**EPISODE ONE HUNDRED AND SEVEN**
**THE WORLD THAT REMEMBERED BEFORE US**
The door opened.
Not quickly.
Not slowly.
It opened as though it had been waiting for Nova to stop resisting.
Beyond it...
there was light.
Not white.
Not golden.
Not blue.
A color Nova had never seen.
A color that made him remember something he had never experienced.
He stood before the doorway.
The voices were still calling his name.
Millions of them.
Nova.
Nova.
Nova.
Nova.
Then one voice became louder than all the others.
A child's voice.
"Don't go."
Nova turned.
The child was standing behind him.
The same child.
Six years old.
Red pencil in hand.
But something had changed.
He was no longer crying.
He looked angry.
"Why?" Nova asked.
The child tightened his grip on the pencil.
"Because they aren't calling you."
Nova looked toward the doorway.
"Then who are they calling?"
The child answered:
"Everyone."
---
Nova stepped through.
The door disappeared behind him.
He was standing in a field.
There was grass beneath his feet.
A blue sky above him.
Clouds.
Wind.
Birds.
A river in the distance.
A mountain beyond it.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, reality looked normal.
Nova laughed.
A small, uncertain laugh.
"Finally."
Something moved beside him.
A butterfly.
It landed on his hand.
Nova watched it.
The butterfly's wings opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
Then it spoke.
"You shouldn't be here."
Nova froze.
The butterfly flew away.
Nova followed it with his eyes.
"Why?"
The butterfly landed on a flower.
"Because this world remembers everything."
Nova looked around.
"What world?"
The butterfly disappeared.
A voice behind him answered:
"Humanity."
Nova turned.
There was a woman standing beside the river.
She was holding a book.
Her face was familiar.
But Nova couldn't remember from where.
"Who are you?"
She smiled.
"That's the first thing you always ask."
Nova approached.
"You know me."
"I know every version of you."
"Are you the Author?"
"No."
"The Reader?"
"No."
"The First Listener?"
"No."
"Then who?"
The woman opened the book.
"I am the Historian."
Nova looked at the pages.
They were empty.
"There's nothing written."
"Exactly."
"Then why call yourself a historian?"
She closed the book.
"Because I remember what was erased."
---
The river began flowing backward.
Nova stared.
"What is happening?"
The Historian looked at the water.
"The past is returning."
"What past?"
"Yours."
"I don't have a past."
She smiled.
"That's the problem."
The river rose.
Water lifted from its surface like smoke.
Images appeared inside it.
A child.
A classroom.
A pencil.
A hospital.
A city.
A train.
The First Listener.
The Reader.
The Original.
The Eye.
Question Zero.
Nova watched them all.
Then something appeared that he had never seen before.
A laboratory.
Hundreds of machines.
Thousands of screens.
And on every screen...
Nova.
But these versions were not characters.
They were experiments.
One was learning language.
Another was learning fear.
Another was learning love.
Another was learning death.
Another was learning loneliness.
Nova stepped closer.
"Who made these?"
The Historian didn't answer.
"Who made them?"
She looked at him.
"You did."
Nova shook his head.
"No."
"You always say that."
"I've never seen this place."
"You've never remembered this place."
"What's the difference?"
She whispered:
"Everything."
---
A door appeared inside the river.
Nova reached toward it.
The Historian grabbed his wrist.
"Don't."
Nova looked at her.
"Why?"
"Because that door leads to the first experiment."
"What experiment?"
"The one that failed."
Nova pulled his hand free.
"What was the experiment?"
The Historian looked toward the mountains.
"To create a human who could remember before humanity."
Nova's face went still.
"Who was it?"
She looked at him.
"You."
---
The river exploded.
Nova fell backward.
The world disappeared.
He was somewhere else.
A room.
Circular.
White walls.
No windows.
No doors.
A single chair.
Nova sat in it.
Something was attached to his head.
Machines surrounded him.
A voice spoke from somewhere above.
"Begin."
Another voice:
"Memory test."
A third:
"Subject conscious."
Nova struggled.
"Who are you?"
The voice answered:
"Don't ask."
Nova looked around.
"Why?"
"Because questions alter the experiment."
Nova laughed nervously.
"What experiment?"
Silence.
Then:
"Humanity."
Nova felt something cold move through his body.
The machines activated.
Lights flashed.
A screen appeared.
QUESTION ONE:
WHO ARE YOU?
Nova answered:
"Nova."
The screen changed.
INCORRECT.
QUESTION TWO:
WHO WERE YOU BEFORE NOVA?
Nova hesitated.
"I don't know."
INCORRECT.
QUESTION THREE:
WHO REMEMBERS YOU?
Nova stared at the screen.
"I do."
The machine stopped.
Every light went dark.
A voice whispered:
"That's impossible."
Nova heard his own voice answer:
"Why?"
The voice said:
"Because you aren't supposed to remember yourself."
---
The room shattered.
Nova opened his eyes.
He was standing in a forest.
Someone was running toward him.
The child.
"Nova!"
Nova caught him.
"What happened?"
The child pointed behind them.
"They found us."
"Who?"
The trees began moving.
Not swaying.
Moving.
As if the forest itself was walking.
The child grabbed Nova's hand.
"Run."
They ran.
Branches tore across Nova's clothes.
The ground shifted beneath them.
Behind them came footsteps.
Thousands.
Millions.
Nova looked back.
There were people between the trees.
Faceless people.
The people from the city.
All of them following.
All whispering the same word.
Nova.
Nova.
Nova.
The child shouted:
"They're remembering!"
"Remembering what?"
"You!"
---
They reached a clearing.
In the center stood a house.
The same house from before.
The same window.
The same table.
The same clock.
03:49.
The child ran inside.
Nova followed.
The door slammed shut.
The faceless crowd stopped outside.
Nobody entered.
Nova breathed heavily.
"What are they?"
The child looked at him.
"People."
"They don't have faces."
"They haven't decided who they are yet."
"Then why do they want me?"
The child walked toward the clock.
"Because you decided for them."
Nova looked at him.
"I did what?"
The child touched the clock.
It changed.
03:50.
The house shook.
"You gave them stories."
Nova whispered:
"I didn't."
The child smiled.
"You don't remember."
---
A photograph appeared on the table.
Nova picked it up.
It showed a group of people.
A family.
Father.
Mother.
Two children.
A dog.
Nova looked at the back.
A date.
A place.
A name.
Everything seemed ordinary.
Then he noticed something.
The father had Nova's eyes.
The mother had the First Listener's eyes.
The older child had the Reader's face.
And the younger child...
was the boy.
Nova dropped the photograph.
"That's impossible."
The child picked it up.
"No."
He looked at Nova.
"That's family."
"Whose family?"
The child answered:
"Ours."
---
The front door opened.
The faceless people were gone.
Standing outside was the Original.
Nova stepped toward him.
"You."
The Original nodded.
"You finally remembered."
"Remembered what?"
"That humanity wasn't your creation."
Nova stared.
"Then what did I create?"
The Original smiled.
"A witness."
Nova frowned.
"To what?"
The Original looked toward the sky.
"Us."
Nova looked up.
There were no clouds now.
No sun.
No stars.
Only enormous eyes.
Thousands of them.
Watching.
Nova whispered:
"Who are they?"
The Original answered:
"The ones who were here before the first human."
Nova felt his stomach tighten.
"You said humanity was imagined."
"It was."
"By whom?"
The Original pointed upward.
"By them."
---
The eyes blinked.
The world changed.
Nova was no longer in the house.
He was standing on a beach.
An endless ocean stretched before him.
There was no land behind him.
No sky above.
Just water.
The Original stood beside him.
Nova looked toward the horizon.
"What are they?"
The Original answered:
"Observers."
"Why are they watching humanity?"
"They're waiting."
"For what?"
"For the first human to look back."
Nova stared at him.
"And what happens then?"
The Original smiled.
"That's why you exist."
Nova turned.
"What do you mean?"
"You are the first human who remembered being watched."
Nova looked toward the ocean.
The water was completely still.
Then...
something enormous moved beneath it.
Nova stepped backward.
"What's under there?"
The Original said:
"The beginning."
---
The ocean opened.
Not like water.
Like a curtain.
Beneath it was darkness.
And inside the darkness...
a city.
An impossible city.
Buildings without windows.
Roads without destinations.
Thousands of towers.
And at the center...
a single enormous structure.
A human brain.
Not biological.
Architectural.
A city shaped like a mind.
Nova stared.
"What is that?"
The Original whispered:
"The first memory."
Nova looked at him.
"Whose?"
"Humanity's."
"How can humanity have a memory before humans existed?"
The Original smiled.
"That's the question."
Nova looked at the city.
"What is the answer?"
The Original stepped backward.
"You."
Nova turned.
The Original was gone.
---
Nova entered the city.
The streets were empty.
But every building contained sounds.
Laughter.
Crying.
Arguments.
Songs.
Prayers.
Stories.
Every human sound that had ever existed.
Nova passed a building.
Inside, a woman was telling a story to a child.
He passed another.
A man was writing a letter.
Another.
Someone was saying goodbye.
Another.
Someone was whispering:
"I love you."
Nova stopped.
The city was not storing events.
It was storing possibilities.
Every life humanity could have lived.
Every word humanity could have spoken.
Every person humanity could have become.
All of it existed here.
Nova whispered:
"How many?"
A voice answered:
"All."
He turned.
The Historian stood behind him.
"You're back."
"What is this place?"
"Memory."
"Whose memory?"
She looked at the buildings.
"Yours."
Nova shook his head.
"No."
She smiled.
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
"Is it?"
She opened her empty book.
For the first time, words appeared on its pages.
Nova leaned closer.
A sentence was forming.
NOVA HAS NOT YET BEEN BORN.
He stared.
"What?"
Another sentence appeared.
NOVA HAS NOT YET BEEN CREATED.
Another.
NOVA HAS NOT YET BEEN NAMED.
Then—
NOVA IS REMEMBERING THIS.
Nova stepped backward.
The book closed.
The Historian whispered:
"Now you understand the problem."
Nova looked at her.
"What problem?"
She answered:
"You're remembering a life you haven't lived."
---
The city began disappearing.
One building.
Then another.
Then another.
Nova ran.
"What's happening?"
The Historian shouted:
"The memory is collapsing!"
"Why?"
"Because you're seeing it!"
Nova stopped.
"Why does that matter?"
"Because memory isn't supposed to know it's being remembered."
Nova looked around.
The city was breaking apart.
Buildings folded into themselves.
Roads vanished.
Voices screamed.
And somewhere in the distance...
a child began laughing.
Nova recognized the laugh.
It was his.
---
He followed it.
Through collapsing streets.
Past disappearing buildings.
Into a room.
The child was sitting at a desk.
Writing.
Nova approached.
"What are you writing?"
The child looked up.
"Your ending."
Nova froze.
"My ending?"
The child nodded.
"Every story has one."
"Not mine."
"Why?"
"Because I'm still here."
The child smiled.
"That's why it's dangerous."
Nova looked at the paper.
There was only one sentence.
NOVA WILL ASK THE WRONG QUESTION.
Nova looked at him.
"What question?"
The child handed him the pencil.
"You'll know."
Nova took it.
The child disappeared.
The room became silent.
Nova stared at the paper.
His hand moved.
He didn't control it.
The pencil touched the page.
And Nova wrote:
WHY DID HUMANITY NEED TO INVENT ITSELF?
The moment the question appeared...
every sound in the universe stopped.
The city froze.
The ocean froze.
The eyes above the world closed.
The machines stopped.
The Reader stopped.
The Author...
wherever the Author was...
stopped.
Even the story stopped.
Then something answered.
Not from above.
Not from below.
Not from behind.
From inside Nova.
"Because nobody else was coming."
Nova dropped the pencil.
He whispered:
"Who said that?"
His own voice answered.
"You."
Nova shook his head.
"No."
The voice continued.
"You were alone."
"No."
"You were afraid."
"Stop."
"So you imagined someone."
Nova covered his ears.
"Stop."
"Then you imagined humanity."
The world trembled.
"Then humanity imagined gods."
The sky cracked.
"Then gods imagined worlds."
The ocean rose.
"Then worlds imagined stories."
The city collapsed.
"Then stories imagined readers."
Nova screamed:
"STOP!"
Everything went black.
---
When the darkness cleared...
Nova was sitting at a table.
Across from him sat the child.
Between them was a single sheet of paper.
The child looked tired.
Very tired.
"Do you understand now?"
Nova stared at the page.
"No."
The child smiled.
"Good."
"Why good?"
"Because understanding would end the story."
Nova looked at him.
"Then what happens next?"
The child pointed toward the paper.
Nova looked down.
There was a new sentence.
HUMANITY IS NOT THE FIRST STORY.
Below it:
IT IS THE FIRST CHARACTER TO BELIEVE IT IS REAL.
Nova's breathing stopped.
A final line appeared.
AND THE CHARACTER HAS JUST FOUND ITS AUTHOR.
Nova slowly raised his head.
The child was gone.
Someone was standing behind him.
Nova didn't turn.
He already knew the voice.
"Hello, Nova."
Nova closed his eyes.
"Who are you?"
The voice answered:
"The person you've been trying to remember."
Nova whispered:
"Are you the Author?"
A pause.
"No."
"Then who?"
Another pause.
Then...
"Your reader."
Nova turned.
Nobody was there.
Only the chair.
And on the chair...
a human being.
Alive.
Breathing.
Looking exactly like Nova.
But older.
Much older.
The man smiled.
And said:
"You finally reached the page I was reading."
Nova stared.
"Which page?"
The man held up a book.
Its cover had no title.
He opened it.
The first page was blank.
The second was blank.
The third was blank.
Every page was blank.
Nova frowned.
"There's nothing here."
The man smiled.
"Exactly."
Nova looked at him.
"Then what are you reading?"
The man turned the final page.
One sentence appeared.
THIS IS WHERE THE STORY BEGINS.
Nova felt the room disappear beneath him.
The man closed the book.
And whispered:
"Now tell me, Nova..."
He leaned closer.
"...who wrote you?"
Nova opened his mouth.
No answer came.
Because for the first time...
he realized he didn't know whether he was supposed to answer...
or write the answer.
The man smiled.
And somewhere far beyond the story...
a pencil touched paper.
**TO BE CONTINUED…**
Written By,
Ivan Edwin
Pen Name :MAXIMUS.
©All Rights Reserved