It was the perfect day for a quiet reading session. The Aisha sat in her armchair, cushioned with cloud-like pillows and mats, a novel open in her lap. A warm cup of Earl Grey Tea and a Mint Chocolate Shoyru rested on the side table beside her. She adjusted her glasses as she silently read through the one of the past 999 short stories from one of the archives, each shaped by the lived experiences of countless Neopian authors.

“Ah, that’s another good one,” the Storyteller murmured, flipping through the pages. “Byra, the White Kougra from Story 798 – oh, that was a close call with the Snowager...” She chuckled to herself and took a sip of her tea. Abruptly, unexpected knocks rattled her door...

“Now who could that be at this hour?” she muttered, smoothing down her shawl. She padded to the door slowly. On the porch stood a young Cybunny messenger in a patched cap, clutching a scroll so tightly that the parchment had creased in places. His wide eyes darted around as though he feared being followed.

“For you,” he said nervously, thrusting the scroll forward. “They said it was urgent.” Without waiting for her reply, he bounded off down the path, vanishing around the corner before she could utter another word.

The Storyteller frowned as she closed the door. She returned to her armchair, turning the scroll over in her hands. It was sealed with crimson wax, pressed with an unfamiliar emblem of an open book with flames licking its edges.

She hesitated. With a careful tug, she broke the seal. The parchment unfurled smoothly, revealing bold ink strokes that seemed as though they had just been written moments ago and in haste.

As her eyes scanned the first line, she nearly dropped her tea.

“Storyteller, the 1000th tale cannot be told...”

The Storyteller’s hands shook as she lowered the parchment. Her voice was hushed, almost broken. “If even half of this is true, then I must hurry.”

She slipped the scroll under her arm, downed her tea in a quick gulp, and left without hesitation.

***

The road to Roo Castle was quiet, until, from the bend ahead, footsteps pounded against the path. A figure burst into view. It was Alstaf the poet, his clothes torn and his eyes wide with terror.

“Storyteller!” he gasped, stumbling toward her. “Please, come with me! Something is chasing me!”

She caught his arm to steady him. “Chasing you? What happened?”

Alstaf’s breath came in ragged bursts. “I was writing a simple poem about Petpets. I only meant to describe them at play… but the words turned against me. A giant Noil leapt from the page itself, and now it’s hunting me!”

The Storyteller froze. “Then it has already begun.”

“What are you saying?” Alstaf cried.

“I will tell you later. First, we must reach Roo Castle as quickly as possible.”

As the two pressed forward, a strange sound rose behind them…

Alstaf and the Storyteller turned around to see Draiks of all colours, shapes, and sizes zipping through a patch of forest behind them.

“I recognize them,” the Aisha said in quiet terror. “These are the Draiks that were featured in the Art Gallery for Draik Day.”

“How could that be?” Alstaf asked incredulously. “They were just drawings and paintings and sculptures.”

“Exactly,” the Storyteller responded gravely. “Let’s go.”

With the roars of a gargantuan Noil echoing nearby, they broke off in a sprint. The pair traversed the path to King Roo’s Castle, arm in arm, as quickly as they could with the thunder of Draiks flanking them.

By the time they made it to the turquoise and sapphire castle, both the Poogle and the Aisha were out of breath. They rushed through the courtyard and up the steps to the large wooden door.

They knocked frantically as they watched the Draiks soar up into the sky and disperse.

“Let’s hope the Noil didn’t follow us,” Alstaf muttered as he scanned the horizon and fixed his black beret.

In the blink of an eye, a Blue arm reached through the castle doors and yanked them inside…

"You made it!" King Roo shouted. He stared at Alstaf and the Storyteller with his eyes wide, trembling with so much fear his crown nearly fell off. He readjusted it and gestured to the pair.

"Quickly, to my chambers. We have to prepare."

The scene in the castle was chaotic. Guards were running around, boarding up the windows and pushing heavy furniture in front of doors.

There was a loud bang from one of the doors followed by a piercing roar. The Storyteller jumped.

"A Snicklebeast from Caring For Your Snicklebeast came to life in there," a guard said plainly as he twisted a key into the padlock, securely locking it. "This is for safety."

Alstaf and the Storyteller exchanged nervous glances as they heard the Snicklebeast pound on the door, shrieks ever increasing in volume.

"I tried to get the warning out, but it was too late. Everything is coming to life and turning against us. We don't know where it began but we've been given a clue how it can end."

King Roo ushered them into his chambers and clicked his three security locks in place.

"Storyteller," a familiar voice from the corner called. The Storyteller couldn't quite place it, but she had heard it before...

A Red Lupe stepped out from the shadows. "It is I, Zeus."

She racked her brain for a moment. "Zeus? From the very first story?"

"That is correct. Art and creativity are powerful entities, powerful enough to create new worlds and make others feel things so deeply. But in the wrong paws, they can become evil."

He paused and looked outside the window. Residents of the island were fleeing as chaos swarmed around them on land, air, and sea. He turned his attention back to the trio.

"To fix this we must go back to where it all began: my home, from the very first story..."

Zeus smiled. "I know it's been a long time, but did you forget that I always know how to get out of tight spots?"

***

A quarter of an hour later, the Storyteller, Alstaf, and Zeus squeezed themselves through a half-shattered portcullis at the end of one of the large water intake pipes that served Roo Island. A green field and a winding road lay before them, and in the distance the darker green trees that surrounded Neopia Central.

"It's always closer than it seems, isn't it?" Zeus said.

The three of them reached Zeus's old home in short order. It had been abandoned for a long time--most of the windows were missing, the gaps closed with Spyderwebs instead.

"We lived here a long time. Almost a decade. But then we moved to Roo Island, and I guess no one else wanted the place," Zeus said, pushing the door open.

"What exactly do you think we'll find here?" The Storyteller followed him through the doorway into the dim, dusty living room beyond.

"Do you remember the spider--Spyder, I suppose, but we didn't know that back then?"

The Storyteller nodded. "There did always seem to be something off about him."

"One of the most ancient creatures in Neopia," Zeus said. "Maybe more ancient even than the Brain Tree."

"You think he can help us?"

"Yes. I think he is the key to restoring order, and protecting stories all over Neopia. He lived with us here for a while, and I'm hoping he's still here."

"He's not," Alstaf said from the corner of the room.

The Storyteller spun toward him.

"I think he left us a riddle," Alstaf said, and began to read aloud from the cryptic note Spyder had left them...

Alstaf removed his black beret and scratched the top of his head. "I'm usually good at solving riddles. They're like math equations in the form of poetry: a puzzle of words so to speak. But I can't decipher the meaning of this one."

"That's because you aren't familiar with the story," The Storyteller said scanning around the vacant room. Her eyes stopped at a staircase in the far corner and instantly diverted her attention to Zeus. "Is there a door up there?"

"Yes, that leads to the upper level of the house," Zeus said. The Aisha trotted over and peered up the dusty, web-ridden staircase and saw at the top landing a bright aura around an interior door.

"Just as I thought. There's a light around the door like there was in the story," the Storyteller said excitedly.

"The key to admittance," Alstaf muttered to himself as a piece of the puzzle suddenly made sense to him.

"That's odd. That door wasn't glowing earlier. I already looked up there," Zeus said, now scratching his head.

"Reading the riddle out loud must have activated it. I'm curious now where that goes," the Storyteller said, brushing aside the sticky silken remnants of the past as she started her ascent up the staircase, followed closely by the Poogle and Lupe. Opening the door, they were greeted by an intensely bright light and suddenly found themselves deep in a dense forest in a world completely foreign to two of them.

"What is this place?" Asked Alstaf. The door was no longer behind them.

"I believe this is the world where Zeus met his friend Sarah. She stumbled upon this spot after opening that same door," the Storyteller explained.

"Yes, this looks like Dr. Frankenpet's forest. He has a hideout nearby where he does his experiments. I don't recommend staying here any longer than necessary," the Red Lupe suggested. It was the first time the Storyteller had seen him this nervous.

"The forest is so thick. How are we ever going to find the Spyder?" The Storyteller said, feeling a bit nervous herself.

"I dwell cross the wood where cobble meets tar," Alstaf reiterated the last missing clue in the Spyder's riddle and made a pondering sound. "We need to find a-"

"Shh!" Zeus hushed them while blindly surveying their surroundings. "Someone is watching us..."

The silence was broken by a flutter of wings as a shape soared from the gloom where Zeus had been staring. The Lupe let out a breath he had been holding. "Steven!" he breathed as the shape of a Korbat drew into view. "I'm so pleased to see that it was only you."

Steven did not look as relieved to see them as Zeus did to see him. His eyes were wide as they travelled from Zeus to the Storyteller to Alstaf. "Why did you bring both of them here?!" he hissed.

"What do you mean?" Zeus asked. "I didn't bring them here, we followed the advice of the Spyder."

"That advice was meant for you," Steven replied. "And of all Neopians, you brought only the two most prolific writers in all Neopia? This is bad; you all need to get out of here, fast."

"What does that mean?" Alstaf asked nervously.

"I overheard some of Dr. Frankenpet's henchmen talking," Steven explained. "One of the henchmen was that oaf Joshua, who wasn't bothering to keep his voice down. He was saying that Dr. Frankenpet had plans to harness the power to write words into reality. He was excited because Dr. Frankenpet was offering a big reward to anyone who managed to capture a famous author. So it would be really, really bad if he got his dirty paws on these two."

The Storyteller looked over her shoulder. The glowing doorway through which they had entered was gone, leaving behind a shadowy thicket. It seemed that only way out was to proceed further through the forest. She remembered that the forest, eventually, arrived at Neopia Central. It was just a matter of finding their way. Fortunately, they now had not one but two guides who had traversed this very forest before. The Storyteller nodded to Zeus and Steven. "Lead the way," she urged.

"Remember we're looking for where cobble meets tar," Alstaf chipped in.

"Maybe that crossroads where you first met the Spyder?" the Storyteller guessed.

Zeus began to pick his way through the forest, with Steven flapping some air under his wings and soaring above to keep an eye on their surroundings from the sky. The Storyteller and Alstaf hurried after Zeus, doing their best to move as quickly and quietly as possible. As focused as she was on keeping up with Zeus, however, the Storyteller momentarily forgot to look where she was putting her feet. Her foot got caught under a root, and before she could catch herself she lurched forward to the ground with a yelp that split the silence around them...

“I’m fine,” the Storyteller replied, her voice low. She turned back to examine the gnarled mass of vines and roots she’d tripped on, but something about it seemed… off. Between the twisted vegetation was a smooth surface, barely visible under layers of moss. She knelt beside it, brushing it clean with her sleeve until carvings emerged from beneath the dirt and growth.

“A plaque?” Zeus murmured, crouching beside her. “I’ve never seen this before.”

The carved script on its surface was clearly old and weathered, but between the three of them, they were able to decipher its meaning. It read:

“When pen meets page and words take flight,
When all seems lost and dark as night,
Find the first who lived this tale.
Only she can prevail.”

“It’s written like something the Spyder would say,” Zeus muttered. “But look at the state of it. This plaque must be ancient.” He looked up at the Storyteller slowly, “Do you think this could be about-”

A sudden snap of a branch cut him off.

They froze. Voices drifted through the air. Grunting. Laughter. Heavy footsteps stomping through the underbrush.

“Joshua,” Steven hissed. “And he’s brought others.”

“Run,” Zeus said. No one argued.

They bolted through the trees, the Storyteller’s shawl whipping behind her, Alstaf’s beret nearly flying off. Steven soared above, dodging branches, barking directions down to them. Zeus ran ahead like a guide through a labyrinth, weaving between trunks and roots like it was second nature.

Behind them, the voices grew louder.

“There they are! Grab the writers!”

The forest was alive now with motion. Footsteps, wings flapping, shouts, snapping twigs. But then, through the trees, a break in the canopy appeared. Light spilled onto a stretch of ground that looked nothing like the rest of the forest floor.

“There!” Steven called.

The group burst from the woods and skidded to a halt at the edge of the forest. Before them stretched an old intersection: one path cobbled with uneven stones, the other paved in asphalt, cracks forming where roots had pushed through. A single, crooked signpost stood in the centre, words worn unreadable by time.

“This is it,” Zeus said, breathless. “The crossroads where we met the Spyder all those years ago.”

“You have come,” a voice said, resonating through the clearing. The Sypder stepped out into the open, his many eyes glinting with wisdom and warning. “And not a moment too soon…”

"W-what happened here?" asked the storyteller.

"Unfortunately, Dr. Frankenpet tricked a bunch of writers into writing a lot of dark tales as a part of his experiments. He came one day to host a competition on writing dark stories. What you see before you is an end result of those tales come to life," the Spyder explained.

"This place looks creepy. I'd like to get out of here," Alstaf remarked.

"Unfortunately, we need to stop Dr. Frankenpet's experiments, first. And then write stories to reverse the curse he has laid upon this land."

Just then, the group heard loud footsteps and shouting.

"Come out wherever you are!" Joshua said. He and his group appeared to be a few rows of buildings away. Alstaf could see that he was carrying a net.

"Quick, in here!" The Spyder led them into the remnants of the Food Shop.

"As you can see, there's no longer anything to eat here. But I have found the entrance to a secret passageway that Frankenpet used to get into Neopia Central."

"Wait, what if it's a trap?" Alstaf asked as Zeus was about to enter the passageway.

Zeus opened his mouth to speak when suddenly, they heard Joshua's voice.

"We know you're in there. Show yourselves and maybe you don't get hurt, hahaha," cackled the Skeith. Seeing that there was no choice, they climbed down into the hole in the ground and scrambled deep into the passageway. They could still hear Joshua's voice so they kept running until they....

“Stop. This door will not yield to force.” The Spyder scuttled up the door and hissed, “However, we have something even stronger… words.” “Words…?” The Storyteller blinked. “You are a writer,” the Spyder whispered urgently, crawling close so his four red eyes met hers. “Here, your words shape reality. What you write becomes real. You must imagine the key, describe it, and give it form.” “But…” she stammered, frightened by the footsteps, which were even closer now. “Do it!” the Spyder urged. “Or we are finished.”

Her hands trembled as she grabbed her notebook from her satchel. Ink delicately splattered across the page as she wrote and recited: A key of solid iron, thick as a crowbar, its teeth sharp enough to tear through stone, its weight strong enough to break any lock. The words in her notebook glowed, lifted from the page, and twisted together midair until a heavy iron key clattered onto the floor. The Storyteller quickly picked it up it with both hands, jammed it into the lock, and with a deep metallic groan, the door swung open.

“Inside, quickly!” the Spyder shrieked. They all slipped through just as Joshua’s silhouette seemed to appear at the end of the tunnel. The door slammed shut behind them, cutting off the Skeith’s defeated roar. They stood frozen, with their eyes wide as they took in the room.

“This place…” Steven whispered, his voice barely audible over the hiss of the machines. The Spyder’s gaze swept across the shattered tubes, the drifting scraps of parchment, and the cages of half-formed things. “There’s no doubt. This is where all the dark stories took life during Dr. Frankenpet’s experiments.”

At the centre of the lab, there was a long iron table, cluttered with scattered quills, cracked ink bottles, and torn pages soaked in dried ink stains. Something lying in the middle of the mess caught the Storyteller’s attention. She reached out her hand to touch it when…

The Storyteller whipped her hand back from the mysterious object as if it had scalded her. She had not touched, but something still was urging her to, as if it was calling to her personally.

"Zeus, Steven," the voice called. "You made it."

"Who goes there?" Alstaf said, instinctively stepping between the group and the voice, eager to protect them.

"It's okay, Alstaf," Zeus soothed. "This is a friend."

"A friend?" Alstaf echoed.

"Yes," the voice replied. From the shadows emerged a timid-looking blue Kacheek, scarf around his neck and spectacles balancing on the end of his nose. He was older, certainly, but the Storyteller knew him immediately.

"Veemon," she breathed. "Another from the original story. This is everyone, almost. The only one missing..."

"...is Sarah," Veemon finished for her. "That is why we are all here. To bring her back."

"Bring her back?" the Storyteller repeated. "What do you mean?"

Veemon walked towards them, ushering them all to gather around the long iron table. Alstaf, Zeus, Steven, the Spyder and the Storyteller each took their place around it, casting their eyes amongst the various items that were scattered across. The quills, the ink bottles, the pages - but also right in the middle, that curious object that caught the Storyteller's attention before Veemon called out and stopped her.

It was a book, but a book unlike any she had seen before. Small enough to slide into a pocket, it was locked with an ancient padlock, and the cover was bound with an old, cracked leather. Around the edges were velvet tassels, the colour of burnt orange, and the way they splayed open and wildly almost reminded her of...flames.

The seal on that original letter asking her to head to the palace. That was a book in flames, was it not? Exactly like this one?

The closed pages, from what she could see of them, were yellowed but otherwise normal, slightly torn at the edges and aging but intact. And yet as she stared at them again she felt that urge once more to grab the book and wrench it open, because something inside was desperately calling out to her, a plea she was sure only she could hear.

But then Veemon surprised her. "You hear it too, don't you?"

Alstaf turned, puzzled, to the Storyteller. "Hear what?"

"There is someone calling out to me," the Storyteller said, "from that book. I can't explain it..."

"It has been calling out to all of us," Veemon said. "That is why we have gathered together again. Because only our story can stop Dr. Frankenpet's plans. And that is exactly why he has taken her."

"Taken who?" the Storyteller asked, though really, deep down, she did not need to ask the question. Everything was pointing to her. She thought of the message on the ancient plaque:

“When pen meets page and words take flight, When all seems lost and dark as night, Find the first who lived this tale. Only she can prevail.”

It was always going to be about her...

"Sarah," the Storyteller whispered, answering her own question. "He has taken Sarah, hasn't he?"

"She is the only one powerful enough to stop him," Veemon said. "I've tried everything. Steven has. Zeus has. It's why he had to go get you, despite all the dangers. You're the only one who can help her now."

"But where is she?"

At this, the Spyder chuckled. "I do not think it would take a riddle to figure that one out, Storyteller. I think you know exactly where she is."

But before the Storyteller could answer, there was a great crashing sound behind them...

Zeus drew in a sharp breath, Alstaf gasped audibly, the Storyteller let out a horrified cry, while Steven and Veemon looked on in grim silence.

Amidst the broken bell jar lay a still figure. It was a Mynci.

“Oh no, you poor thing!” The Storyteller whispered as she rushed to the ashen-faced Mynci, taking great care not to tread on the sharp pieces of glass. She reached out to touch the Mynci’s face. It was cold.

The Storyteller scrutinized the scene before her with anguish. What had Dr. Frankenpet done? She hung her head and squeezed her eyes shut. With a deep breath, she opened her eyes again. As she did so, a small shred of paper wedged underneath the Mynci’s foot caught her eye. The Aisha carefully picked it up, and the rest of the group tentatively gathered around her.

Colton, Story Five Hundred Ninety Four. It was written in rather poor penmanship.

“Look up,” Veemon rasped.

Hidden high up and obscured in the shadows, they could make out more bell jars on the dusty shelves. They were arranged in haphazard rows. The shelf from which the Mynci had fallen tilted precariously to one side. Two bell jars appeared to be on the verge of sliding down. Each jar contained shadowy figures.

“We’ve got to do something!” Alstaf urged with a trembling voice.

Just then, the muffled voice sounded from the small book once more. Again, the Storyteller was overcome with an unbearable desire to flip the book open. Deep sorrow washed over her as she reached out for it. She could not explain it. She lifted the book up for all to see. The tiny padlock rattled.

“Can you unlock it with your words, like you did with the door?” Alstaf asked hesitantly. The Storyteller shook her head. She could feel that this was different. It was much more powerful. The grief she felt was coursing through her veins, stronger than before. She placed the book into her lap. A single tear fell.

With a flash and a loud bang, the book sprung open. The orange tassels danced wildly..

Enthralled, the group formed a circle around the book.

STORYTELLING

It was a single word printed in black letters, on the very first page.

With purpose now, the Storyteller flipped the page. She felt the smoothness of the thin paper. The pages were filled with hundreds of stories. Each story was headed with a number.

Taking great care not to tear the yellowed pages, the Storyteller turned the page back to Story One.

“Sarah is gone!” Zeus exclaimed with alarm.

Zeus was right. All mentions of Sarah had been carefully cut out, leaving holes in the delicate paper. Her name was nowhere to be found.

The Storyteller now turned to Story One Thousand. The entire page beneath the header had been ripped out. While Sarah’s name had been removed with careful incisions, the missing pages had been torn out as if in great hurry. The rest of the book was blank.

Turning to the Spyder now, the Storyteller said hoarsely, “You are right. I know where Sarah is…”

“What will happen to us?” Veemon asked. Steven, Zeus, and Veemon glanced at each other, looks of concern in their faces.

“You will need to relive the story. Everything will happen again, but it will happen as it was.”

“If that’s what we’ll have to do to bring Sarah back, then I’ll do it. She was my first friend.” Steven said with conviction.

The others agreed in unison. Sarah was the one who brought them together. A world without Sarah would always be grey. The Spyder, who was left out in the camaraderie, huffed impatiently. “I’ve lived a thousand lifetimes. I can live a thousand more.”

The Storyteller grabbed her quill and began.

It was just another rainy Saturday and Sarah was stuck inside. Sarah was a young Cybunny and had just started school...

As she wrote the words onto the book, the words glowed and pulsed.

“My hands!” Steven exclaimed. His arms began turning translucent, his wings now barely a wisp. “See you soon, Sarah,” he whispered before disappearing completely. Not a trace remained of him.

The Storyteller continued, and the same began happening to Zeus. “Guess I’m up next,” he commented. “Thank you, Storyteller.” He gave a salute with a paw no longer there and vanished.

Almost immediately after, Veemon began to fade too. He turned to the Spyder and said “Could you try not to eat us this time? I was really scared.”

“No guarantees…” The Spyder trailed. His bright eyes watched in amusement as Veemon let out a nervous gulp and disappeared.

“Guess I’m having a hot dog and Neocola for lunch,” The Spyder joked. Before he completely vanished, his little fangs all that remained, he warned, “Storyteller, it’s not over yet… you must finish the One Thousandth story…” And then he was gone.

Alstaf bid each of his new companions good bye as the Storyteller continued to write the story as it happened. Once it was done, all would be as it was before.

Another crash came from behind them. Rapt in their current task, the two of them jolted up.

“The jars!” Alstaf and the Storyteller rushed over. A Green Eyrie laid motionless among the shards of glass. “It’s Jurgis, from Story One Hundred and Twenty Seven… I think it’s safe to assume all the protagonists are in these jars…” He looked up towards the towering shelf.

“I’ll get them out! Storyteller, continue writing! You’re the only one who can set things right now!” Alstaf ordered, and then climbed onto a chair and began carrying each jar carefully off the shelf.

The Storyteller picked up her quill again.

Sarah's owner joined them and they walked to the car holding hands. "I'm so happy that you adopted them!" Sarah exclaimed on the way home…

As she was just about to finish the final paragraph, a deep rumbling came from the ground…

How will this story end?

From atop a shelf, clutching the last of the bell jars, Alstaf peered down nervously at the Storyteller. "If you've finished, what's happening? Why is everything shaking?"

The Storyteller jumped as the sound of shattering glass erupted from her left; one of the bell jars Alstaf had emptied had fallen as the ground shook it. "I've only finished saving Sarah. The thousandth story... this doesn't end until it does."

Alstaf cradled the bell jar—Shara, Story Six Hundred and Fourteen, the label read—and carefully picked his way down from the shelf. "Well let's end it then," he said, "before this shaking collapses the lab and ends us instead!"

The Storyteller flipped back to the heading for Story One Thousand and ran her hand along the torn edge. She turned the heading over, ready to write the end on the next page, but her quill-tip froze just inches from the paper.

"Storyteller?" Alstaf said, peering over her shoulder.

Her hand shook. "I don't..." She trailed off as she looked around at the motionless protagonists around her. Alstaf had freed them, but not a single one had awoken. It was as if they were nothing more than pieces of paper that had been crumpled and discarded. "I don't know how to end it," she finally said, barely audible.

"What?" Alstaf asked, taken aback.

"Look at all this!" the Storyteller suddenly cried. "What ending could fix it all? It would take thousands of words to make it all right again. All these poor Neopets..." She sobbed into her hands.

"Storyteller..." Alstaf said softly, placing a hand on her shoulder. He looked at the book, then to the table, the mess of discarded quills and ink puddles soaking into the scraps; suddenly he brightened a bit. "That's it!" He scrambled for a quill, dipped it into one of the puddles, and gestured to the book. "Storyteller, may I?"

She sniffed, looking at him curiously, but turned the book to him. Alstaf began to write, his letters smudging as he struggled to keep the tip steady against the rumbling ground. "It's too big an ending to write alone," he said, "but that's the beauty of stories. You know better than anyone—it takes many voices, working together."

As he finished writing, they heard a groan from somewhere behind them.

Blearily a White Blumaroo sat up from the floor, stretching as if only waking from a nap. The Storyteller gasped and looked at what Alstaf had written: Bob, Story Two, wakes up to help us.

Alstaf rushed to help Bob up and offered a brief explanation with a plea for help, quickly accepted. The Blumaroo plucked another quill from the mess and began to write.

All around them, protagonists began to wake up. The Storyteller saw Colton blink sleepily before being helped to his feet by a Shadow Tuskaninny—Kelsea, Story Seven Hundred Sixty Three. She dried her tears as they crowded around her, each taking turns writing until every last Neopet was awake. The room was packed, the floor was shaking, and surely Joshua and a dozen henchmen were still just outside; and yet, the air felt lighter. The room was filled with the laughter and chatter of hundreds of Pets meeting for the first time and sharing stories. Their stories.

Alstaf parted the crowd to stand next to the Storyteller, smiling at her warmly. "A story is always better shared." He gestured to her quill. "We've helped you along—but you're the protagonist to this story, Storyteller. You get to decide how it ends." The Neopets around him murmured their agreements.

The Storyteller turned the book back to herself, running her hand along pages now filled, hundreds of handwritings in a beautiful collage of a story. And at the end of the last page, a blank space for her to fill.

"If the thousandth tale is told, chaos will reign. And reign it did, leaping from pen and page... but here, surrounded by those whose stories have been told, I wonder: how could the thousandth story have been kept silent?"

"The plaque was right after all; it was Sarah's realization that allowed us to prevail. There are millions of Neopets, each with a story to be told. A thousand stories are now complete, but there are thousands more, waiting to be written."

"The thousandth story was always going to be told. But no matter what happened, in the end, it would do what a good story always does: bring Neopians together. And here, together, we look eagerly forward to those whose stories we will soon read. And as the thousandth story ends, and we return each to our own lives, I hope that every new story will bring us together again in our hearts and minds, just for a moment."

As the Storyteller penned the final words, The End, the floor suddenly stopped shaking. The book shuddered and the tassels began to dance wildly, looking truly like flames as the Storyteller's words began to glow, lighting the room. The glow grew, brighter and brighter, until the world went white.

-----

It was a beautiful autumn day on Roo Island, the sky clear and the air crisp. The Storyteller ran her fingers along the spine of the latest short story in the collection: Story One Thousand. Ended, at last.

It was the perfect day for a quiet reading session. Abruptly, she heard a knock at the door.

The Storyteller opened it with a smile and a beckoning wave, and in walked Alstaf, followed by Sarah, Steven, Zeus, Veemon, and even the Spyder. Alstaf was grinning and holding up a paper. "They've just released the beginning," he said.

"So exciting!" Veemon chirped.

"Who'll read first?" Zeus asked.

Alstaf handed the paper to the Storyteller with a wink. "I think you always read the openings best," he said. She accepted the paper, and as everyone settled into comfortable seats around her reading room, the Storyteller read the header aloud: Story One Thousand and One.

Sarah smiled. "I can't wait to see what happens next!"

The End.