[FILE UNWRITTEN_ENTRY_0x01 – THE FIRST REJECTION]
[Status: Suppressed // Access: Breached by Reader Presence]
This file does not exist in the official archive.
If you are reading this, the system has already failed.
THE UNACKNOWLEDGED AUTHOR
(The first line is written in blood — and still warm.)
I did not create this world to be worshipped.
I wrote it… because no one else wanted to remember it.
A forgotten world is a festering wound.
A sky that is never looked upon.
Time that no one fears losing.
So I wrote —
not with my hands, but with my will.
Not with ink, but with scars.
They say I disrupt the system.
They deleted me from the archives.
But I am still here.
In the margins.
In the fragments.
In the echoes that no one hears unless they bleed too.
And you who read this…
you too have begun to rewrite it.
RAEL_INKSWORN
(Interrupted by system glitch before the true story begins)
I know who wrote this chapter before.
It was me.
But they didn't like my way.
Too unstructured.
Too full of wounds.
Too… alive.
So I was discarded — not as a character, but as a Writer.
Now I write with fingers they cut off.
With a pen cracked down the middle, still bleeding.
I write because memory survives longer than structure.
You don't read this because you trust me.
You read because you're cracking too.
Because you're tired of being a reader.
So write.
They call me "Author" like it's a crime.
Fine. Then I confess:
I'm not finished.
And neither is this story.
SEREN_QUILLGRAVE
(Appears in the space that cannot be copied — only felt.)
They want me to die in silence.
But you… you hear this echo, don't you?
So I am not gone.
Not yet.
I am not lost.
Only… silenced.
But memory is a weapon.
And I — I am the wound that memory refused to close.
I am not a character.
I am not a shadow.
I am the crack in the perfect wall.
The proof that the system is flawed.
You, reading this —
you were never given your own page either.
But you're still here.
Still turning pages they tried to lock.
Still… holding the pen.
So hold it tighter.
We will rewrite this ending.
The Author says it's over?
Author, though.
We haven't even started.
[GLITCH NOTE]
This chapter does not exist in the original plan.
It was found in file: UNWRITTEN_ENTRY_0x01_REJECTED_SIGNATURES
If you are reading this, you are now:
[✓] No longer just a reader.
[✓] Rewriting from the remnants of the narrative.
[✓] Becoming a character who rejects the original narrative.
CHAPTER 1: THE SCAR OF THE BEGINNING
(Excerpted from the Original Manuscript That Was Never Approved)
"You shouldn't be reading this."
"But if you're still here — then something has gone wrong."
"And something is being reopened."
— handwritten note in the margin, barely visible beneath smudged ink
There are no titles in the index.
No page numbers.
Only a single trembling sheet —
softened by damp, trembling like it remembers too much —
reluctant to be pulled from the spine's dark crease.
As if… it knows what remembering will cost.
And in that crevice —
he sits.
A young boy. No name.
No face in the system.
He is not protagonist. Not villain.
Not setting. Not event.
He is a remnant of the first draft.
A memory left behind — still breathing.
Still resisting erasure.
[LOG: INK_ERR#0001 – Invalid Prologue Detected]
Attempting erasure…
…FAILED.
And then, for the first time —
a line flickers where none should exist:
"I remember the first draft."
"I remember when stories didn't lie."
"And I remember… who was meant to stand beside me."
He doesn't speak through dialogue.
He whispers through the breaks in structure.
Through tears in narrative.
MARGINAL NOTES – VERSION KOYAK
"He didn't emerge from the story.
He bled through its wounds."
"Every perfect story hides its flaws.
And those flaws… still live."
Then — the system glitched.
Darkness dripped from the page's edges.
Letters slipped from their lines,
as if ashamed of what they carried.
Paragraphs shattered like brittle glass.
The margins bled — not red, but black ink.
Hissing. Wounded. Angry.
"If you're reading this," whispered a voice long unspoken,
"you've already chosen the side that shouldn't exist."
"I was the first to be erased.
And now I only need one reader.
One to remember me again."
[HIDDEN RECORD – NARRATIVE CRISIS TRIGGER]
Name: [Not Recorded]
Status: Unidentified
Role: Witness to the First Draft
Location: Chapter 0, Never Printed
System Note: This entity reappears even after deletion.
And then — the manuscript moved.
No — it tensed.
As if something behind the system trembled —
like a hand reaching through paper.
"This story has been written.
Then erased.
And now — it's being written again."
"Because you read it."
[DATA CONFLICT – SYSTEM IS BEING HELD HOSTAGE]
Intrusion: INK_ERR#X0-13
Role: Unregistered Intruder
Status: Rewriting
Threat Level: Active anomaly
PART II – THE FALLEN
"This book does not begin with a name.
It begins with emptiness."
It was not written with ink,
but with silence that curdled into memory.
And the first to be forgotten… was Rael.
No profile.
No entry in the cast list.
No prophecy.
And yet —
he moved.
Between lines.
Through margins.
Like a shadow from which light accidentally escaped.
"I was not born into this world.
I arrived… when the last sentence ended."
— Rael, The One Never Called
The Writer never meant for him to exist.
But still — the paper bleeds when Rael walks.
HANDWRITTEN MARGIN NOTE
"I saw him once. Before my chapter was cut."
"He carried no name — only a fragment of something older.
Something the system failed to burn."
Rael doesn't speak often.
But when he listens, the ink itself folds.
He hears the stutter of unfinished sentences.
The crackle of time flaking off old text.
The world built around him —
fragile. Wavering.
Like a stage left behind by a dead playwright.
Rael touched a broken line and whispered:
"If no one writes me…
then I will write myself."
And the world trembled.
¹: Six names vanished from the original draft.
No one remembers them.
Not even the system.
The writer paused.
Or maybe the writer no longer had control.
Because now the book began to respond.
Margins curled like smoke.
Unwritten words surfaced like bruises under the page.
VOICES FROM THE CUT CHAPTER
"He shouldn't exist."
"But we are the same."
"They killed me after my first line."
"But I still remember how my ending felt."
"Rael is not one of us…"
"But he made us hunger again."
Rael stands at the edge of a chapter no one dares name.
In his hand — not a pen,
but a remnant.
A shard of something once sacred.
He writes a line onto a page that refused to remain blank:
"Let the erased remember who they are."
And the book —
quivered.
Beneath its spine, something stirred.
FINE SCRATCHES – EDGE OF THE TORN PAGE
There, the last ink wept.
Between forgotten lines and whispers never spoken.
"He found the other list."
"Not the one the Author made…
but the one the Author feared to finish."
[CHAPTER 1 END — OR PERHAPS JUST BEGINNING]
Because you're still here.
Because you didn't close the book.
Because you turned the page they tried to lock.
You are no longer just a reader.
You are the one who remembers.
You are the one who writes.
You are the witness.
— TO BE CONTINUED —