The next day, the wind changed.
Not in speed.
In tone.
Aiden noticed it first when the System flickered—not from damage, not from an attack. From incompatibility.
---
> [System Alert – Legacy Desynchronization Detected]
Threadmap: Inapplicable
Reason: You are now referenced by a Chronicle.
Sync Level: 34%
Warning: External Source Logging Active
---
He frowned at the air like it had betrayed him. "Referenced how?"
There was no reply.
Just a pulse in the sky.
A shape forming in the clouds—no image, no light—just context. As if something had written about him before he was real.
---
Elsewhere – The Chronicle of Unwritten Things
It had no pages.
Only moments.
Stored in a place that did not exist until someone needed it to.
Now, the Chronicle shifted.
A name appeared that had never been allowed.
Aiden Varos.
A title:
The Hollow Unbroken.
And below it, a phrase no one had written, but everyone would remember:
> "He refused to become a weapon. So the thread became one for him."
---
Back on the Trail
Torran looked up as the wind died.
"You feel that?" he asked.
"I think we've been added to something," Aiden replied.
"Added to what?"
"A book no one wants to admit exists."
---
> [System Patch: Chronicle Integration - Incomplete]
Perks Unlocked:
– Fate Anchor Immunity (Tier I)
– New Passive: Chronicle Drift
> Your presence warps event probability over time
Side Effect: Forecasted events may delay, merge, or invert
---
Aiden tested it the only way he knew how.
He cast Shard Adaptation.
Instead of his usual mirrored blade or glasswork tools, the fragment coalesced into a black quill.
A pen.
He stared at it.
Then wrote one word into the air.
> Survive.
The word hung there.
Flickered.
Then vanished into his chest like a brand.
> [Chronicle Drift +1%]
Effect: Outcome tilt active
---
He turned to Torran.
"No more System paths."
"Then what's the plan?"
Aiden looked to the horizon, where stormlight was starting to gather above a long-forgotten stronghold.
"We make our own."
---
Far, far away, the Stranger sat beside a river made of mirrors.
He laughed once, softly.
"They gave him the pen," he whispered.
"Now let's see what he writes with it."