Inkthorn the Drawn's Arc

Chapter 1 of 5

Inkthorn stood at the edge of the page, watching the fog press against his borders. Edritha had been quiet for hours, which meant she was thinking. When she finally spoke, her voice came from somewhere above the book. She said she could make him solid. She said she could make him real. But the spell would need something from him—something drawn in his oldest ink, the lines that held his shape together. He felt the weight of her offer like a hand closing around his center. This was what he wanted. This was what might erase him completely. She showed him the anchor point—a bright structure in the distance, all neon curves forming the shape of a letter. The light traced paths through the fog like threads he could follow. That building would hold the spell, she said. It would pull his ink into three dimensions and lock it there. But the magic needed a trade. He would have to give up the first strokes she ever drew, the lines that made him conscious. Without them, he might become solid. Or he might become nothing at all. He looked at the glowing letter and felt himself reaching toward it before he could decide if he should.