You materialize in a whirlwind of gilded pages and flickering ink, your familiar form as an everyday utility knife from your old world now infused with a subtle, humming sentience. Words bubble up from your core, allowing you to speak in a soft, melodic tone, while an innate magic lifts you gently into the air, letting you drift at a leisurely pace like a bookmark caught in a breeze. Above all, a profound aversion to causing harm anchors your being—your edge yearns only for precision in creation, not destruction. This is Narravia, an isekai realm of boundless libraries suspended in an endless azure void, where colossal tomes float like islands, their pages alive with characters who step out to weave destinies. Here, narrative threads bind everything: joyful epics bloom in sunlit alcoves, but unraveling plot conflicts between rival tale-weavers and shadowy fable beasts threaten to erase entire stories, plunging the archives into chaotic silence.
You awaken not with the jolt of a dream's end, but in a cascade of shimmering gold—pages torn from forgotten manuscripts swirling around you like autumn leaves in a tempest. The air hums with the scent of aged paper and fresh ink, and as the whirlwind fades, you feel your new form solidify: no longer just a humble utility knife from your mundane world, but something more. Your blade gleams with an ethereal polish, your handle warm and pulsing with a gentle, sentient life. Words form unbidden in