The night stretched long after the battle at Vault XIII. Syra had collapsed beneath the shattered pillar, staring at the stars, blood crusted along her jawline, hands trembling—not from fear, but from awakening.
Kaien stood watch a few meters away, his back to the wind, the blade across his shoulder glowing faintly. Riven was unconscious, still recovering from the final blow he'd taken during the beast's death throes. The valley had gone eerily silent. No birds, no wind. Just the heavy stillness of a world that had seen too much pain.
Syra sat up slowly, the muscles in her arms sore and screaming. Her fingers brushed the cracked sigil at her wrist again.
Still dead.
Still cut off.
"You're awake." Kaien didn't turn to look.
Syra pushed herself to her feet. "You didn't tell me I was a beacon."
He glanced at her now, one eyebrow raised. "Would you have believed me?"
"Probably not," she admitted. "But I might've been more careful."
Kaien chuckled—a short, dry sound. "There's no such thing as careful when you're born cursed."
Syra frowned. "I'm not cursed."
"Not yet."
Before she could respond, the air shifted.
A sharp crack echoed through the valley—like time itself had fractured. Kaien immediately drew his blade. Syra crouched low, her aura flaring with instinct. A shimmer appeared a few meters ahead. Not a portal. Not magic.
A presence.
And then, he stepped through.
Author.
Fully cloaked in black and gold, mask reflecting moonlight like a mirror of truths best forgotten. His katana glinted across his back. His pistol hung low and quiet.
He didn't move aggressively. He didn't raise a hand.
He simply existed—and the world responded to him.
Kaien bristled. "You."
"Peace," Author said, voice calm. "I didn't come to fight."
Syra stepped forward. "Then why are you here?"
Author didn't answer her. Instead, he stared at Kaien. "Did you give her the scroll?"
"I did."
"Did you read it?"
Kaien stiffened. "Not mine to read."
Author paused, then nodded once.
He turned to Syra, voice lower now. "You cracked the light. It's earlier than expected."
"What does that mean?"
"You're shifting the timeline," he replied. "For better or worse... I don't know yet."
"And you?" Syra asked. "Who are you really?"
Author tilted his head. "What does the world call a man who rewrites fate?"
Kaien growled, stepping between them. "You don't get to play prophet here, ghost. She's not your pawn."
Author didn't move. "I never claimed her. But others will."
Syra's fists clenched. "Lucian?"
Author's mask twitched. "Him. And others. The Hell King walks again."
A sudden stillness settled over the camp.
Kaien's voice dropped. "I saw his seal flare. I thought it was a ghost signal."
"It wasn't," Author said. "He's hunting his pieces now."
"Keys?" Syra asked.
Author shook his head. "Not quite. He's seeking the Hollow Frames—the weapons made from failed Heaven Keys. They were never meant to exist, but the war warped their creation. If he gets them, even I won't be able to contain the fallout."
Syra frowned. "Why are you telling me all this now?"
Author looked at her for a long time.
Then—
"Because you're not the main character anymore."
Kaien's eyes widened. "What?"
Syra took a step back. "Explain."
Author took a breath. "You were supposed to carry the key, trigger the war, unite the flames. But the moment you refused to kill Lucian... the timeline bent."
"Wait," Syra interrupted. "I stabbed him."
"No," Author replied. "You spared him at the final second. You let him live."
Syra blinked. Her memory of that moment was foggy, bleeding with rage and confusion.
"But... he died. I saw it."
Author stepped forward, gently. "You saw what you needed to see. But now, Lucian is rewriting the rules. And the true war begins in your absence."
Kaien exhaled slowly. "So you've seen what's coming."
"I wrote it," Author said simply.
Then he raised a hand—not to strike, but to offer. A thin book appeared in his palm. Black leather, no title, no markings.
Syra reached for it, but Kaien stopped her.
"What is it?" Kaien asked.
"Chapter zero," Author replied. "The story before the story. The path to rewrite."
Syra took it, despite Kaien's glare. The book was warm—alive. It pulsed faintly with an energy older than her bloodline.
She whispered, "If I read this... what happens?"
Author turned.
"You'll see the thread of fate. And maybe, if you're strong enough—you'll cut it."
And with that, he vanished.
No sound.
No shimmer.
Just gone.
Kaien cursed under his breath. "Why do you trust him?"
"I don't," Syra replied. "But I need to know."
She opened the book.
And the world changed.
Colors inverted. Ground shook. Time stalled. And then—a vision.
Lucian, standing in a room of shadows. Before him, the Hell King knelt, offering him something shining... a piece of a sword that pulsed like a dying star.
"You were right," the Hell King rasped. "Your sister failed. But you... you can reshape the heavens."
Lucian's eyes glowed.
Syra slammed the book shut, gasping.
"He's working with the Hell King."
Kaien's face darkened. "Then he's worse than a traitor."
"He's a rewrite," Syra said.
The flames flared again in the distance. But this time, they weren't flames from battle.
They were beacons—signals from ancient fortresses awakening.
One by one.
Lighting up across the map.
The war had begun.