"Well, this will perhaps take a few hours," the Author said as he moved to sit on a simple wooden stool that appeared beneath him with a casual wave of his hand.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a lighter, and lit his joint.
The small flame flickered in the endless white void, casting a brief, warm glow on his youthful face before he exhaled a slow plume of smoke that drifted upward and dissolved into nothingness.
Ash and Elysia watched in silence, the weight of the moment settling over them as they observed the man who had created their entire existence.
The Author took another drag, exhaling as he stared at the white boards in front of him, thinking aloud.
"The novel needs to have its own autonomy," he said, his voice carrying a mix of care and quiet determination.
