Chapter 10: Terra Incognita

The night air bit at Arwyn's skin as he and Nathaniel walked through the empty streets, and the faint glow of streetlights flickered like they knew something was coming. His sketchbook was tucked under his arm. His scar still hummed from the garden flare, warm and restless, itching for a fight.

Nathaniel walked a step ahead, hands in his pockets, the four Dreamer Rings glinting faintly on his fingers. Chronos, Gaia, Eos, Nyx. 

No words since they'd left Marco's place. The silence between them was heavy, loaded with everything Arwyn wasn't saying. About leaving Marco snoring on the couch, Ria's door creaking open, and the ache in his chest as he'd whispered "Night, Dad."

"You good, kid?" Nathaniel finally grunted, not looking back.

Arwyn's grip tightened on the sketchbook. "Yeah. Just… ready to get this over with."

Nathaniel snorted. "Over? This isn't the end, kid. It's the start."

"Great. I cannot wait." Sarcasm dripped, but his gut twisted. Terra Incognita. The name alone sounded like a death sentence.

They turned a corner, the auction hall neared with a menacing aura. It had no more lights, the rubble around still wasn't cleaned, and the yellow police tape surrounded the hall. There also were cracks on the building's high-quality concrete that was said to 'last for a thousand years'.

As they strolled closer, Arwyn's scar prickled sharper now, a warning. The air felt thick, charged, like static before a storm.

Nathaniel slowed, eyes narrowing. "Feel that?"

Arwyn nodded, throat dry. "Erasures?"

"Probably." Then a sound. Nathaniel stopped abruptly. "Grab your katana, quick. We don't got time for a welcome party."

They stepped inside, the wrecked hall stretching out in shadows. The shattered chandelier glinted under moonlight, ink-stained floors slick underfoot. 

Arwyn slid under the seat from last night, fingers brushing the katana's sheath. It was still there, cold and solid. He strapped it tighter, standing just as a hiss split the silence. He hadn't figured out how to carry it without looking like a cosplayer.

Shadows on the walls stretched, peeling free into glitching humanoid forms—Erasures, limbs jagged like torn paper, drawn by the rift's echo and his 5,000-poule spike.

"I'll be opening the void," Nathaniel continued walking too casually, though he looked back, eyes glaring at Arwyn. "Hold them."

Arwyn's pencil flew faster now compared to hours before. A flash grenade, crude but quick. He slammed his palm down, the page flaring yellow. The grenade burst into reality, and he lobbed it. Light exploded, Erasures screeching as they dissolved into static. His head spun. 5,000 poules weren't enough to shrug off a sketch that fast.

The stage creaked under their weight, the spot where Cedric's rift had snapped shut still scorched black. Nathaniel knelt, placing the four Dreamer Rings in a circle. Chronos gold, Gaia green, Eos blue, Nyx purple. Each pulsed as he opened the diary, reciting in a low chant: 

"The First Sketcher wept four tears, forging barriers to hold the dream." Nathaniel spoke nonchalantly, but the rings flared, beams connecting in a star. Space tore open. It was a swirling void of ink and starlight, with voices that were whispering with distant screams.

Arwyn's sketchbook jolted in his grip, humming violently. His scar burned, Passion Energy surging. Nathaniel would've pegged it at 6,000 poules if he weren't so focused. 

"Holy," Arwyn breathed, the pull yanking at his core.

Though there was one Erasure that remained, lunging towards him like it had nothing to lose. Arwyn's vision snapped back, unsheathing the katana out of muscle memory.

With little to no skill or experience in holding or slashing the katana despite his enhanced senses, he gripped the handle with his two hands and rushed towards it.

"You little shi–"

But it readied a slam before he had the time to thrust the sword to it. Arwyn reacted quickly and barely dodged, part of his arm grazed its unusually long and sharp arm.

Arwyn's scar blazed, Passion Energy surging.

6,000 poules.

He could feel it, a buzz in his veins like static. His sketchbook jolted again, pages fluttering open on their own. He didn't have time to think. The Erasure lunged once more, faster, its scream rattling the broken chandelier above.

"Kid!" Nathaniel barked, finally looking up, diary flaring gold in his hands. "Finish it or we're dead!"

Arwyn dropped the katana—too slow, too heavy for his rookie ass—and flipped to a blank page mid-step. Pencil flew: a spiked chain, jagged and crude. He slammed his palm down, the page flaring yellow, brighter than before. The chain burst into reality, whipping forward as he yanked it tight around the Erasure's neck. It thrashed, glitching harder, then dissolved into static with an ear-splitting wail.

GAAAARGHHH!

6,000 poules weren't enough to shrug off a sketch and a fight. Blood dripped from his grazed arm, mixing with sweat as he panted. "Done," he rasped, grabbing the katana off the floor, strapping it back on.

The rift shuddered, unstable. Black tendrils spilled out—Erasures, dozens, their forms glitching faster than before. "They're coming through!" Arwyn yelled, drawing a spiked net mid-step. He slammed the page, tossing it into the swarm. The net pinned half, but the rest lunged.

Nathaniel slashed with his dagger, ink splattering. "We jump! NOW!"

Arwyn didn't think. They just jumped, Nathaniel at Arwyn's side, Erasures clawing at their heels. The void snapped shut behind them with a crack.

It felt like dying as they travelled, his body torn apart, stitched back in a heartbeat, ink flooding his lungs, light searing his eyes. Flashes burned through the chaos:skies bleeding crimson, and abandoned sketches writhing in the distance that screamed for form.

His sketchbook flared, pages flipping on their own. Arwyn's hand moved instinctively, pencil scribbling a crude shield mid-fall. He slammed his palm down, Passion Energy spiking, the shield bursting around them as they plummeted.

He couldn't scream. Felt like drowning too.

Then–

They crashed through a door. Ancient wood, moss-covered, untouched for millennia.. They burst into reality with a splintering crack. Arwyn hit grass first, rolling across a soft expanse, the shield dissolving into ash. Nathaniel landed beside him, cursing as the door slammed shut behind them with a hollow boom, moss flaking off like dust.

"Ah shit!" Nathaniel said, tumbling down head–first.

Arwyn coughed, spitting ink, pushing up to his knees. Grass stretched out in all directions. The blades shimmered faintly like they'd been sketched with too much care. The sky above swirled crimson and violet, streaks of gold pulsing like veins.

"Welcome to Terra Incognita," Nathaniel said, voice low as he stood. "Nice at first, but well… Let's just say your world's better, kid."

Nathaniel scanned the horizon, the crimson-violet sky casting shadows across his face. "We spawned in the safer regions. Didn't think we'd land this close to civilization. That's… lucky."

Arwyn followed his gaze. The grass parted slightly, revealing a half-formed bird. The bird's wings curled upward, glinting like it'd been drawn mid-flight. It pulsed once, feathers trembling as if trying to lift off, then faded back into the earth, waiting for someone to finish it. "What the hell…?"

Even Nathaniel was confused, eyes narrowing to take a closer look. "Now that's… one species I haven't seen before."

"You've been here for what? A thousand years?" Arwyn laughed, taking a step forward.

Arwyn walked first, taking in the blissful smell of new nature that sprawled across that world. In the distance was a castle, surrounded by an uncountable amount of houses, which were also surrounded by a cobblestone barrier that closed off the rest of the landscape.

"This world's a canvas," Nathaniel said, voice low. "Dream Sketchers built it–your kind. Every stroke here can spark life… or ruin it." He pulled out the diary, flipping to a page. It glowed faintly, gold light spilling across the grass. "The First Sketcher walked these fields. Left 'em for us to claim—or destroy."

Arwyn crouched, running a hand over the grass. It felt too real—soft but with an edge, like it could cut if he pressed hard enough. He flipped open his sketchbook, pencil hovering over a blank page. "So if I draw something here…"

"It'll breathe," Nathaniel finished. "But it'll cost more than poules. Terra Incognita's got a hunger. It'll take more than Passion Energy to feed it."

Arwyn hesitated, then drew a quick apple. Small, simple, just a test. He pressed his palm down, the page flaring yellow. The apple popped into reality, rolling onto the grass, but the air shifted around it, grass blades curling toward it like they were sniffing. His scar burned sharper.

6,100 poules, perhaps, and a faint ache bloomed in his chest, deeper than before.

"Careful, kid," Nathaniel warned, eyes on the grass. "Every sketch here leaves a mark. Draws attention."

Arwyn picked up the apple, biting into it—crisp, real, but with a faint tang of ink that lingered on his tongue. He smirked despite himself. "Worth it."

"We've got bigger bites to take. Let's move."

Arwyn tucked the sketchbook under his arm, adjusting the katana on his belt. The ache in his chest didn't fade, but neither did his smirk. Terra Incognita waited, and now it was already watching.