**EPISODE ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTEEN**
**THE BEGINNING THAT WASN'T FIRST**
---
The story had already started.
Nova knew that now.
But he did not know when.
He stood beneath the broken sky.
The jungle was gone.
The seven doors were gone.
The laboratory was gone.
The original human was gone.
The Dreamer was gone.
Only three remained.
Nova.
Milo.
Tarzan.
And above them...
a sky filled with unfinished sentences.
Words drifted across the darkness like falling ash.
MEMORY.
TIME.
CHOICE.
FEAR.
LOVE.
DEATH.
BEGINNING.
ENDING.
Some words disappeared before reaching the ground.
Others changed.
MEMORY became FORGETTING.
TIME became WAITING.
CHOICE became CONSEQUENCE.
ENDING became BEGINNING.
Milo looked upward.
"That's not normal."
Tarzan looked at him.
"What is normal?"
Milo thought about it.
"Fair point."
Nova didn't smile.
He was looking at one word.
BEGINNING.
It was moving against the wind.
Not falling.
Searching.
Nova reached for it.
The moment his fingers touched the word...
BLACK SCREEN.
A child's laughter.
Then...
SCRATCH.
A pencil moving across paper.
Nova opened his eyes.
He was sitting at a desk.
Small hands.
Small fingers.
A red pencil.
A blank notebook.
He looked around.
A bedroom.
Old furniture.
A window.
Rain.
A lamp.
And a woman sitting beside him.
Nova knew her.
The first character.
His first memory.
She was younger than he remembered.
She was smiling.
"Write."
Nova stared at the pencil.
"What?"
"Write something."
"What should I write?"
She smiled.
"Anything."
Nova looked at the page.
His hand moved.
SCRATCH.
He wrote:
NOVA.
The woman stopped smiling.
Nova looked up.
"What's wrong?"
She touched the page.
"That's not your name."
Nova frowned.
"Then whose name is it?"
She whispered:
"The name you gave yourself."
The room shook.
The woman disappeared.
The notebook disappeared.
The rain disappeared.
Nova was standing again beneath the broken sky.
Milo was shouting his name.
"Nova!"
Nova turned.
Milo grabbed his shoulder.
"Where were you?"
"I don't know."
"You disappeared."
"For how long?"
Milo looked at Tarzan.
Tarzan answered:
"Seven minutes."
Nova stared.
"It felt like years."
Milo nodded.
"That's how this place works."
Nova looked around.
"What place?"
Milo pointed.
There was something in the distance.
A building.
It hadn't been there before.
A house.
Old.
Small.
Ordinary.
Nova stared.
"That's..."
Milo finished:
"Where the story began."
Tarzan studied the building.
"Who lives there?"
Nova answered:
"I don't know."
Milo looked at him.
"You do."
Nova shook his head.
"No."
Milo smiled.
"That's the problem."
They walked toward the house.
Every step felt wrong.
The jungle had disappeared.
There was no path.
No trees.
No animals.
Only grass.
And silence.
Then they reached the door.
Nova stopped.
There was writing carved into the wood.
NOT THE FIRST HOUSE.
Nova stared.
Milo whispered:
"That's strange."
Nova touched the words.
The letters changed.
NOT THE FIRST HOUSE.
THE FIRST MEMORY OF A HOUSE.
Nova pulled his hand away.
Tarzan looked at Milo.
"Do you understand?"
Milo shook his head.
"No."
Then...
the door opened.
Inside was a room.
A table.
Three chairs.
A lamp.
A notebook.
And a machine.
Milo froze.
"My machine."
Nova looked at him.
"That's not your machine."
Milo stepped closer.
"It is."
"No."
"It has my design."
Nova looked carefully.
The machine had a circular center.
Three metal rings.
A cracked display.
And a small red switch.
Milo whispered:
"I built this."
Nova said:
"Not yet."
Milo turned.
"What?"
"You haven't built it yet."
Milo stared at him.
Nova pointed at the machine.
"This is before you built it."
Milo's face changed.
"Then who built it?"
Silence.
Tarzan walked toward the table.
There was a photograph lying there.
He picked it up.
Three people stood in front of the house.
A young Milo.
The original human.
And...
Nova.
Tarzan handed the photograph to Nova.
Nova stared.
"No."
Milo looked over his shoulder.
"What?"
Nova pointed.
"That's me."
Milo shook his head.
"No."
"It is."
"No."
Milo took the photograph.
He stared at the third person.
His face became pale.
"That's not Nova."
Nova looked at him.
"Then who is it?"
Milo whispered:
"That's the person Nova was copied from."
The room became silent.
Nova stared at the photograph.
The face was almost identical.
But not quite.
The eyes were different.
Older.
Tired.
Human.
Nova touched the photograph.
The image moved.
The person in the photograph turned his head.
And looked directly at Nova.
Nova dropped it.
Milo caught it.
"What happened?"
"He moved."
Milo looked at the photograph.
Nothing.
Tarzan looked at Nova.
"You saw him?"
Nova nodded.
"Yes."
Tarzan asked:
"Who was he?"
Nova answered:
"Me."
Milo corrected him.
"No."
He looked at the photograph.
"Not you."
A pause.
"Not anymore."
The lamp flickered.
CLICK.
CLICK.
CLICK.
The machine turned on.
Milo stepped back.
"I didn't activate it."
Nova looked at the machine.
The display showed:
YEAR: UNKNOWN
LOCATION: BEFORE
SUBJECT: ORIGINAL
Milo stared.
"Before what?"
The machine answered.
BEFORE NOVA.
Nova's heart began beating faster.
The screen changed.
BEFORE MILO.
Milo stepped backward.
The screen changed again.
BEFORE TARZAN.
Tarzan's eyes narrowed.
Then...
BEFORE THE STORY.
The machine stopped.
Silence.
Milo whispered:
"That's impossible."
Nova looked at him.
"You've said that before."
Milo nodded.
"And every time I say it..."
Tarzan finished:
"...it becomes possible."
The machine opened.
Not like a machine.
Like a mouth.
Inside was darkness.
Milo looked into it.
"I think this is a time machine."
Nova shook his head.
"No."
Milo looked at him.
"What?"
"It's not taking us through time."
"Then what?"
Nova stepped closer.
"It's taking us through memory."
The machine began pulling the air inward.
Books flew from the shelves.
The lamp fell.
The photograph disappeared into the machine.
Milo grabbed the table.
Tarzan grabbed Milo.
Nova grabbed the wall.
Then...
WHITE LIGHT.
---
Nova opened his eyes.
He was standing in a hospital corridor.
Milo was beside him.
Tarzan stood behind them.
Milo looked around.
"Hospital?"
Nova nodded.
"I think so."
A sound came from behind a door.
A baby crying.
Nova froze.
Milo looked at him.
"What?"
Nova whispered:
"I know that sound."
They walked toward the room.
The door was open.
Inside...
a woman sat beside a hospital bed.
She was crying.
A newborn baby lay in a small blanket.
Nova stopped breathing.
The woman looked at the child.
Then she whispered:
"Maybe you'll remember."
Nova stepped closer.
The baby opened his eyes.
Nova saw himself.
Not the Nova he knew.
A baby.
The original beginning.
But there was something else.
A second presence.
A shadow behind the baby's eyes.
Nova whispered:
"That's me."
Milo said:
"No."
Nova turned.
Milo was staring at the baby.
"That's where you began."
Nova looked at the woman.
"Who is she?"
Milo didn't answer.
Tarzan did.
"Your mother."
Nova froze.
The woman looked up.
Straight at him.
Her eyes widened.
She could see them.
Nova stepped forward.
"Mom?"
The woman stood.
She walked toward him.
She was crying.
But she was smiling.
"You came back."
Nova's voice broke.
"I don't remember you."
She touched his face.
"That's why I made the story."
Nova stopped.
"You made it?"
She nodded.
"Not alone."
She looked toward the doorway.
The original human stood there.
Nova stared.
"You."
The original human lowered his head.
The woman looked at him.
"You promised."
He whispered:
"I know."
"You promised he would remember."
"I tried."
"Then why is he here?"
The original human looked at Nova.
"Because he finally remembered enough."
Nova felt tears in his eyes.
"What did you want me to remember?"
The woman smiled.
"You."
Nova shook his head.
"I don't understand."
"You were never created because someone wanted to escape death."
Nova stared.
"You were created because someone wanted to survive it."
The original human closed his eyes.
The woman continued.
"He lost someone."
Nova looked at the original human.
"Who?"
The man couldn't answer.
The woman did.
"Me."
Silence.
Nova stopped breathing.
The woman was gone.
The hospital room disappeared.
The baby disappeared.
The original human disappeared.
Nova stood alone.
Milo and Tarzan were gone too.
A voice spoke behind him.
"Now you know."
Nova turned.
The Dreamer stood at the end of the corridor.
Holding the original manuscript.
Nova stared.
"You took it."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because it belongs to me."
"No."
The Dreamer smiled.
"You still don't understand."
He opened the manuscript.
Pages turned by themselves.
Chapter after chapter.
Story after story.
Nova saw Tarzan.
Milo.
The jungle.
The laboratory.
The doors.
The Reader.
The Author.
The woman.
The original human.
Himself.
Everything.
The Dreamer turned another page.
Nova saw something that made him step backward.
A title.
TIME, TARZAN & TERRIBLE IDEAS.
Milo's story.
Tarzan's story.
But underneath the title was another line.
CREATED TO HIDE THE FIRST MEMORY.
Nova whispered:
"No."
The Dreamer turned another page.
THE STORY OF NOVA.
Then another.
THE STORY OF MILO.
Then another.
THE STORY OF TARZAN.
Then another.
THE STORY OF THE READER.
Then another.
THE STORY OF THE DREAMER.
Nova stared.
"They're all connected."
The Dreamer nodded.
"Not connected."
He closed the book.
"Created together."
Nova stepped forward.
"By whom?"
The Dreamer looked toward the end of the corridor.
Someone was standing there.
A man.
Young.
Holding a red pencil.
Nova stared.
The Dreamer whispered:
"By the first person who ever imagined that a story could remember him."
Nova looked at the man.
The man looked back.
And Nova recognized him.
It wasn't the original human.
It wasn't Milo.
It wasn't the Author.
It wasn't the Dreamer.
It wasn't Nova.
It was...
the Reader.
But younger.
Much younger.
The Reader raised the pencil.
He wrote something on the wall.
Nova walked closer.
The words appeared:
I WAS THERE BEFORE THE AUTHOR.
Nova stared.
The Dreamer continued:
"The Author believed he created the story."
"He didn't."
"The original human believed he created Nova."
"He didn't."
"Milo believed he created the machine."
"He didn't."
"Tarzan believed he was trapped in the jungle."
"He wasn't."
Nova's voice trembled.
"Then who created everything?"
The Dreamer looked at him.
"No one."
Nova stared.
"What?"
The Dreamer smiled.
"That is the secret."
"The story wasn't created."
"It remembered itself."
The corridor began collapsing.
Walls dissolved.
The floor cracked.
The hospital lights exploded.
Milo's voice echoed from somewhere far away.
"Nova!"
Tarzan shouted:
"Move!"
Nova ran.
The Dreamer stayed behind.
Nova reached the doorway.
He turned.
"Why are you staying?"
The Dreamer smiled.
"Because someone has to remember the beginning."
Nova shouted:
"Then come with us!"
The Dreamer shook his head.
"I can't."
"Why?"
"Because I am the dream."
Nova stopped.
"The dream of whom?"
The Dreamer looked at the manuscript.
"The original human."
Nova understood.
The Dreamer wasn't a person.
He was the part of the original human that refused to wake.
The part that continued imagining.
The part that kept every story alive.
The part that couldn't accept that the story had ended.
Nova whispered:
"If you disappear..."
The Dreamer nodded.
"The stories will stop."
Nova shook his head.
"No."
The Dreamer smiled.
"Exactly."
Nova ran.
---
He fell through darkness.
Milo caught him.
Tarzan caught Milo.
All three crashed onto the jungle floor.
Milo looked at Nova.
"Are you alive?"
Nova nodded.
"Yes."
Tarzan looked upward.
The sky was normal again.
Birds were flying.
Rain was falling.
The jungle was alive.
Milo slowly stood.
"What did you see?"
Nova looked at him.
"The beginning."
Milo waited.
"And?"
Nova looked toward the trees.
"The beginning wasn't the beginning."
Tarzan asked:
"What was it?"
Nova answered:
"A memory."
Milo stared.
"Whose?"
Nova looked at both of them.
"Everyone's."
The machine appeared behind them.
But it was different now.
It had no controls.
No display.
No buttons.
Only a single sentence carved into its metal surface.
THE STORY ENDS WHEN THE LAST CHARACTER STOPS RUNNING.
Milo read it.
Then looked at Nova.
"That's not encouraging."
Nova smiled faintly.
"Maybe it isn't supposed to be."
Tarzan looked toward the horizon.
Something was coming.
A figure.
Walking slowly through the trees.
Nova recognized him.
The original human.
But he wasn't alone.
Behind him were the Reader.
The Author.
The woman.
The First Character.
The Dreamer.
And thousands of others.
Every character.
Every forgotten story.
Every abandoned ending.
They were coming toward Nova.
Milo whispered:
"That's a lot of people."
Tarzan nodded.
"War?"
Nova shook his head.
"No."
"What then?"
Nova looked at the approaching characters.
"They're coming home."
The original human stopped in front of Nova.
He looked at Milo.
Then Tarzan.
Then Nova.
"I remember now."
Nova asked:
"What?"
The man smiled through tears.
"Why I created you."
Nova waited.
The man touched his shoulder.
"Not to replace me."
A pause.
"To forgive me."
Nova's eyes filled with tears.
"For what?"
The man whispered:
"For surviving."
Silence.
Then the sky changed.
Not dark.
Not bright.
Something else.
The pages of the world began turning.
One.
Two.
Three.
Thousands.
Millions.
Every page moving toward the same final page.
Milo looked upward.
"We're running out of story."
Nova shook his head.
"No."
He looked toward the horizon.
"We're running out of excuses."
BLACK SCREEN.
For several seconds...
nothing.
Then...
SCRATCH.
A pencil touched paper.
A sentence appeared.
THE DREAMER HAS NOT LEFT.
Another sentence.
HE HAS GONE BACK TO THE FIRST PAGE.
Another.
THE FIRST PAGE IS WAITING.
Another.
THE LAST TEN EPISODES ARE NOT ABOUT FINDING THE END.
And finally...
THEY ARE ABOUT DECIDING WHAT DESERVES TO CONTINUE.
BLACK SCREEN.
Then Milo's voice.
"Nova?"
"Yes?"
"Where's Tarzan?"
Silence.
Nova turned.
Tarzan was gone.
Only footprints remained.
They led toward the oldest part of the jungle.
Milo stared at them.
"Should we follow?"
Nova picked up the red pencil.
He looked toward the footprints.
Then smiled.
"Of course."
Milo sighed.
"I knew you were going to say that."
From deep inside the jungle...
Tarzan's voice echoed.
"Come."
Nova and Milo looked at each other.
Then ran.
And somewhere far away...
the Dreamer opened the first page.
He wrote one sentence.
THE FIRST CHARACTER WAS NEVER NOVA.
He paused.
Then wrote:
IT WAS TARZAN.
BLACK SCREEN.
**TO BE CONTINUED…**
Written By,
Ivan Edwin
Pen Name :MAXIMUS.
©All Rights Reserved