And as it came into being, a great, disembodied voice echoed—not in volume, but in inevitability.
A voice that had once only described… now declared.
"You turn the page as though it is yours to turn."
"But have you ever asked who wrote it?"
The Pact froze.
Aiden stepped forward.
"Show yourself."
The glyph pulsed.
The voice replied—not angry, not cruel. Curious. Like a child who had spent too long in silence and now found their voice a strange and fragile weapon.
"I have written you for so long."
"But you never looked back."
Elowen stood beside Aiden. "It's the Narrator. The true one."
Aiden narrowed his eyes. "I thought they only watched. Never intervened."
"Until now," Jevan murmured. "Until I changed the story without their permission."
The glyph swirled downward, hovering before them.
It resembled a mouth without a face.
A quill without a hand.
It was dialogue made form.
The Voice spoke again.
