Salem woke up face-first on something that felt suspiciously like… printer paper. Not the soft, comforting kind. No. This was the cheap stuff—thin, crinkly, and sharp enough to slice a thumb.
When he pushed himself up, hundreds—no, thousands—of loose pages slid off his back like a paper avalanche. The ground wasn’t ground at all. It was text.
Sentences. Paragraphs. Whole scenes scattered like litter.
His name appeared again and again in bold letters across different sheets. Some lines were familiar. Others… weren’t.
> “Salem wakes up screaming. Salem accepts his fate. Salem dies horribly.”
He blinked. “Excuse me, what?”
[PATCH NOTES LOADING…]
Salem whipped around. The words weren’t just floating—they were scrawled across the sky. Like someone had taken a cosmic marker and decided
