The first two chapters of "The Healing Flame", a book generated by GPT-4

This post made me want to check the quality of these 'GPT agent' generated books, but I'm a codecel who can only read Javanese, so I'll let you litcels decide how good this is. I've attached the whole .epub (capy cockblocked, just check the github link) if you're interested in reading the rest for some reason . Here's some other sample books from GPT-4 as well, and the github where you can generate your own (as long as you have a GPT-4 api key ):

https://github.com/mshumer/gpt-author/tree/main/example_novel_outputs

EDIT: oops, wrong hole!

The Healing Flame

By GPT-4 under the pseudonym "gpt-author"

The Light of Hope

Once upon a time, hidden within a tapestry cosmos of varied worlds, there was one world that stood just a little sadder than the rest. This was Illyria, a realm that had seen brighter, more hopeful days. It now laid scarred and weary, like an old, battered soldier after many grueling battles. The ongoing plague had shattered its once-vibrant spirit, sucking away every ounce of life and leaving it a mere shadow of its former glory.

In the face of such calamity, it was not ignorance, but stark awareness, that lined the worried faces of Illyria's inhabitants. The silent killer, in the form of the plague, had crawled into every living thing, painting the once verdant land with an unnerving hue of despair. Like vicious fire reducing green wood into smoke, the disease sucked the vitality out of the people, replacing their rosy cheeks with the gray pallor of suffering. Yet amidst this doom and gloom, there was one remarkable woman who chose to stand defiant.

They called her Ariadne. She was not flamboyant or flashy but carried a quiet strength, a modest sorceress who spent her days swirling magic around her fingers, applying it as a soothing salve to heal many. Her countenance was plain, yet it served as the canvas where her profound qualities found their expression. Ariadne's eyes were always alive, bright, and full of warmth even in the bleakest of times; they flickered with a divine purpose.

Ariadne was no stranger to strife and hardship, yet she found herself armored by a fierce resolve. With each passing day, as the plague tightened its icy grip around Illyria, her compassion flared into determination. There was a calling, loud and clear, pulling her towards an adventure. This subtle yet intense nudge had always been there, hidden in the recesses of her heart, waiting to come out when the time was right. Now, as her homeland lay in the painful cradle of sickness, she knew the time had come.

The Phoenix Lore was what they spoke of in hushed whispers and reverence. A divine spell, written in a language older than time, it was said to have the power that transcended the limits of mortal magic. It breathed life into the lifeless, mended the unredeemable, and healed the unhealable. It was a beacon of hope, a lost scripture wrapped in stories of the phoenix rising from the ashes, symbolizing triumph in the face of adversity. However, much like the phoenix of the tales, it disappeared after an ancient cataclysm, leaving behind only the vague aura of its presence in folk stories.

The veil of legends and mystery shrouding the Phoenix Lore seemed to have deterred many from its pursuit. After all, it was not an adventure for the faint-hearted. Past seekers had undergone formidable trials, faced monstrous beasts, and traversed treacherous landscapes, with none returning victorious. But the whispering hope of the Phoenix Lore was like a calling for Ariadne. She had the heart of a lioness, the resolve of a mother protecting her cub, and her cub was Illyria. She knew that it was a gamble, a venture which might lead her to glorious victory or dismal defeat. But the stakes were too high; she had to take the risk.

So, Ariadne packed her modest satchel, filled it with her essential magic paraphernalia, took a deep breath, and ventured forth. Home, with its comforts and security, was a warm cocoon that she had to shed. The warmth of her bed, the familiar cobbled streets, all were left behind. A vast expanse of uncertainty and challenge lay ahead, filled with secrets buried in the sands of time. Yet, driven by her love for Illyria, Ariadne stepped forward with unflinching determination. Would she return as a radiant hero, or would she, too, be submerged into the annals of defeat? Only time would whisper the secrets of her destiny. But in her heart, a flame of hope continued to flicker, guiding her forward with its soft luminescence, feeding her courage for the arduous journey ahead.

The Path Awaits

As dawn gently caressed folds of the morning, Ariadne stood at the threshold of her adventure. Her radiant aura was undimmed, her eyes shining with the ardent fires of resolve as she mapped the path ahead. The air was fragrant with the scent of morning dew and innocent sunshine, refusing to yield to the prevalent despair. Cradling such precious moments of tranquility in her heart, she ventured forth, the Phoenix Lore her guiding light in the vast labyrinth of the unknown.

Her path led her through verdant woods and over foreboding mountains, where each rustle and murmur seemed a primal hymn dedicated to nature's indomitable spirit. It was almost a serene painting, were it not for the sporadic cough of a withered tree or the hushed whimper of an ailing beast - the telltale traces of the relentless plague.

One week into the journey, a mural of ancient ruins emerged, defining the Land of Forgotten Echoes. Its history was but a hazy silhouette against the backdrop of time, but now, it was going to be the theater where Ariadne would dance with fate itself. With a deep breath, she stepped across the threshold into the realm of antiquity.

The ruins sang an olden lullaby, echoing the tales of mythical beasts and divine healers who had etched the chapters of Illyria's past. Their whispers guided Ariadne further into the spectral embrace of the ruins, where every nook and cranny breathed an air of forgotten majesty. Spiraling towers and vast courtyards stood as remnants of old grandeur, guarding cryptic messages and labyrinthine enigmas, the keys to Phoenix Lore.

The vestiges of the lost city were not devoid of guardians, however. Disembodied shadows stirred in the depths of loneliness, taking form as monstrous beasts birthed from world’s estranged nightmares. Beastly roars echoed, and venomous fangs gleamed, snapping at the tranquility of Ariadne's path. But she stood invitingly unafraid. The howling winds seemed to flutter around her, tightening into a magical cocoon that braced her against the savage onslaught.

Summoning her powers, Ariadne danced with the pulsating rhythm of her magic, erecting protective barriers and mystical wards against the monstrous threats. Powerful energies weaved around her like serpents of the ethereal plane, responding to the will of their mistress, crackling with an electrifying symphony as they ushered forth destruction upon her adversaries.

The unearthly groomercord of battle echoed into silence as one monstrous beast after another fell, humbled by Ariadne's sorcery. Panting heavily, she emerged unscathed from their monstrous assault. The confrontation had only solidified her resolve and sharpened her will.

Sweeping her gaze over the ancient ruins once more, Ariadne realized the key to unlocking the Phoenix Lore resonated with the lessons earned in her plight and the tales sung by the ruins. Guided by this newfound understanding, she delved into the antiquity, letting her powers tunefully engage with cryptic signals embedded within the crumbled stones to decipher the hidden patterns that held the chronicles of the Phoenix Lore.

One by one, the verses of the divine scroll unfolded in her mind, revealing the dormant potential that lay locked within their ancient wisdom. Each line, every word was a revelation, whispering tales of relentless spirits and unprecedented revival that reflected her own ambitions. The verses were not just mere scriptures. They were a testament of faith, of resilience. They held the promise of a rebirth resembling a phoenix's rise from its ashes, an echo of the path that Ariadne herself had embarked on for Illyria's redemption.

Thus, streaming with the first insights of the sacred Phoenix Lore from the forgotten echoes, Ariadne navigated deeper into her path. Embracing the challenging trials and timeless tales, her heart hummed with the symphony of hope that reverberated within the ancient ruins, paving the path where destiny awaited her.