Chapter 170: The Author Who Forgot

Eden stared at the name on the page.

EDEN.

Nothing else. No title, no description, no history. Just his name written in black ink across the center of a blank sheet. For some reason, that frightened him more than seeing his entire life written out. A character could have a beginning, an ending, or even be rewritten. An author, however, was supposed to be the one holding the pen. Eden slowly looked at the figure sitting behind the desk and accused it of lying. The figure remained still and calmly replied that it had expected him to say that.

Eden argued that everyone had been doing the same thing from the beginning. The Witnesses, the Readers, the boy, and even the alternate versions of himself had all given him different answers whenever he got close to the truth. The figure responded that every truth he had been told was true from a certain perspective. Eden sarcastically called that convenient, and the figure agreed without hesitation. The honesty almost made him laugh. Taking a step closer, he demanded the real truth. The figure rested a hand on the manuscript and warned him that he would hate it. Eden replied that he already hated all of this. After studying him for a moment, the figure decided he was finally ready.

The manuscript opened on its own. Pages turned without being touched as scenes from Eden’s life flashed past. Luna, Aria, the hospital, the first world, the first death, the white room, the creature, the Readers, the boy, every version of himself, every world, and every ending appeared one after another. This time, however, Eden noticed something different. Every time reality changed, a hand appeared somewhere beyond the frame. Sometimes it turned a page. Sometimes it wrote a sentence. Sometimes it crossed something out. Eden narrowed his eyes and realized the hand belonged to him. The figure confirmed it.

Eden reasoned that he must have been changing the story, but he couldn’t understand why he had no memory of it. The figure explained that he had never forgotten. Instead, he had divided himself. One part became Eden, the version that loved Luna, lost Aria, suffered, and wanted to live. The other part remained outside the story as the author. Eden struggled to accept it and demanded to know why the author would trap himself inside his own creation. The answer was painfully simple. The author had become lonely. Wanting someone to understand what it felt like to be him, he had written himself into the story.

Looking down, Eden watched the page containing his name begin to change. New information appeared beneath it. First came his full name. Then his age. Then his status. Then the names of his family. His breath caught when he saw Luna and Aria listed there. The final line appeared moments later. CURRENT STATUS: DECEASED. Eden stared at the word in disbelief. His voice barely worked as he pointed at it and questioned how that could be true. The figure simply asked whether he was really alive.

The darkness around them seemed to deepen as the figure explained that Eden’s original body had died. Refusing to believe it, Eden demanded to know when. The manuscript turned to a page displaying a date he recognized immediately. It was the date of the accident. The date Luna had died. The date Aria had died. The date his original life had ended. His knees nearly gave out. The figure continued despite his protests, explaining that he had survived for only a few minutes afterward. During those final moments, unconscious and dying, he had written.

Another page turned, revealing a single sentence.

I don’t want to die.

Tears filled Eden’s eyes. The figure explained that those words created the first world. Around them, a hospital room appeared. Eden saw his younger self lying in a bed surrounded by machines. His body was broken. Luna was already dead. Aria was already dead. Nobody sat beside him. Nobody held his hand. Nobody promised things would be okay. There was only a nurse outside the room and a dying boy inside it. The younger Eden raised a trembling hand, and a pen appeared between his fingers.

Eden watched in horror as words appeared around the room. First came the sentence asking for Luna back. Then another asking for Aria back. Then another begging to go home. The words became reality. The hospital vanished. A house appeared. Luna stood in the kitchen. Aria ran through the hallway. The younger Eden woke on a couch and cried when he saw them. He believed he had been granted a second life, but the figure explained that he had not been resurrected. He had been authored.

The realization shattered everything Eden believed about himself. The deaths, the worlds, the endless versions, and the impossible events were not random. They were attempts to make the impossible feel real. Every world was an experiment. Every death was a variation. The Witnesses were consequences. The Readers were observers. When Eden asked about the boy, however, the figure hesitated and admitted he was different. The First Reader had come from the one place Eden could never write—outside himself.

Remembering the boy, Eden slowly pieced things together. The frightened child had known things he shouldn’t have known. He had warned him repeatedly and watched him long before Eden realized he existed. Before Eden could ask more questions, the desk lamp flickered. A second chair appeared beside the figure. The figure glanced toward it and quietly remarked that someone else should be there.

The empty chair shifted slightly, scraping across the floor. A child’s voice suddenly spoke from behind Eden, telling him that he had finally figured it out. He turned and found the boy standing there. Something about him had changed. He was no longer frightened. Instead, he looked tired, as though he had carried a burden for far too long. Eden demanded to know whether he had known the truth all along. The boy admitted that he had. He had known Eden was the author. He had known Luna and Aria were dead. He had known almost everything.

Anger surged through Eden. He accused the boy of allowing him to suffer when he could have told him the truth. The boy’s eyes filled with tears as he explained that he had tried. The warnings, the messages, the impossible signs, and the instructions not to open certain doors had all been attempts to guide him. Eden remembered them. He remembered ignoring them. Then another realization struck him. Slowly approaching the boy, he pointed out that the child looked like Aria. The boy immediately denied it, but Eden pressed further. The resemblance was undeniable. They shared the same eyes.

The boy’s expression cracked. Behind them, the figure quietly explained that Eden had never created him. When Eden demanded an explanation, the boy whispered a single name.

Aria.

The room fell silent.

Eden insisted that was impossible. Aria was dead. She could not be standing there through some strange fragment. The boy agreed that it sounded impossible, yet explained that when Eden created the first world, he had not actually brought Aria back. Instead, he had created a place where she could exist. And she had remembered.

A violent wind swept through the room as the manuscript’s pages began turning rapidly. The figure rose from the desk for the first time and ordered the boy to stop, but he continued speaking. He revealed that Aria had spent years trying to reach Eden. Images appeared across the pages. First, a six-year-old Aria sitting alone in a white room with a drawing of herself, Eden, and Luna holding hands. Beneath it was a message written in childish handwriting:

Daddy, I know you’re still here.

The images continued. Aria grew older. Eight. Ten. Twelve. Sixteen. Twenty. She watched Eden create worlds. She watched him forget her. She watched him recreate her and destroy her over and over. Eventually, she stopped trying to return. Instead, she began reading.

The final image showed Aria sitting alone in darkness with a book resting in her lap. Eden whispered the truth aloud. She had become the Reader. The boy confirmed it. When Eden asked who the First Reader truly was, the boy smiled sadly and explained that he was what Aria left behind. Once she realized she could never reach Eden directly, she created someone who could watch his story without changing it.

The answer broke him. When Eden asked why the Reader took the form of a child, the boy quietly explained that it was because Aria had been that age when he first lost her. The words shattered whatever strength Eden still possessed. He sank to the floor and cried. For the first time, he stopped trying to solve the mystery. He simply mourned.

The boy walked over and knelt beside him. After a moment of hesitation, he wrapped his arms around Eden. Eden pulled him close and apologized over and over. The boy quietly told him that he knew. He knew Eden was sorry. He knew Eden should have remembered. He knew Eden had not been ready. Eden held him tighter as tears continued falling.

Behind them, the figure quietly closed the manuscript. Just before the book shut completely, however, a new sentence appeared on the final page. It had not been written by Eden. It had not been written by the Reader. It came from something else entirely.

THE AUTHOR IS NOT THE HIGHEST LAYER.

The figure froze. The boy released Eden. Both of them stared at the words. When Eden asked what they meant, the figure looked genuinely afraid for the first time and admitted that it didn’t know.

The lamp went out. Every page in the room turned black. Somewhere beyond the darkness, laughter echoed. It did not sound monstrous or human. It sounded like someone who had been waiting a very long time for Eden to discover the truth. Then a voice whispered from somewhere above them.

"Good. Now we can begin."