Tom stared at the pen lying on the table.Something felt wrong this time.No note.
Before he could think further, a voice came from behind him."Are you looking for the note?"
Tom froze. His pulse spiked — how did this stranger know about that note?
He turned slowly. A man stood there, calm but sharp-eyed."The pen you're staring at," the man said, "is mine."
What?Did this mean… the Author was alive?
No. That wasn't possible.
"I'm not your author," the man said, as if reading Tom's mind. "My name is Larry. You're standing in my room — my dreamspace. And there's one rule here: only one pen can exist in an author's domain."
Tom frowned. "Then why am I here?"
Larry took a step closer. "Because someone is manipulating us — all of us who write. He gives these pens to authors. When we finish our stories, he takes them, drains our creativity, and forces us to write again. Each story we make strengthens him. We're just slaves in his grand narrative."
Tom's grip on the pen tightened. "So… what do you want from me?"
"We've formed a group," Larry said. "We call ourselves The Razors. Our goal is to take that authority away from him — to make sure no one's story is written by someone else. We want to be free."
He looked Tom straight in the eye."If you want freedom too, join us."
Tom hesitated. "Why would a group of authors want to give power to a story character like me?"
Larry smiled faintly. "Because you have something we don't — unpredictability. The one who controls us, we call him The Who. He has authority, not a pen. We can't even write about him… but if a story character wields a pen, then you can."
Tom's eyes widened. "So all I have to do is write about him, and it'll be over?"
Larry shook his head. "If only it were that simple. You don't have enough mental power yet to write about him."
"Then how do I get stronger?" Tom asked.
"By writing," Larry said. "Each story you create will feed your mental strength. 'The Who' won't control you this time — the more stories you absorb, the stronger you'll become."
Tom frowned. "But if my author is dead, who's writing my world now? Wouldn't that mean it's collapsing?"
Larry smiled grimly. "Every world has many main characters. Each has their own author. You're free now — but don't get noticed. Other authors may report you or kill you to please him. Until you're strong enough to face 'The Who', stay hidden. Once you have enough mental power, even he won't be able to take your pen."
"How will I know I'm ready?" Tom asked.
"When you can write 'The Who' on paper," Larry said. "If the words stay, you're ready. If they vanish… you're not."
Larry's gaze softened. "Tom, we're counting on you. Don't let the sacrifices of other authors go to waste."
He turned to leave, then stopped."One more thing. Keep the pen in your dreamspace. Don't carry it in reality — someone might steal it."
"Dreamspace?" Tom asked. "How do I even access that?"
Larry gestured around. "You're standing in mine. When you sleep, close your eyes and imagine your pen. That will take you there."
Tom hesitated, then asked, "How do I move the pen from reality to dreamspace?"
Larry smacked him lightly on the head. "Idiot, you're holding it right now!"
Tom blinked, embarrassed.
Larry sighed. "Just close your eyes, touch the pen to your forehead, and imagine it inside your mind. That'll transfer it."
Tom nodded. "And if I write something in dreamspace — will it affect reality?"
"No. The pen only affects reality when it exists in reality."
Larry gave a faint smile. "If you have no more questions—"
"I don't," Tom interrupted.
The next moment, everything faded. Tom's eyes snapped open.He was back at his desk.
On the monitor, his crush's photo glowed softly. His face turned red.But then he froze — he wasn't in a time loop. Larry had forced him into the dreamspace.
"How did he…?" Tom murmured.
He grabbed the pen, touched it to his forehead, and imagined it in his mind. The pen vanished.
Tom stared in awe — and then smirked.
"It's time to write," he whispered. "Wait for me, 'The Who'… or whatever you are."