The ruins beneath Mitras had no name—no records, no paths, no guards. Just dust, silence, and an unnatural chill that crawled beneath the skin like a whisper.
Arata walked alone.
Each step he took down the ancient, spiral staircase made his Madara-gifted chakra react—twisting uneasily, as if the world around him was… resisting him.
He reached the bottom. And then he saw it.
A door—simple, black, and blank. No handle. No hinges. Just a surface that seemed to ripple as he neared.
Then a voice echoed, without source, without sound.
> "You shouldn't be here, Arata."
---
The Hall of Drafts
The door opened. Not with a creak—but with a flick, like a page being turned.
Inside was not a room.
It was an endless library, with floating scrolls and pages suspended mid-air. Ink drifted freely, forming and unforming words before vanishing again.
The Library of Ymir, but deeper. Far deeper.
And in the center stood a man in pure white, face obscured by shifting words and code.
The being looked up from an open manuscript.
"Welcome," he said. "I am the Editor."
---
Arata's Confrontation
Arata's fists clenched.
"You let this happen," he growled. "Kaen's corruption. The chakra. The rewrites. You let him in!"
The Editor calmly closed the book and placed it on an invisible shelf.
"Incorrect. You let him in."
Arata froze.
"You brought him with your memories—your obsessions, your what-ifs, your favorite powers. Kaen is not just another transmigrator. He is a manifestation of your unchecked imagination, given will by the gap between worlds."
"I didn't ask for this!" Arata shouted.
"No," the Editor said softly. "But you still wrote it."
---
The Editor's Judgment
"Worlds like this," the Editor continued, motioning around the infinite space, "exist in balance. Every decision you make, every time you use powers that don't belong here—you shift the story's center."
Arata's Rinnegan flared. "Then fix it."
"I cannot," the Editor said. "Only the Author can reset a narrative… and right now, Kaen is writing faster than I can edit."
He held up a fragment of scroll. It flickered with Titan anatomy... and chakra diagrams merged together.
"If Kaen completes his rewrite, this world becomes a lawless realm—an unfinished fanfic with no ending, no death, no stakes. Just power escalation."
Arata shuddered. He had seen it before. Worlds that spiraled out of control. Where death was meaningless. Where plot armor was divine.
Where nothing mattered anymore.
---
The Path Ahead
The Editor raised a finger. A path appeared—lined with shattered masks and bleeding pages.
"You have two choices," he said.
"Destroy Kaen—and all rewritten souls like Ren Ackerman… including your own borrowed powers."
"Or become what Kaen fears most."
"…What's that?" Arata asked.
The Editor smiled slightly beneath his veil of ink and light.
> "A storyteller with restraint."
---
Meanwhile – Kaen's Fortress of Ink
Kaen stood atop a floating citadel of black chakra and corrupted crystal, watching the hybrid Titans train. Ren Ackerman stood at his side, fully awakened—with Sharingan now etched over his eyes like tattoos.
"A story cannot grow without breaking its bones first," Kaen whispered. "And soon, even the Editor will have to watch."
He opened a new scroll—one etched with Eren Yeager's name.
And he began to rewrite.