Eloise**
Caius stumbles.
His breathing is uneven, his wounds leaving a trail of crimson in the darkened forest. I can hear it—the ragged pull of air through clenched teeth, the way his steps falter despite his stubborn will to keep going.
"Caius," I plead, tightening my grip on his arm to steady him. "You need to stop. We need to—"
"No." His voice is strained, but his grip on my wrist is strong. He doesn't look at me—his gaze is scanning the trees, watching, calculating.
The scent of damp earth is thick with the metallic tang of blood. The forest is alive with whispers, rustling leaves shifting unnaturally as if something is lurking just out of sight. *Hunting us.*
Then—*shadows move.*
A pulse of dark energy ripples through the air, and suddenly, they're here.
The Nightborn.
Emerging from the trees, surrounding us with inky forms and hollow, gleaming eyes. They do not breathe, they do not blink—they simply *watch*. Waiting for the command to strike.
And then she steps forward.
Lirienne.
She walks through them as if they are nothing more than mist, her silk robes untouched by the dirt beneath her feet. Her gaze—piercing, hungry—locks onto me.
"You cannot run from me, *Creator*." Her voice is soft, almost gentle, but it slithers down my spine like venom.
Caius pulls me behind him, his sword raised despite his injuries. Blood drips from the wound in his side, staining the ground, but he stands tall.
A silent protector.
Lirienne sighs as if he is nothing more than an inconvenience. "You are dying, hero." She lifts a hand, and the shadows shift, curling around her fingers. "Your sacrifice will be in vain."
Caius tenses. I can feel it—the way his body readies itself for a final stand.
And then he turns to me.
"Run," he says.
"No." My voice is barely a whisper.
His expression hardens. "Eloise, *go.*"
I shake my head violently, my heart hammering against my ribs. "I *won't* leave you."
A flicker of something crosses his face—pain, desperation. "I can hold them back. But you have to *run*."
He wants me to leave him.
To save myself.
To abandon him *again*.
"No." My voice shakes, but my resolve does not. "I won't let this happen."
Something in Lirienne's expression shifts—amusement curling at the edges of her lips.
"How touching," she murmurs, tilting her head. "But pointless."
She raises her hand.
The Nightborn *move*.
I barely have time to think before they surge forward, shadows morphing into claws, teeth—*death.*
Caius raises his sword, ready to meet them head-on—ready to *die* for me.
*No.*
I can't let this happen.
I *won't* let this happen.
And then—*something inside me snaps.*
A rush of energy surges through my veins, burning, searing—*awakening.*
My hand flies to my bag. My fingers close around my pen.
It's glowing.
Bright and *alive*.
I don't know what compels me to do it, but I don't hesitate.
I lift the pen and *write.*
**The Nightborn freeze in place.**
The words shimmer in the air before dissolving into reality.
And suddenly—*they stop moving.*
Lirienne's eyes widen in shock as the creatures halt mid-attack, their bodies locked in place as if an unseen force has seized them.
I stare at my own hand, at the glowing ink still fading from the air.
I... *changed it.*
I *altered* the story.
Lirienne's shock turns into something darker—anger, rage, *fear*.
"What—" she hisses, her eyes narrowing. "What have you *done*?"
I don't know.
But I do know one thing.
I am the *Creator.*
This world is *mine*.
And I will not let it take Caius from me.
My grip on the pen tightens as more words flow from my mind—each one twisting fate itself.
**Caius' wounds begin to close.**
He gasps, stumbling slightly as the pain lessens, the blood no longer seeping from his side.
I keep writing.
**A path opens before us, breaking through the barriers Lirienne created. A way out.**
And just like that, the vines and shadows part, revealing an escape.
Lirienne's face contorts with fury, her voice cracking like a whip. "You cannot control me, *Creator*! You are nothing more than a *child playing with fire!*"
Maybe.
But this fire is *mine*.
I meet her gaze, and for the first time—I am not afraid.
I grab Caius' hand. "*Run.*"
And together—we escape into the night.
Caius**
The pain fades.
It shouldn't.
I was prepared—*resigned*—to bleed out, to make my final stand so she could escape. Yet, as my strength threatened to abandon me, something *changed.*
My wounds sealed. The blood on my armor dried. The Nightborn that should have torn us apart stood frozen like statues.
I had seen magic before. I had wielded it, fought against it, been cursed by it.
But *this*—
This was something else entirely.
It was *her*.
Eloise's trembling fingers clutched the glowing pen like a blade. Her breath came in uneven gasps, but her eyes—fierce, determined—were locked on Lirienne.
And Lirienne... was afraid.
That alone sent a chill down my spine.
Eloise turned to me, her voice steady despite the exhaustion in her limbs. "*Run.*"
And for the first time, I listened.
We ran.
Through the shattered vines, past the frozen creatures of shadow, into the unknown depths of the forest. The magic pulsed around us, reality bending to Eloise's will with every step we took. The air was thick with the remnants of power, the world itself trembling as if unsure whether to accept her command or fight against it.
I kept my grip tight on her wrist, leading us deeper into the woods. The trees blurred past us, moonlight slipping through the branches, guiding our way.
I could hear her breath, hear the way she fought against exhaustion.
I *shouldn't* be alive.
But she made it so.
The Creator had *rewritten fate itself.*
And that terrified me more than death ever could.
---
**Eloise**
I don't know how long we run.
Minutes? Hours? The world is a haze of darkened trees and pounding footsteps, my heartbeat a frantic drum in my ears. My fingers still tingle with the remnants of power, the weight of what I did settling in my chest.
I *changed* reality.
Not just a small detail. Not just words on a page.
I altered fate.
I feel lightheaded, my legs burning with exhaustion, but Caius doesn't stop. He doesn't slow. His grip is firm, steady—like an anchor keeping me from collapsing.
When we finally come to a halt, my knees nearly give out.
Caius steadies me before I can fall, his hands gripping my arms, his golden eyes scanning me with barely restrained intensity.
"Are you hurt?" he asks, his voice low, urgent.
I shake my head. "No, I—" My breath catches. "I don't know."
I don't *feel* injured, but my body is heavy, my mind spinning.
Caius exhales, his fingers tightening for a moment before he releases me. He paces in a tight line, tension coiled in every muscle.
"You should have left me," he mutters.
I glare at him. "I *wasn't* going to do that."
His jaw clenches. "I was meant to die there."
The words send an icy spike through my chest.
I know he believes that. That this world—*my* world—has convinced him his only purpose is suffering.
I refuse to accept that.
I lift the pen still clutched in my hand, staring at it. The glow has faded, but I can *feel* the power within it, the hum of untapped potential.
"I can change it," I whisper. "I can fix everything."
Caius turns sharply, eyes flashing. "No."
I blink. "No?"
His expression is unreadable, his voice edged with something I can't place. "You don't understand what you're doing."
I frown. "I just saved *your life*—"
"You're rewriting reality without knowing the cost." He steps closer, his gaze locking onto mine. "Power like that doesn't come without consequences, Eloise."
I open my mouth to argue, to tell him that *I am the Creator*, that this world *should* obey me—but the words die on my lips.
Because deep down, a part of me knows he's right.
I don't understand this power.
Not fully.
But I *will*.
I take a breath, steadying myself. "Then teach me," I say.
Caius stares at me for a long moment.
And then—he nods.
Not in acceptance.
But in *understanding.*
We are walking a dangerous path.
But this time, we walk it *together.*Writin