A Book on the Verge of Ash(First Person Perspective: Neo's Experience)

The book felt like it could break apart at any moment.

Every time I turned a page, a small piece of it crumbled away, the ink barely clinging to the fragile parchment.

"If I don't write this down, it'll be lost forever."

I reached for my journal and flipped to an empty page.

Slowly, I dipped my pen into ink and prepared to copy the only message I could still read.

"Remember the Eight. They were not gods. They were not demons. They were—something else. And they will return."

I hesitated.

"What does this even mean?"

What were they? Were they real? Were they myths?

A strange unease curled in my stomach.

Then—

I inhaled sharply.

Not because of fear.

Because someone else had.

It was a sharp, desperate gasp.

But it wasn't mine.

The air around me shifted. My vision blurred, my skin tingling as if something unseen wrapped around me.

And then—

The Scholar's Final Word (Vision Sequence — Neo as the Scholar)

My hands were no longer my own.

They were aged, covered in ink and dust, trembling as they clutched a pen.

The flickering glow of candlelight cast heavy shadows across an old wooden desk.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

The air smelled of parchment, wax, and burnt ink.

"This isn't my hideout."

"This isn't my body."

The realization should have terrified me. But there was no time for fear.

Because at that moment, I—he—was writing.

And he was afraid.

Boom.

The door shook under a heavy impact.

A muffled voice roared from the other side.

"Open up! This is the Radiant Order! Surrender yourself immediately!"

The candle flames flickered violently.

I—he—froze, breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

But his hand kept moving.

Faster.

Shaking, but writing.

"They will return."

Boom. Boom.

The knocking turned to pounding.

The fear in my—his—chest coiled tighter.

Not of the Order.

But because there wasn't enough time.

"Just a little more. Just finish it."

Ink smeared. Hands trembled.

But he didn't stop.

The Last Act of Defiance

The door cracked—wood splintering as the lock gave way.

Heavy boots stomped forward.

I—he—didn't look up.

Instead, he muttered something under his breath.

A faint glow traced across the ink—a final protection.

I—he—grabbed the book, hands shaking, and threw it into the fire.

The parchment curled. Flames devoured it instantly.

The last of its knowledge turned to embers.

It was too late.

The Order couldn't destroy it now.

The Capture

A hand snatched my wrist.

A vice grip, rough and unyielding.

"No! Wait—!"

I was yanked backward. My feet scraped against the wooden floor as they dragged me away.

The fire crackled, swallowing the last of the book.

I struggled, but it was useless.

The moment I was pulled through the doorway, I screamed the only thing left in my mind.

"They will return!"

The words echoed, even as I was forced into darkness.

And then—

Reality Snaps Back

I gasped as if breaking the surface of deep water.

My vision spun.

I nearly fell forward, chest heaving, hands shaking.

I was back.

The hideout. The journal. The city.

But my hands—

They weren't steady.

They were trembling.

I looked down, my breath hitching.

The words were already written.

"They will return."

Not in my handwriting.

The Lingering Fear

I pressed a hand to my chest, my heart pounding.

My body was whole. There were no bruises. No wounds.

But I felt them.

I felt the rough hands grabbing me.

I felt the burn of the candlelight.

I felt the panic, the terror.

And it wasn't mine.

I wasn't just seeing that moment.

I had lived it.

I wiped at my eyes.

Tears.

"Why am I crying?"

The scholar—whoever he had been—was long gone. But his emotions, his final act, his desperation...it still clung to me.

And then, the realization struck.

He had't been afraid of the Order.

He had been afraid of the Eight.

But why?

What had he known?

And more importantly—

What exactly were they?

The Shadow's Warning

I sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm myself.

But the air felt thick.

Something shifted in the darkness.

Not just a passing figure. Not a trick of the mind.

A presence.

A whisper, low and steady, cut through the silence.

"That book will get you killed."

I froze.

The voice wasn't angry. It wasn't cruel.

It was a warning.

"If you're going to learn more than this, you'd better know what you're walking into."

I turned sharply, my heart hammering.

The alley was empty.

But I wasn't fooled.

Someone—**or something—**was there.

Watching.

And their final words sank into my bones like ice.

"The Radiant Order won't be the only ones watching."