The problem with fleeing from government agents in a reality that is actively falling apart is that you can never be entirely sure if the floor is going to remain a floor.
Elara Vance's sneakers slapped against the concrete of the subway stairs, the sound echoing in the damp, subterranean air. Behind her, the heavy thud-thud-thud of Li Wusheng's boots and the near-silent, predatory glide of Aldren kept pace.
"Down!" Elara yelled, vaulting over a spilled trash can that was currently vibrating and emitting the sound of a choir singing in reverse. "The Red Line station should be just ahead!"
"The Red Line?" Aldren scoffed, checking his cufflink for scratches as he ran. "Must we? The subterranean trains are a breeding ground for germs and despair. I have distinct memories of the 1900s. It smelled of coal and regret then; I imagine it smells of urine and disappointment now."
"Would you prefer the agents with the erasure-rods?" Elara shot back, skidding around a corner.
"I would prefer a limousine," Aldren noted. "Or perhaps flight. Li, why haven't you summoned a cloud for us to ride? Isn't that in your skill set?"
Li Wusheng, who was currently running with his hands tucked into his opposite sleeves like a disturbed monk late for prayers, grunted. "The Qi of the heavens is scrambled! If I summoned a cloud now, it would likely be a cloud of acidic rain or perhaps a swarm of angry bees. I do not wish to ride bees, vampire."
They burst into the station atrium. The fluorescent lights overhead were flickering in a chaotic Morse code. The few commuters present were standing perfectly still, staring at the turnstiles.
Elara skidded to a halt. "What's wrong with them?"
"Lag," Aldren said, tilting his head. "Look."
A businessman in a grey suit was swiping his Orca card. He swiped it. Then he swiped it again. Then he swiped it again. But he wasn't doing it out of frustration; he was looping. His arm moved with robotic precision, snapping back to the starting point every two seconds. Swipe. Reset. Swipe. Reset.
"NPCs stuck in a loop," Elara whispered, a chill crawling up her spine. "The server isn't responding."
"Excuse me, citizen!" Li Wusheng boomed, stepping forward and tapping the looping businessman on the shoulder. "You are impeding the flow of destiny! Also, we are being chased by bureaucratic assassins!"
The businessman didn't react. His hand passed straight through Li's shoulder as he swiped again.
"Intangibility," Li noted, looking at his own chest. "Disturbing."
"They're coming," Aldren warned, his eyes narrowing as he looked back up the stairs. The air at the entrance was warping, bending like heat haze over asphalt. The Agents of the Committee were rewriting the distance to close the gap.
"Jump the turnstiles!" Elara ordered.
She placed her hands on the metal bar and vaulted over. It was ungraceful, but effective.
Aldren sighed, a sound of profound aristocratic suffering. He didn't vault. He simply dissolved into a swarm of bats, fluttered over the barrier, and reformed on the other side, perfectly straightening his tie.
"Show off," Elara muttered.
Li Wusheng approached the turnstile. He looked at the metal bars. He looked at the card reader.
"I do not trust this metal gatekeeper," Li announced. "It demands tribute."
"Just jump it, Li!"
"I shall not jump like a common thief! I shall pass through it like water!"
Li closed his eyes, muttered a mantra, and walked confidently forward.
CLANG.
The metal bar slammed directly into his groin.
Li Wusheng made a sound that was less 'immortal warrior' and more 'deflating bagpipe.' He doubled over, wheezing.
"Water," Aldren critiqued from the platform. "Very dense, solid water."
"My… cultivation…" Li wheezed, rolling over the bar and collapsing onto the dirty tiles. "Is… compromised."
Elara grabbed the immortal by his hoodie and dragged him toward the platform edge just as the glass doors at the top of the stairs shattered. The grey-suited agents poured in, their black-lightning rods crackling.
"Train!" Elara yelled. "Now!"
As if summoned by her desperation, a roar echoed from the tunnel. A train burst into the station. But it wasn't the sleek, silver Sound Transit train.
It was a steam engine. Massive, black iron, belching smoke that smelled like lavender and rotting meat. It screeched to a halt, the doors hissing open—except they were wooden saloon doors.
"Is this normal for Seattle?" Li asked, clutching his stomach as he stood up.
"No," Elara said, shoving him onboard. "It's a glitch. Get in!"
They tumbled into the carriage just as bolts of black energy scorched the tiles where they had been standing. Aldren slammed the wooden doors shut and threw the metal latch.
The train lurched forward, accelerating with impossible speed, leaving the agents—and the normal world—behind.
The interior of the train carriage was a confusing mix of a Victorian parlor and a 1980s disco. There were velvet armchairs, but the floor was lighted with pulsating neon squares. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, but instead of crystals, it was made of floating, glowing Tetris blocks.
The only other passenger was an old woman knitting a scarf that seemed to have no end; the yarn trailed out the window into the darkness of the tunnel.
Elara collapsed onto a velvet armchair, her chest heaving. "Okay. Okay. We lost them."
Aldren dusted off the seat of a pristine armchair with a handkerchief before sitting down, crossing his legs elegantly. "For now. Those 'Redactors' seem persistent. And boring. A terrible combination."
Li Wusheng sat on the floor—he refused to trust the furniture—and began massaging his midsection. "This reality is hostile. The metal gates attack the groin. The carriages smell of lavender and death. My Qi is revolting against me."
"Your Qi is fine, Li," Elara said, rubbing her face. Her nose had stopped bleeding, but she had a splitting headache. "It's the world that's broken."
She looked out the window. The tunnel walls weren't concrete. They were rushing past scenes that didn't belong underground. A flash of a desert. A glimpse of a snowy mountain. A quick frame of a giant, sleeping baby floating in space.
"The tunnels," Elara murmured. "They're moving through the 'In-Between.' The unwritten spaces."
"So," Aldren said, his voice cutting through the surreal atmosphere. "We are fugitives. We are broke. And we are currently riding a magical mystery train to god-knows-where. Now seems like an excellent time for the conversation."
Elara stiffened. "What conversation?"
"The one where we acknowledge that the leash is off," Aldren said. His crimson eyes locked onto hers. They weren't glowing, but they were intense, heavy with centuries of predatory instinct. "The Oath is broken, Elara. I felt it snap when the Loom died. I physically cannot be compelled to protect you anymore."
Li Wusheng stopped massaging his stomach. He looked up, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "The vampire speaks truth. The Daoist seals that bound my karma to the Keystone Bearer... they are silent. I am free to return to the mountains. I am free to ascend."
Elara looked between them. The Vampire Lord and the Immortal General. In Volume 1, they were her bodyguards by cosmic decree. They had to save her.
Now?
"So why did you get on the train?" Elara asked quietly. The train rattled over tracks that sounded like piano keys. Plink-plonk-plink.
"A valid question," Aldren mused. He inspected his fingernails. "I could have turned into mist and flown to my estate in Romania. I have a very comfortable crypt there. Wi-Fi is terrible, but the blood wine is excellent."
"And I," Li said, stroking his beard, "could have walked into the mist. A walker of the Way can always find a path to solitude."
"But you didn't," Elara pressed.
"I have no money," Li admitted bluntly. "And I do not understand how to use the 'Uber.' The last time I tried to travel alone in this century, I ended up in a 'Zoo' and was nearly detained for trying to duel a panda. It was a misunderstanding. I thought it was a demon bear."
"You tried to fight a panda?" Elara blinked.
"It had dark eyes! It looked suspicious!" Li defended himself. "But my point remains. This world is... loud. Confusing. And now, broken. Without a guide, I am merely a weapon without a target."
Aldren chuckled, a dry, dusty sound. "Li stays because he is a lost puppy. How charming."
"And you?" Li shot back. "Why does the Great Lord of Shadows debase himself on a disco-steam-train?"
Aldren looked out the window at the swirling void. His expression softened, just a fraction. A mask slipping.
"Boredom," Aldren lied. Then he sighed. "And... curiosity. For six hundred years, I have been a character in a script. 'The Dark Guardian.' 'The Reluctant Monster.' I knew my lines. I knew my ending. It was safe. But it was dull."
He turned back to Elara. "You broke the script, Elara. You looked at the Weaver—god of all things—and said 'No.' That is... intoxicating. I want to see what you write next. And practically speaking, if the world dissolves into entropy, my wine cellar will be destroyed. I cannot allow that."
Elara looked at them. They were deflecting, hiding behind arrogance and confusion. But the truth was simpler. They were a family. A dysfunctional, dangerous, supernatural family, but a family nonetheless.
"I'm not your boss anymore," Elara said firmly. "I can't order you to fight. I can't force you to stay."
"Good," Aldren said. "I detest orders."
"But," Elara continued, "I am going to fix this. I'm going to find the Shards. I'm going to stop the Redactors. And I'm going to write a world where we don't have to hide. I could use... partners."
Li Wusheng stood up. He smoothed his tattered robes. He looked at Elara, and for a moment, he wasn't the confused man who fought pandas. He was the Celestial General.
"Partners," Li tested the word. "A 'Fellowship of the Dao.' I accept. But I demand we stop for food soon. My stomach believes it has been punched by a golem."
"Partners," Aldren agreed, reclining in his chair. "But if you get me killed, I will haunt you. And I will be a very pettily haunting ghost. I will hide your keys and make your socks damp."
"Deal," Elara smiled. It was a weak smile, but it was real.
The train whistle blew—a sound that was distinctly a human voice shouting CHOO CHOO—and the train began to slow.
"Next stop," a disembodied voice announced over the intercom. "Chinatown. The Void. And Bagels. Mind the gap, the gap is hungry."
They emerged from the subway station into the International District. It was raining, but the rain was falling upwards.
"Upward rain," Aldren noted, pulling up his collar. "Terrible for the trousers. It runs right up the leg."
"Where are we going?" Elara asked, dodging a droplet that tried to fly up her nose. "We can't go back to the motel. The Committee will be watching the credit cards."
"We go to the Sanctuary," Li said, pointing down a neon-lit alleyway. "Decades ago, before I went into hibernation, I established a safe house. A sacred dojo protected by geomancy and spirit wards. Only those of pure intent may enter."
"Pure intent?" Aldren raised an eyebrow. "We're doomed."
"It is unplottable," Li insisted. "The Redactors cannot find it on their maps. Come."
They followed Li through the twisting alleyways of Chinatown. The reality glitching here was subtle but pervasive. The neon signs flickered between English, Chinese, and glowing hieroglyphics. A stray cat watched them pass, then blinked and turned into a teapot, then back into a cat.
"Here," Li said, stopping in front of a heavy wooden door set into a brick wall. Above it, a faded sign read: Golden Dragon Martial Arts & Spiritual Alignment.
"Behold," Li said reverently. "The fortress of solitude."
He pushed the door open.
A bell chimed. Tinkle-tinkle.
They walked in.
It was not a dojo.
It was pink. Very pink.
The walls were painted bubblegum pink. There were fluffy cushions everywhere. J-Pop was blasting from speakers. And everywhere—on shelves, on chairs, on climbing structures—were cats. Dozens of them.
A neon sign on the back wall buzzed: MEOW & BOW: CAT CAFE & BOBA TEA.
Aldren stopped in the doorway. He looked at the cats. He looked at Li.
"A fortress of solitude," Aldren deadpanned.
Li Wusheng's jaw dropped. "What... what is this desecration? Where are the weapon racks? Where is the altar to the Ancestors?"
"Welcome to Meow and Bow!" a cheerful voice chirped.
A young woman, maybe twenty years old, popped up from behind the counter. She had bright blue hair and was wearing cat ears.
"We have a special today on Earl Grey Boba!" she beamed. Then she looked at Li. Her smile faltered. She squinted. "Great-Uncle... Li?"
Li stared at her. "You are... the descendant of Disciple Chen?"
"Yeah! Chen was my grandpa!" The girl hopped over the counter. "I'm Jen. He said you went into a 'spiritual coma' in the basement in the 80s. We thought you died down there, but we couldn't open the door because of the magic spells!"
"You turned my dojo..." Li's voice trembled. "Into a... petting zoo?"
"It's a business model, Uncle!" Jen said defensively. "Martial arts don't pay the rent. Boba tea and cute cats? Goldmine. Well, until yesterday when the sky broke and Mr. Whiskers started floating."
She pointed to a fat tabby cat that was currently drifting near the ceiling, looking mildly annoyed.
"This is perfect," Elara said, stepping in and closing the door. "Jen, right? We need to lay low. Like, 'government agents want to erase us' low. Can we use the basement?"
Jen looked at Elara, then at the floating cat, then at Aldren (who was currently trying to fend off a kitten that was chewing on his expensive Italian leather shoes).
"Is he a vampire?" Jen whispered loud enough for everyone to hear.
"Yes," Elara said.
"Cool," Jen grinned. "Grandpa left a note saying 'If the Immortal returns, give him the Wi-Fi password and do whatever he says or the demons will eat us.' So, yeah. Basement is yours. But you have to buy a drink. Store policy."
The basement of the Meow & Bow was, thankfully, less pink.
It was a stark contrast to the cafe upstairs. Stone walls, ancient tapestries gathering dust, and a weapon rack that actually held weapons—though they were covered in cobwebs. The air smelled of incense and old paper.
"This," Li said, inhaling deeply, "is the smell of discipline."
"It smells of mold," Aldren corrected, dusting off a wooden stool before sitting. "But it is shielded. I can feel the wards. The Redactors' tracking spells will slide right off this place."
Elara paced the room. There was a large wooden table in the center. She swept a pile of old scrolls off it and pulled a map of the city from her pocket—a physical map she had grabbed from the subway station.
"Okay," she said. "War room established. Let's talk strategy."
She smoothed the map out. "The Shards. We saw what one did to the diner. It overwrote reality. If the Committee gets them, they can overwrite us. They can stitch the Prime Thread back together however they want."
"They will create a tyranny of order," Aldren said. "A world without anomalies. Without vampires. Without magic. Just... spreadsheets and compliance."
"And if the 'Tyrant'—your past life—gets them?" Li asked.
"She overwrites everything to make herself God," Elara said darkly. "I remember fragments of her memories. She doesn't share power."
"So we must find them first," Li said. "But how? They are needles in a haystack of chaos."
"Not needles," Elara said. "Magnets."
She tapped the map. "I felt the Shard at the diner. It didn't just change the plants; it changed the story. It imposed a genre. The diner became an 'Adventure Pulp' setting. The jungle, the danger."
"So we look for genre shifts," Aldren realized. "We scan the news for areas where reality has become... thematic."
"Exactly," Elara pulled out her phone. "Jen! Can we get that Wi-Fi password?"
"PawsAndClaws123!" Jen's voice drifted down from the trapdoor.
Elara connected and started scrolling.
"Okay... Seattle Police reporting a disturbance in Capitol Hill," Elara read. "Reports of... black and white vision? People speaking in rhythmic slang?"
"The Jazz Age Shard," Aldren said. "Noir. That's a strong genre."
"Here's another one," Elara scrolled. "Fremont District. Physics is working, but... electronics are evolving? Toasters attacking owners? Cars turning into mechs?"
"Sci-Fi Shard," Li nodded. "The path of the machine."
"And here..." Elara paused. Her blood ran cold.
She turned the phone so they could see. It was a live news feed from downtown Seattle, near the Space Needle.
The image was shaking. The Space Needle was there, but it was twisted. It looked like a spire of black obsidian and bone. Dark clouds swirled around it, and dragons—real dragons, not glitches—were circling the peak.
"The Fantasy Shard," Elara whispered. "High Fantasy. That's the big one."
"That is not just a Shard," Li said, his voice grave. "Look at the energy signature. That is a stronghold."
"The Committee is already there," Aldren pointed to the corner of the screen. Black SUVs were creating a perimeter. "They're walling it off."
"Then that's where we go," Elara said. "But we're not ready for a frontal assault. We need weapons. Li, does this dojo have anything other than wood?"
Li walked to the back of the room. He placed his hand on a dusty section of the wall. "Disciple Chen was a hoarder. But he respected the old ways."
He pushed a hidden brick. A section of the wall slid open.
Inside wasn't just ancient swords. There were modern weapons too, but modified. A shotgun etched with Taoist runes. A bulletproof vest woven with red prayer threads. And a sword... a Jian blade, but made of a metal that shimmered like oil on water.
"The armory of the Unwritten," Li grinned.
Aldren stood up. "Fine. If we are to save reality, I suppose I should dress the part."
He shrugged off his pristine coat. Underneath, he wore a simple black shirt. He walked to the rack and picked up a pair of sleek, black daggers.
"Elara," Aldren turned to her. "You have no Goggles. You have no weapon. What is your role?"
Elara looked at the map. She looked at her hands. She closed her eyes and felt the hum of the basement—the 'code' of the building.
"I don't need a weapon," Elara said, opening her eyes. They flashed with a faint, white light—not the blue of the Goggles, but the white of the page. "I'm the Editor. I don't fight the monsters. I delete them."
She reached out to the map on the table. She focused on the spot marked 'Capitol Hill'—the Jazz Age Shard.
"We start small," Elara decided. "We go to the Noir zone. We get that Shard. We learn how to use it. Then... we take the Space Needle."
Li grabbed the rune-shotgun. "I have always wanted to exorcise a demon with buckshot. It feels... efficient."
Aldren spun the daggers. "Noir. I do look excellent in fedoras."
Elara grabbed a marker and circled Capitol Hill.
"Let's go rewrite history," she said.
Scene: The Upper Cafe
As they climbed out of the basement, Jen was waiting for them with three plastic cups sealed with plastic lids.
"Earl Grey Boba for the road?" she offered. "On the house. Since you're saving the world and all."
Li Wusheng took the cup suspiciously. He poked the straw into it. He took a sip.
His eyes widened. "These tapioca pearls... they have the texture of solidified clouds. It is... acceptable."
"It's sugar, Li," Elara said, taking hers. "Pure sugar."
"It is the nectar of the gods," Li corrected, sipping furiously.
They stepped out into the alley. The rain had stopped, or rather, paused. The sky was a deep, bruised purple.
Aldren took a sip of his tea. "Chewy," he noted with distaste. "Like blood clots. But sweet."
"Let's move," Elara said.
They walked into the neon night, a Vampire Lord sipping bubble tea, a Taoist Immortal racking a rune-shotgun, and a young woman with a nosebleed ready to challenge god.
Behind them, in the cafe, the floating cat finally drifted down, landed on its feet, and said in a perfect, deep baritone: "About time they left. The service here is terrible."
Jen dropped a tray of mugs.