A vast, gaping rift formed in the sky as violet thunderbolts arched in all directions. Tremors coursed through the dungeon as my jaw slackened, unable to comprehend the sight before me.
Even in the original story, nothing like this had ever occurred. Was it something I caused? Or perhaps the presence of both myself and Hari, who weren't from this world?
Or worse still, was it connected to the Weavers?
I swallowed hard and dismissed the dragon blade in my hand. Even Hari who was now serving Deerheart appeared stunned by the brilliant spectacle emanating from whatever he was doing.
I bit down on my lip. I had relied too heavily on the story I once knew, to the point that I failed to think beyond its constraints.
This was no longer just my novel: it was a living, breathing world, and so was every individual within it.
It wasn't as if I knew the entire plot of the world. I was just a frog trapped in a well, oblivious to the vastness of the world.
