Ghostwriterr

"They say power corrupts... but what if corruption was the price of power?"

Lucian never sought power—he only wanted to save his grandfather. But when he inherits the Book of Envy, a cursed tome that grants desires at a terrible cost, he is thrown into a world where the strong devour the weak.

To master the book, he must train under Veyren, the twisted holder of the Book of Lost. Along the way, he meets Kael, a skilled swordsman with the Book of Blades—a boy whose abilities Lucian secretly covets.

Betrayal, obsession, and an unstoppable hunger for strength drive Lucian down a path of no return.

But what happens when he faces a power too great to steal?

A dark fantasy tale of ambition, sacrifice, and the descent into power.

Hollow Crown: The Book of Envy

The air in the study grew heavy, as if the very walls were leaning in to hear the conversation. The flickering lanterns cast long, distorted shadows, and for the first time, Lucian felt like he wasn't in a room—he was in something else, something vast, ancient, and watching.

Yet Veyren's gaze was what unsettled him most.

Not the emptiness of it. Not the knowing smirk. But the way he looked at Lucian as if he had already seen the ending of his story.

"You think you walk toward salvation."

Lucian said nothing, but his fingers curled into fists at his sides.

Veyren stepped closer, his robes shifting—or were they writhing?—beneath the dim glow. His voice softened, but the weight of his words felt heavier than before.

"But tell me… what if this path only leads to more loss?"

The question hit like a knife to the chest.

Lucian gritted his teeth. "I won't lose. Not if I have the Book of Envy."

Veyren let out a slow, knowing chuckle, his fingers twitching midair as if writing invisible truths into existence.

"Ahh, how simple you make it sound. As if power were merely a tool, and not a weight that buries those too weak to hold it."

"To be lost is to be free… but to be found?"

His head tilted ever so slightly, his grin stretching, his ink-stained hands lowering to his sides—like a judge who had already sentenced a man to death.

"That is where true suffering begins."

The lanterns flickered violently, the shadows in the room suddenly stretching toward Lucian, clawing across the floor. The temperature plummeted. The Spirit of the Lost let out a gleeful shriek of laughter, spinning like a deranged dancer in the dark.

Lucian's breath hitched. His instincts screamed at him to run, but he forced himself to stand his ground.

"What… what do you mean?" he asked, voice tight.

"You believe you are seeking the right path. That your suffering has an ending, a reward, a justification."

He leaned in, so close Lucian could smell aged paper and dried ink on his breath.

"But what if I told you… that there is no salvation at the end of this road?"

The words seeped into Lucian like poison, twisting his resolve into something brittle.

"What if I told you… that in the end, you will lose everything?"

Veyren exhaled in amusement. He stepped back, spreading his arms wide.

"Perhaps." His tone was playful now, mocking. "But if I am… why does your heart tremble?"

Lucian clenched his jaw, refusing to acknowledge the truth behind those words.

Veyren laughed—a slow, unraveling sound. He turned, walking back to his chair, his voice drifting through the room like a funeral hymn.

"To be lost is to be free, Lucian. But to be found?"

He sank into his seat, eyes gleaming.

"That… is when the real suffering begins."

The words echoed long after the room fell silent.

And for the first time since this journey began—Lucian felt fear.

To Be Lost