And so, dear reader, our heroes ventured deeper into the fractured halls of discarded plot—each step taking them closer to a truth none were prepared to face.
> "Wait. Who just said that?" I asked, stopping mid-step.
> "Said what?" Lyria blinked.
> "That whole… 'dear reader' thing. That wasn't any of us."
> "You heard it too?" Greg asked, spinning in circles. "Okay, is this one of those prank echo rooms? Are we in a magical audiobook?"
No, Gregory. This is far worse. This is awareness.
> "AHHHH WHAT WAS THAT?!" Kevin flapped into the ceiling.
> "Okay who the hell just narrated our panic!?" I shouted.
Please. Calm yourselves. I'm simply the voice that guides the story. I am… the Narrator.
> "Did the book just get a voice-over budget?" Arc muttered.
> "No. No no no," I said, waving my hands. "You don't get to just appear now, creepy omnipotent story ghost!"
Oh, I've always been here. Watching. Waiting. Judging your snacks.
> "I knew someone was stealing my lemon biscuits," Grubnuk growled.
And now, the tale twists. For our heroes must contend not just with enemies, but with the very structure of their tale.
> "Stop narrating my inner turmoil like it's the finale of a cooking show!" I yelled.
Soon, they will find the red quill. The quill that rewrites fate. The quill that—
> "Okay that's it, where are you hiding?!"
The group ran in circles. Swiping at shadows. Interrogating tapestries. Greg even tackled a confused lamp.
But the Narrator remained elusive. Echoing. Mocking. Unseen.
And worst of all? Absolutely not helpful.
> "If you're gonna narrate, at least tell us where the Prince went!"
Oh, he's with the Editor. And they've just turned the next few chapters into a musical.
> "NOOOOOOOO!"
Kevin fainted. Sir Clucksworth screamed in baritone.
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End of Chapter 29 (Voices heard. Sanity strained. And the Narrator has arrived.)