Ink Wars – Pages of the Unwritten

Twelve doors. Twelve paths. Twelve fates.

At the center of the sky, where law and logic bent into knots of possibility, the Divine Folio hovered like a beating heart. Its pages turned in slow, cosmic rhythm—each one glowing with the light of a world that might have been.

Lin Feng stood before the silver door etched with a single word:

"AUTHENTICITY"

It pulsed once, as if recognizing his touch.

"Let's see how real I am," he muttered—and stepped through.

Lin Feng emerged into a vast, empty library. Shelves twisted like serpents. Books floated through the air. Some were blank. Others screamed when opened.

A figure waited at the center.

Not a Sovereign.

But a Prologue Keeper—a being tasked with guarding the first pages of all stories.

"You are Lin Feng," the Keeper said. "But which one?"

He drew a scroll from his chest. It unrolled:

Lin Feng, child beggar

Lin Feng, last prince

Lin Feng, spirit beast in disguise

"These are all versions of your beginning. Only one is real. Choose wrongly, and the Folio shall reject you."

Lin Feng narrowed his eyes.

"I was never any of those. I was always… the one no one wrote."

The scroll burst into flames.

The Keeper bowed.

"Correct. You pass the First Page."

The next page led him into a battlefield that changed forms every five seconds:

One moment he was in a sci-fi arena

Then a wuxia mountaintop

Then a romantic café full of hostile waiters

Across from him stood The Silver Monk, master of the Genre Shift Technique.

"You walk in the skin of many stories," the Monk said. "Let's see if you can bleed in them too."

They clashed.

The Monk used "Comedy Parry" and "Tragedy Slash."

Lin Feng countered with "Void Law: Genre Nullification."

But the Monk laughed. "You rely on the void too much."

Then he activated:

"Plot Twist Barrage."

Lin Feng was struck by visions:

Yue Lian betraying him

Ruoxi dying in his arms

Himself crowned a tyrant

He staggered.

But smiled.

"You forgot one thing," he whispered. "I'm the author now."

He drew his blade.

And slashed the Monk through his illusion.

After the fight, Lin Feng found himself back in a quiet glade between pages.

Ruoxi appeared beside him.

"Thought you were walking alone," she said.

"I thought so too."

She handed him something: the dormant Pen of Three Truths. It flickered once.

"It still remembers your hand," she said. "That might be enough."

The next chamber was a trial.

Twelve Spectral Editors surrounded Lin Feng, each holding quills of law.

"You stand accused of reckless authorship," one said.

Another: "You altered timelines without regulatory review."

Another: "You named yourself."

"Guilty," Lin Feng said. "Of survival. Of protecting those I love. Of refusing to let others write my end."

A silence followed.

Then, one Editor spoke:

"Approved."

The rest vanished.

Lin Feng stepped into a space that was nothing and everything.

All around him, books collapsed. Not burned—but absorbed. Folded into a single page, floating before him.

It read:

"This story ends when Lin Feng decides it does."

He reached for it.

But a hand stopped him.

It was Queen Dravessa—sovereign of living fire, last challenger.

"You cannot claim it alone," she said. "To do so is to destroy every path but yours."

"Then let me rewrite the rules," Lin Feng said.

He turned to the page.

And wrote:

"The world belongs to every story brave enough to be told."

The Folio pulsed.

And instead of ending—all stories began anew.

To be continue...