"Not to interrupt, Cordelia…" Barbra said walking in at this time. "But we need him to choose if he will absorb or sell these cubes first?"

Cordelia nodded. "Yeah…I just knew if I didn't do it now…I'd never have the courage to." She sighed deeply once more, then turned to me. "Give me your answer later. Just one date."

Cordelia left the room, quietly, gently. I'd say as if it was an angel's kiss, but after experiencing an angels choir, that felt…why do we say angels feel angelic?

Barbra turned to me and shook her head. "Take her on a date. Thanks to her programming, she's incredibly confused."

"Thanks? Was that romance advice?"

"No. It was advice I'm required to offer you via the contract. Legitimately, a romantic relationship between you two won't turn out well. At all. Quit pivoting now, cubes."

She put six different skillcubes on the table.

Dance of the Paper Crane (Dance, Creation, Nature, Order, Insanity)

Effect: While Dancing, create strips of confetti of ripped up paper cranes. Mana cost is based on the amount of paper generated.

Hunt of the Nameless (Insanity, Dimension, Darkness, Chaos)

Passive Effect: Absorb the name of those you have killed, granting you insight to their memories of the prior day.

Active Effect: You may utilize the name of someone to create a shadow puppet. This shadow puppet lasts until the next sunrise, or sunset, whichever is sooner. This shadow puppet obeys your commands, but must stay within your field of influence.

Paper and Pencells (Insanity, Prison, Chaos, Darkness, Crystal, Dimension, Whimsy)

Effect: Take a paper cube and twist and turn it into a labyrinth with mana. You and those around you are forced into the labyrinth, enemies and allies alike. You are able to twist and turn the paper cube while inside, as well as draw things onto the paper to grant them effects.

"Sire. You want that one." Lumivis spoke up.

"Agreed. But I also want the first one as well."

Barbra nodded at that, and motioned for me to examine the other three.

I scanned the list in front of me.

My eyes stopped at the third cube.

Star.

I didn't blink, but a tension entered my shoulders. Not shock. Not wonder. Just a kind of reverent stillness. I already knew what I was looking at. I had made it. My Arte, through the inkwork of the Lexicon, had pulled it out of my subconscious, from whatever hidden coil of potential or memory shaped these cubes.

But still.

A Star-aligned cube.

It wasn't the fact that it appeared that struck me — it was that I had finally made one. After all the tries. All the brushes against the edges of that gleaming aspect. I had coaxed Crystal. I had courted Dimension. Even Nature bent its head toward me now. But Star?

I had thought myself too grounded.

Yet here it was.

Barbra's voice came from across the table. "Know which three you're taking?"

I didn't answer right away. I let myself sit in it, just for a second longer. Not indulgence — alignment. The way a lock recognizes its key.

"I do," I said.

"Then list them. Don't be theatrical."

"Dance of the Paper Crane."

Barbra nodded. "Obvious. Makes sense. Your movement work's improved."

"Paper and Pencells."

That got a blink out of her.

"You're picking the labyrinth?"

"Yes."

She tilted her head. "You understand that skill will hit friend and foe alike. There's no filter. No bias."

"I understand," I replied. "That's the point."

"And the third?" she said, though I could tell she already knew.

I let my fingers drift over the last cube — the one glowing faintly, faint constellations etched across its edges like ink suspended in voidglass.

"Stage of the Starborne."

Lumivis manifested fully now, stepping forward with a quiet shimmer. "Correct."

Barbra exhaled. "Well. You'd better hope it doesn't implode."

"It won't," I said. "It came from me."

"You say that like that's comforting."

"It is to me."

Barbra flicked her wrist, dismissing the remaining cubes. "The others will be sold through proper channels. A shame about Letters to Ending, though. I had a soft spot for that one."

Lumivis glided to my side. "That one will find its way back to you when the time is right. They all do. That's the nature of self-forged ink. It returns."

I nodded, absorbing the three chosen cubes. As each entered my system, I felt them take their place — not just inside my mana lattice, but within my lexicon. My narrative. They weren't foreign. They were familiar. They had always been waiting for me to be ready.

First, the [Dance of the Paper Crane] settled into my muscles — a thread of grace and motion, of gentle devastation. I could already feel how it wanted to move me.

Second, [Paper and Pencells] sank into my spatial memory. A foldable realm, an evolving prison. The cube hummed with potential — a place I could twist, rewrite, trap, and even redraw reality on.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Finally, [Stage of the Starborne] took root deeper. Not in body. Not in movement. But somewhere else. In intent. In story.

Lumivis was watching closely now, his crystalline lashes folded like icicles. "You feel it, don't you?"

"Yes."

"It's not a tool. It's an invitation."

Barbra rolled her eyes. "It's a script with a mana burn rate higher than your last fight. Be smart with it."

I nodded, still tracking the way my core adjusted. The [Stage of the Starborne] wasn't like the others. It wasn't just power — it was structure. Possibility. A spell and a metaphor entwined. I hadn't designed it knowingly, but it wasn't foreign either. It had grown out of something I had always known, even if I hadn't named it until now.

Lumivis whispered, "Do you know why there are no Star cubes in the open world?"

"Because the people who make them, find them, or are lucky enough to have one manifest nearby… don't part with them."

"Correct," he said. "They don't sell. They don't trade. They align, or they fade."

Barbra gave a noncommittal grunt. "Or they explode in an ego fireball. Just saying."

"It came from me," I said again, firmer this time. "So if it burns, it burns as I do. But I think I'm finally ready to set something alight."

That quieted the room.

Barbra studied me for a second. Her clinical posture softened — just barely. "Alright, then. I'll file the confirmation. And I'll have the other three auctioned off by dusk. But I'm putting a note in your file."

"A warning?"

"No. Just this: 'Dumb enough to eat a Star, smart enough to survive it.'"

I gave her a small nod.

Lumivis, by contrast, stepped forward and placed one cold, prismatic hand just over my chest. Not touching — never touching — but close enough to shimmer.

"In you, I see the first constellation," he murmured. "Not in the sky. But on the page."

I didn't answer. I didn't need to.

He dispersed a moment later, melting into the light.

Barbra turned on her heel. "Get ready. Now that you've taken those, every word you write is going to carry weight. And I mean that literally. [Stage of the Starborne] affects narrative gravity. Try not to monologue near a balcony."

"I'll be careful."

"No, you won't," she called over her shoulder. "But at least you'll be interesting."

I remained in the chamber for another breath.

Three new cubes. One new aspect.

And the quiet, steady hum of alignment between who I was and what I had become.

The stars weren't distant anymore.

They were folded within me. Waiting.

And I was ready to write.

***

I stared down at the mission on my desk, the one labeled with that stupid gold stamp and the words: MANDATORY REST CYCLE – ENFORCED BY ADMINISTRATIVE REQUEST.

Rest cycle.

What a joke. No one enforces rest unless they expect something ugly to show up soon.

"I just wish I could meet this so-called manager…"

There was a pop. No, a soundless crash. Like the universe swallowed itself and burped it back out in front of me.

"WISH GRANTED~!"

I flinched as a small, very small boy tumbled from nowhere and landed on my desk, sprawling in a chaotic explosion of color. Bells rang from every joint of his absurd outfit, which looked like someone skinned a Mardi Gras parade and fed it glitter.

"TA-DA!" he said, springing to his feet in a single, fluid bounce. "Hello there, Alexander Duarte-Alizade! You, lucky boy, have been assigned me—The Great Catomancer of our Time, the Whimsical Warden of Ways, the one, the only…"

He paused to give a dramatic wink, flicking his wrist in a blur of ribbons and trinkets. A single cat bell floated in the air before vanishing with a hiss of smoke.

"Gin."

I blinked.

Should I be alarmed?

The boy was maybe nine—ten at most—with tangled black hair, deep sunburned skin, and eyes that flickered between violet and gold like starlight seen through boiling water. He had no shoes. Just soft white wrappings and bells strung like anklets and bracelets, moving in layered, harmonious tones with every micro-gesture he made. Even when still, he was in motion.

And he smelled faintly of cinnamon and pepper.

"Hello?" he said, stretching the word with a deliberate lilt, his head tilted like a curious fox. "Are you broken? You're staring. That usually means awe. Or fear. Or, oooooh—are you one of the broody ones?"

"I'm just… trying to make sense of why a child is standing on my desk."

"Ohhhhhh, that's the route we're taking?" He flopped down like a cat, legs swinging off the side. "I see. Let's try again. Ask your real question."

I narrowed my eyes. "Who are you, really?"

A beat passed.

Then Gin smiled. Not the smile of a child, not the smile of a liar. A smile of teeth sharpened over centuries of boredom. Something ancient peered through that face. And then, like mist, it was gone.

"Me?" he said sweetly. "Oh, just an old, old thing that got tired of being tall."

He rolled his eyes. "Have you seen the way people react to adults? So boring. Everyone expects you to be responsible or wield decorum. Ugh. No thank you." He hopped up, landing perfectly balanced on the back of my chair. "But as a child?"

He leaned in so close I could feel his breath. It was warm. Too warm. Summer-night-in-a-dying-realm warm.

"I can do anything and call it a game."

"You're insane," I muttered.

"Correct!" he chirped.

I sighed. "Fine. What do you actually want? You said you were assigned to me?"

"Ohhh yes." He pulled out a scroll that unfolded halfway across the room, listing terms, designations, contracts, sub-clauses, extradimensional logic, and a doodle of me with cat ears. "Due to your alignment with Dimensional Mana, Star potential, and—oooo, look here—recent manifestations of non-traditional cubes, you've qualified for a Handler. That's me."

"Handler?"

"Don't like the word? You can call me Dungeon Mommy if it helps."

I made a face.

"Kidding," he said, spinning around in place. "Mostly. The truth is, you've started making Cubes that the system doesn't entirely understand. Both the walker system and…others. You've become recursive, darling. Your Arte makes artifacts that generate consequences the admin thread can't monitor without direct interface."

He tapped my forehead. "So I am your interface."

I leaned back. "So you're some sort of… monitor?"

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no," he said, each "no" delivered with a different voice and accent. "I'm your training wheels. Your spotter. Your cheering section, and if need be…" His eyes flared gold, voice dropping into something guttural. "…your leash."

Then, in a blink, he was back to bouncing.

"You're not dangerous yet, but you might be. And I love dangerous."

"And what do you get out of this?"

His smile didn't fade. If anything, it deepened.

"You think everything has to be transactional. That's so mortal of you."

"But you are immortal, aren't you?"

He shrugged. "Sort of. I've died before. Just never all at once."

That gave me pause.

Gin continued. "You fascinate me. Your cubes come from within, but they echo things lost to the Fold. Your Arte reaches when it shouldn't. You build stories like bridges, and now? You've started walking across them."

He twirled, feet never quite touching the floor.

"I'm here to see how far you'll go. Maybe guide you. Maybe... break you. That's the fun part."

"You really are some kind of cat," I muttered.

He beamed. "I like cats! But dogs are better at cuddling. Ever tried cuddling a cat? All claws and betrayal. Dogs though—oh, the loyalty. The pain when it snaps. Marvelous."

This was exhausting.

He flopped back onto the desk, upside down, his head hanging over the edge.

"Anyway, the rest mission is mandatory. You need to stop eating dimensions for like, twenty-four hours. Just let your internal structure settle. You've created three narrative loops in the last two days. That's a record."

"I didn't know that was a thing that could happen. Wait. Eat dimensions?"

"It shouldn't be. That's why I'm here." he replied, ignoring the question.

We sat in silence for a moment, the bells on his outfit slowly settling.

"…You're going to be insufferable, aren't you?"

"Oh, darling," he said, staring up at me from his upside-down pose, that same ancient grin spreading across his face.

"I already am."

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