The surge of soul energy ebbed like a retreating tide, leaving Seojun sprawled across the cold ground, chest heaving as if he'd just surfaced from deep water. The dagger—his edited stone—remained clenched in his fist, its edge faintly luminous, a quiet reminder that what he'd done was real.
Pain lingered in his arm, dull and throbbing beneath the improvised bandage, but it no longer threatened to overwhelm him. The Awakening had sealed the worst of the damage, warmth lingering beneath his skin like embers after a fire—fragile, but alive.
Slowly, carefully, he pushed himself upright.
His body answered more readily than before. Muscles felt denser. Balance steadier. Even the gnawing hunger and thirst—still present—had dulled into background static, irritating but no longer crippling.
"…Flawed Author," he murmured.
At his thought, the interface unfolded—smoother now, obedient, its glow no longer intrusive but companionable. Clean lines of text hovered before him.
**Aspect:** Flawed Author (Sequence 9)
**Ability:** Minor Edits
**Soul Shards:** 5
**Health:** Stable (Wounded)
**Flaw:** Forgotten Protagonist
A weak chuckle escaped him, echoing faintly through the void.
"Yeah. That tracks," he said dryly. "Didn't even sugarcoat it."
His gaze drifted back to the dagger. He focused—tentatively this time.
*Sharper. Stronger. Don't break.*
A faint twinge bloomed in his temple. Mild. Controlled.
The stone responded, surface tightening, the edge refining into something wickedly precise. It gleamed briefly, then settled.
No backlash.
Seojun exhaled slowly. "Small changes… small cost."
Encouraged, he lifted his head and surveyed his surroundings.
The void remained vast and merciless—but no longer absolute. The interface's glow carved out a fragile island of visibility, revealing uneven terrain that stretched endlessly into darkness. No walls. No sky. No horizon.
Just… nothing.
"Alright," he said, squaring his shoulders. "Let's start with the basics."
He raised a hand toward the darkness ahead.
"Light."
Not shouted. Not begged. Written.
*Oppressive void becomes dim glow.*
*Soft illumination. Like a desk lamp at midnight.*
The air shimmered.
A pale blue radiance bloomed outward, slow and hesitant, spreading into a modest circle. Shadows crawled across the ground as detail emerged—rocks, cracks, texture. Ten feet, maybe a little more.
Enough to breathe.
Then the cost arrived.
Pain spiked behind his eyes, sharp and immediate. His vision blurred, edges smearing like ink dragged across wet paper. Seojun hissed, clutching his temples.
"Okay—yeah," he muttered. "Migraine acknowledged. Edit approved."
He steadied himself, breathing through the ache. The light held. Stable. No flicker.
Scale mattered.
Next problem: the ground.
The dirt beneath him was merciless—cold, jagged, punishing every shift of weight. He grimaced.
*Rough surface becomes cushioned.*
*Old futon. Lumpy, but familiar.*
The earth yielded.
Not dramatically—just enough. It softened beneath him, springy and uneven, but blessedly forgiving.
Seojun let himself sink back with a groan of relief.
Then the backlash hit harder.
A spike of pressure slammed into his skull. Warmth slid from his nose—blood. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, breath hitching as spots danced across his vision.
"…Yeah. That's worse," he muttered. "Just like an all-nighter. Feels brilliant until it ruins you."
He tried to expand the edit—just a little.
The ground *resisted*.
A sharp mental recoil snapped back at him, like a slammed door. The headache flared anew.
"Got it," he said quickly. "Nearby. Small. Simple. No scene-wide rewrites."
He leaned back, letting the pain ebb.
As his breathing steadied, a new tab flickered open in the interface.
**Lore Fragments.**
Seojun frowned and focused.
Text scrolled—fragmented, incomplete.
**Echoes:** Shards of consumed narratives. Bind them to your Aspect for enhancement.
**Memories:** Relived arcs from the soul's depths. Claim them through Trials to forge greater power.
A tug—subtle but insistent—pulled at his awareness.
Something surfaced in his palm.
A translucent shard, no larger than a coin. Glitched text shimmered inside it, words incomplete but warm.
"…A devoted… reader?"
The fragment pulsed faintly, stirring something deep in his chest. Familiar. Uncomfortable.
He absorbed it instinctively. The shard dissolved into light, his **Soul Shards** ticking upward.
"…Loot system," he murmured. "Of course."
He lay back on the softened ground, staring into the dim halo of light he'd created.
Memories crept in uninvited.
The apartment. The desk. Coffee rings layered like geological strata. The glow of his laptop at three in the morning, the city asleep while he rewrote chapters no one read.
The finale.
The black sun.
The glitches.
He'd written it in a haze of bitterness, half-joking, half-desperate.
*If my words mattered, they'd change everything.*
The thought curdled now.
"…So that's it," he whispered. "World-ending prophecy, born from burnout."
His fist clenched.
"And Yeonji…?"
That single subscriber. That one comment that had kept him going longer than pride ever could.
The interface's flaw burned brighter in his awareness.
**Forgotten Protagonist.**
Overlooked. Ignored. Erased.
"…Figures," he said quietly.
Then he inhaled.
Exhaled.
And stood.
"Nope," he said firmly. "Skipping the self-pity arc."
The dagger felt solid in his hand. Real.
"If I broke the world," he continued, voice sharpening, "then I'll fix it. No more sloppy drafts. No more abandoned threads. I climb the Sequences, exploit the edits, bind the Echoes—and rewrite this mess properly."
He tested again.
A shallow depression in the ground—*dirt becomes cup*. Easy. Minimal cost.
Above it—*moisture condenses*. Mist gathered, dripping clean water into the bowl.
He drank greedily, relief washing through him—then staggered as the headache surged again.
"Limited uses," he muttered. "Noted."
Hunger followed. He grimaced, then focused on a scrap of torn fabric.
*Cloth becomes edible ration.*
The transformation held.
Bland. Chewy. Miserable.
But filling.
The cost was steep. Blood returned to his nose, fatigue dragging him down.
"Tool, not cheat," he said between breaths. "Balance or die."
As he absorbed another Echo shard, warmth flickered through him—brief, but promising.
A vision flashed.
A woman reading. Tears streaking her cheeks.
Yeonji.
Hope sparked, fragile and dangerous.
"She's here," he whispered. "Has to be."
The void answered with a rumble.
Deep. Violent.
The ground warped, rippling like corrupted code. His edits destabilized—the light flickered, the cushioned earth hardened.
The interface blared.
**First Nightmare Trial Commencing.**
**Confront the blank page.**
**Revise your flaws—or be revised.**
Seojun tightened his grip on the dagger, lips curling into a defiant grin.
"Showtime," he said. "This story doesn't end like the last one."
Darkness surged.
Absolute. Hungry.
It swallowed the light—and him with it.
The void claimed its author once more.