Falling ended the moment we stepped into the Root Directory.
If "falling" had even been the right word.
The moment we crossed through the tear in the void, reality — or whatever version of it existed in this place — reset itself around us. Gone were the chaotic streams of corrupted data and shrieking system errors.
Instead, we stood at the center of a colossal, endless archive.
Towering pillars of light stretched far into a sky that was not a sky at all, but a swirling ocean of luminous script. Beneath our feet, a glass-like platform reflected infinite layers of narratives stacked upon each other, so deep I couldn't see the bottom.
And at the heart of it all pulsed a radiant core, throbbing like a living heart made of pure command lines.
[Root Directory: Accessed.]
[Warning: Unauthorized Entry Detected.]
[System Administrator Alert: Initiated.]
"Well," I exhaled slowly, scanning our new surroundings, "this is... cleaner."
"Cleaner, yes," Lys said, her voice tight with urgency, "but infinitely more dangerous."
Before I could ask, the system alerts swarmed my vision, cascading down like digital rain.
[Cross-Layer Breach Logged.]
[Tracing Narrative Signature: Ethan Kael.]
[Administrator Deployment In Progress.]
My pulse quickened.
"They found us already?"
"Of course they did." Lys' eyes flicked toward the core. "We forced an unsanctioned access point into the Root Directory. It's like setting off a flare in the deepest part of the system."
"Wonderful," I muttered. "Any good news?"
She gave a tight, grim smile. "We got here first."
That small victory evaporated the moment the space around the core trembled. Columns of data fragmented, shattering into geometric shards, and from the gaps emerged figures I had never seen before.
Not the corrupted protagonists. Not the Executors from before.
No — these were clean.
Precise.
System Administrators.
Clad in pristine armor of mirrored code, faceless, expressionless, their every movement calculated with surgical efficiency. Each administrator held a scepter shaped like a programming cursor, and where they pointed it, the environment rewrote itself instantly.
They weren't enforcers like the Thrones of Regression.
They were reality's janitors.
"Stay sharp," Lys warned, drawing her own fragmented data weapon from the folds of her coat. "Administrators operate at code-priority levels. Their authority supersedes Editors and Executors alike."
"Can we fight them?"
"Not directly. They don't exist in our narrative layer. They're meta-structural entities."
As if on cue, the lead Administrator raised its scepter toward us.
[Execute Command: Purge Unauthorized Access.]
The ground beneath our feet fractured into shifting script, attempting to rewrite us out of existence mid-step.
No time to think.
Instinct — sharpened by panic and adrenaline — surged through me. I drove the corrupted blade into the platform, hacking a manual override.
[Manual Override: Active.]
[Stabilizing Local Narrative Environment.]
The collapse paused. Barely.
But the Administrators were relentless.
Another wave of rewrite commands followed, collapsing the very air into fragmented voids, erasing paths before we could take them.
"We're not going to outrun them," I snapped, eyes darting toward the pulsing core of the Root Directory. "Is that our target?"
Lys hesitated, then nodded. "It's the Primary Seed. If we can reach it, you can stabilize your rewrite signature — shield yourself from their deletion protocols."
"Then we fight our way there."
I charged.
The Administrators responded with mechanical precision, but this time, I anticipated their moves. Every attack they made wasn't just violence — it was code manipulation. A language.
And I was learning to read it.
Where they sought to erase, I counter-scripted stability. Where they rewrote terrain to block me, I reverse-engineered their commands, fracturing their control.
Lys fought beside me, her weapon an extension of her will, slicing through the environment like an editor slashing through an unwanted draft. Together, we carved a desperate path toward the Primary Seed.
Step by agonizing step, we closed the distance.
But just as victory seemed within reach, the system spat out a new warning.
[Administrator Upgrade: Class-Alpha Inbound.]
Above the battlefield, a rift tore open — clean, flawless, surgical. From it descended an Administrator unlike the others.
Larger.
Sharper.
Its mirrored armor reflected every narrative thread around us, as if it existed in all stories at once.
Its scepter wasn't a mere pointer anymore.
It was a pen.
A writer's pen.
"This," Lys whispered, fear threading into her voice for the first time, "is an Alpha-Class Administrator."
"What's the difference?" I asked, tightening my grip on my blade.
"Simple," she said.
"The others delete."
Her eyes narrowed.
"This one rewrites."