Ink and paper : The fallen Hero.

**Caius**

Warmth.

It's an odd thing to dwell on, yet I cannot ignore it.

I set down the empty bowl and glance at the mug in my hands. The heat from the hot chocolate has long since faded, but the warmth lingers inside me, settling deep in my chest in a way I cannot quite understand. I've eaten before, of course—I've had meals in castles, at war camps, by the fire with my men. But this...

This is different.

The act itself was simple, almost insignificant—Eloise preparing food and drink for me. But I have never been cared for like this. Never in my life have I sat at a table and been given something without expectation, without demand. No duty attached. No debt to be repaid.

I look at her across the table. She's quiet, her fingers wrapped around her own mug, her gaze lost in thought. The dim light of her world casts a softness on her features. Her hair, her eyes, the way her lips part slightly when she's deep in her own mind—there is something about her that unsettles me.

Not in fear.

Not in anger.

But in familiarity.

I know this feeling. I've only ever felt it once before.

Lady Isolde.

My wife.

Eloise does not look like her, and yet she *feels* like her. There is something in her presence, something in the way she speaks, in the way she sees me—not as a warrior, not as a king or a monster, but as a *man*. The way she offers comfort so effortlessly. It is the same aura Isolde carried. The same quiet strength. The same unwavering kindness.

Perhaps it is because she created her.

Perhaps that is why I feel this pull toward her.

The thought grips me tighter than I expect, and before I can stop myself, I speak.

"What inspired you to write her?" My voice is steady, but I am watching her carefully, searching for something in her expression. "Lady Isolde."

Eloise blinks, pulled from her thoughts. She tilts her head slightly, considering the question.

"I suppose I should have expected you to ask that," she murmurs, setting her mug down. A small, almost sad smile tugs at her lips. "She was... important to you, wasn't she?"

I nod once, unable to voice the truth out loud.

She exhales slowly. "I... I wanted you to have someone who would love you despite everything. Someone who would see past the vengeance, past the war, and find the man beneath it all. You deserved that."

I scoff quietly. "And yet, you took it from me."

Her shoulders stiffen. "I did," she admits, her voice quieter now. "Because the publishers wanted something else. Something more dramatic. Something that would sell."

I say nothing, waiting.

She hesitates, then continues, "But Lady Isolde wasn't just... a character to me. She was the kind of person I always admired. The kind of love I always wished for."

That catches my attention. My brows furrow. "What do you mean?"

She gives a nervous little laugh, shaking her head as if embarrassed by her own confession. "I mean... I've never been in love, Caius. Not really. Not in the way Isolde loved you. I created her because... if I ever had the chance to love someone, I'd want it to be like that. Deep, unwavering, without conditions."

The words hit me harder than I expect.

Eloise—the woman who shaped my fate, who decided the course of my life—has never known the thing she wrote so beautifully? She's never *felt* the love she crafted between Isolde and me?

The irony is almost cruel.

"You *created* love," I say slowly, "but you've never experienced it?"

She nods, looking away as if ashamed. "I guess that's why I write about it. It's easier to imagine than to find in real life."

For the first time since meeting her, I don't know what to say.

This woman, my creator, has given me more than she's ever had herself. She built me a love so strong that even after death, I still *feel* it—and yet, she has never once been given the chance to have it for herself.

Something about that doesn't sit right with me.

Something about that makes me *angry*.

Not at her.

At the world that shaped her the way she shaped me.

.....

**Eloise** 

The weight of Caius's words still lingers in the air, but there's no time to dwell on it. 

He stands, his gaze locked onto mine, expectant. Determined. There is an urgency in him, as if every second spent in this world is a waste. 

"Write it," he says. 

I blink. "Write what?" 

"Our passage," he clarifies. "You brought me here through your words. Now take us back the same way." 

I hesitate. I've always been the one controlling the pen, yet this feels different. It's not just a scene in a book anymore. It's real. This is *real*. 

My fingers twitch as I reach for my notebook, flipping to a blank page. The thought of writing magic into existence terrifies me, but there's also a strange excitement bubbling beneath my fear. What if I can really do it? What if my words can shape reality itself? 

I swallow hard, gripping my pen. "Okay... let's see if this works." 

Caius watches me intently as I press the pen to paper. My mind races, weaving an idea together. Something grand? Something subtle? How does one even *write* themselves into another world? 

I exhale slowly and begin. 

_The air shimmered, bending and warping as if the world itself were being rewritten. Eloise felt the ground shift beneath her feet, an invisible force pulling her forward. The familiar scent of her apartment faded, replaced by the crisp, untamed air of Aeloria. Magic crackled in the space between worlds, humming in her bones._ 

A tingling sensation spreads through my fingers. My breath catches. 

Caius stiffens. He feels it too. 

"Keep going," he urges, voice low, eyes sharp. 

I force myself to steady my breathing. I write faster. 

_The walls of reality trembled, threads of light weaving around them. The ink on the page glowed softly, its words no longer mere letters but something alive, something ancient. The world she had created was calling her home._ 

A gust of wind surges through the room, though my windows remain shut. The air *feels* different, heavier with something unseen. My heart hammers in my chest as golden threads of energy curl around my fingers. 

Caius takes a step closer. "It's working." 

My pulse jumps. "I know." 

I grip the pen tighter and continue. 

_A crack split through the fabric of the air itself, a doorway forming before them. Beyond it, rolling hills stretched beneath a violet sky, a landscape both foreign and familiar. Aeloria. Her creation. Her world. It was waiting._ 

A deep hum fills the room. Light floods my vision. 

And then— 

The world shifts. 

I stumble as the floor beneath me disappears, weightlessness taking over. My stomach lurches. There's a moment of sheer panic, of falling into nothingness. Then— 

A rush of cool wind. The scent of pine and damp earth. 

And when I open my eyes— 

We are no longer in my apartment.