Liam's pen scratched against the paper, each word flowing without hesitation. The lines formed not a grand narrative of power and fate, but something simpler — a reflection of his thoughts, his memories, his fears.
But as the ink dried on the page, something shifted. The air grew heavy, and a faint ripple danced across the surface of his notebook.
He froze.
"Did you see that?" he muttered.
Finn, half-asleep on the couch, barely opened one eye. "See what?"
"The page... it moved."
Finn groaned. "You're just tired, man. Get some rest."
But Liam couldn't shake the feeling. The faint shimmer, the almost imperceptible ripple — it reminded him too much of the way reality had twisted before. The Infinite Pen was gone. The Forgotten King was gone. The Last Story had been written.
Hadn't it?
He turned back to the notebook. The words he'd written stared back at him. Nothing unusual. No glowing ink, no distorted letters. Just his thoughts on paper.
