Professor Iris moved to her desk and pulled out a small crystal and a leather-bound journal.

"I'm giving you two things. The first is this communication crystal that's linked directly to mine. If you need information, guidance, or emergency help, use it. I've hidden long enough. It's time I actually did something useful."

I took the crystal. It hummed with carefully woven enchantments, and it's warm in my palm.

"Thank you."

She handed me the journal next, it was an old leather preserved by magic and filled with neat handwriting.

"This is Marcus's journal. The hero I loved. The man who discovered the truth with me." Her voice caught slightly. "Read it and learn from our mistakes. Maybe you can succeed where we failed."

I opened it carefully. The first entry was dated over a hundred years ago.

Year 1147, Day 43:

-The Voice spoke to me again today. It tells me I'm destined for greatness. That I must defeat the Dark Sorceress Iris Voidwalker. But when I fought her yesterday, she looked at me with such intelligence, such awareness. Not like a mindless villain. Like a person.-

-I'm beginning to wonder if the Voice is telling me the whole truth.-

I flipped through more pages, watching Marcus's investigation unfold. His growing doubts. His secret meetings with Iris. Their discovery of the cycles. Their doomed love.

The final entry made my chest tight.

'Year 1148, Day 89-

-They know. The Council knows we know. Iris wants to run. I want to fight.-

'We argued all night. She says fighting is suicide. I say hiding is living death. We're both right. We're both wrong.-

-But I understand now. The real heroism isn't defeating the villain they assigned me but by refusing to play the game at all.-

-If you're reading this, future reader, it means I'm dead. The Council will kill me for knowing too much. For loving the wrong person. For choosing truth over destiny.-

-But maybe my death means something. Maybe it's a breadcrumb for the next person who questions. The next one who sees through the lies.-

-To whoever you are: Don't give up. Don't hide like Iris will. Fight. Even if you lose, fight. Because stories only have power if people believe them.-

-Stop believing. Start choosing.-

-Make your own story.-

The entry ended there. The rest of the pages were blank.

"He died the next day," Professor Iris said quietly. "Marcus tried to fight. He was strong after all he's SSS-rank. But you can't fight a fundamental force of with just power. He was removed him completely. Most people don't even remember he existed now."

"But you do."

"Because I was there. Because I loved him. Love is its own kind of narrative power, apparently. Strong enough to resist some erasure." She wiped her eyes. "It's been a hundred years, but some grief doesn't fade."

I closed the journal carefully. "Thank you for trusting me with this."

"Marcus would have liked you. You both fight for the same thing, the right to choose your own story." She looked at me seriously. "But learn from his mistake. Don't try to fight the Council directly. Not yet. Not until you're strong enough. Build your power. Disrupt their plans. Make them bleed through a thousand small cuts rather than one grand gesture."

"I understand."

"Do you? Because understanding and accepting are different things." She stood. "You have to survive this, Hadeon. Not for me. Not for Marcus's memory. But because you're the first real threat they've faced in a century. If you die, it'll be another hundred years before someone else figures it out."

"I don't plan on dying."

"Neither did Marcus." But she smiled slightly. "Though you seem better at preparation than he was. He was all heroic charges and grand gestures. You're more... strategic."

"I'm a villain. We plan better."

As I turned to leave, Professor Iris spoke one more time.

"Hadeon. One more thing."

"Yes?"

"The Council is watching you now. Actively. Every move you make, every choice, every word, they're analyzing it, trying to predict you, trying to find weaknesses." Her expression was grave. "If you make too much noise too fast, they'll send enforcers. And you're not ready for that fight yet."

"When will I be ready?"

"I don't know if anyone can truly be ready to fight beings like that." She paused.

"Any advice on how to do that?"

"Keep doing what you're doing." She smiled.

I nodded, processing everything I'd learned.

The Council of Fates. Five beings controlling reality through story. Marcus Lightbringer, a hero who died trying to break free. Professor Iris Shadowmere, a survivor carrying a century of grief.

And me. A transmigrated reader who knew the story because I'd read it before, now trying to rewrite it entirely.

"Thank you, Professor. For everything."

"Thank you for giving me hope again." She looked younger suddenly, less burdened. "For the first time in a hundred years, I think we might actually have a chance."

I left her study and walked back through the old hallways, my mind spinning with information.

Back in my quarters, I couldn't sleep. Too much information racing through my mind.

The Council of Fates. Marcus's journal. Professor Iris's century of grief. The enforcers and the Council members who could literally erase someone from existence.

I stood on my balcony, looking at the stars. Somewhere beyond them, in a realm I couldn't see, five beings watched and manipulated.

But I wasn't alone. I had a faction. I had allies. I had knowledge.

And I had something Marcus didn't have, I have the benefit of his failure. His journal. And I know some of the plots.

Make your own story.

"I will," I promised the night.

To form my own story inside the stor...that's not a bad idea at all. If a story isn't good enough then I should write my own. And to be honest, I'm not a fan if the current story, it's better I rewrite things my own way.

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