The first consequence came the next morning.
I awoke to the sound of bells—three short chimes, followed by a long one. At Astralis, that wasn't the usual class signal. It was an emergency summons.
And it had only happened once in the original manuscript.
I sat up in bed, heart pounding. Across the dorm, my roommate groaned and pulled a pillow over his head.
"Is it a fire drill again?" he mumbled.
"No," I said, already reaching for my coat. "Something worse."
Because in Fall of the Truthbearers, this bell meant a Breached Veil—an event that wasn't supposed to happen until Arc 2.
And we were still in Arc 0.
The Grand Plaza was packed.
Students crowded together in half-worn uniforms, some barely awake, others clutching notebooks or half-eaten pastries. Professors stood near the edge of the circular platform, robes billowing in the unnatural wind. The statue of Headmaster Elarion stood at the center, his marble staff glowing faintly.
Above him, the sky pulsed.
I stared.
The clouds were bleeding light.
Not sunlight—mana.
Veins of silver and crimson rippled across the heavens like cracks in glass. The Rift was forming, and far too early.
Original Timeline: Rift Event occurs in Chapter 89.Catalyst: Protagonist awakens ancient core during third trial.Result: Dimensional instability begins. Secondary villains introduced.
This was a Chapter 89 event.
We were on Chapter 3.
The system was losing control.
[System Alert]Narrative Entropy: 21.8%Early Rift Fluctuation Detected. Timeline Fragmentation Risk: Moderate.Reason: Protagonist obtained knowledge from restricted archive.Suggested Action: Limit information bleed. Seal deviation point.
So this was the cost of Alaric asking about Elementa Concord too early.
Because I'd answered his question.
Because I'd existed.
The Rift hadn't been triggered yet. But it was now leaking. The world was trying to keep the plot on track—but the gears were grinding.
And I was the wrench.
Headmaster Elarion finally stepped forward, his voice magnified by a floating sigil:
"Remain calm. The mana fluctuation above the Plaza is under control. Classes are suspended for the day. You are to return to your dormitories until further notice."
Murmurs broke out across the crowd, but no one disobeyed.
Elarion's presence commanded silence. Even I had trouble looking at him directly. Not because of intimidation—but because I'd written him that way.
Elarion: Unreadable. A man who has seen the end of all things… and chosen to forget it.
Back then, I thought the line sounded poetic. Now it felt real.
By the time I returned to the dorm, the system had calmed slightly.
Entropy Rate Stabilized: +0.2% per hourCausal Branch Correction Possible: LowPlot Restoration Attempt: INITIATED
I leaned against the window, watching the sky crackle with faint magical pressure.
This wasn't sustainable. I'd altered a single conversation, and already the laws of reality were bending. If I wanted to survive, I needed a strategy.
And fast.
Because I knew what came next.
Chapter 4 in the original story was where the students were evaluated for class placement. Those with magical potential were pushed into combat-focused roles. Those without… were sorted into maintenance or logistics.
Caelum had been one of the latter.
No mana signature. No elemental affinity. Just a photographic memory and quiet hands.
That wouldn't work anymore.
Not if I wanted to avoid dying in twelve chapters.
I grabbed a sheet of parchment from the desk, dipped a quill in ink, and drew the old truthweaver glyph for "Recall."
It shimmered faintly.
That meant I still had access.
Truthweaving was an advanced technique I designed for scholars and knowledge-based casters. It wasn't a "magic" in the traditional sense—it was language-based, reality-binding logic magic. Reserved for high-circle archivists.
Caelum shouldn't have been able to use it.
But I could.
Because I wrote it.
Truthweaving: The art of embedding commands into reality through linguistic symbols, powered by resonance rather than raw mana.
I whispered the phrase, "Let memory hold," and tapped the glyph.
A glowing image of the Archive's map appeared before me—exact, perfect, complete.
I could still do it.
Maybe I couldn't cast fireballs or teleport like the combatants.
But I had system-level access to the story's backbone.
And knowledge was power here.
There was a knock at the door.
Again.
I almost groaned, fearing another protagonist.
But this time, it was a girl.
She stood in the hallway, arms folded, eyes sharp.
Dark copper hair tied back in a tight braid. A uniform pressed so perfectly it looked like it had never been worn. And a small crystal badge pinned over her chest—indicating Second Circle status.
"Caelum Veritas?" she said coolly.
"…Yes?"
"I'm Sylva Rhiannon. Top of last year's arcane logic exams. I heard you accessed Archive 407."
I froze.
Another main character.
Another deviation.
Sylva Rhiannon wasn't supposed to meet Caelum until Chapter 11. And now two major cast members had spoken to me before the prologue was even finished.
She stepped closer, tone calm but firm.
"That room hasn't opened for fifty-seven years. No student's been authorized since the Elarion Reform Act. But somehow, you triggered it."
"It wasn't on purpose," I muttered.
"I don't care. I just want to know what you saw."
The system pinged softly.
[Narrative Deviation Expanded]Tier 2 Named Cast Link: Sylva RhiannonEntropy Surge: +3.5%
This wasn't going to stop.
The moment I stepped off the script, the cast had begun orbiting me like I was some kind of gravitational anomaly. The more I interacted, the worse it got.
But pushing them away wouldn't work either.
They were drawn by plot gravity.
And I was now its center.
I looked Sylva in the eyes.
"I saw a version of this world that breaks," I said quietly. "And it starts in eight days."
She didn't flinch. "Then we'd better prepare."