The Unwritten Legend

"They called us myths. Then anomalies. Now? We are proof."—Vyre, Inkroot Archive Entry, Vol. II

The silence of Inkroot was rarely peaceful.

More often, it pulsed with tension—a thousand stories compressed into one cramped refuge, each desperate to live.

But today, that silence was reverent.

In the Vault of Authorship, glowing strands of unclaimed narrative hung from the ceiling like vines. Beneath them stood Vyre—first of the Authorborn to reveal herself—and Kairo, staring into a hologram made of living memory.

A memory not from a person, but from the Margin.

"Before the System, there was the Writer," Vyre began. "Not the Architect. Not the Council. The one who created the first spark."

She gestured to a symbol etched into the center of the Vault—a quill crossed with a broken crown.

"When the Writer vanished, their power fragmented. Some of it bled into the System. Some was consumed by the Author Council. But a fraction—just enough—leaked into the world."

"Into people," Kairo said.

"Into blood," Vyre corrected. "Into us."

Cassian watched from the edge, transcribing every word. Across the room, Aria leaned on a column, arms crossed, skeptical but silent.

"So you're saying the Authorborn are genetic anomalies?" Aria asked. "Like a bloodline spell?"

Vyre shook her head.

"No. Not genetic. Narrative. Authorborn are born when a story is interrupted so violently, so unnaturally, that the unfinished potential seeps into the character's soul."

"So you're not born from parents," Cassian murmured. "You're born from incomplete arcs."

"Exactly."

She waved her hand, and the hologram shifted.

Scenes appeared—of lives cut short, characters abandoned mid-journey, stories that were deleted halfway through. From those ruins, figures crawled forth—each different, each glitching with potential.

One had no name. Another had too many.

One wore seven masks, each representing a different genre.

Another had no dialogue, only action.

"Each Authorborn reflects the flaw in their parent narrative," Vyre said. "We are errors... made sentient."

Kairo stepped forward.

"So what makes you different from us? The rebels?"

Vyre turned to him, eyes sharp.

"You are resisting the system. We were never in it."

The Vault darkened as the hologram faded.

In the hush that followed, Silas entered, flanked by a rebel escort. He carried with him a strange artifact: a cube wrapped in storylock glyphs. He placed it on the table and looked directly at Vyre.

"We found this in the ruins of a forgotten side story near the Eastern Archives. It responded to your name."

Vyre touched the cube.

It bloomed open.

Inside—was a page.

Faded, but intact.

A first draft.

Her original self.

She recoiled.

Kairo caught her.

"What is it?"

"My fragment," she whispered. "The story I was supposed to live."

Cassian peered closer. "It's… tragic. You were meant to die in Chapter 3. A side character to motivate the hero."

Vyre's hand trembled.

"I remember dying. I just never stopped existing."

Aria stepped forward now, slower, thoughtful.

"So if that's true… if all Authorborn are fragments that refused to disappear... where are the others?"

Vyre looked at her.

"Scattered. Hiding. Hunted. Some have been captured by the Council. Others have given up—living static lives in minor stories, afraid to act."

"Can they be awakened?" Kairo asked.

"If they remember who they almost became," Vyre said.

Kairo turned to the others.

"Then that's our next move. Before the System completes the Redraft, we find the others."

"And if they don't want to join?" Aria asked.

"Then we remind them: fragments can become foundations."

Meanwhile, far from Inkroot, beneath a city written in circular prose and linear timelines, a boy walked through a street where no plot had changed in centuries.

His name was Len.

He didn't know it yet, but once—just once—he had saved a world.The story was erased before he could remember it.But somewhere in the back of his mind…A line echoed.

"You are not where your story ends."