Metro Manila, Philippines
36-year-old Adelaine Hammond sat in her messy study table, surrounded by stacks of books and papers, the soft glow of her laptop screen casting a warm hue in the dimly lit room.
She had just finished her latest novel, "Echoes of Time," a project completed in just six months, despite an entire year allocated for its writing.
Leaning back in her chair, she savored the intoxicating feeling of accomplishment, when suddenly, a new email notification flickered on her screen.
Ding!
Ding!
Curiosity piqued, Adelaine clicked on the message. It was from an anonymous sender, and the subject line read: "Proposal for 'The Heroes' Dawn.'"
Conflicting emotions surged within her—hesitation and a twinge of disappointment. She opened the email and read:
The sender, a devoted follower of the title, was asking for permission to remake her novel. The perplexity washed over her; how could he possibly want to rework something she had long since abandoned?
Her novel, "The Heroes' Dawn," was under a paid serialization agreement, and she had ceased writing it ages ago. Even if the idea of allowing a remake didn't send her into a spiral of embarrassment, she wouldn't have been able to agree. It would breach the contract she had signed, and worse, it reopened old wounds—the memory of her struggles during that turbulent writing process.
This was the first novel she had penned since becoming an intern at a well-regarded publishing company. At twenty, she had fervently awaited to break into the literary world, pouring her youthful exuberance into every chapter without the benefit of mindful retrospection. It had quickly garnered a following among teenagers, turning into what many considered one of her greatest hits over her thirteen-year career.
Yet now, years later, an avalanche of insecurity cascaded over her as she read the email. She was painfully reminded of the inadequacies of that story, which had once been a beacon of hope for her. The truth was, she never completed it. Writer's block had taken root, blurring her once-clear vision.
In her eagerness to produce, she had hastily crafted each chapter, driven by an insatiable energy to share her creation. She bypassed proofreading entirely, fueled solely by the thrill of writing and posting each installment. But after a year, the torrent of creativity slowed, stunted by a persistent mental fog that left her grappling with bewildered characters and tangled plotlines. As the quality of her work plummeted, so too did her readership. Critiques fell like stones, their weight too heavy for her fragile confidence. She stopped reading comments altogether, fearing the sting of judgment.
Ultimately, she abandoned the novel, seeking solace in another story. A brief break became a new beginning.
Ding!
Ding!
Adelaine was jolted back to the present as another notification blinked on her screen—it was the same sender.
"If you're worried about copyright laws, I promise not to disclose the remake version of your novel to anyone. It will remain between us. I'll only show it to you. Perhaps it might inspire you to finish it."
Adelaine's mind churned as she contemplated the offer. Against her better judgment, she closed the message, opened a new tab, and entered "The Heroes' Dawn" in the search bar. A website materialized before her, and she clicked it. The title stared back at her in bold letters; "THE HEROES' DAWN," boasting an astounding total of 5,968 chapters. A whirlwind of emotion enveloped her—shock, nostalgia, but primarily exhaustion tugging at her eyelids. She shut down her laptop and headed straight to bed.
The silence of the room enveloped her, but after a brief moment, the screen flickered back to life. Sparks burst forth, illuminating the darkness around her.
Zap!
Zap!
Zap!
Adelaine jolted upright in bed, heart racing. She rubbed her eyes, staring incredulously at the chaotic display. She blinked, uncertain if she was still dreaming or if insanity was nipping at her heels. The laptop's screen danced with erratic light, sending shadows spinning against the walls.
"Okay, maybe I'm just too tired," she muttered to herself, but even as she spoke, a strange energy pulsed in the air. Gripped by a blend of fear and curiosity, she approached the laptop, half-expecting it to devour her the moment she leaned closer. The glowing screen beckoned, pulses synchronizing with her heartbeat as if the laptop itself were alive. "What the hell is happening?" she murmured, cautiously reaching out a trembling hand.
The moment Adelaine touched her laptop, a jolt of electricity surged through her entire body, and everything went black.