Prologue

*And there I was, the Purple-Eyed Prince, standing outside in the stormy winter night, my palm resting on the foggy guild window.

Inside, they sat in the warm, inviting guild hall, sharing their stories and adventures. Tales spun from heart and memory, stories that intertwined with me, the one person dear to all of them.

Glasses clinked with a melodic chime, laughter echoed like a sweet symphony, and the flickering lights cast a joyful glow over their faces, reflecting the camaraderie that bound them together.

All the while, they waited patiently, eyes glancing occasionally at the door, yearning for me to join them.

Waiting for me to step through the grand wooden doors, with my familiar, reassuring smile greeting them.

I watched them, snowflakes swirling around me, sticking to my cloak, their cold sting a stark contrast to the warmth within. My smile reflected on the frosted glass, an image of eternal hope, as I longed to enter and be part of the mirth and warmth inside.

Hoping for the day when the doors would finally open for me, allowing me to join my friends in our shared sanctuary.*

-END

"...The hell?"

Elias let out a frustrated sigh as he stared at the screen of his phone.

He scrolled to the end of the latest chapter for the third time, hoping he'd missed something. But no, the date was clear: "22.06.2023." He glanced at the top of his screen—02.06.2024.

Nearly a year had passed with no updates. And the most baffling part? The novel was marked as complete.

"How is this complete?" he muttered. The ending wasn't just open-ended; it felt like someone had ripped out the last chapters.

Questions hung unanswered.

Who killed Weiss's brother? Why couldn't the protagonist simply open the doors and join his friends in the guild? And where was the main villain? With over 700 chapters, it was absurd that the story left so many loose ends.

"What the hell, author? I've spent over 300 dollars on this novel and you end it like this?"

Elias's mind was a whirlpool of thoughts, a mix of betrayal and frustration.

His pulse quickened, the anger bubbling just beneath the surface. It wasn't just about the money, though. 'The Purple-Eyed Prince' had been his escape, his nightly ritual. Now it felt like someone had stolen that solace from him, leaving a gaping void.

"Screw you!" he shouted, the sound bouncing off the walls of his big yet empty room. He felt a deep emptiness, a void left by the abrupt end of his favorite story.

'The Purple-Eyed Prince.'

Even the title evoked a sense of grandeur. The cover art depicting Emrys, the main protagonist with his mesmerizing purple eyes and a gleaming sword, had drawn Elias in like a moth to a flame.

The tagline had promised epic battles and heart-wrenching drama, and for the most part, it had delivered.

The characters were complex, the fights exhilarating, the developments satisfying, the world-building immersive, and the romance... oh, the romance.

Emrys and Ana's slow-burn relationship had kept him on the edge of his seat, rooting for them through every trial and tribulation.

He was a sucker for it.

"Aaaaaaaah, screw this," he groaned, flopping back onto his bed, his phone still in his hands.

The novel, written in the first person, had its charms. It made readers feel like they were experiencing everything through Emrys's eyes.

But this single perspective also led to confusion and gaps in the narrative.

Major plot points were often left unclear, like how one of the main heroines became overpowered after her brother's death, yet the details of his demise were never explained.

These gaps were minor annoyances while the story was ongoing, but now, knowing it had ended, they became major frustrations.

The more he thought about it, the more the sense of betrayal deepened. It wasn't just the end of a story; it felt like the end of a part of his life.

But still... it was a great read. A very great one.

"Ah, whatever," Elias muttered, feeling his disappointment dull into resigned acceptance. His anger still simmered, but there was nothing he could do.

He glanced at the clock on his phone. 2 am. He needed to be up by 7.

Sighing, he put the phone down and burrowed into his pillow, closing his eyes.

Maybe tomorrow there would be some news. Maybe the author would break their silence. Or maybe he just had to let it go and cherish the experience.

"Screw you, author..." he whispered one last time before sleep finally claimed him.