Teleported into My Own Novel as the Author!

Char's breath came in quick, shallow gasps as he crouched low, hiding behind a cluster of roof tiles, his heart hammering in his chest. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his pulse thrumming in his ears as he stared at Edmund, who moved across the rooftops with eerie grace.

It felt like the air itself was suffocating him, the oppressive weight of fear crawling under his skin. He couldn't look away. Edmund Ardent—the very protagonist he had once conceived, the hero of his story—was standing there, so impossibly real, so undeniably alive. He was everything Char had imagined: tall, broad-shouldered, with piercing blue eyes that seemed to see everything, every detail around him. His dark hair was pushed back by the wind, his form outlined against the pale glow of the moonlight.

But this was wrong. This was so wrong. Edmund wasn't supposed to be here—not like this.

Char had written him years ago, back when he had first begun his novel, sketching out the heroic figure that would carry the weight of the entire plot. Edmund Ardent was the reluctant warrior, raised in the small village of Hallowbrook, a place now wiped off the map, and tasked with an impossible mission: to stop the Syndicate's stranglehold on the city and to unravel the dark mysteries of his own origins. Edmund was supposed to be in the beginning of the story—his journey had only just started. But now?

Now, Char was standing face-to-face with him. And the world around them had changed so much that Char was no longer sure of the boundaries between what he'd written and what was real.

This was not supposed to happen.

Char's mind reeled, trying to grasp at the threads of what had gone wrong. The realization hit him like a punch to the stomach. This wasn't supposed to be happening. Not yet. Edmund was still supposed to be in the first chapter. The chapter where his world was just beginning to unfold. They hadn't even touched the parts of the story that were supposed to make Edmund the hero—the parts where he'd meet the others, where he'd train, where he'd learn the truths about his past.

And now? Now he was here. In the middle of Char's new life. The world he'd created was no longer following the plan.

Char's hands clenched in the folds of his jacket, his mind a blur of panic and disbelief. He wanted to shout at Edmund, to demand what he was doing here, why he was here, but his body refused to move. Instead, his eyes followed every inch of Edmund's calculated movements, his steps deliberate, as if he knew exactly where to go.

Then, like a ghost, Edmund disappeared into the shadows.

Char blinked, his heart skipping a beat. The rooftop was silent for a moment. Had he imagined it?

But then—

A blur of movement, faster than before, and suddenly, Edmund was there, standing mere inches from Char.

The world felt like it was spinning. Char's instincts kicked in, adrenaline flooding his system, and he didn't hesitate. He jumped to his feet, turning on his heel and sprinting away, leaping over the edge of the rooftop and onto the next, praying he could lose Edmund before it was too late.

His breath came faster, and his legs screamed in protest as he pushed himself harder, faster. Don't let him find you. Don't let him find the safe house.

Behind him, Edmund's footsteps were a faint echo at first, but then they grew louder. He was following, moving with supernatural speed that shouldn't have been possible in the early stages of the novel, not with his abilities so undeveloped. The writing should have kept him restrained. But Char wasn't sure where the writing ended and reality began anymore. Edmund was a figure from a story, but now he was moving like a predator on the hunt.

Char leaped from one building to another, heart racing. But the gap between him and Edmund closed with alarming speed.

The buildings began to blend together—the sharp edges of rooftops, the jumble of chimneys, and the dark corners all felt indistinguishable, dizzying. Char pushed himself harder, his feet aching with every jump, but Edmund wasn't giving up. He was relentless, his breath measured and even, as if he was toying with Char.

Char's thoughts raced. He couldn't outrun him. Edmund was already too close, and Char was starting to feel the weight of his own body, how slow and untrained he was compared to the protagonist. He had to get away. He had to stop this from escalating further.

His mind scrambled for a plan—anything—but before he could think, the next rooftop loomed before him. With a desperate cry, Char pushed off the ledge, flying through the air. But just as he reached the apex of his jump, his foot caught on the edge of the building. He screamed as he tumbled, falling uncontrollably into the night air.

The ground rushed toward him, and then—thud.

Char landed hard, the impact jarring his bones, pain shooting up his spine. For a moment, he was stunned, sprawled across the soft bags of flour piled up high in the back of a cart.

He groaned, slowly pushing himself up. The cart swayed with his movement, and he took a moment to collect himself, gasping for breath. The pain in his side was sharp, but he didn't have time to dwell on it.

He heard the thud of footsteps above him, Edmund's shadowy form now at the edge of the rooftop he had just jumped from. Char held his breath, hoping against hope that Edmund hadn't seen where he landed.

For a long, torturous second, all was silent. Then Edmund's voice called down to him.

V"Running away already? Is that all you've got?"

Char's stomach turned. It was that damn, cool tone—just like the character in the story. The one who always had a sarcastic retort ready, never showing an ounce of doubt. But here, now, with Char so far removed from the story, it felt... wrong.

Char didn't answer. He couldn't afford to.

With a quiet curse, Edmund disappeared from the roof's edge, and Char exhaled in a rush. His pulse was still pounding in his ears, but the adrenaline was starting to wear off. He lay back against the flour bags, feeling the weight of everything he had just experienced.

This wasn't just a story anymore. It was his life, and Edmund's sudden appearance had changed everything. There was no turning back now.

Char knew one thing for sure—he had to get out of here. He had to find a way to stop the story from spiraling out of control before it consumed him entirely