Chapter 31
The Ink Plane did not sleep.
It remembered.
As Dino and Luna moved beyond the fractured ink-glass plain, the land subtly rearranged itself behind them—sealing cracks, smoothing fear, erasing evidence. Not to hide what happened, but to bury it. The Ink Plane had learned something it did not want to explain to the higher records.
Luna felt it in her chest.
A strange heaviness. Not danger. Not sorrow.
Attention.
"They're still watching," she said quietly.
Dino nodded. "They always were. You're just aware of it now."
They walked along a road that wasn't a road an absence where ink refused to settle. On either side stood towering pillars inscribed with prayers, curses, vows, and confessions from countless civilizations.
Some were human.
Some were divine.
Some belonged to things that had never believed in gods at all.
Luna slowed, reading fragments without realizing it.
> If there is a god, why did my child die?
If there is no god, why do I still pray?
Immortality is punishment disguised as mercy.
Her fingers trembled.
"Dino," she asked softly, "do you believe in gods?"
He didn't answer immediately.
They walked for several breaths before he spoke.
"I believe," he said, "that gods are born the same way monsters are."
She looked at him.
"Through fear?"
"Through need," Dino replied. "Fear simply gives them shape."
She absorbed that in silence.
Above them, the moons drifted—closer now. Still invisible to most planes, but unmistakably present. Red Moon dimmed, Silver Moon shimmered uneasily, while the Black Moon remained distant, aloof.
Luna suddenly stopped.
"Why do they stay with me?" she asked. "I didn't summon them. I didn't earn them."
Dino turned to face her fully.
"They are not weapons," he said. "They are witnesses."
"To what?"
"To your refusal to disappear."
Her throat tightened.
They continued on.
Ahead, the atmosphere thickened. The ink grew heavier, dragging at their footsteps as though reluctant to let them pass. Dino felt it too—but unlike the plane, he did not resist.
Instead, he slowed.
The world noticed.
That was when the figures appeared.
Not enemies.
Observers.
Shadows shaped like robed scholars, faceless judges, wandering priests, and silent kings—manifestations of belief itself. None attacked. None spoke.
They simply stood there.
Luna's breath caught. "They're… people."
"Echoes," Dino corrected. "Of those who believed strongly enough to leave an imprint."
One stepped forward.
Its voice was gentle. Almost kind.
> "Traveler," it said. "Why do you walk without worship?"
Dino answered calmly. "Because reverence should be chosen, not demanded."
Another figure spoke, sharper.
> "Princess of Ink. You were born divine. Why refuse your throne?"
Luna clenched her fists.
"I didn't refuse it," she said. "I just didn't want it to decide who I'm allowed to love."
The echoes stirred.
Murmurs rippled through them.
Then one voice rose above the rest—old, weary, unmistakably human.
> "If love defies heaven, is heaven worth keeping?"
Silence fell.
Dino stepped forward then.
His presence alone caused several echoes to flicker.
"Let me tell you something," he said quietly.
The world leaned in.
"People cheer for the turtle because it reaches the end," Dino continued. "They mock the rabbit because he didn't."
The echoes nodded, already knowing the story.
"But no one asks why the rabbit was late," Dino said. "Maybe he hid from a predator. Maybe he was trapped. Maybe he fought battles the turtle never saw."
The ink pillars trembled.
"In this world," he went on, voice steady, "only results matter. But wisdom begins when you question what the results cost."
The echoes began to fade—some in shame, some in understanding.
Luna stared at him.
"That was a speech," she said softly.
Dino shrugged. "Accidental."
They walked on.
Far ahead, at the edge of perception, something shifted.
A presence pulled back—calculating, refining, narrowing its target.
Luna felt it instinctively.
"Someone's trying to kill me," she said calmly.
"Yes," Dino agreed.
"Not now."
"No."
"But soon."
"Yes."
She smiled faintly. "They're going to be disappointed."
Dino didn't smile back.
"They already are," he said. "They just don't know why yet."
Behind them, the Ink Plane closed its eyes.
Not in sleep
but in respect.
And somewhere beyond its boundaries, forces that called themselves gods began to argue quietly
about whether beings like Dino and Luna were heresy…
or proof that divinity had never been the highest state of existence at all.
End of Chapter 31