Chapter 2 The first story

Ori's pulse hammered as they watched the ink drain from the pages of The First and Final Story. The words unraveled before their eyes, dissolving into nothingness.

If this book vanished, every story-every reality-would collapse with it.

They had to stop it.

Ori pressed their fingertips to the parchment, hoping-praying-for something to anchor the text, to stop the unraveling. But the ink bled through their hands, slipping away like sand through an hourglass.

Think, Ori. Think.

The Library held thousands of books, each containing a different world. Every page, every sentence, was woven into the fabric of existence itself. But The First and Final Story was different.

It wasn't just a book.

It was the book.

The first words ever written. The first reality ever shaped. The story that birthed every other.

Ori turned another page, their hands shaking. The text was still fading, but a single sentence remained. A line untouched by the erasure.

A message.

A warning.

"The Author has returned."

Ori took a sharp breath. The Library had many myths, many lost histories. But one legend stood above all others:

The Author.

The one who had written the first words, the first world, the first story. The one who had disappeared long ago, leaving the Library to the Keepers.

But if the Author was back-if they were erasing their own story-

That meant they were unwriting reality itself.

The Shadows Between Pages

Ori snapped the book shut.

They needed to act, and fast. If the Author was erasing their own words, they wouldn't stop at just one book. The Library-and everything beyond it-would be next.

Ori turned to leave-

And froze.

The door to the Restricted Archives was open.

They had shut it behind them. They were certain.

A figure stood in the doorway.

Tall. Cloaked in shadows. Faceless.

A voice like rustling pages whispered through the dark:

"You were never meant to read that, Keeper."

Ori's breath hitched. They took a step back, gripping the book tightly.

"Who are you?" Their voice was steady, but their heart was pounding.

The figure tilted its head, as if considering the question. Then it stepped forward, crossing the threshold into the dim candlelight.

Ink dripped from its fingers.

Its entire form flickered, as if it wasn't fully real. As if it were a story coming undone.

"We," the figure said, "are the Editors."

Ori's blood ran cold.

The Editors. The erasers of forgotten tales. The unseen force that had always lurked in the myths of the Library-silent, patient, waiting for the right moment.

And now, they had arrived.

A Story On the Brink of Vanishing

Ori clenched their jaw. They could run. They could fight. But they didn't know what the Editors were capable of.

Instead, they did the only thing they could think of.

They opened the book.

The moment they did, the room shifted.

Reality tore at the seams.

And Ori fell-

-straight into the First Story.

Ori tumbled through the void, the book clutched to their chest. The Library was gone. The Editors were gone. Even gravity itself had abandoned them.

For a single, terrifying moment, there was nothing.

Then-

Ink.

Ori gasped as they crashed through words. Sentences wrapped around them like rushing water, paragraphs rippling like waves. They were falling through text itself, as if the pages of The First and Final Story had come to life.

The ink swirled around them, coiling into shapes, into places.

And suddenly, Ori wasn't falling anymore.

They were standing on solid ground.

Only-it wasn't solid. It was paper.

Ori stumbled back, heart pounding. The entire landscape was made of parchment. Mountains of folded pages stretched into the sky. Trees of ink-stained words twisted in the wind. The air itself smelled of old books and candlelight.

They had fallen into the First Story.

But where were they?

Ori turned, scanning the strange, paper-woven world. And then they saw it.

A single tower, rising in the distance.

It was the only structure in sight, ink running like veins through its walls. It stood impossibly tall, scraping the sky, as if it had been written into existence before anything else.

A thought struck Ori.

If this was the First Story-if this world was built from the very first words ever written-

Then that tower could only be one thing.

The first Library.

And if the Author had truly returned-if they were rewriting everything-

Then the answers Ori needed were waiting inside.

A Door That Should Not Open

Ori moved quickly, their boots whispering against the paper-covered ground. The path leading to the tower twisted unpredictably, shifting as if it were still being written. Sentences scrawled themselves into the road as they walked, reshaping the path beneath their feet.

It was like the world itself was unfinished.

And yet, something felt wrong.

This place should have been filled with words, alive with stories, the foundation of every reality that had ever been written.

Instead, the air was silent.

Empty.

Ori's footsteps echoed in the silence as they approached the towering structure.

The First Library.

It should have been overflowing with words, the birthplace of all stories. But instead, the ink that once ran through its walls was drying, fading, vanishing-just like the book Ori had found in the Restricted Archives.

The First Story was dying.

And if it unraveled completely, so would everything.

Ori reached the entrance-a massive door without a handle. It was carved from layers of pressed parchment, its surface shifting as though the words embedded in it were alive. But the most unsettling part?

The door was sealed shut.

Not locked. Sealed.

As if something inside wasn't meant to be opened.

Ori hesitated. The Library they knew-the one that stretched endlessly beyond time-had always been open. Books demanded to be read, stories yearned to be told. But this door?

This door felt like a warning.

But they were out of choices.

Ori reached forward, running their fingers across the ancient pages, searching for an entry point. As they touched the parchment, a pulse of ink rippled beneath their fingertips-

And the words on the door began to rearrange themselves.

Letters shifted. Sentences unwrote themselves.

Then, suddenly, a single phrase bled across the door's surface, stark and final:

"Do not turn the page."

Ori's breath caught.

A warning. Or a command?

They had already crossed too many thresholds. They had already read too much.

And yet-

What choice did they have?

Gritting their teeth, Ori pressed their palm against the shifting words.

The door dissolved beneath their touch, ink spilling away like melted wax.

And beyond it-

Darkness.

A Story Without a Writer

Ori stepped inside.

The interior of the First Library was unlike anything they had ever seen. The halls stretched endlessly in every direction, but the shelves were empty-rows upon rows of blank pages where words should have been. The very walls hummed, as if struggling to hold their shape.

At the center of the room stood a single writing desk.

And behind it-

A figure.

Cloaked in shadow. Dripping with ink.

And holding a pen.

Ori froze.

The figure did not move.

For a long moment, the silence stretched between them. Then, finally, in a voice that sounded like a quill scratching against paper, the figure spoke:

"You shouldn't be here, Keeper."

Ori swallowed hard. "Who are you?"

The figure lifted their head.

And Ori's heart nearly stopped.

Because they recognized that face.

It was their own.