William's senses were fractured, barely tethered to reality. He was surrounded by a kind of absence that should have offered solace, but instead was an overwhelming void devouring even his thoughts.
He plunged endlessly, weightless and paralyzed, unable to move, scream, or breathe.
The cold embraced him like a second skin—one meant to harm, not protect. It was a chilling reminder of his fragility. His limbs hung limp, unresponsive, while his chest heaved in vain against the suffocating pressure.
His only solace lay in his eyes. They darted around the unending blackness, searching for something—anything—but found nothing.
The silence pressed against his ears, broken only by the frantic thrum of his heartbeat. Memories began to seep in.
The girl's scream. The sensation of being torn from everything familiar. The sight of his companions' bodies twisting beyond recognition, his own helplessness mirrored in every terrifying second.
Panic clawed at his mind. He realized he was drowning—not in water, but in the void itself, a suffocating, agonizing reality.
"This would be an annoying way to go," he thought grimly, his vision blurring as his heartbeat slowed.
The futility of his struggle sank in. He let his body go limp, surrendering to the abyss. If there was no escape, no hope, then why not welcome the cold embrace of death?
Then, a voice shattered the silence.
"I was hoping to watch a struggle," it said, warm and melodic yet laced with quiet amusement. "People with something to live for don't come to terms with dying this easily. Sadly, though… I can't let you do that."
The words reverberated through his very soul, pulling at the threads of his being. Suddenly, the pressure around him loosened, and he felt his body move—no, rise.
A radiant light pierced the void above him, a distant but undeniable shore. The abyss roared in protest, its invisible tendrils clawing at his body, trying to drag him back—a futile effort.
The light grew closer, brighter, blinding. Moments later, he breached the surface.
_______
When William opened his dull eyes, he found himself lying on a smooth surface that shimmered faintly beneath an endless expanse of white. He gasped for breath, his chest heaving.
"You're awake," the voice said.
He turned his head but remained still. She sat before him—the lady from the white room. Her presence was otherworldly, her figure shrouded in a pale glow that rippled like water.
"Where…?" His voice cracked, weak and hoarse.
"Well, where do I start?" she replied, her tone neither apologetic nor cruel. She didn't look up from the book she was flipping through. "You're currently nowhere."
"Nowhere?" he asked, frowning.
"This place doesn't exist in reality. Let's just say we're residing in fiction," she continued, still engrossed in her reading.
His gaze shifted, and his breath hitched. Beside him lay his companions—Joseph, Ellie, and Annabel. They were unconscious, their chests rising and falling steadily. Their bodies, once warped, mangled, and deformed, were now whole again, their clothes restored to the familiar state they'd been in before everything went bleak.
"What exactly happened? I'd think this was all a fever dream, but the fact I haven't woken up begs to differ," he said, testing his limbs as mobility returned bit by bit.
The lady tilted her head, her expression unreadable. "In summary—my sister. She's... obsessed with reality. Your world was in her way. When she tried to escape it, you and your companions stepped too close, and she… pulled you all with her."
William squinted, her explanation only deepening his confusion. "Pulled us?"
She finally looked at him. "She breached the limits of your universe's expansion and escaped into the voidspace. The unknown. Whatever you call it. heading for a higher layer of creation."
His brow furrowed. "And us?"
"For her, this is routine. For you—mundane in every aspect—it's a death sentence," she said bluntly. "Time stretches infinitely there. Chaos roams unchecked. Causality? Doesn't exist. The only reason you survived is her presence. She kept you alive—not consciously, mind you. Call it... an oversight."
William stared at her, unperturbed. "And I'm guessing we can't go back?"
"You can, but she isn't here to ask, and I certainly won't waste my resources to make that happen," she said with a shrug.
He nodded, her reasoning fair. "Thank you for saving us, but… what now? What's the catch, as powerful as you seem, I'm guessing you want something. Otherwise, fixing us 'mudanes' wouldn't have been worth the effort."
The lady smiled. "I love speaking to intelligent people, always straight to the point," she said, her tone amused. She closed her book, stood, and extended a hand toward him. "Well then, young one… let's make a deal."
He raised an eyebrow and was about to give a reply when she blinked and looked sideways
"An before that it seems we have some guests"
_________________
The middle-aged man stood with the ornate quill in hand, its tip glowing faintly as Xtofa approached him. Her arms were crossed, and her expression was skeptical.
"You're sure this will work?" she asked, tilting her head, her voice edged with doubt. "I've heard stories, but… your track record isn't exactly spotless."
The man chuckled, a deep, warm sound that filled the air. "Still sharp-tongued, I see. Tell me, Xtofa, do you even know why your mother chose your father over me?"
Xtofa blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"Humor me," he said, his tone softening. "Do you know?"
She hesitated, then shook her head. "No."
He looked at her, his eyes carrying a weight of memories. "It wasn't because I wasn't strong enough. I could've been the greatest Scribe Supreme, wielding the power to shape realities. But… I lacked vision. I was reckless, blind to what truly mattered.and maybe a tad bit ruthless. That's why I lost the title." His voice dropped, quieter now. "But even after my failures, your parents—both of them—never stopped coming to me for guidance. Do you know why?"
She shook her head again, her skepticism beginning to waver.
"Because when it comes to this craft, to the heart of being a scribe, no one knows it better than me," he said with quiet conviction. "And I'll prove that to you."
Xtofa's arms dropped to her sides. "You're not doing this for them, are you?" she asked, her voice soft now.
He smiled, his gaze warm. "No. I'm doing this because I believe in you, Xtofa. You're more than they realize, more than even you realize. Now, let's make sure you get there safely."
She nodded, her heart unexpectedly lighter.
He dipped the quill into the shimmering inkpot and began to write. Words lifted off the page, glowing threads weaving around Xtofa like a cocoon.
"Stay strong," he said gently. "The journey will test you, but it won't break you. Trust yourself."
As the threads enveloped her, her body began to dissolve—not painfully, but as though she were becoming one with the story. She looked at him one last time, her expression a mix of fear and trust.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"Go… show them what you're made of," he replied with a proud smile.
_________
Moments later, Xtofa reassembled in the white room, her breath catching at the sight of its endless brightness. Her gaze landed on William and the mysterious woman, both staring at her.
William raised an eyebrow, turning to the lady. "For someone who seems like a loner, you sure are getting a lot of visitors today."
The woman smirked. "What can I say? I'm popular."
Before more could be said, another portal opened, and a glowing figure stepped through—a Dream of Hope.
"Well," the lady said, her tone dripping with amusement. "This just got a whole lot more interesting."