burnt alive in front of us, wreathed in green flames.

 Chapter 5 - The Taste of a Ripple

    Nevermore.


    She was not meant to have a name, but she did. Nevermore was the name she gave herself, a reminder of the curse borne by their lineage. A reminder of the pain she felt the first time she leapt from the pages wreathed in black feathers, and as she did so now. She felt the scent of blood and regret in the palms of her hands, a rough burning sensation with an acidic aftertaste. She Heard his call in her soulwell whilst the tone of copper twixt jade struck thrice in the minds of all present to herald her arrival.


    She was not meant to have a name, but she did. She repeated this refrain instinctually, like a prayer. She liked to believe that it helped endure her sentence. Her thoughts danced in speculation while the stories within bound tomes in the bookcases adorning the walls shook as she stepped alight on the cold stone with her feetclaws.


    ¡°What news, Raven?¡± He asked. He did not use her name, for she was not meant to have one. No, he used their name. The notname of all heralds.


    She met his golden gaze but for a second before she averted her eyes, pupils darting quickly like scared mice. She focused instead on the white porcelain mask that covered his face and the inky black hands that furnished it. The many hands sought his gilded eyes like corpses rising from their earthen tombs, reaching for even a hint of the life-breath they once knew.


    Horrifying as ever.


    ¡°A rat has been unwritten.¡± She said, awaiting his decree. Her life tome appeared in his hands unopened, the moving calligraphy on its surface a persistent mystery for she could not read.


    Silence engulfed the room like the stiff embrace of winter. The Raven felt the keratin of her rachis curl in response to the chill touch as billows of fog erupted from the Masked One, the only sign of a break in his composure. The fog settled into the ground not half a moment later, leaving only a chill stillness behind to mark its coming.


    ¡°Has the Invincible Mount Tai struck? Or is it the Broken System Group? I had thought both balanced by our recent arrangements. Have they have set aside the Accord, winged one?¡± He asked, his voice growing louder in time with his steps as he paced back and forth across the room.


    ¡°They have not, your Grace. I fear a new House has arisen.¡±


    He was snowballing in his questions and she felt the need to divert his attention lest his ire fall on her. She was not the first herald in this position and she had to think quickly if she wished to preserve her lifetome.


    ¡°A new House?¡± He paused in both thought and steps.


    The silence stretched, a cat readying its pounce.


    ¡°That¡¯s quaint.¡± He spat, his voice venomous, ¡°A new House still dares to rise, and so close to our own boundary. Do we have a lock on their cardinal way?¡±


    ¡°They are near, but their exact location defies the cardinals.¡± She returned. Her every effort went into making her words strong, clear, and efficient. Not a syllable wasted or a half-truth unturned. They had burned heralds for less.


    "We will see about that," he purred. The winds whipped themselves into a flurry as they scurried out through the microscopic gaps in the stone walls. She waited as his Maelstrom spirit stirred like a beast awakened from a deep slumber, carrying the messages He wrote to his savants on the breeze.


    Sound answered the whipping wind, but not in any language she understood. As a herald, knowledge of other words was forbidden. The Thesis of a herald bound them to illiteracy and the power to [Create]. The power of all heralds was gifted to them by those greater and more novel, in return for her life, latitude and longevity. They struck creativity and choice from the ability of heralds and inscribed them with stagnancy. From the moment the first herald of their line had accepted the task given to them all present and future heralds had lived in the lifetomes of their creators. As one, all heralds were bound to the letters of the messages they brought and doomed to never understand the meaning behind their shape or the invocation of their sound. But Nevermore knew. She knew their scent.


    [Speak of your knowledge of the words conveyed, Dear Raven.]


    The voice reverberated within her and she stiffened as words she could not comprehend escaped her. She was compelled by the first contract to give a full report. The total message was conveyed from her lips with perfect elocution while pain wracked her every muscle. Her shallow bones echoed with power that heralds were not equipped to hold,her very lifetome and story used as an exhaustive medium.


    She coughed up blood as the message ended. Her eyes refocused, and she smelt the untamed wildfire that was the scent of his anger. She could see her end in his golden eyes, a foregone thing, his pupils slitted like a doorway to death that she could walk through.


    Her body lifted off the ground involuntarily, buffeted by winds that cut into her. She could feel her blood scattering crimson across the stone.


    ¡°I tasted more, your Grace. I have further use to you,¡± she stuttered.


    She felt a listing of his eyebrow [conveyed] to her as she was dropped. Hearing a Crack, her left leg snapped at the knee by viscus winds amidst the fall, her feetclaw and shin clattering to the ground. She shrieked in pain as her bones contracted. Her foreleg was still connected to her soul well in spirit as the pain screamed at Nevermore, clamouring for her undivided attention. In her mind, the bone snapped repeatedly, and the pain refreshed anew, her shrieks accompanying it.


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    The end of my story is so close.


    [Speak, Dear Raven.]


    ¡°I tasted more, your Grace. I tasted a change in the liminal eclipse. It was not an established rune, your Grace, nor a forgotten one. The re-ordering of fates was small, but I have known the taste of order well. It is iron and blood beset by flowers. Within the runescape, I tasted something new. I say that this is not a language and I swear that I have not broken the sworn oath."


    Black blood, like ink, fell from her mouth as she spoke. That alone was enough offence to have her lifetome fall to His ashwords. But He stayed his hand.


    A release from her life tome meant only death, and yet she persisted at the edge of the envelope, pushing. A life tomb, Nevermore preferred to call it. Just like her name, they could not take that gallows humour from her either.


    "I have lived well-long, your Grace,¡± she continued, ¡°I have been... rarely used. I had naught to do but ponder the runes. In time and place I tasted them to increase the value of my Message. I have never spoken of this, for I had none to talk to. I just hope to be of use to you."


    [Understood,] he conveyed sharply, his words a stinging slap that sent painful echoes through her bones once again causing further cracks to form, splitting apart her hollow skeleton into many branches. She could no longer tell apart her real self from the pain she endured.


    ¡°The taste,¡± she shuddered, ¡°is of many things at once. It is all the dew resting on a new growth and the lifeblood bearing a new calf, a cresting of a fresh wave and the first flight of young wings. None of these are strange by itself, your Grace.¡±


    His eyes gleamed, the taste of his frustration tinged with blueberries became overwhelming.


    ¡°The atrocity is the Thread that binds them together.¡±


    Knowing the import of these words she had readied herself and flew at fell speed now that her full Message given. As she escaped to the lifetome now levitating above his hands an explosion of molten petulant anger engulfed the room, chasing her form. She burned as white flames cooked her wings, warping their path to flight even as she fell like a meteor cresting atmosphere into the space between the pages of her lifetome, the book once again resting safely within her core.


    Really, her message had been too important for her to fall to ash, but He was not known for being patient. Just His presence and anger was enough to come close to destroying her. With Nevermore''s Contract fulfilled she was *safe* once she returned to her lifetome.


    Once more wreathed in the comfort of darkness and feathers, she settled down to roost near a runeperch that tasted of a blossoming field. She felt her bones re-knit themselves, her leg reforming. There was no pain here in between the pages. There was only continuance. An inescapable irony when her kind represented the stagnancy of a fallow pool of water.


    She looked out at the vast runescape before her as she healed. The gears of life shifted in contemplation, always moving, their machinations stretching endlessly through the aether like many snakes converging on a central point.


    The Thread may bring the order she had known her whole life down. For once, she felt hope that her story would be written, and her enemies brought to their doom.


    She savoured the taste as she licked her lips. It was the taste of a ripple in the threads and runes of fate that bound us to our mortal trappings. With a Thread loose from the pages and a new rune being born, that could all change.


    And with change comes endings.


    So did quoth the Dear Raven, "Nevermore."


    * * *


    ¡°What the fuck!?¡± I screamed as Colin evaporated, his clothes scattered like ash and his skin charred to nothing before the white of his bones turned red as if bleeding. A pool of clay-like crimson liquid painted the ground in a pool where Colin once stood, reflecting the light of the surrounding fluorescence.


    ¡°Fuck, fuck, fuck, what the fuck is going on!¡± Chloe yelled in agreement.


    [Clam down,] a chorus of voices responded. With it came emotions of reassurance and concern like a blend of herbal tea, warming me from the inside and massaging away my worries and concerns. How could I be threatened by such good intentions? I thought, even as some part of me screamed at me to shake off this notion and restore my panic.


    What resulted was akin to a panic attack. I felt like I was hyperventilating inside my head. My body was shaking, and I was moving. I vaulted stairs and rushed through chairs under desks and weaving between cooking implements. I passed many people. This place was too big. How was this a caf¨¦ in Newtown? I was lost. Where was Chloe, I thought she was right behind me? I looked around furtively and found no one following any longer. The [voices] in my head were growing faint, and I found I could clear them with enough concentration. I focused on the image of a flame in my mind, the only light in the darkness. I often did this when I was stressed and need an outlet to calm down. The flame devoured my worries. It was calming and warm and expressionless. There was no expectation, no need for a mask or lie to communicate. Just the flame and I.


    I snapped out of my dissociation as I felt a cool breeze on my skin. I had wandered into a garden. Hedges aligned the side, and they adorned the inside with native wildflowers in dashing bright colours of purple, red, yellow and blue.


    I walked for I do not know how long and was met with only more flowers. They were endless. There was no engineering pattern ascertainable, only scantily trodden desire paths that criss-crossed the colours like the bindings in a hastily tied corset.


    After a time the wind seemed to still and a clearing arose before me. I sat on the ground and felt the tufts of the longrass on my skin, breaching the folds of my clothes raised high by my posture. Hugging my knees, I leant forward, hoping my conception of self would stop spinning.


    Before my thoughts could settle, I felt a presence, a weight on my right leg. An embrace? Raising my eyes, I spied it.


    A Golden Line of Thread. The Thread held a shape, an outline of what I can only call a 2D fairy. I felt a kinship to it as though it were both a part of me and knot.


    ¡°This day keeps getting weirder and weirder.¡± I said out loud. It felt better to speak it than to [think]. I didn¡¯t even know if my thoughts were protected or if they were on a loudspeaker to those around me.


    The Thread in the shape of a fairy held out its threadbare hand and pet my leg a few more times and I heard a giggle in my mind that sounded like three girls laughing. She moved away from me then and danced around the longrass like an amateur ballerina and I smiled despite myself. I had no idea what it was but it was cute! I could feel it revel in my attention through our bond. I felt tethered to her in some place, but as a companion rather than a prisoner.


    ¡°First, I witness a man burned alive, and now this?¡± I said as I looked down at the knot-me thread. Its head outline lifted and I swear it [smiled] at me in a conciliatory way even as it kept dancing in circles.


    ¡°- It¡¯s not a peaceful experience to see someone being unwritten on their first day. For that I apologise, child. We did not know that the man would be a rat,¡± I heard, as the Greek yiayia Thalia I last spied at the front of the bakery manifested in front of me as if dew on a summer morning. I felt the dancing thread disappear and sensed a warm a throbbing in my wrist on my right side.


    ¡°I think you have some explaining to do.¡± I said, trying my best to make sure my tone didn¡¯t betray my lack of confidence as I stood up. I loomed over Thalia in height but I did not let that fool me. If what AxE said was not a lie then Thalia was also empowered by Lexiconicy or Pentifery, whatever it was called.


    ¡°Yes, yes I do.¡±