Chapter 25:
Episode 21: "The Book World: Part 2"
WonderLand
---
The estate stood in front of them.
Unlike the city,
Which felt like a story unfolding,
this place was almost frozen in time.
The walls.. too pristine. The gardens.. too still.
It wasn’t like abandonment—more like.. preservation.
The gates hung open before them.
The five stepped through.
Their boots touched the stone path,
but no sound followed.
No crunch.No echo.
Just silence.
John’s jaw tightened.His voice was low, uneasy.
“…It feels different from the rest of the city.”
Aurora’s eyes flicked across the hedges,the statues,the balcony above.
Her brow furrowed.
“It's too clean,” she whispered.“Too… exact.”
Finn shoved his hands into his pockets.His grin didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Maybe ghosts just like tidy houses,” he muttered, half-joking.
Jake turned to him with a flat look.
“…Everything’s always about ghosts with you.”
They climbed the front steps.
Distant wind.Birds chirping.
And the heavy hush of a place sealed in memory.
The tall doors loomed over them.Carved wood, untouched by weather or time.
But they didn’t go in just yet.
Something held them there—A pause.
An unspoken need to take in what they were really looking at.
Finn glanced up at the tower windows.They caught the dull light like black mirrors.
He let out a low breath.“…Kinda weird, isn’t it?”
Jake turned toward him.
Finn continued, quieter now.“I mean, the place looks exactly the same. But it doesn’t feel the same.”
Jake frowned.
“Yeah,” he muttered,
“Back home, it felt like this place was always watching you. Like we were always under surveillance…
Like it knew things it wouldn’t say.”
His eyes drifted across the balcony.“But here? It’s just… still.”
Aurora took a step back, eyes tracing the symmetry of the windows.
“The ivy’s not grown in yet,” she murmured.
“Those statues—there are cracks on them. Back in our place..”
She pointed toward the far archway.“And that fountain... wasn't that like, half broken?
It’s.. still working here.”
A soft trickle could be heard in the distance.
Harry was quiet, gazing at the doorframe.His fingers hovered above the carved symbols along the edges.
John’s gaze swept across the courtyard once more—
Then he turned to Harry.
“How long ago do you think we are right now?”
"Dunno.."
“I guess... ten, maybe twenty years ago,” he said finally.
“Judging by the stonework, the lack of erosion… this isn’t just a couple years back. It must be decades..”
He looked up at the balcony where the Governor had stood.
“We’re far.
Far back.”
A pause.
then finally,
Aurora stepped up,
She drew in a breath,lifting her hand—
But,
the doors shifted first.
Creaking.
Slow.
Opened on its own.
As though the house already knew someone had come.
John inhaled, steadying himself.
“Guys,” he murmured.“Stay close.”
Together, they crossed the threshold.
And as they did—
the past pulled them in.
---
[The House of Shadows]
Inside,the air was thick.
Not musty.Not stale.
Just… heavy.
Like something lingered.
The grand hall stretched before them.
Marble floors polished to a shine.Chandeliers hanging in silence, unlit.
Every detail was in place.Exactly as it should be.
And yet—it still didn't feel.. right.
Jake trailed a hand along the edge of a long table.
His fingers slid over wood polished smooth.No dust.Not a trace.
He muttered under his breath, barely louder than the silence:
“…Still creeps me out how clean they keep it.”
They drifted apart slightly, exploring.
The estate was still recognizable.
Staircases in the same place.Windows where they remembered them.
Subtle things marked it different.
The colors fresher.The air sharper.
Like they had stepped backward into an earlier version of the house they knew.
Things different enough to make it clear..
They're somewhere else in time.
Finn glanced at the walls.
Paintings hung there—but they weren’t the same.
Where there had been portraits of foreign nobles and gilded hunts,here the frames held softer things.
A sketch of the city skyline.A meadow under pale starlight.
Simple. Almost homely.
Finn tilted his head, frowning.“…Doesn’t match his vibe, does it?”
Jake scoffed lightly.“Maybe he redecorated once he started hating everything.”
John’s focus stayed sharp.
The chandeliers above—Uncharacteristically bright with polished brass.
The curtains—woven in colors that felt odd..
compared to what they've gotten used to in this place.
Aurora slowed near the far wall.
Her eyes moved carefully, tracing the room as though her body already knew where things should be.
A chair stood angled differently than it should have.
A vase sat where, in her memory, a lantern belonged.
Curtains fell shorter here, lighter fabric, not the heavy drapes she had walked past countless times.
It was strange—
her mind filling in the present version over what she was seeing,
like a ghost overlaying the room.Every difference jolted against her muscle memory.
Aurora stepped up beside John.Her voice was quiet.
“Feels like we’re intruding in someone else’s house, right?”
John gave a small, uneasy laugh.“Yeah,” he murmured,
“like we just broke in here.”
"It's weird.."
Harry’s gaze caught on a tall bookshelf pressed into the wall.
His brow furrowed.An unusual sight.
In their time—the city had hidden things.. like this.
Kept the curtains drawn.Knowledge tucked away.
But here—
Were the curtains still open..
For now?
He crossed to it, pulled a volume free.
The spine creaked faintly as he opened it.Pages fluttered beneath his thumb.
Words.Symbols.Diagrams.
Stuff he didn’t understand.Stuff he wasn’t supposed to.
“…Books,” Harry murmured, voice low, observing.“How come there are still—”
He shut the cover, exhaling.
“This has to confirm it."
John turned toward him.His voice was quiet.Steady.
“Means we’re exactly where we should be.”
Harry nodded.
Just then,
A soft sound broke the silence.
A whisper.
No—a voice.
Low. Strained. Trembling.
"Why are you not here?"
The group froze.
It came from down the hall.
Finn’s breath left him sharp.He whispered, eyes darting:
“…I don’t like this.”
But John was already moving.
Because that voice—
That was him.
The one they came looking for.
They followed the sound—
Down the length of the hall.
Toward a half-open door.
Inside—
In a lightly dim room,
The Governor sat alone.
---
A single candle burned low on the desk.
The Governor sat slumped in a chair,
his posture.. nothing like the powerful figure they had known.
His coat was half-unbuttoned, his collar loose.
His hair, usually perfect, was messy, unkempt.
And his hands trembled.
Between them…
Something small.Gleamed in the candlelight.
A locket.
Aurora’s breath caught in her throat.She whispered, barely audible:
“…He’s… mourning.”
John was looking around.
The Governor wasn’t speaking to anyone.Not exactly.
His fingers tightened around the locket as he exhaled shakily.The sound raw, frayed.
“You said I was strong,” he murmured.Voice hoarse.
His breath hitched.
“Then why does it hurt like this?”
Finn shifted where he stood.His voice was low, uneasy.
“…Should we be watching this..?”
None of them moved.
The man in front of them, wasn’t the Governor of Vash’Kael.
Not the man who ruled with quiet calculation.
This was someone else.
Just a man.
A man who had lost something—
His thumb brushed the locket again.
His voice thinned into a whisper,fragile, pleading:
“…You should be here.”
Silence.The candle flickered weakly.
Then—the sound of footsteps.
Small. Light.
A child’s.
The Governor stiffened.
The door pushed open.
And there—
His daughter stood in the doorway.
---
The five froze.
They had been so locked on the Governor,so caught in the sight of him unraveling,
that they hadn’t noticed her until she was already there—already past them.
Aurora flinched.Finn swore under his breath.
She hadn’t looked at them.Not once.
She just walked straight by,small footsteps carrying her through the memory,
as though they were nothing more than ghosts in her way.
[A Father & a Daughter Left Behind]
She was small.
Too small for a world that expected her to carry something she couldn’t yet understand.
The little girl clutched a book against her chest, her fingers gripping the worn edges.
She didn’t speak right away.
She just watched him.
The Governor inhaled sharply.
His spine straightened, his voice pulled into something steadier.
“You should be resting.”
The girl tilted her head slightly.
“…So should you.”
The Governor’s jaw tightened.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then—she stepped forward.
She placed the book on the desk beside him.
John’s eyes narrowed.His whisper barely escaped him:
“…That book.”
The candlelight trembled over its cover.
The Governor hesitated.
Then, slowly—he picked it up.
Fingers pressed into the cover.Tracing its spine.
“A story,” he murmured.Almost to himself.
The little girl nodded.
“Mama used to read it to me.”
The Governor’s breath caught.
His fingers tensed.
For a long moment—he didn’t speak.
Finally—he exhaled.
“…Tell me how it starts.”
The girl climbed up, crawling into the chair beside him.Her small frame disappeared against its size.
And in the flickering candlelight, her small voice began to read.
John and the others stood frozen.
The little girl’s voice was soft as she read.
Familiar. Steady.Every word carried care.
But the words themselves—
They weren’t just any story.
They were her mother’s words.
John’s hands curled into fists.He recognized the handwriting.
Not the sound of it—but the shape of it.
They had seen this before.In the journal they’d found.
The same curves, the same deliberate script.
Aurora glanced at him sharply.Her voice was low, urgent.
“…John, it’s..”
He nodded once, eyes narrowing.Mind racing.
“Yes,” he whispered.
The Governor’s face was hard to read.
Not because he was cold—but because he was fighting something.
His fingers tightened,
around the book as his daughter’s voice filled the room. His eyes flickered—not just sadness.
Familiarity.
Like a song half-remembered. A face just out of reach.
A name that should be there—but wasn’t.
His jaw clenched, and he squeezed his eyes shut for just a moment.
Then—his hand moved.
He turned the page.
“…Keep reading,” he said.
His voice was low.Firm.
But beneath it—something almost pleading.
---
The air was thick.
The little girl kept reading.
The Governor leaned closer,turned another page.
For a heartbeat—his hands shook.
Fingers froze over the words.
His expression twisted, something flashing behind his eyes.
Like a memory trying to surface—
Only to be pulled back down.
His breath hitched.
“No.”
The little girl stopped reading.
Silence.
The Governor stared down at the page,his grip tightening—too tight.
Then—
He snapped the book shut.Hard.
The sound echoed off the walls.
The candle beside him flickered wildly,struggling to hold its flame.
His voice followed—
“…That’s enough.”
The girl didn’t argue.
She only watched him.Small and still,
eyes heavy with something too old for her age.
---
The Governor slowly rose from his chair.
He set the book down.Carefully.Delicately.
Like something fragile.
Without another word,he crossed the room.
And reached for a nearby door.Boots muted against the polished floor.
He stopped before a smaller door set into the wall.A study?A storage room?
John couldn’t tell.Not until the Governor reached for the handle.
And failed.
The handle wouldn’t turn.
He twisted it again..
and nothing happened.
The Governor stared at it.
Like he didn’t know why.
His lips parted slightly, brows furrowing.
“…When did I… lock this?”
His fingers lingered over the handle, like a man trying to remember a dream.
Then—slowly—
he pulled his hand back.
“Go to bed,” he said at last.
The little girl hesitated.
Then—she picked up the book and quietly left the room.
The Governor stood there for a long moment, staring,
at the locked door.
Then—he turned away from it.
And as he did,
the world itself began to fade.Walls softening.Light draining.
The candle’s glow thinning to smoke.
Until only silence remained.
---
John blinked.
And suddenly—
They were outside again.
Back at the estate gates.
The memory had ended.
Finn let out a sharp breath, rubbing his arms like he was trying to shake the cold off him.
“Okay,” he muttered, voice uneven.“That… was—”
“Scary,” Aurora cut in.Her voice firm, though she hugged herself slightly.
Her head shook, her hair brushing her face.
“He was… acting weird.”
Jake didn’t move.
His eyes stayed locked on the house.Unblinking.
“So… what does this even have to do with anything?” he muttered.
“Okay, he forgot to take his… daily dose of something… so what?”
John turned toward him.Then back at the estate.
His chest tightened.Heart thudding.
His voice came low, steady:
“…That door.”
Jake frowned, arms crossing.
“Door?”
John swallowed.“A door in his estate,” he said.“In the real world. Remember? Locked.”
His eyes narrowed, nodding toward the estate before them.
“And here… there’s a locked door too.”
Aurora’s eyes widened.Her voice sharpened, cutting through the silence:
“You’re saying it could be the same one?”
She took a breath.
“Think it’s connected to all of this?”
"Something—or someone—was erased."
Harry murmured.His mind was elsewhere entirely.
The wind stirred faintly, sweeping across the gates.Chill against their skin.
John clenched his fists.The decision tightened in his chest.
“…We shouldn’t stay idle,” he said firmly.
His eyes locked forward.
“Let’s move.”
They turned from the gates.
Boots crunching softly against the gravel.The wind pressed at their backs.
Aurora slowed.Something tugged at her.
She turned.One last glance at the estate.
And froze.“…Wait.”
---
The others turned.
The estate,
was no longer there.
In its place—another estate.
The pristine walls.The polished balcony.The fountain that had trickled clear.
Gone.
Now,
The stone darker.The roofline shifted.
The whole place is different.
Not ruined.Not restored.
Different.
The bones of the place had been rearranged.
John quickly stepped forward.His hand pressed against the heavy doors.
He pushed.
Nothing.
He tried the handle.It didn’t move.
“…Locked?” Finn muttered.
He leaned in beside John, gave it a shove of his own.
The wood didn’t budge an inch.
Jake shaking his head,“Great. So we just got evicted.”
Aurora frowned, arms folding tight.“Why now? We got in before… why not this time?”
Harry’s eyes lingered on the door.
“...Then it didn’t bring us here to go inside,” he said quietly.
The others turned toward him.
John’s brow furrowed.“…Then why?”
Harry exhaled, gaze still fixed on the estate."...Something else.”
A silence followed.
The wind carried across the courtyard, sharp against their skin.
“…That book. The one the little girl had.”
John’s voice broke the silence.Low. Thoughtful.
Aurora’s arms crossed tightly against her chest.She nodded, her tone firm.
“She held onto it like it meant everything.”
Jake sighed, dragging a hand down his face.Already resigned to where this was heading.
“So how exactly are we supposed to track down a book,” he muttered,“inside a magic book?”
Harry hummed under his breath, thinking.His gaze shifted away from the locked doors, out toward the city below.
“The estate’s blocked off,” he said calmly, voice steady.
“We have to look for her somewhere else.
If the book wants us to follow her… it’ll be out there.”
“Alright, detectives,” Finn said, starting down the path toward the city.“Let’s follow the paper trail.”
The others exchanged glances—equal parts weary and wary.
Then, with no better choice,they moved.
Back toward the streets that waited for them.
[The City’s Unwritten Pages]
The streets of Vash’Kael unfolded again.
But something was different.
Before—the city had felt like a memory on rails.A story playing itself, beat by beat.
Now—as they walked—it felt… looser.
Shadows bled at the edges of buildings.
Windows repeated, then corrected themselves.
The ground shifted faintly under their boots,
like stone that hadn’t decided what shape it wanted to hold.
They were moving through a part of the bookthat wasn’t often read.
Barely remembered.
John’s eyes scanned the wavering streets.His voice low, steady, muttering:
“…Where would she have gone?”
Aurora’s hand shot out, catching his arm.Her eyes snapped sharp, pointing ahead.
“John, there!”
Across the plaza, through the shifting crowd—a flicker.
A small figure.
Weaving between the shadows.Clutching something tight to her chest.
The Governor’s daughter.
But younger.No more than four.
Hair shorter, steps uneven with urgency.
And she was moving fast.
Her small form disappeared around a corner.The crowd swallowed her.
John’s heart hammered.
He straightened, voice firm.
“Come on.”
They broke into a run.
Boots striking silent against streets that seemed to ripple beneath them.
---
They pushed forward.
The crowd pressed thick around them—faces turned, voices murmuring.
And then, when Finn reached out—
his shoulder slipped clean through a passerby.
No resistance.No weight.
Like the people weren’t really there.
Aurora blinked, startled.“…We can move through them.”
John nodded once, tightening his pace.
“Seems so.
Stay close everyone.”
They wove after the girl.
Her small form darted ahead,book clutched to her chest,
slipping down crooked alleys and bending streets.
Every turn,every shadow,
they followed.
And then—
She stopped.
The girl pushed open a warped wooden door
and vanished inside.
They slowed as they reached it.
It was..An old library,
wedged tight between two taller structures.As though the city had tried to crowd it out.
The sign above sagged in the wind,its lettering almost erased by time.
Aurora’s breath came soft.“…A library.”
Jake eyes narrowed, arms crossed.“Looks abandoned.”
Harry’s eyes lingered on the doorway.His voice was low, almost to himself.
“…This place..”
---
The inside of the library was dust-choked and dim.
Shadows pressed thick in the corners.
Shelves lined the walls,their spines cracked and faded,
rows of books left untouched for years.
Papers littered the floor—pages torn loose from bindings,curled and yellowed where they’d fallen.
And the strangest part?
No sign of life.
Not the faint echoes of footsteps.Not the murmurs of voices.
Unlike the rest of the city, where echoes of life continued playing out…
here, there was nothing.
Like this place had been forgotten.
Finn dragged a hand across a shelf,fingers brushing the dusty spines.He gave a low whistle.
“…Feels like no one’s stepped in here for ages.”
Aurora’s voice carried softly through the silence.“Not even a single book lover in town, huh?”
Finn cracked a grin, glancing over.“Think we just followed the one.”
John moved deeper in.
His boots stirred the scattered papers,crisp against the silence.
Then he saw it.
A small reading nook.
A chair, an old wooden table… and on it—
bathed in a faint glow of candlelight—
a single book.
Aurora’s breath caught.Her eyes fixed.
“…That’s her,” she whispered.“Right there.”
John stepped forward.Came to stand beside her.
She was silent, her chin proped up by her elbow.
Reading the book on the table attentively.
Johns hand reached out, slow.Fingers brushing the cover.
And the moment he touched it—
A child’s voice filled the air.
"Mama said stories live forever."
He froze.
The voice was soft, distant.
Like it wasn’t speaking to them—but to someone who had already left.
In the same nook, the Governor’s daughter sat curled in the chair.
She looked... younger, againMaybe three.
The book rested in her lap.Her eyes stayed down, fixed on its open pages.
She didn’t look at them.She couldn’t.
A memory, frozen in place.
Her small hands traced the pages, though she wasn’t really turning them.
"Mama said stories live forever."
A pause.
her chin lifted.
She looked up.Not at them.
At someone who wasn’t there.
“…So why don’t I remember her?”
John’s breath caught.
The little girl continued speaking, as if repeating something from long ago.
“Papa always tells me stories.But never about Mama.”
Aurora’s fists clenched at her sides.Her whisper was tight, pained:“…Because he can’t.”
The girl’s voice softened, dropping to a fragile whisper.
“I don’t think he remembers how.”
The candle beside her sputtered.Its flame bent—then snuffed.
And just like that—
she was gone.
---
[The Book That Shouldn’t Exist]
Silence.
The chair was empty.The air stilled.
Only the book remained—resting on the table,
Harry’s voice broke the quiet, low and thoughtful.“…Even she wasn’t allowed to remember.”
John swallowed hard.His gaze fixed on the book.
Slowly—he reached for it.
Careful.Cautious.
His fingertips brushed the cover.
The title shifted.
Like ink drying on a page, new words appeared,
Forming in slow, careful strokes.building word by word.
Aurora leaned in,
reading the title as it finished writing itself.
“…The Story of Liana.”
John’s heart pounded.
“…That name.”
Jake let out a long breath, rubbing the back of his neck.“Okay, I don’t know who the hell this Liana is,but at this point? We better start finding out.”
Finn spoke before John could.His tone uncharacteristically sober:“…It’s her name. The Governor’s wife.”
Jake shrugged.“Exactly what I meant.”
"Wha-"
John’s hand tightened around the book.The words on the cover glowed faintly in his mind—The Story of Liana.
He exhaled sharply, steadying himself.Then turned to the others.
“We have her story now,” he said firmly.“But we still don’t have his.”
Aurora’s gaze lowered.Expression unreadable.
“…So, we’ve seen the broken version of him,” she said.
“The man who lost his everything.”
Harry’s voice was calm.Focused.“Now we need to see what he did next."
“And how it happened.”
The group glanced around.The library’s walls were already softening,edges blurring like smudged ink.
John braced himself.
The moment they stepped forward—
The world shifted again.
---
The city was alive again.
The marketplace bustled, carriages rolled past, merchants called out their wares.
The air was heavier.
People moved with unease. Conversations were hushed.
When—
A voice carried through the crowd.
"The Governor is searching for something."
John and the others whipped their heads toward the sound.
A group of townspeople stood in a tight circle, murmuring among themselves.
“He’s been sending men all over the city,” a woman whispered, unease in her tone.
“Looking for what?” a man muttered back, shaking his head.“She’s already gone.”
John stiffened.Aurora’s brow furrowed.
“…He was searching for something?” she breathed.
Harry’s gaze darkened, sharp with thought.“Or someone,” he murmured.
Finn dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling.“Let me guess. We follow the search?”
John’s jaw tightened.His voice firm.
"Let's see where it leads.”
The city obeyed.The world shifted.
[The Quiet Desperation of a Powerful Man]
The world moved ahead.
The sun was lower now. Evening, creeping in.
Down a long, empty street—
they saw him.
The Governor.
Standing alone in the courtyard of an abandoned chapel.
His hands clasped behind his back,his shoulders rigid.
But his face—
His face was not the face of a ruler.
It was the face of a man lost in his own shadow.
The group hesitated at the edge of the courtyard.
Finn’s breath slipped out, sharp.
Jake crossed his arms."He looks hollow.Like a man already halfway gone.”
John took a slow step forward—and the world let them listen.
The Governor’s lips moved.
Speaking to no one.
But his voice was low, raw.
“…There must be a way.”
Silence.
Then—he turned.
Not to them.
To a man standing just behind him.
John’s breath caught.“…Who is that?”
The man’s face was shadowed by his hood.
His posture unnaturally still.
When he spoke, his voice was smooth, unreadable.
“Grief drives men to desperate places, my lord.”
The Governor’s fists tightened.
“Do not waste my time.If you know something—say it.”
A slow pause.
The hooded man stepped closer.
“There are those who say nothing is ever truly lost.”
John’s heart pounded.
The Governor froze.His breath hitched.
“…Then tell me how to bring her back.”
Aurora’s hand curled tight against her arm.Her whisper to John was barely audible:
“…He wasn’t just mourning her.He was trying to undo it.”
The stranger stepped closer.His face still hidden.His tone calm. Certain.
“The stars listen to those who dare ask.”
The Governor’s jaw locked.His breath shook.Then, low and steady—
“…Tell me what I must do.”
The stranger leaned in.
And he whispered something in the Governor’s ear.
The words were too quiet.
John couldn’t hear them.
Couldn’t grasp them.
But whatever was said—
The Governor froze.
His breath shook.
Then, after a long pause—
he nodded.
And the world began to fade, once again.
[The Silence After a Choice is Made]
The group found themselves back in the city.
The sun was gone.
Night had fallen.
The weight of what they had just seen hadn’t lifted.It clung to them.
Aurora’s voice cut through first, soft and uneasy:
“…He was willing to do anything.”
“Never seen a man look that lost before,” Finn muttered.
His exhale slipped out sharp, shaking his head.
Harry was quiet.
Too quiet.
John turned toward him.His voice low, measured.
“…Haz, what is it?”
Harry finally glanced back at him.Calm.But dark.
“If he had made a wish,” he said,
“there was a cost.”
Jake glanced back from Harry,
He let out a breath, his gaze drifting upward toward the black sky.
His tone steady, almost resigned:
“…And we’re probably standing on it.”
[The City That Forgot Its Own Story]
The city breathed again.
People moved, markets bustled, voices filled the air.
Life played on.
And something was off.
Not in sight.But in feeling.
The five moved unseen through the market crowds.Watching. Listening.
Aurora’s brow furrowed, as she studied the crowd.
“…Something has changed, hasn't it,” she said, low.
Finn raised an eyebrow, scanning the stalls.
“You’re gonna have to be more specific.We’re in a magic book world—everything’s off.”
Jake crossed his arms, exhaling sharply.His eyes narrowed, sharp in their focus.
“No. She’s right. Look at them.”
Harry frowned.
“They’re… hesitant.”
It was true.
People moved like they were unsure of their own steps.
Conversations started and stopped—like thoughts slipping before they could fully form.
John’s hands curled into fists at his sides.“They know something is missing,” he murmured.“They still don’t realize it.”
They continued through the city, listening.
And soon, they started hearing it.
Little moments.
Flickers of doubt in casual conversations.
---
A merchant, stacking fruits, paused mid-motion, frowning.
“…Strange,” he muttered, puzzled.
“I could’ve sworn… no. Must be imagining it.”
By the well, three elderly women spoke in whispers.
“Doesn’t it feel like something’s… missing?” one asked, uncertain.
Another quickly stopped her, shaking her head.
"Hush now. Best not to ask questions."
A child ran up to his mother, confused.
“Mama, what was here before?”
The mother froze.
Her expression flickered—like she knew the answer.
But then, her face went blank.
"What are you talking about? there was nothing,” she said softly, distracted.
She took the boy’s hand and walked away.
Aurora spoke, her voice low,“…It's just like,They’re already being conditioned.”
[The Story That doesn't Exist]
They reached a quiet street corner, where a group of children sat in a half-circle,
listening to a man telling a story.
His voice was calm, practiced.
Like it was something passed down.
“And so the stars listened,” the man said softly.“But they do not give without taking.”
The group froze.
They had heard those words before.
The storyteller’s voice carried on.Low. Distant.
“A long time ago, in a city much like ours…a great man made a wish.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed.His voice cut low, serious:
“…A great man.”
Aurora’s hand shot out, gripping Finn’s sleeve.Her whisper was sharp, urgent:
“This is him,
This is the Governor’s story.”
The storyteller lowered his tone.Each word deliberate.
“The man asked for something the stars could not return.
And so, in their mercy, they gave him something else.”
Finn’s grin slipped.His mutter came low, bitter:
“Mercy? That’s what we’re calling it?”
The children listened, wide-eyed.
A little girl tilted her head.
“But… what did they take?”
The storyteller paused.
And for just a second—his expression flickered.
Like he wanted to say something he couldn’t.
“…No one remembers.”
The group stilled.
Jake exhaled sharp,“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered.
They all looked at each other.
Because now, they knew.
The city had been rewritten.Every life, every memory.
But even inside this rewritten version—
they still felt the hollow.
They just weren’t allowed to name it.
---
The storyteller stood, brushing dust from his coat.His voice gentle, smiling toward the children:
“Run along now. The festival will begin soon.”
The children scattered with laughter and chatter.
But one lingered behind.
A small boy, hesitant.
He tugged at the storyteller’s sleeve.
“…Sir,” he whispered softly.
“Do you remember..
Liana?”
The man went still.
Aurora tensed beside John.Finn’s hand twitched at his belt.
John’s pulse pounded hard in his ears.
The storyteller,
his expression remained calm.
But his hands—clenched slightly at his sides.
For a long moment, he didn’t answer.
“That name doesn’t exist.”
His voice came distant.Mechanical.
The boy frowned, confused.
The man bent down,patted his head gently.
“Run along now,” he said softly.Reassuring.But firm.
And as the child ran to catch up with the others,
the storyteller stood there for a moment—his fingers twitching at his sides.
Like he wanted to say something he couldn’t.
The group watched in silence.
“…Okay,” Finn muttered.“That was subtle.”
Aurora looked at him, then slowly,
"He.. knew it."
John’s gaze darkened.“Yeah.”
“And he was afraid to say it.” Harry spoke, almost to himself.
The bells of the festival rang in the distance.Bright. Joyous.
A celebration.
Built on a history that none of know exists.
Jake inhaled deep.Steady.
“…Then it’s up to us to remember,” he said. Looking at all of them.
John nodded once.His tone quiet, but steel beneath it.
“And we have to find the truth—the real one.
before it’s erased again.”
The festival lights began to glow.
Against the dark night sky.
And the past…It kept waiting for them to turn the next page.
---
[TO BE CONTINUED IN EPISODE 22]
The estate stood in front of them.
Unlike the city,
Which felt like a story unfolding,
this place was almost frozen in time.
The walls.. too pristine. The gardens.. too still.
It wasn’t like abandonment—more like.. preservation.
The gates hung open before them.
The five stepped through.
Their boots touched the stone path,
but no sound followed.
No crunch.No echo.
Just silence.
John’s jaw tightened.His voice was low, uneasy.
“…It feels different from the rest of the city.”
Aurora’s eyes flicked across the hedges,the statues,the balcony above.
Her brow furrowed.
“It's too clean,” she whispered.“Too… exact.”
Finn shoved his hands into his pockets.His grin didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Maybe ghosts just like tidy houses,” he muttered, half-joking.
Jake turned to him with a flat look.
“…Everything’s always about ghosts with you.”
They climbed the front steps.
Distant wind.Birds chirping.
And the heavy hush of a place sealed in memory.
The tall doors loomed over them.Carved wood, untouched by weather or time.
But they didn’t go in just yet.
Something held them there—A pause.
An unspoken need to take in what they were really looking at.
Finn glanced up at the tower windows.They caught the dull light like black mirrors.
He let out a low breath.“…Kinda weird, isn’t it?”
Jake turned toward him.
Finn continued, quieter now.“I mean, the place looks exactly the same. But it doesn’t feel the same.”
Jake frowned.
“Yeah,” he muttered,
“Back home, it felt like this place was always watching you. Like we were always under surveillance…
Like it knew things it wouldn’t say.”
His eyes drifted across the balcony.“But here? It’s just… still.”
Aurora took a step back, eyes tracing the symmetry of the windows.
“The ivy’s not grown in yet,” she murmured.
“Those statues—there are cracks on them. Back in our place..”
She pointed toward the far archway.“And that fountain... wasn't that like, half broken?
It’s.. still working here.”
A soft trickle could be heard in the distance.
Harry was quiet, gazing at the doorframe.His fingers hovered above the carved symbols along the edges.
John’s gaze swept across the courtyard once more—
Then he turned to Harry.
“How long ago do you think we are right now?”
"Dunno.."
“I guess... ten, maybe twenty years ago,” he said finally.
“Judging by the stonework, the lack of erosion… this isn’t just a couple years back. It must be decades..”
He looked up at the balcony where the Governor had stood.
“We’re far.
Far back.”
A pause.
then finally,
Aurora stepped up,
She drew in a breath,lifting her hand—
But,
the doors shifted first.
Creaking.
Slow.
Opened on its own.
As though the house already knew someone had come.
John inhaled, steadying himself.
“Guys,” he murmured.“Stay close.”
Together, they crossed the threshold.
And as they did—
the past pulled them in.
---
[The House of Shadows]
Inside,the air was thick.
Not musty.Not stale.
Just… heavy.
Like something lingered.
The grand hall stretched before them.
Marble floors polished to a shine.Chandeliers hanging in silence, unlit.
Every detail was in place.Exactly as it should be.
And yet—it still didn't feel.. right.
Jake trailed a hand along the edge of a long table.
His fingers slid over wood polished smooth.No dust.Not a trace.
He muttered under his breath, barely louder than the silence:
“…Still creeps me out how clean they keep it.”
They drifted apart slightly, exploring.
The estate was still recognizable.
Staircases in the same place.Windows where they remembered them.
Subtle things marked it different.
The colors fresher.The air sharper.
Like they had stepped backward into an earlier version of the house they knew.
Things different enough to make it clear..
They're somewhere else in time.
Finn glanced at the walls.
Paintings hung there—but they weren’t the same.
Where there had been portraits of foreign nobles and gilded hunts,here the frames held softer things.
A sketch of the city skyline.A meadow under pale starlight.
Simple. Almost homely.
Finn tilted his head, frowning.“…Doesn’t match his vibe, does it?”
Jake scoffed lightly.“Maybe he redecorated once he started hating everything.”
John’s focus stayed sharp.
The chandeliers above—Uncharacteristically bright with polished brass.
The curtains—woven in colors that felt odd..
compared to what they've gotten used to in this place.
Aurora slowed near the far wall.
Her eyes moved carefully, tracing the room as though her body already knew where things should be.
A chair stood angled differently than it should have.
A vase sat where, in her memory, a lantern belonged.
Curtains fell shorter here, lighter fabric, not the heavy drapes she had walked past countless times.
It was strange—
her mind filling in the present version over what she was seeing,
like a ghost overlaying the room.Every difference jolted against her muscle memory.
Aurora stepped up beside John.Her voice was quiet.
“Feels like we’re intruding in someone else’s house, right?”
John gave a small, uneasy laugh.“Yeah,” he murmured,
“like we just broke in here.”
"It's weird.."
Harry’s gaze caught on a tall bookshelf pressed into the wall.
His brow furrowed.An unusual sight.
In their time—the city had hidden things.. like this.
Kept the curtains drawn.Knowledge tucked away.
But here—
Were the curtains still open..
For now?
He crossed to it, pulled a volume free.
The spine creaked faintly as he opened it.Pages fluttered beneath his thumb.
Words.Symbols.Diagrams.
Stuff he didn’t understand.Stuff he wasn’t supposed to.
“…Books,” Harry murmured, voice low, observing.“How come there are still—”
He shut the cover, exhaling.
“This has to confirm it."
John turned toward him.His voice was quiet.Steady.
“Means we’re exactly where we should be.”
Harry nodded.
Just then,
A soft sound broke the silence.
A whisper.
No—a voice.
Low. Strained. Trembling.
"Why are you not here?"
The group froze.
It came from down the hall.
Finn’s breath left him sharp.He whispered, eyes darting:
“…I don’t like this.”
But John was already moving.
Because that voice—
That was him.
The one they came looking for.
They followed the sound—
Down the length of the hall.
Toward a half-open door.
Inside—
In a lightly dim room,
The Governor sat alone.
---
A single candle burned low on the desk.
The Governor sat slumped in a chair,
his posture.. nothing like the powerful figure they had known.
His coat was half-unbuttoned, his collar loose.
His hair, usually perfect, was messy, unkempt.
And his hands trembled.
Between them…
Something small.Gleamed in the candlelight.
A locket.
Aurora’s breath caught in her throat.She whispered, barely audible:
“…He’s… mourning.”
John was looking around.
The Governor wasn’t speaking to anyone.Not exactly.
His fingers tightened around the locket as he exhaled shakily.The sound raw, frayed.
“You said I was strong,” he murmured.Voice hoarse.
His breath hitched.
“Then why does it hurt like this?”
Finn shifted where he stood.His voice was low, uneasy.
“…Should we be watching this..?”
None of them moved.
The man in front of them, wasn’t the Governor of Vash’Kael.
Not the man who ruled with quiet calculation.
This was someone else.
Just a man.
A man who had lost something—
His thumb brushed the locket again.
His voice thinned into a whisper,fragile, pleading:
“…You should be here.”
Silence.The candle flickered weakly.
Then—the sound of footsteps.
Small. Light.
A child’s.
The Governor stiffened.
The door pushed open.
And there—
His daughter stood in the doorway.
---
The five froze.
They had been so locked on the Governor,so caught in the sight of him unraveling,
that they hadn’t noticed her until she was already there—already past them.
Aurora flinched.Finn swore under his breath.
She hadn’t looked at them.Not once.
She just walked straight by,small footsteps carrying her through the memory,
as though they were nothing more than ghosts in her way.
[A Father & a Daughter Left Behind]
She was small.
Too small for a world that expected her to carry something she couldn’t yet understand.
The little girl clutched a book against her chest, her fingers gripping the worn edges.
She didn’t speak right away.
She just watched him.
The Governor inhaled sharply.
His spine straightened, his voice pulled into something steadier.
“You should be resting.”
The girl tilted her head slightly.
“…So should you.”
The Governor’s jaw tightened.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then—she stepped forward.
She placed the book on the desk beside him.
John’s eyes narrowed.His whisper barely escaped him:
“…That book.”
The candlelight trembled over its cover.
The Governor hesitated.
Then, slowly—he picked it up.
Fingers pressed into the cover.Tracing its spine.
“A story,” he murmured.Almost to himself.
The little girl nodded.
“Mama used to read it to me.”
The Governor’s breath caught.
His fingers tensed.
For a long moment—he didn’t speak.
Finally—he exhaled.
“…Tell me how it starts.”
The girl climbed up, crawling into the chair beside him.Her small frame disappeared against its size.
And in the flickering candlelight, her small voice began to read.
John and the others stood frozen.
The little girl’s voice was soft as she read.
Familiar. Steady.Every word carried care.
But the words themselves—
They weren’t just any story.
They were her mother’s words.
John’s hands curled into fists.He recognized the handwriting.
Not the sound of it—but the shape of it.
They had seen this before.In the journal they’d found.
The same curves, the same deliberate script.
Aurora glanced at him sharply.Her voice was low, urgent.
“…John, it’s..”
He nodded once, eyes narrowing.Mind racing.
“Yes,” he whispered.
The Governor’s face was hard to read.
Not because he was cold—but because he was fighting something.
His fingers tightened,
around the book as his daughter’s voice filled the room. His eyes flickered—not just sadness.
Familiarity.
Like a song half-remembered. A face just out of reach.
A name that should be there—but wasn’t.
His jaw clenched, and he squeezed his eyes shut for just a moment.
Then—his hand moved.
He turned the page.
“…Keep reading,” he said.
His voice was low.Firm.
But beneath it—something almost pleading.
---
The air was thick.
The little girl kept reading.
The Governor leaned closer,turned another page.
For a heartbeat—his hands shook.
Fingers froze over the words.
His expression twisted, something flashing behind his eyes.
Like a memory trying to surface—
Only to be pulled back down.
His breath hitched.
“No.”
The little girl stopped reading.
Silence.
The Governor stared down at the page,his grip tightening—too tight.
Then—
He snapped the book shut.Hard.
The sound echoed off the walls.
The candle beside him flickered wildly,struggling to hold its flame.
His voice followed—
“…That’s enough.”
The girl didn’t argue.
She only watched him.Small and still,
eyes heavy with something too old for her age.
---
The Governor slowly rose from his chair.
He set the book down.Carefully.Delicately.
Like something fragile.
Without another word,he crossed the room.
And reached for a nearby door.Boots muted against the polished floor.
He stopped before a smaller door set into the wall.A study?A storage room?
John couldn’t tell.Not until the Governor reached for the handle.
And failed.
The handle wouldn’t turn.
He twisted it again..
and nothing happened.
The Governor stared at it.
Like he didn’t know why.
His lips parted slightly, brows furrowing.
“…When did I… lock this?”
His fingers lingered over the handle, like a man trying to remember a dream.
Then—slowly—
he pulled his hand back.
“Go to bed,” he said at last.
The little girl hesitated.
Then—she picked up the book and quietly left the room.
The Governor stood there for a long moment, staring,
at the locked door.
Then—he turned away from it.
And as he did,
the world itself began to fade.Walls softening.Light draining.
The candle’s glow thinning to smoke.
Until only silence remained.
---
John blinked.
And suddenly—
They were outside again.
Back at the estate gates.
The memory had ended.
Finn let out a sharp breath, rubbing his arms like he was trying to shake the cold off him.
“Okay,” he muttered, voice uneven.“That… was—”
“Scary,” Aurora cut in.Her voice firm, though she hugged herself slightly.
Her head shook, her hair brushing her face.
“He was… acting weird.”
Jake didn’t move.
His eyes stayed locked on the house.Unblinking.
“So… what does this even have to do with anything?” he muttered.
“Okay, he forgot to take his… daily dose of something… so what?”
John turned toward him.Then back at the estate.
His chest tightened.Heart thudding.
His voice came low, steady:
“…That door.”
Jake frowned, arms crossing.
“Door?”
John swallowed.“A door in his estate,” he said.“In the real world. Remember? Locked.”
His eyes narrowed, nodding toward the estate before them.
“And here… there’s a locked door too.”
Aurora’s eyes widened.Her voice sharpened, cutting through the silence:
“You’re saying it could be the same one?”
She took a breath.
“Think it’s connected to all of this?”
"Something—or someone—was erased."
Harry murmured.His mind was elsewhere entirely.
The wind stirred faintly, sweeping across the gates.Chill against their skin.
John clenched his fists.The decision tightened in his chest.
“…We shouldn’t stay idle,” he said firmly.
His eyes locked forward.
“Let’s move.”
They turned from the gates.
Boots crunching softly against the gravel.The wind pressed at their backs.
Aurora slowed.Something tugged at her.
She turned.One last glance at the estate.
And froze.“…Wait.”
---
The others turned.
The estate,
was no longer there.
In its place—another estate.
The pristine walls.The polished balcony.The fountain that had trickled clear.
Gone.
Now,
The stone darker.The roofline shifted.
The whole place is different.
Not ruined.Not restored.
Different.
The bones of the place had been rearranged.
John quickly stepped forward.His hand pressed against the heavy doors.
He pushed.
Nothing.
He tried the handle.It didn’t move.
“…Locked?” Finn muttered.
He leaned in beside John, gave it a shove of his own.
The wood didn’t budge an inch.
Jake shaking his head,“Great. So we just got evicted.”
Aurora frowned, arms folding tight.“Why now? We got in before… why not this time?”
Harry’s eyes lingered on the door.
“...Then it didn’t bring us here to go inside,” he said quietly.
The others turned toward him.
John’s brow furrowed.“…Then why?”
Harry exhaled, gaze still fixed on the estate."...Something else.”
A silence followed.
The wind carried across the courtyard, sharp against their skin.
“…That book. The one the little girl had.”
John’s voice broke the silence.Low. Thoughtful.
Aurora’s arms crossed tightly against her chest.She nodded, her tone firm.
“She held onto it like it meant everything.”
Jake sighed, dragging a hand down his face.Already resigned to where this was heading.
“So how exactly are we supposed to track down a book,” he muttered,“inside a magic book?”
Harry hummed under his breath, thinking.His gaze shifted away from the locked doors, out toward the city below.
“The estate’s blocked off,” he said calmly, voice steady.
“We have to look for her somewhere else.
If the book wants us to follow her… it’ll be out there.”
“Alright, detectives,” Finn said, starting down the path toward the city.“Let’s follow the paper trail.”
The others exchanged glances—equal parts weary and wary.
Then, with no better choice,they moved.
Back toward the streets that waited for them.
[The City’s Unwritten Pages]
The streets of Vash’Kael unfolded again.
But something was different.
Before—the city had felt like a memory on rails.A story playing itself, beat by beat.
Now—as they walked—it felt… looser.
Shadows bled at the edges of buildings.
Windows repeated, then corrected themselves.
The ground shifted faintly under their boots,
like stone that hadn’t decided what shape it wanted to hold.
They were moving through a part of the bookthat wasn’t often read.
Barely remembered.
John’s eyes scanned the wavering streets.His voice low, steady, muttering:
“…Where would she have gone?”
Aurora’s hand shot out, catching his arm.Her eyes snapped sharp, pointing ahead.
“John, there!”
Across the plaza, through the shifting crowd—a flicker.
A small figure.
Weaving between the shadows.Clutching something tight to her chest.
The Governor’s daughter.
But younger.No more than four.
Hair shorter, steps uneven with urgency.
And she was moving fast.
Her small form disappeared around a corner.The crowd swallowed her.
John’s heart hammered.
He straightened, voice firm.
“Come on.”
They broke into a run.
Boots striking silent against streets that seemed to ripple beneath them.
---
They pushed forward.
The crowd pressed thick around them—faces turned, voices murmuring.
And then, when Finn reached out—
his shoulder slipped clean through a passerby.
No resistance.No weight.
Like the people weren’t really there.
Aurora blinked, startled.“…We can move through them.”
John nodded once, tightening his pace.
“Seems so.
Stay close everyone.”
They wove after the girl.
Her small form darted ahead,book clutched to her chest,
slipping down crooked alleys and bending streets.
Every turn,every shadow,
they followed.
And then—
She stopped.
The girl pushed open a warped wooden door
and vanished inside.
They slowed as they reached it.
It was..An old library,
wedged tight between two taller structures.As though the city had tried to crowd it out.
The sign above sagged in the wind,its lettering almost erased by time.
Aurora’s breath came soft.“…A library.”
Jake eyes narrowed, arms crossed.“Looks abandoned.”
Harry’s eyes lingered on the doorway.His voice was low, almost to himself.
“…This place..”
---
The inside of the library was dust-choked and dim.
Shadows pressed thick in the corners.
Shelves lined the walls,their spines cracked and faded,
rows of books left untouched for years.
Papers littered the floor—pages torn loose from bindings,curled and yellowed where they’d fallen.
And the strangest part?
No sign of life.
Not the faint echoes of footsteps.Not the murmurs of voices.
Unlike the rest of the city, where echoes of life continued playing out…
here, there was nothing.
Like this place had been forgotten.
Finn dragged a hand across a shelf,fingers brushing the dusty spines.He gave a low whistle.
“…Feels like no one’s stepped in here for ages.”
Aurora’s voice carried softly through the silence.“Not even a single book lover in town, huh?”
Finn cracked a grin, glancing over.“Think we just followed the one.”
John moved deeper in.
His boots stirred the scattered papers,crisp against the silence.
Then he saw it.
A small reading nook.
A chair, an old wooden table… and on it—
bathed in a faint glow of candlelight—
a single book.
Aurora’s breath caught.Her eyes fixed.
“…That’s her,” she whispered.“Right there.”
John stepped forward.Came to stand beside her.
She was silent, her chin proped up by her elbow.
Reading the book on the table attentively.
Johns hand reached out, slow.Fingers brushing the cover.
And the moment he touched it—
A child’s voice filled the air.
"Mama said stories live forever."
He froze.
The voice was soft, distant.
Like it wasn’t speaking to them—but to someone who had already left.
In the same nook, the Governor’s daughter sat curled in the chair.
She looked... younger, againMaybe three.
The book rested in her lap.Her eyes stayed down, fixed on its open pages.
She didn’t look at them.She couldn’t.
A memory, frozen in place.
Her small hands traced the pages, though she wasn’t really turning them.
"Mama said stories live forever."
A pause.
her chin lifted.
She looked up.Not at them.
At someone who wasn’t there.
“…So why don’t I remember her?”
John’s breath caught.
The little girl continued speaking, as if repeating something from long ago.
“Papa always tells me stories.But never about Mama.”
Aurora’s fists clenched at her sides.Her whisper was tight, pained:“…Because he can’t.”
The girl’s voice softened, dropping to a fragile whisper.
“I don’t think he remembers how.”
The candle beside her sputtered.Its flame bent—then snuffed.
And just like that—
she was gone.
---
[The Book That Shouldn’t Exist]
Silence.
The chair was empty.The air stilled.
Only the book remained—resting on the table,
Harry’s voice broke the quiet, low and thoughtful.“…Even she wasn’t allowed to remember.”
John swallowed hard.His gaze fixed on the book.
Slowly—he reached for it.
Careful.Cautious.
His fingertips brushed the cover.
The title shifted.
Like ink drying on a page, new words appeared,
Forming in slow, careful strokes.building word by word.
Aurora leaned in,
reading the title as it finished writing itself.
“…The Story of Liana.”
John’s heart pounded.
“…That name.”
Jake let out a long breath, rubbing the back of his neck.“Okay, I don’t know who the hell this Liana is,but at this point? We better start finding out.”
Finn spoke before John could.His tone uncharacteristically sober:“…It’s her name. The Governor’s wife.”
Jake shrugged.“Exactly what I meant.”
"Wha-"
John’s hand tightened around the book.The words on the cover glowed faintly in his mind—The Story of Liana.
He exhaled sharply, steadying himself.Then turned to the others.
“We have her story now,” he said firmly.“But we still don’t have his.”
Aurora’s gaze lowered.Expression unreadable.
“…So, we’ve seen the broken version of him,” she said.
“The man who lost his everything.”
Harry’s voice was calm.Focused.“Now we need to see what he did next."
“And how it happened.”
The group glanced around.The library’s walls were already softening,edges blurring like smudged ink.
John braced himself.
The moment they stepped forward—
The world shifted again.
---
The city was alive again.
The marketplace bustled, carriages rolled past, merchants called out their wares.
The air was heavier.
People moved with unease. Conversations were hushed.
When—
A voice carried through the crowd.
"The Governor is searching for something."
John and the others whipped their heads toward the sound.
A group of townspeople stood in a tight circle, murmuring among themselves.
“He’s been sending men all over the city,” a woman whispered, unease in her tone.
“Looking for what?” a man muttered back, shaking his head.“She’s already gone.”
John stiffened.Aurora’s brow furrowed.
“…He was searching for something?” she breathed.
Harry’s gaze darkened, sharp with thought.“Or someone,” he murmured.
Finn dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling.“Let me guess. We follow the search?”
John’s jaw tightened.His voice firm.
"Let's see where it leads.”
The city obeyed.The world shifted.
[The Quiet Desperation of a Powerful Man]
The world moved ahead.
The sun was lower now. Evening, creeping in.
Down a long, empty street—
they saw him.
The Governor.
Standing alone in the courtyard of an abandoned chapel.
His hands clasped behind his back,his shoulders rigid.
But his face—
His face was not the face of a ruler.
It was the face of a man lost in his own shadow.
The group hesitated at the edge of the courtyard.
Finn’s breath slipped out, sharp.
Jake crossed his arms."He looks hollow.Like a man already halfway gone.”
John took a slow step forward—and the world let them listen.
The Governor’s lips moved.
Speaking to no one.
But his voice was low, raw.
“…There must be a way.”
Silence.
Then—he turned.
Not to them.
To a man standing just behind him.
John’s breath caught.“…Who is that?”
The man’s face was shadowed by his hood.
His posture unnaturally still.
When he spoke, his voice was smooth, unreadable.
“Grief drives men to desperate places, my lord.”
The Governor’s fists tightened.
“Do not waste my time.If you know something—say it.”
A slow pause.
The hooded man stepped closer.
“There are those who say nothing is ever truly lost.”
John’s heart pounded.
The Governor froze.His breath hitched.
“…Then tell me how to bring her back.”
Aurora’s hand curled tight against her arm.Her whisper to John was barely audible:
“…He wasn’t just mourning her.He was trying to undo it.”
The stranger stepped closer.His face still hidden.His tone calm. Certain.
“The stars listen to those who dare ask.”
The Governor’s jaw locked.His breath shook.Then, low and steady—
“…Tell me what I must do.”
The stranger leaned in.
And he whispered something in the Governor’s ear.
The words were too quiet.
John couldn’t hear them.
Couldn’t grasp them.
But whatever was said—
The Governor froze.
His breath shook.
Then, after a long pause—
he nodded.
And the world began to fade, once again.
[The Silence After a Choice is Made]
The group found themselves back in the city.
The sun was gone.
Night had fallen.
The weight of what they had just seen hadn’t lifted.It clung to them.
Aurora’s voice cut through first, soft and uneasy:
“…He was willing to do anything.”
“Never seen a man look that lost before,” Finn muttered.
His exhale slipped out sharp, shaking his head.
Harry was quiet.
Too quiet.
John turned toward him.His voice low, measured.
“…Haz, what is it?”
Harry finally glanced back at him.Calm.But dark.
“If he had made a wish,” he said,
“there was a cost.”
Jake glanced back from Harry,
He let out a breath, his gaze drifting upward toward the black sky.
His tone steady, almost resigned:
“…And we’re probably standing on it.”
[The City That Forgot Its Own Story]
The city breathed again.
People moved, markets bustled, voices filled the air.
Life played on.
And something was off.
Not in sight.But in feeling.
The five moved unseen through the market crowds.Watching. Listening.
Aurora’s brow furrowed, as she studied the crowd.
“…Something has changed, hasn't it,” she said, low.
Finn raised an eyebrow, scanning the stalls.
“You’re gonna have to be more specific.We’re in a magic book world—everything’s off.”
Jake crossed his arms, exhaling sharply.His eyes narrowed, sharp in their focus.
“No. She’s right. Look at them.”
Harry frowned.
“They’re… hesitant.”
It was true.
People moved like they were unsure of their own steps.
Conversations started and stopped—like thoughts slipping before they could fully form.
John’s hands curled into fists at his sides.“They know something is missing,” he murmured.“They still don’t realize it.”
They continued through the city, listening.
And soon, they started hearing it.
Little moments.
Flickers of doubt in casual conversations.
---
A merchant, stacking fruits, paused mid-motion, frowning.
“…Strange,” he muttered, puzzled.
“I could’ve sworn… no. Must be imagining it.”
By the well, three elderly women spoke in whispers.
“Doesn’t it feel like something’s… missing?” one asked, uncertain.
Another quickly stopped her, shaking her head.
"Hush now. Best not to ask questions."
A child ran up to his mother, confused.
“Mama, what was here before?”
The mother froze.
Her expression flickered—like she knew the answer.
But then, her face went blank.
"What are you talking about? there was nothing,” she said softly, distracted.
She took the boy’s hand and walked away.
Aurora spoke, her voice low,“…It's just like,They’re already being conditioned.”
[The Story That doesn't Exist]
They reached a quiet street corner, where a group of children sat in a half-circle,
listening to a man telling a story.
His voice was calm, practiced.
Like it was something passed down.
“And so the stars listened,” the man said softly.“But they do not give without taking.”
The group froze.
They had heard those words before.
The storyteller’s voice carried on.Low. Distant.
“A long time ago, in a city much like ours…a great man made a wish.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed.His voice cut low, serious:
“…A great man.”
Aurora’s hand shot out, gripping Finn’s sleeve.Her whisper was sharp, urgent:
“This is him,
This is the Governor’s story.”
The storyteller lowered his tone.Each word deliberate.
“The man asked for something the stars could not return.
And so, in their mercy, they gave him something else.”
Finn’s grin slipped.His mutter came low, bitter:
“Mercy? That’s what we’re calling it?”
The children listened, wide-eyed.
A little girl tilted her head.
“But… what did they take?”
The storyteller paused.
And for just a second—his expression flickered.
Like he wanted to say something he couldn’t.
“…No one remembers.”
The group stilled.
Jake exhaled sharp,“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered.
They all looked at each other.
Because now, they knew.
The city had been rewritten.Every life, every memory.
But even inside this rewritten version—
they still felt the hollow.
They just weren’t allowed to name it.
---
The storyteller stood, brushing dust from his coat.His voice gentle, smiling toward the children:
“Run along now. The festival will begin soon.”
The children scattered with laughter and chatter.
But one lingered behind.
A small boy, hesitant.
He tugged at the storyteller’s sleeve.
“…Sir,” he whispered softly.
“Do you remember..
Liana?”
The man went still.
Aurora tensed beside John.Finn’s hand twitched at his belt.
John’s pulse pounded hard in his ears.
The storyteller,
his expression remained calm.
But his hands—clenched slightly at his sides.
For a long moment, he didn’t answer.
“That name doesn’t exist.”
His voice came distant.Mechanical.
The boy frowned, confused.
The man bent down,patted his head gently.
“Run along now,” he said softly.Reassuring.But firm.
And as the child ran to catch up with the others,
the storyteller stood there for a moment—his fingers twitching at his sides.
Like he wanted to say something he couldn’t.
The group watched in silence.
“…Okay,” Finn muttered.“That was subtle.”
Aurora looked at him, then slowly,
"He.. knew it."
John’s gaze darkened.“Yeah.”
“And he was afraid to say it.” Harry spoke, almost to himself.
The bells of the festival rang in the distance.Bright. Joyous.
A celebration.
Built on a history that none of know exists.
Jake inhaled deep.Steady.
“…Then it’s up to us to remember,” he said. Looking at all of them.
John nodded once.His tone quiet, but steel beneath it.
“And we have to find the truth—the real one.
before it’s erased again.”
The festival lights began to glow.
Against the dark night sky.
And the past…It kept waiting for them to turn the next page.
---
[TO BE CONTINUED IN EPISODE 22]
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