In the echoing abyss of the void, where nothing and everything could be, a sudden, brilliant flash tore through the non-existence. From the heart of this ephemeral burst of light, a figure materialized. A human, seemingly complete and yet utterly bewildered. Brown hair, a shade like sun-baked earth, framed a face etched with confusion. His brown eyes, wide and questioning, scanned the featureless expanse, finding no answers. He was of middling height, his posture suggesting a man lost in a dream he couldn't recall.
"Where… where am I?" he murmured, his voice a tentative ripple in the silence that had reigned supreme moments before. The sound of his own words seemed to surprise him, as if he were only just discovering the instrument of his voice. Then, a deeper, more fundamental question escaped his lips, tinged with a primal unease. "Who… who am I?" The void offered no reflection, no echo but his own uncertainty.
Suddenly, as if summoned by his very question, a stark white screen snapped into existence before him, hovering in the nothingness like a digital decree. Bold, black letters began to materialize with an almost theatrical flourish.
"HELLO!"
The sudden appearance of the text, coupled with its emphatic greeting, startled the newly formed human. He recoiled slightly, a hand instinctively rising as if to ward off a blow that never came. His eyes darted around, searching for the speaker, finding only the persistent white glow of the floating message.
"I AM THE AUTHOR OF THE STORY YOU ARE GOING TO TAKE PART IN."
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
A beat of stunned silence hung in the void. The human blinked, his mind struggling to reconcile the impossible words before him with the utter lack of context. "The… Author?" he stammered, his voice laced with disbelief. "What story? What am I… taking part in?"
More words scrolled onto the screen, as if the unseen Author was growing impatient.
"Alright, alright, hold your horses, newbie. First things first. You need a name, don't you? Can't have a protagonist wandering around nameless. Let's see… after much deliberation and absolutely no market research whatsoever… your name is Skilvyo."
Skilvyo repeated the name under his breath, a strange sensation blooming within him. Skilvyo. It felt… right? Or perhaps it was simply the only label he had ever known.
"Now, Skilvyo," the Author continued, the tone shifting to something akin to a slightly exasperated tour guide, "welcome to… well, the beginning. I will be your guide, your omniscient narrator, your occasional deus ex machina when things get really boring. However," the letters took on a more serious tone, "sometimes I won't interfere. You'll have to figure things out yourself. Gotta have that character growth, you know?"
Skilvyo stared at the screen, a flicker of something akin to dawning understanding – or at least, acceptance of the utterly bizarre situation – in his eyes. "So… you're going to talk to me?"
"Yep! Whenever the plot demands it, or when I just feel like it. You can talk to me too, anytime you want. Whether I answer is a different story. Gotta maintain some authorial mystique, you see."
The sheer absurdity of having a conversational author was almost comical, a stark contrast to the dramatic mystery of his sudden existence. Skilvyo couldn't help but feel a strange mix of bewilderment and a nascent sense of… well, this was certainly going to be interesting.
