"Let me explain that properly.”

The moment her fingers snapped, the floating interface reacted once more, its sapphire light shifting subtly into a richer hue, and then with a gentle flick of her wrist, the woman flipped the invisible page.

The [Editorial Skills] tab unfolded like a holographic book, weaving itself into headings and submenus as three sections revealed themselves.

“Let’s begin with this skill,” she said, pointing delicately to the top panel.

Skill: [Editorial Preview]

Description:

◇ A passive narrative tool that grants the bearer limited insight into a character’s projected role in the upcoming arc. Rather than depicting scenes or detailed outcomes, this feature reveals a single editorial ambiguous tagline that summarises the current trajectory of a person’s narrative relevance.

The previewed line reflects the system’s best approximation based on plot momentum, character actions, and authorial inertia. These projections are not absolute, but they carry some validity. Sometimes fate is already sealed. Other times, it can still be rewritten.

“This is called [Editorial Preview], it’s one of the more passive tools in your arsenal, and though it sounds flashy, it’s actually quite… limited, at least in its current form.”

“It doesn’t show you the future, not really. You won’t see events or story beats. What it gives you is… a snapshot, a single distilled tagline summarising a character’s projected narrative position in the next arc.”

She waved her hand, and a glowing silhouette appeared on top of a random civilian’s head from the plaza, frozen mid-stride, their name greyed out but visible.

A line hovered like an epitaph carved into data:

[Will remain uninvolved in the coming arc.]

“You’ll see fates like this, taglines, status blurbs. A few words, but enough to spark understanding. Sometimes, it will read [Alive]. Other times, [Fated to die]. Or [Cursed]. It doesn’t tell you how or why, but it gives you the thematic trajectory of that person’s role in the next phase of the story.”

Ruvian studied the floating words, tension creeping into his brow.

“So it’s… a one-line forecast?”

“Sort of. Not a prophecy but just a prompt. You’ll have to read between the lines, consider your knowledge of the character, and decide how or whether to act on it.”

“And this one is more straightforward.”

Skill: [Character Sheets] For original chapters go to novelꞁire.net

Description:

◇ An active tool that allows the bearer to inspect a character’s current state as interpreted by the narrative framework. Upon activation, a personalised character sheet will be generated, presenting a compiled dossier based on the story’s ongoing perception of the target.

The information revealed includes basic identifiers (name, age, affiliation), current mental and emotional state, personality alignment, major likes and dislikes, as well as any skills or stats, talents, or narrative traits previously established or foreshadowed.

While it does not expose private memories or inner thoughts, the sheet often reflects what the story believes to be “true” about them in that moment, sometimes more honest than the characters themselves.

Requirements:

◇ The bearer must know the target’s full name as recognised by the story.

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The blind songstress gestured to the interface again, and a faint lock icon pulsed over several names in grey.

“To unlock a character’s sheet, the system requires you to know that individual’s name.” She tilted her head with a smile.

Ruvian remained silent for a long moment, but his eyes narrowed slightly.

“…So let me get this straight. If I want to learn anything useful, I’ve gotta go around socialising with the cast?”

The woman only chuckled, unfazed by his tone, her fingers still resting lightly against the hovering interface.

“Yes, you can interpret it that way. But getting to know their name is already enough to activate the skill.”

Ruvian didn’t press further, the complaint had already left his lips. He understood the system was nudging him toward engagement.

Still, that didn’t mean he had to like it.

“And this last one….”

Skill: [Editorial Pen]

Description:

◇ A specialised narrative tool that allows the bearer to edit the descriptive layer of items and artefacts. This skill manipulates the “flavour text” of the world. By altering that descriptive layer, the item’s perceived role in the narrative can shift, leading to subtle or even functional changes over time.

The more drastic or disruptive the rewrite, the higher the Plot Points (PP) cost becomes. Minor edits may simply repaint the surface, but deeper alterations can ripple into the object’s properties, or unlock latent potential.

“You can use it to edit item descriptions, shift the way they behave, and alter small functions. A minor edit like rewriting ‘rusted dagger’ into ‘dull ceremonial blade’ costs little, but changing ‘useless heirloom’ into ‘sealed artefact of war’ might burn half your reserve.”

“Oh and only you can see the change.”

“Only me?” Ruvian asked.

“Yes,” she confirmed.

Ruvian stared at the floating tabs. All three glowed faintly, alive yet dormant.

“These are your initial tools,” the woman said, stepping back with reverent grace. “The others are locked. You won’t even see their names until your narrative relevance grows stronger. Right now, you’re still classified as…”

He turned toward the top of the interface where the status blinked quietly:

Narrative Relevance: [Footnote of Fate]

Her voice followed a breath behind it.

“The further you rise through the five stages, the more the story acknowledges you, the more features you unlock. Better system synergy, higher quest rewards, and stronger Editorial tools.”

Then, almost as an afterthought, she added lightly:

“Eventually, you might even rewrite your own fate.”

Ruvian’s eyes contracted as his gaze drifted to the top-left corner of the interface, a modest row of glowing numbers beside the label:

[Plot Points: 0].

He tapped a finger in the air toward it, pointing at a suspicious glitch on a screen only he could see.

“…Hey, how do I even earn these?” he asked, his tone dry but laced with a tired curiosity.

The blindfolded woman chuckled softly, not mocking but amused as though she’d been waiting for that question.

“I was wondering when you’d ask that~” she said, and with a lazy wave of her hand, the system interface shifted again.

The Plot Points line expanded, unfurling like parchment midair into a glowing, minimalist breakdown beneath the main menu.

“There are several ways, first, the most basic way is by completing quests issued by the system. Most of these are adaptive… narrative-linked. In other words, the system creates them as the story branches around you.”

She let that sink in for a breath before continuing.

“Second, you gain points by changing the story. That means actions that ripple out: saving someone who was meant to die, killing someone who wasn’t supposed to, creating tension, altering relationships, or exposing hidden truths. Minor shifts give you minor points. Major shifts… give more.”

Ruvian raised an eyebrow but said nothing, letting her continue.

“Third, your presence alone can generate points if it becomes… meaningful. When the narrative starts bending toward you, if your name enters more dialogues, if subplots spiral around your actions, if choices become more centred on you… The system recognises that and will reward you.”

She gestured again, and a soft ripple passed over the projection.

“Fourth, unpredictable decisions. If you break from what the world expects, even what The Curator of Dreams expected… you’ll earn points. The story reacts more when it can’t see you coming.”

Now Ruvian frowned, not in anger, but in reluctant understanding. It sounded exactly like something that damn author would cook up.

“…Sounds like I’m being bribed to be the author’s slave,” Ruvian muttered under his breath.

The blindfolded woman smiled wider at that, but didn’t deny it.

“Basically, the harder I fight to stay relevant, the more the story throws bones at me?”

“Incentives,” she corrected lightly, hands clasped. “Not bones. The story does not owe you anything, but if you become part of its fabric, it will… acknowledge you.”

He stared at the now-illuminated tab for a moment longer, then let out a slow exhale and muttered beneath his breath.

“Guess being a passive reader’s no longer an option, huh?”

The woman’s smile turned knowing with a playful chuckle.

“It never was.”

Then, the blind songstress played another note of a song.

“The only counsel I can leave with you is this: always beware. The greetings I offered were but a glimpse, a mirror held up to show you the nature of this world, and a reminder of the perils that linger.”

“This world is far from gentle, and danger walks quietly beside every step you take.”

She smiled benevolently, her form slowly dissolving into a cascade of glowing particles.

“Walk with care, Bearer of the First Fable. For shadows lie where you least expect them.”

And as she vanished, her voice lingered like the final notes of a melody:

“May your story flourish, and may the voids you’ve carried be gently filled.”