The classroom faded.
I didn't blink—it just vanished, replaced by a new sky. Gray, overcast, and dripping with static. The kind of sky that hums like an old TV, and you're not sure if it's alive or watching you.
I was alone again.
Veyra was gone. Mira, too.
Only the Binding Quill remained in my hand, faintly glowing… as if it were trying to whisper directions I couldn't hear.
"Welcome to the Liescape."
The voice came from behind me—lazy, cheerful, and drenched in sarcasm.
I turned to see a boy no older than fifteen, sitting on the edge of a crooked signpost that read: TRUTH IS DEAD. He wore a bright yellow coat with black stitches along the seams, and his hair was pale silver, almost white. One eye was covered by a scribbled-out bandage.
The other eye? Crimson. Not like Kael-Zereth's molten hatred, but like someone who saw the world and laughed at it.
"You're Arin Kael," he said, grinning. "You shouldn't be here yet. But rules are more like suggestions here."
"Who are you?" I asked.
He jumped down effortlessly. "Names are lies. But you can call me Nilo. I'm a Ghostwriter, like the Witch said. The youngest one. Probably the most unstable. Definitely the most fun."
His smile widened.
"And my ability is simple: I only speak lies. But in this world? Every lie I say becomes true."
What.
"You're joking," I said.
Nilo snapped his fingers. "That was a lie."
Suddenly, the sky turned bright red. The clouds screamed.
I stumbled back. "What the hell—?!"
Nilo clapped his hands. "Now the sky is blue."
And just like that—it was.
The storm cleared instantly, replaced by fluffy clouds and warm sunshine. A rainbow arced across the sky. A tree next to us grew instant apples.
I stared at him.
He bowed. "Welcome to the Liescape—my personal sub-draft. Everything here follows my rules… because I never tell the truth."
I gritted my teeth. "So what do you want from me?"
"Oh, I don't want anything," he said. "But he does."
He pointed behind me.
I turned—and saw a crowd of people.
No… not people. Characters. Characters I recognized.
A fire mage who died in an old story. A robot girl from a sci-fi outline I abandoned. A winged boy I once wrote for two pages and deleted. All standing silently. Watching.
"They're mine now," Nilo said softly. "I lied to them. Told them they were real. That they'd been chosen by you. That they'd get their story back if they obeyed."
His eyes gleamed. "Now they believe it."
My stomach twisted. "That's sick."
"It's survival," he said, voice suddenly serious. "You left us behind. We were meant to be nothing. But in the Liescape, belief is power. If they believe your story continues… it does."
I took a breath, gripping the Binding Quill. "Then I'll set them free."
Nilo's grin returned. "Lie to them better than I did."
The trial began.
He summoned me into a shattered amphitheater. The characters surrounded me, staring with hollow, expectant eyes.
Nilo stood at the center and spread his arms. "Tell them the truth, Author. Convince them that you still care. Or I'll lie again—and they'll never leave."
Each character stepped forward one by one. A girl missing her name. A knight with no ending. A boy with half a soul.
"Did you really mean to kill me?""Was I ever more than filler?""Why did you give me hope if you were going to abandon me?"
Every question was a blade.
And I had to answer.
Truthfully.
I told them.
I told them I was scared. That I gave up. That I didn't know how to finish anything. That I forgot some of them. That others were too painful to continue.
But I also told them: They were never meaningless.That even their fragments shaped me.That I remembered their names—sometimes just before I fell asleep.
And then I did something unexpected.
I used the Binding Quill.
And I wrote them endings.
Short ones. Incomplete. But real.
"The knight retired. And found peace.""The girl with no name gave herself one.""The half-souled boy found his missing half—in someone else."
And slowly, the characters vanished in light, smiling for the first time. Not gone. Released.
Nilo was silent.
When the last one faded, he looked at me… and laughed.
"Wow," he said. "You told the truth in a world of lies. That's the worst lie of all."
He tossed me something—a card. Blank, except for one line:
"The trickster lies because the truth would destroy him."
And then he bowed dramatically.
"I'm not done with you, Arin Kael. But for now… I'll wait."
And with that, Nilo vanished into the cracks between stories.
I stood alone again.
But the air felt lighter.
The Binding Quill burned with new ink—gold and black, coiling together like truth and fiction.
And a message appeared before me in glowing letters:
Next Draft: The Town That Rewrites Itself