Rewriting Reality

The distortion rippled.

It didn't walk. Didn't step.

It just moved.

Like a thought bending reality. Like a presence that had never needed to obey the laws of this world.

And it was coming closer.

Ezra's fingers clenched around the book, its weight pressing into his palm like an anchor. His heartbeat slowed.

His other self whispered, "Yeah, so… what's the plan here?"

Ezra didn't answer.

Because there was no plan.

There was just the thing that had been watching.

And him.

The space between them vanished.

One moment, the distortion was at the far end of the shelves. The next—

It was in front of him.

Ezra inhaled sharply.

The world around him felt… off.

The shelves blurred. The air thickened.

Everything felt like it was being rewritten in real-time.

Then, finally—

A voice.

"You should not be here."

Ezra forced himself to speak. "Yeah? Well, I get that a lot."

The distortion twitched.

Not in reaction. Not in movement. Just… a shift.

Like something was adjusting itself to exist in this place.

The voice returned.

"That book does not belong to you."

Ezra's fingers curled tighter around it.

A quiet breath. "That's funny. Because it has my name on it."

Silence.

A silence that was too long.

Too deliberate.

Then—

The distortion moved again.

This time, it didn't just ripple.

It bent.

Like the space around it was breaking apart—like a page being torn out of reality.

And in that moment, Ezra knew.

If he stayed still—

If he waited even a second longer—

It would erase him.

So he did the only thing he could.

He ran.

Ezra ran.

And the world warped.

The endless shelves around him blurred , shifting like pages flipping in a book too fast to read. The ground—or whatever counted as a floor—felt unstable.

Like he was sprinting across a story mid-revision.

Behind him, the distortion followed.

Not with footsteps.

Not with sound.

Just movement.

Like reality itself was bending to pull it forward.

Ezra's breath came sharp and fast. His grip on the book tightened, its weight shifting in his hands— like it wanted to be opened again.

Not happening.

Not now.

His other self chuckled breathlessly beside him, easily keeping pace. "So, uh… how exactly do you outrun something that doesn't move?"

Ezra clenched his jaw. "Working on it."

His eyes darted across the shelves.

No doors. No paths. No exit.

Just books.

Books that weren't books.

Books that were watching.

The air behind him rippled.

The distortion was closer.

Ezra felt it pressing against his back— like an invisible weight trying to pull him out of existence.

And then—

A single thought cut through his panic.

This place wasn't real.

At least, not in the way the Archive had been.

It was a story.

Which meant—

Maybe he could change it.

His eyes snapped to the book in his hands.

His story.

His rewrite.

His pulse thundered.

If this place was rewriting itself— maybe he could rewrite it first.

And so—

With the distortion at his back, with the air unraveling around him—

Ezra flipped the book open.

And read.

Ezra's fingers flew over the pages.

The words inside weren't static—they shifted , writhing like ink bleeding through parchment. Sentences rewrote themselves the moment he tried to focus on them.

But one thing was clear.

The book was writing him as he lived.

Every step, every breath, every thought— already written before he finished doing it.

And the distortion?

It was catching up.

The air behind him hummed , a sickening sensation pressing against his back—like something was reaching through reality to erase him from the page.

Ezra had no time to think. No time to hesitate.

So he did the only thing he could.

He wrote first.

His hand clenched over the blank space on the page, and he forced the words into existence.

"Ezra Kane turned left."

His body lurched.

Not by choice. Not by instinct. By force.

Like reality had just followed orders.

Ezra's stomach twisted, but his feet hit the ground—his body already moving exactly as he had written.

The distortion rippled past where he had been.

And in that instant, Ezra realized—

He could change the story.

His mind raced. If he could write his own movements, then…

A thought struck him like lightning.

What if he could write the distortion out of existence?

He gritted his teeth, heart hammering.

It was a risk. A gamble. But if he didn't try—

He'd be erased anyway.

His fingers moved.

The pen of his mind wrote.

"The distortion ceased to exist."

For a second—

Everything froze.

The warping presence behind him halted.

And Ezra dared to hope.

Then, the book twitched.

Ink bled backward.

Words erased themselves.

And a new sentence burned its way onto the page.

"Ezra Kane does not have permission to edit this part of the story."

His breath caught.

And then—

The distortion moved.

Faster than before.

Angrier.

And now, it knew what he had tried to do.

Ezra ran.

Ezra's heart pounded as he sprinted through the shifting landscape of shelves. The distortion behind him wasn't just chasing anymore— it was hunting.

The book in his hands burned cold. Not physically, but with something deeper.

A wrongness.

His attempt to rewrite reality had failed. The story had rejected him.

And worse— it had noticed.

His other self matched his pace, voice tight with amusement. "Well. That was bold."

Ezra didn't waste breath replying. He needed a plan. Fast.

The distortion was gaining. The warping air behind him pressed in , like the very fabric of existence was being erased.

He glanced at the book again.

If he couldn't rewrite the story, then—

Maybe he could read ahead.

His fingers flipped through the pages. The words shifted like liquid ink , trying to stay just out of focus.

But then—

A passage stood out.

Clear. Crisp.

Like it was meant to be seen.

"Ezra Kane will not escape."

His blood ran cold.

Because the page didn't say he might not.

Or that he was in danger.

It said he won't.

Like it had already been decided.

A sharp rippling sound filled the air.

The distortion was right behind him.

Ezra didn't hesitate.

If the story had already decided his fate—

Then he would do what he always did.

He'd cheat.

Teeth gritted, he ripped the page out of the book.

The effect was immediate.

The air shuddered.

The shelves trembled.

And for the first time— the distortion hesitated.

Like something fundamental had just been broken.

Ezra didn't stop to think. He shoved the torn page into his coat and ran forward.

Because now, for the first time since this nightmare began—

He had a piece of the story that wasn't supposed to be his.

And that meant he had a way to fight back.