Nameless recoiled instantly, tearing his hand away as he staggered backward, fear etched across his face.
He stumbled until his back struck the shelves ... books spilling open around him.
From them erupted voices... screams, whispers, laughter, sorrow, rage, joy, hatred.
A cacophony of emotions that opened before him... revealing entire worlds.
Tears welled in his eyes.
He collapsed to the ground, clutching his head.
"What... what is this..." he gasped, struggling to breathe.
For the first time in his life...
He cried.
He cried violently, his eyes reddening, pulsing with life they had never known before.
His body trembled ...
Until she stepped forward and held his face, her touch sending a chilling cold through him.
In that moment... he understood.
He was completely at her mercy.
And yet... he did not resist her touch.
"You understand now... don’t you?" she asked softly.
Nameless answered in a trembling voice.
"This place... this is... the Aether... no..."
"...the real world."
His body shook as the truth settled within him.
"The material world... I..."
"That’s right," she said, nodding gently as she pulled him into a calm embrace.
"That is not the material world."
"It is your world... the one your hands wrote into existence."
"You are a Writer... just like me... and like your foolish father standing over there."
"You are a being far greater... far higher than any other creature."
Frey... was a Writer.
Abraham... was one as well.
And the woman before him ...
Was his mother.
The First Writer.
The title of First Writer was never bound to a single individual ... it was a mantle, granted to the strongest among them. It was not unique, nor eternal.
And this... was what Nameless came to understand.
Just as the woman bearing that title had said, Writers stood above all other beings.
They possessed the ability to create entire worlds—contained within vessels that resembled books, known as Codex.
They could shape those worlds... enter them freely... and even live within them, should they choose to.
And they often did. The countless books scattered around them were proof enough of that truth.
Yet not all worlds were the same. Some were simple, almost trivial ... like children’s tales.
Others... were far more complex.
Like the one Frey had created.
"You have lived inside your world for far too long... to the point that you became a part of it," the woman said, holding Nameless within her grasp.
Writers could enter their own creations, yes—but remaining within them for too long came at a cost.
Their identities would erode... until they became indistinguishable from the world itself.
And that... was exactly what had happened to Frey.
"Your existence is fractured... your self incomplete. You cannot remain in the real world for long in this state. Your world will pull you back soon enough."
"So listen carefully to what I’m about to tell you."
Her voice froze him in place, as though something within him compelled absolute obedience.
"Your world... was chosen as the battlefield for the great war against the Lords of the Mist."
"It is also where we concealed the Tool of Creation."
"The very tool you used—without permission—to create that abomination..."
"...the creature you named yourself—Agaroth."
Agaroth... had been created for one purpose.
To destroy Odin.
To end him.
Yet he betrayed his creator—turning against Frey, attempting to devour him... to escape the material world and manifest within the real one.
He failed.
But that act alone... became the foundation for everything that followed.
After the betrayal, after the war against the Pale Calamity... Frey’s existence shattered completely.
He became bound to the material world—living it over and over again under different names... different identities.
"When a Writer dies within his world, he does not truly perish," she continued, her voice steady.
"He awakens in the real world."
"But you... never returned. No matter how many times you died."
"Because your soul became attached... to that world... and its inhabitants."
She turned slightly toward the man behind her ... toward Abraham.
"After you were trapped inside, your father entered your world to retrieve you... and reclaim the Tool of Creation."
"But he failed... and became trapped as well."
"Your siblings followed."
"And that wretched creature... killed them all. Cast them out."
Agaroth had slaughtered every child who entered.
Devoured them.
Yet he could not truly kill them—they simply awakened back in the real world.
That... was why Seth had appeared before Frey.
The younger brother had come the closest ... had tried the hardest to save him.
Even in defeat, he left something behind.
The System.
A guide... meant to lead Frey forward.
The father failed.
The children failed.
And the mother... was forced to remain.
To stand against the horrors of the Mist.
To preserve balance.
"Writers cannot interfere with each other’s worlds," she said.
"But you and I... have always been exceptions."
"We stand above the rest."
"So I intervened."
"I created the demons... beings that feed solely on life itself."
"Creatures born to bring death... to eradicate all that lives."
That was their purpose.
To destroy the world... and force Frey to leave it.
Thus, the first demon was born—Manus.
"But that abomination understood my intentions immediately," she continued, her voice sharpening.
"He seized control... crowned himself their king... and bent them to his will."
Agaroth was never a demon.
He was something else entirely.
Something darker.
Something stronger.
Strong enough... to dominate them all.
"I sent my followers after that."
"I ordered Audrey to find you—but that useless girl lost her way and became a captive."
"The other one... though capable... did nothing but watch from afar."
"He took far too long... yet at least... he left behind the traces that led you here."
Her grip on Nameless tightened.
"I need you here, Frey."
"I need you with me."
"I need you to fulfill what you were meant to become."
"You are the only one capable of reaching my level."
"And every second you remain in that worthless world... it pains me."
Her voice dropped.
"My patience is running out, Frey."
"It has already reached its limit."
"Return... and end the monster you created."
"Or I will do it myself."
Nameless heard everything.
Every word.
Every fragment of madness.
And through him... so did Frey.
And the present Nameless.
Her threat echoed in their minds.
And with it... realization struck.
"The mysterious continent that appeared out of nowhere..."
Her patience had run out.
So she chose to descend herself.
The future had fallen into chaos.
And at last... the truth behind everything was revealed.
Abraham had done the impossible—entering the material world again and again, every time Frey appeared... becoming his father in every life.
As for his family...
They were nothing but replicas.
Copies Frey had unknowingly created—based on his real mother... his real siblings.
That was why they resembled them so perfectly.
They were not real.
Only Abraham was.
The only one who persisted.
The only one who reincarnated... over and over again.
Every catastrophe.
Every disaster that shook the world.
Even the demons.
Even Agaroth.
All of it...
All of it... stemmed from a single family.
And what a family it was.
In the end ...
It had always been about family.
And the most terrifying of them all...
Was about to descend.
The mother ...
Clea.