// Welcome, Kiyel! //
The words floated before me, stark and luminous against an infinite darkness.
I blinked, my thoughts scattering like fragile glass. "What… what is this?" I whispered, my voice trembling. The sound vanished into the void, swallowed whole by the oppressive silence.
This has to be a dream. I clenched my fists, the words pulsing softly as though mocking my denial. "I've been reading too many novels. That's all this is."
But the text remained, their glow unwavering, digging under my skin.
// Bro, you died in your world. Your soul is now in my custody. //
The sentence struck like a blade. My knees buckled, and I crumpled to the nonexistent ground.
"No." The word barely left my lips, hoarse and broken. Panic clawed its way up my throat, threatening to consume me. "No, no, no. This isn't real."
I looked at my hands for some reassurance, some proof that this was just a nightmare I could wake up from. But what I saw froze me to the core.
My fingers were translucent, faintly glowing like mist caught in moonlight.
I stumbled back, clutching at my chest, but my hands passed through it like smoke. The touch was hollow, weightless, as if I were nothing more than a phantom.
Tears welled in my eyes, but when I tried to wipe them away, my hands went through my face. A cold dread spread through me like poison.
The glowing screen pulsed again, dragging my attention forward.
// Novels are not mere figments of imagination. The omniscient god creates worlds for every story imagined by authors, breathing life into them. These worlds are real—teeming with characters, landscapes, and endless possibilities. But what happens when these novels are abandoned? Left incomplete? //
The words dimmed, as though sharing some unspoken sorrow.
I swallowed hard, my voice cracking. "Abandoned? What happens to them?"
// These unfinished creations are known as Manuscripts. When neglected—whether through writer's block, disinterest, or death—they freeze in time. The inhabitants remain alive but trapped, forced to relive the same moments, their futures stolen. //
The weight of it pressed down on me, heavier than anything I'd ever known. My chest tightened.
"And me? Why am I here?"
// You have been chosen to enter one of these Manuscripts. Your task is to reignite the story and guide it to its conclusion. //
"What?" My voice rose, panic overwhelming reason. "You're telling me to fix someone else's abandoned story? How am I supposed to do that? What kind of powers do I get?"
// None. //
"None?!" I shouted, disbelief turning to anger. "How am I supposed to survive?!"
// Your presence will act as the catalyst. By disrupting the stagnation, you will allow the story to progress. Complete it, and you will be granted one wish. Any wish. //
The words hung in the air, heavy and tempting.
"And if I fail?"
// Failure means your soul will remain trapped in the Manuscript forever, unable to reincarnate or escape. //
My heart pounded. The darkness felt like it was closing in.
// However, since this was not your choice, you may decline. Your soul will return to the natural cycle of reincarnation. No punishment. No strings attached. Choose now. //
The words seemed to press on me, demanding an answer. Declining meant freedom, a chance to leave this nightmare and move on.
But the thought of those trapped worlds, those lives frozen in time…
Something twisted in my chest.
"I…" My throat tightened, but I forced the words out. "Yes."
// Thank you for your decision. //
The void rippled, the words glowing brighter.
// Initializing… You will be transmigrated into the story Counting Stars as a member of a fallen sect within the Athanasios Empire. //
"Wait! I still have ques—"
// Good luck! //
The words blinked out, and the void shattered.
-----
A sharp flick to my forehead jolted me awake.
"Focus."
I blinked, disoriented. The suffocating darkness was gone, replaced by sunlight spilling across a meadow. Papers fluttered around me, caught in a gentle breeze.
Standing over me was a boy, not much older than me, with a commanding presence. His noble attire was pristine, silver embroidery catching the light. Dark hair framed his sharp, angular features, but it was his eyes that held me. Piercing and cold, they seemed to see straight through me.
"What…" My voice caught as my gaze shifted. Floating beside him, glowing faintly, were the words:
Yen Von Sumidra — Male Protagonist.
My jaw dropped. "Protagonist?!"
His brows furrowed. "Have you lost your mind?" His tone was sharp, tinged with impatience.
Before I could respond, the world froze. The colors bled into grayscale, the breeze halting mid-motion.
The screen appeared again.
// From now on, you are part of the Manuscript. Your role is a side character—a servant from a fallen sect who worked tirelessly to join the Von Sumidra household. Stay close to Yen Von Sumidra, ensure the story progresses, and survive. This is your mission. //
I groaned, dragging my hands over my face. "Do I really have to stick with him?"
// Complete the story, and you may leave. Fail, and your soul will remain trapped. Oh, and one more thing—your introduction will be a quick recap, so time will play in fast-forward. Don't be alarmed if the pacing feels strange//
With a soft pop, the screen vanished. Time resumed, and Yen's glare darkened.
"If you're done with your theatrics, gather the papers. Training starts soon."
Without waiting, he turned sharply, each step deliberate and precise.
Scrambling to pick up the scattered papers, I stumbled after him, heart pounding.
The boy radiated authority, his very presence stifling.
What kind of protagonist was I stuck with?