𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐁𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞

Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Dreams and Dead Characters

The air was thick and cold, pressing down on me like a suffocating blanket. I was running through an endless forest, the trees twisting unnaturally, their branches curling toward me like skeletal hands. The ground beneath my feet was soft and damp, pulling me down with every step, as though the earth itself wanted to swallow me whole.

The fog hung heavy around me, so dense I could barely see my own hands, but I could feel it-something was following me. A presence, dark and oppressive, lurking just beyond the edges of my vision. My breath came in ragged gasps, my chest tightening with every step. No matter how fast I ran, I couldn't escape the feeling that it was getting closer. Closer.

The whispers began softly, a low murmur that floated on the wind. I couldn't understand the words, but the sound of them made my skin crawl. It was like they were inside my head, wrapping around my thoughts, making it harder to think. My legs felt heavy, my body sluggish, as if I was running through water.

Suddenly, the fog parted, and I found myself standing at the edge of a cliff. The ground crumbled beneath my feet, threatening to give way at any moment. Below, the sea churned violently, waves crashing against jagged rocks. The whispers grew louder, more insistent, as if urging me to step forward.

Then I saw him. His silhouette materialized from the fog, standing at the edge of the cliff, just a few feet away. His eyes gleamed with a cold, unnatural light, and a twisted smile curled across his lips. The wind whipped around him, but he stood completely still, unmoved by the chaos surrounding us.

"Come closer," he said, his voice echoing in my mind. "You can't run from me. I've always been here, watching. Waiting."

My heart pounded in my chest as I backed away, but the ground behind me crumbled, leaving me with nowhere to go. The whispers became deafening, drowning out everything else. They were his words, his voice, filling the air around me with promises of pain, of torment.

"I'm in your head, darling," he whispered, stepping closer. "I'll always be with you. Even in your dreams."

I tried to scream, but no sound came out. The world around me began to spin, the cliffside tilting dangerously as the earth gave way beneath me. I was falling, plummeting into the icy black water below. The wind howled in my ears, and his laughter echoed through the darkness.

Then, just as I hit the water, I woke up with a start, drenched in cold sweat.

-

I took a cold shower, letting the icy water cascade over me, washing away the exhaustion and remnants of the haunting dream. It had been plaguing me for weeks now, ever since I began writing Emris Malachai's downfall. Every time I tried to envision his death, his end, something in me resisted, like I wasn't just fighting against my own creation-but against Emris himself.

In the dream, he was always there-his striking silver hair and those piercing blue eyes. They glowed in the dark, like a beacon, drawing me toward him. No matter how much I tried to run, no matter how hard I tried to avoid his gaze, he was the light in the darkness, relentless and unwavering.

It was unmistakably him. How could I ever forget? I had spent years building him up, shaping him into the near-perfect protector. A hero who could not be defeated, who fought for the greater good with a power unmatched by anyone. He was supposed to be invincible. But now, I had written his end-a hero brought down, a symbol of strength torn apart.

Yet in my dreams, he wasn't gone. He stood there, watching me, unbroken.

But how? How is it possible? He's just a character, a figment of my imagination. So why am I dreaming about him? Why is he the only one?

I leaned my head against the cool tiles, the water rushing over me, trying to push away the uneasy feeling clinging to me like a second skin. These dreams weren't just dreams-they felt too real. His presence, the way he looked at me, almost as if he were alive, knowing I had written him off. And it wasn't anger or hatred I saw in his eyes-it was something deeper. A sense of betrayal, perhaps.

Each time the dream returned, it was more vivid. I could hear his voice, see the flicker of emotion in his eyes. He wasn't just watching me-he was waiting. Waiting for something, as if the story I had written for him wasn't the end, as if there was unfinished business between us.

I pressed my hands to my face, trying to scrub away the anxiety that was gnawing at me. I'd created hundreds of characters before, but none of them haunted me like this. None of them stayed with me after the story was done. But Emris... he was different. There was something about him that transcended the boundaries of fiction and reality.

Maybe it was because I had made him too powerful. A hero with no equal. I had poured everything into him-his strength, his loyalty, his unwavering sense of justice. He was the kind of character that made readers believe in something bigger, someone who stood against the darkness and couldn't be defeated. And perhaps, in doing so, I had made him too real.

But even heroes have to fall. Even invincible characters need an ending. That's what I kept telling myself, over and over, as I worked on his final chapter. Yet, with every stroke of my pen, every word I typed, it felt like I was fighting against some invisible force.

Like he didn't want it to end.

Wrapping myself in a towel, I stepped out of the bathroom and into the dim light of my bedroom. The shadows seemed to cling to the edges of the room, darker than they should have been. For a split second, I could have sworn I saw him-just a flicker of silver and blue, like a memory refusing to fade.

I blinked, my heart pounding in my chest. But the room was still. Quiet. Still, the sensation lingered. A strange, gnawing feeling that I couldn't shake.

I sighed, collapsing onto the bed, my mind still racing. This wasn't just about a dream. Something had changed. I could feel it. The line between the world I had created and my own reality was blurring, and Emris Malachai was at the center of it.

I closed my eyes, pulling the covers around me, but the cold sense of unease wouldn't leave.
He was a hero, my invincible creation, but something about the way he haunted my dreams made it feel like he wasn't ready to let go. Maybe I wasn't either. Maybe in trying to
write his end, I had unlocked something I didn't understand.

Why am I dreaming about him?

The question echoed in my mind as I drifted into a restless sleep, knowing deep down that Emris Malachai was not done with me yet.

________

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-Tz