Mui stared at the quill Eileen thrust into his hand. It felt oddly warm, as if alive, and faint silver light pulsed from its tip.
"Write?" he asked, bewildered. "What am I supposed to write?"
Eileen crossed her arms, her expression a mixture of irritation and impatience. "Your story, obviously. You don't think you landed here by accident, do you?"
"I didn't land anywhere! I was—" Mui faltered. How could he explain to her that he'd been in his room one moment and in a forest the next?
Eileen sighed. "Look, I don't have time to explain every little thing. Just write something before the script takes over."
"Script? What script?" Mui demanded.
She jabbed a finger at the air, and Mui's eyes followed. To his astonishment, glowing words were forming mid-air, as if written by an invisible hand.
"Mui hesitated, confused and stubborn, refusing to heed Eileen's instructions."
His heart raced. The words weren't just describing the situation—they were dictating his actions.
"This can't be real..." Mui whispered.
"It's very real," Eileen snapped. "The Script governs everything here. Every movement, every word, every decision. If you don't take control, it'll decide for you. And trust me, that won't end well."
Mui stared at the quill, unsure what to do. The glowing words in the air continued to narrate his indecision.
"Mui's hesitation grew, allowing the forest to darken as shadows crept closer."
The temperature around them dropped, and the forest seemed to shift. The distant chirping of birds was replaced by a low, guttural growl.
"What's happening?" Mui asked, his voice trembling.
Eileen's gaze darted to the growing darkness. "The Script isn't patient. If you let it run unchecked, it summons... consequences."
"Consequences?!" Mui exclaimed.
The growl grew louder, and from the shadows emerged a monstrous wolf-like creature, its eyes glowing red and its fur matted with ash.
"Write, Mui!" Eileen shouted, drawing a dagger from her belt.
Heart pounding, Mui gripped the quill and tried to think. What could he write? Would the quill even work? The wolf stalked closer, baring fangs the size of daggers.
His hands trembled as he scrawled words into the air:
"The wolf froze in place, unable to move."
The silver light from the quill flared, and the words hung in the air. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the wolf stopped mid-step, as if paralyzed. Its snarling face remained frozen, a mere breath away from Eileen.
"It worked!" Mui gasped, relief flooding through him.
Eileen glanced back at him, her expression both impressed and annoyed. "Of course it worked. Now keep going!"
"What else should I write?"
"Anything that keeps us alive!"
Mui hesitated, unsure what to write next. The wolf was immobilized, but the forest still felt ominous, as if other dangers lurked nearby.
Eileen approached him, her dagger still drawn. "Rule number one: The quill is your lifeline. It lets you overwrite the Script, but only in small bursts. Rule number two: Be precise. If you write something vague, the Script will twist it against you."
"What happens if I mess up?" Mui asked, his voice low.
"Don't."
Not exactly comforting.
Taking a deep breath, Mui scribbled more words:
"The wolf vanished, leaving the area safe and clear."
The silver light flared again. The wolf disintegrated into shimmering dust, which was carried away by a sudden breeze. The oppressive atmosphere lifted, and the forest returned to its earlier calm.
Eileen sheathed her dagger and gave Mui an approving nod. "Not bad for a beginner."
"Beginner? What even is this place?" Mui demanded.
She studied him for a moment, as if deciding how much to reveal. "This is the Scripted World, where everything—people, places, events—is dictated by the Script. Most people here live their lives oblivious to it, but you're... different."
"Different how?"
"You're a Reader," she said simply.
"A Reader?" Mui echoed, baffled.
"You don't belong here. You came from outside the Script, which means you can manipulate it. Rewrite it."
The weight of her words sank in. Mui looked at the quill, then at the glowing manuscript tucked under his arm. He hadn't just read a story—he'd fallen into one.
"So how do I get out?" he asked.
Eileen's expression darkened. "That's the thing. You can't leave until you finish the story."
"How long is the story?"
She gave a mirthless laugh. "Fifty-one chapters. And we've only just begun Chapter One."
End...