**EPISODE ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHTEEN**
**THE FIRST CHARACTER**
---
The jungle was waiting.
Not moving.
Not breathing.
Waiting.
Nova and Milo stood at the edge of the oldest trees.
Tarzan's footprints disappeared beneath the roots.
No path.
No sound.
No sign of him.
Milo looked at Nova.
"I have a question."
Nova didn't look at him.
"What?"
"Why does every answer we find create three more questions?"
Nova thought for a moment.
"Because we're inside a story."
Milo sighed.
"That's becoming less comforting every time you say it."
Nova stepped into the jungle.
Milo followed.
Behind them...
the world disappeared.
The ordinary sky.
The machine.
The approaching characters.
The original human.
Everything.
The moment Nova crossed the first line of trees—
the jungle changed.
The trees became enormous.
Their trunks were wider than buildings.
Their branches formed a ceiling so high that the sky could no longer be seen.
Strange symbols were carved into the bark.
Some were words.
Some were names.
Some were dates.
Milo touched one.
The symbol changed.
He pulled his hand away.
"What did it say?"
Nova looked.
It now read:
YOU WERE HERE.
Milo stared.
"I wasn't."
Nova answered:
"Not yet."
Milo looked at him.
"I really dislike that answer."
A low sound came from deeper in the jungle.
THUMP.
Nova stopped.
Another.
THUMP.
Milo whispered:
"That sounds large."
Tarzan's voice came through the trees.
"Do not fear it."
Milo looked around.
"That's easy for you to say."
Tarzan appeared above them.
He was standing on a branch.
Watching.
Nova looked up.
"Why did you leave?"
Tarzan jumped down.
"I did not leave."
"You disappeared."
"I was called."
"By whom?"
Tarzan looked deeper into the forest.
"The jungle."
Milo crossed his arms.
"Of course."
Tarzan looked at him.
"You do not believe me."
"I believe a lot of things now."
Milo paused.
"Unfortunately."
Tarzan turned toward Nova.
"The jungle remembers the first character."
Nova looked at him.
"You."
Tarzan shook his head.
"No."
"Then who?"
Tarzan pointed ahead.
"Follow."
They walked.
The jungle grew darker.
But there was no fear in the darkness.
There was something else.
Memory.
Nova began seeing images between the trees.
A young man running.
A woman laughing.
A laboratory.
A ship.
A city.
A battlefield.
A jungle.
A typewriter.
A notebook.
A red pencil.
Milo saw them too.
"Are those memories?"
Nova nodded.
"Whose?"
"I don't know."
Tarzan stopped.
He pointed.
A stone stood in the middle of a clearing.
It was ancient.
Older than the jungle.
Older than the trees.
Older than the machine.
Words were carved into it.
THE FIRST CHARACTER ENTERED THE STORY BEFORE THE STORY HAD A NAME.
Milo read it twice.
"That doesn't make sense."
Nova touched the stone.
The writing changed.
THE FIRST CHARACTER DID NOT ENTER.
THE FIRST CHARACTER WAS FOUND.
Milo stepped backward.
"Found by whom?"
The stone cracked.
A voice came from underneath.
"By the first reader."
Nova froze.
Milo whispered:
"The Reader."
The stone opened.
Not physically.
Reality opened around it.
A scene appeared.
---
BLACK SCREEN.
Then...
a desk.
A candle.
A blank page.
A young man sitting alone.
He looked exhausted.
He was not the original human.
He was not the Author.
He was not the Dreamer.
He was not Milo.
He was the Reader.
But before he became the Reader.
He was simply a man.
He stared at the blank page.
He had no story.
No character.
No name.
Nothing.
He picked up a pencil.
SCRATCH.
He wrote one sentence.
I WISH SOMEONE WOULD TELL ME WHAT HAPPENS NEXT.
The room went silent.
Then...
a sound.
THUMP.
He looked at the page.
Nothing.
THUMP.
Again.
The candle flickered.
A third time.
THUMP.
Something hit the door.
He stood.
He walked toward it.
He opened it.
Outside...
was a jungle.
The man stared.
There had been no jungle outside his room.
Yet there it was.
Endless.
Green.
Ancient.
Alive.
He stepped outside.
And saw...
a child.
A very young boy.
Barefoot.
Covered in mud.
Sitting beneath a tree.
The boy looked up.
"Are you the reader?"
The man froze.
"How do you know what that means?"
The boy smiled.
"Because you read me."
The man looked at the blank page in his hand.
"I haven't written you."
The boy shook his head.
"You didn't."
"Then who did?"
The boy pointed toward the jungle.
The man followed his finger.
A shadow moved between the trees.
The boy whispered:
"The story did."
---
The vision ended.
Nova stood in the clearing.
Milo was silent.
Tarzan was staring at the stone.
Nova asked:
"Who was the boy?"
Tarzan answered:
"Me."
Nova looked at him.
"You were the first character?"
Tarzan nodded.
"But not the first person."
"No."
"Then what were you?"
Tarzan looked toward the sky.
"A question."
Milo frowned.
"What question?"
Tarzan answered:
"Can something exist simply because someone believes it should?"
Silence.
Nova understood.
Tarzan had not been created as a character.
He had been imagined as a possibility.
A human idea.
A wild answer to civilization.
A person who could survive outside the rules of ordinary life.
Milo whispered:
"That's why the jungle remembers you."
Tarzan nodded.
"The jungle was the first place where the question could live."
Nova looked at the ancient stone.
"And Milo?"
Tarzan turned toward him.
"You came later."
Milo frowned.
"How much later?"
Tarzan smiled.
"Much later."
Milo looked relieved.
Then Tarzan continued:
"But you brought time."
Milo's expression changed.
"What does that mean?"
Tarzan walked toward him.
"You asked the question the jungle could not answer."
"What question?"
Tarzan said:
"Can the past be changed without destroying the person who remembers it?"
Milo said nothing.
Nova looked at him.
"Milo."
Milo stared at the ground.
"I wanted to go back."
"To change something?"
Milo nodded.
"Someone."
Nova waited.
Milo finally spoke.
"I lost someone."
The jungle became silent.
Nova didn't ask who.
He understood.
Grief.
Again.
The same force that had created Nova.
The same force that had created the first story.
The same force that had created the Dreamer.
The same force that had turned memory into fiction.
Milo whispered:
"I thought if I could go back far enough..."
He stopped.
Tarzan finished:
"...you could make the loss never happen."
Milo nodded.
Nova looked at him.
"But it happened."
"Yes."
"And you couldn't change it."
Milo shook his head.
"No."
"Then why keep trying?"
Milo looked at Nova.
"Because you did."
Nova froze.
"What?"
Milo stepped closer.
"You created yourself."
Nova shook his head.
"No."
"You refused to accept the ending."
"No."
"You went back."
"I don't remember."
Milo smiled sadly.
"Exactly."
A strange sound came from the jungle.
SCRATCH.
Everyone turned.
A tree had begun writing.
Its bark opened like paper.
Letters appeared.
FIRST MEMORY:
LOSS.
SECOND MEMORY:
REFUSAL.
THIRD MEMORY:
CREATION.
FOURTH MEMORY:
STORY.
FIFTH MEMORY:
NOVA.
Milo stared.
"There are only five."
Nova looked.
"What comes next?"
The tree remained blank.
Tarzan said:
"Choice."
Nova looked at him.
"Choice?"
Tarzan nodded.
"The story cannot continue until the character chooses what the memory means."
Nova touched the tree.
The writing changed.
SIXTH MEMORY:
FORGIVENESS.
Nova pulled his hand away.
Milo looked at him.
"Forgiveness."
Nova whispered:
"Whose?"
The tree answered.
YOURS.
---
Suddenly—
LIGHT.
The jungle disappeared.
Nova found himself standing inside the old bedroom again.
The room from before the story.
The original human's room.
The bed.
The lamp.
The notebook.
The photograph.
The rain outside.
But now there were two people.
The original human.
And the woman.
Nova stood between them.
Neither looked surprised.
The woman smiled.
"You came back."
Nova stared at her.
"I remember."
She nodded.
"Not everything."
"No."
"But enough."
Nova looked at the original human.
"You created me."
The man nodded.
"Yes."
"Because you lost her."
His eyes lowered.
"Yes."
"Because you couldn't accept it."
"Yes."
Nova's voice became harder.
"So you made me."
The man nodded.
"Yes."
"To remember her."
"Yes."
"Then why did you make me forget?"
The man looked at him.
"Because remembering everything was killing you."
Nova froze.
The woman touched his shoulder.
"You were not created to carry all the pain."
Nova looked at her.
"Then what was I created to do?"
She smiled.
"To survive it."
Silence.
Nova looked at the original human.
"And Milo?"
The man looked confused.
"What about him?"
"He had the same idea."
The woman nodded.
"He did."
"Did you know him?"
The man hesitated.
"Not directly."
Nova frowned.
"Then how?"
The woman answered:
"Stories travel farther than people."
The room flickered.
Milo appeared.
Standing beside the machine.
Then Tarzan.
Standing in the jungle.
Then the Reader.
Holding the first page.
Then the Dreamer.
Holding the manuscript.
All four scenes existed at once.
The woman spoke:
"You were all trying to answer the same question."
Nova asked:
"What question?"
She said:
"How do we continue after something has ended?"
The answer came from everywhere.
Milo:
"Time."
Tarzan:
"Survival."
Reader:
"Story."
Dreamer:
"Dream."
Original human:
"Memory."
And Nova...
said nothing.
The woman looked at him.
"What is your answer?"
Nova stared at them.
He finally understood.
His answer was not memory.
Not time.
Not survival.
Not story.
Not dream.
His answer was...
"Choice."
The room shattered.
---
BLACK SCREEN.
A heartbeat.
THUMP.
Another.
THUMP.
Another.
THUMP.
Then—
a baby cried.
Nova opened his eyes.
He was standing in the hospital room again.
The original beginning.
The baby was crying.
The woman was crying.
The original human was crying.
But this time...
Nova noticed something.
The baby had a red pencil beside him.
Nova stepped closer.
"Why?"
The woman smiled.
"Because he will need it."
"For what?"
"To write."
"What?"
"His own ending."
Nova stared at the baby.
The baby's eyes opened.
For a moment...
Nova saw himself.
Then he saw Milo.
Then Tarzan.
Then the Reader.
Then the Dreamer.
Then the original human.
Every character existed inside that tiny reflection.
Nova whispered:
"We were all there."
The woman nodded.
"Always."
Nova looked at her.
"Then why did we forget?"
She answered:
"Because stories need mystery."
Nova smiled.
"That's cruel."
She laughed softly.
"Yes."
Then her expression became serious.
"But mystery is not the same as meaninglessness."
Nova looked at the child.
"What happens now?"
The woman pointed toward the door.
Someone was standing there.
The Dreamer.
But he was different.
He looked exhausted.
He held the manuscript against his chest.
And behind him—
stood hundreds of characters.
Milo.
Tarzan.
The Reader.
The Author.
The First Character.
The Second Character.
Characters from stories Nova remembered.
Characters from stories he didn't.
All watching.
The Dreamer spoke.
"The first page is open."
Nova walked toward him.
"What does it say?"
The Dreamer opened the manuscript.
The first page was blank.
Nova stared.
"You said you went back to the beginning."
"I did."
"Then where is the story?"
The Dreamer smiled.
"There never was one."
Nova frowned.
"What?"
The Dreamer turned the page.
Still blank.
Another.
Blank.
Another.
Blank.
Every page was empty.
Milo stepped forward.
"Where did all our stories go?"
The Dreamer looked at Nova.
"They were never written."
Tarzan frowned.
"Then what are we?"
The Dreamer answered:
"Remembered."
Silence.
Nova finally understood.
The stories weren't records.
They were memories.
Characters weren't created and then remembered.
They were remembered and therefore became characters.
The Reader did not read the story.
The Reader remembered it.
The Author did not create the characters.
The Author gave the memories a shape.
The Dreamer did not invent the worlds.
The Dreamer kept them alive.
And Nova...
Nova was the memory that had refused to disappear.
The Dreamer closed the manuscript.
"Now you know."
Nova asked:
"Know what?"
"Why you were always different."
Nova waited.
The Dreamer said:
"Everyone else was trying to remember something."
A pause.
"You were trying to remember yourself."
---
The ground shook.
A deep crack appeared beneath the hospital.
Milo grabbed Nova.
"We have to go."
Nova looked around.
"Where?"
Milo pointed.
A doorway had appeared.
Not white.
Not black.
Not gold.
Not blank.
It was made of pages.
Thousands of pages.
Layered together.
Tarzan stood beside it.
"The final path."
Nova looked at the Dreamer.
"What happens if we enter?"
The Dreamer answered:
"You will meet the person who wrote the first sentence."
Nova froze.
"The Author?"
"No."
"The original human?"
"No."
"Then who?"
The Dreamer looked toward Tarzan.
Tarzan looked toward Milo.
Milo looked toward Nova.
The answer came from the doorway.
A voice.
Ancient.
Calm.
Familiar.
"Me."
Nova stepped forward.
The doorway opened.
Inside...
was a desk.
A chair.
A blank page.
And a person sitting with his back turned.
Nova couldn't see the face.
But he recognized the voice.
It was his own.
The person at the desk spoke:
"I have been waiting for you."
Nova whispered:
"Who are you?"
The person turned.
Nova saw himself.
Not older.
Not younger.
Not human.
Not a copy.
Not a character.
Something else.
The person smiled.
"You keep asking who wrote you."
Nova stepped closer.
"Yes."
The person placed the pencil on the page.
"But that was never the real question."
"What is?"
The person looked directly into Nova's eyes.
"Who will you become when nobody is writing?"
Silence.
Milo stopped behind Nova.
Tarzan stood beside him.
The Dreamer remained at the doorway.
The original human watched from the darkness.
Nova looked at the blank page.
For the first time—
there were no instructions.
No prophecy.
No hidden message.
No predetermined ending.
No Author.
No Reader.
No Dreamer.
No one telling him what to do.
Just a blank page.
And a pencil.
Nova picked it up.
His hand stopped above the paper.
The person across from him smiled.
"Now."
Nova whispered:
"Now what?"
"Write."
Nova looked at Milo.
Milo nodded.
He looked at Tarzan.
Tarzan nodded.
Nova looked at the Dreamer.
The Dreamer smiled.
Then Nova looked at the original human.
The man was crying.
But he was smiling too.
Nova finally looked at the blank page.
And wrote:
I AM HERE.
The entire universe went silent.
The words remained.
No correction.
No transformation.
No contradiction.
No hidden meaning.
Just four simple words.
I AM HERE.
The person across from Nova closed his eyes.
And disappeared.
The desk disappeared.
The room disappeared.
The page remained.
Nova stood alone.
Then Milo's voice came from behind him.
"Did you win?"
Nova turned.
"No."
Milo smiled.
"Good."
"Why?"
"Because this was never a competition."
Tarzan looked toward the horizon.
"The story continues."
Nova looked at the page.
A new sentence had appeared.
Not written by him.
Not written by anyone.
THE FIRST CHARACTER HAS REMEMBERED.
Then another.
THE SECOND CHARACTER HAS CHOSEN.
Then another.
THE THIRD CHARACTER HAS RETURNED.
Nova frowned.
"Third character?"
Milo looked at Tarzan.
Tarzan looked at the jungle.
Something moved between the trees.
A woman emerged.
The woman with the red pencil.
But she was not holding a pencil now.
She was holding a book.
She looked at Nova.
"I think you finally found me."
Nova stared.
"Who are you?"
She smiled.
"The first person who read your name."
Nova's heart stopped.
Milo whispered:
"Then the Reader wasn't first."
The woman shook her head.
"No."
Tarzan asked:
"Who was?"
She looked at Nova.
"You."
Nova stared.
"Me?"
She nodded.
"You read yourself before anyone else could."
The page beneath Nova's feet began turning.
One page.
Two.
Three.
Then thousands.
The entire world became pages.
And on the final page...
there was a single line.
THE FIRST READER WAS NOVA.
Nova whispered:
"Then what am I reading now?"
The woman smiled.
"The memory of the moment you first began."
BLACK SCREEN.
Silence.
Then...
SCRATCH.
A final transmission appeared.
RECOVERED TRANSMISSION // FILE: N-117
STATUS: FIRST MEMORY IDENTIFIED
FIRST CHARACTER: TARZAN
FIRST READER: NOVA
FIRST QUESTION: SURVIVAL
SECOND QUESTION: MEMORY
THIRD QUESTION: TIME
FOURTH QUESTION: FORGIVENESS
FIFTH QUESTION: CHOICE
MILO FINCH: THE MAN WHO TRIED TO RETURN
TARZAN: THE MAN WHO LEARNED TO STAY
THE READER: THE ONE WHO WATCHED
THE AUTHOR: THE ONE WHO SHAPED
THE DREAMER: THE ONE WHO REFUSED TO WAKE
ORIGINAL HUMAN: THE ONE WHO LOST
NOVA: THE ONE WHO CONTINUED
Then...
one final line.
THE FIRST PAGE HAS BEEN FOUND.
Another line appeared beneath it.
BUT THE FIRST SENTENCE IS STILL MISSING.
BLACK SCREEN.
A voice whispered:
"Find it."
Another voice answered:
"Where?"
The first voice said:
"Inside Milo."
Milo opened his eyes.
He was alone.
No Nova.
No Tarzan.
No jungle.
No Dreamer.
Only a small room.
A desk.
A chair.
A blank page.
And a sentence already written.
Milo read it.
His face changed.
The sentence said:
DEAR MILO,
YOU WERE NEVER SUPPOSED TO FIND NOVA.
You were supposed to find...
The sentence stopped.
Milo stared.
Then the lights went out.
CLICK.
A machine started behind him.
Milo slowly turned.
The machine display illuminated the darkness.
It showed:
DESTINATION:
THE LAST DAY OF THE STORY.
Milo whispered:
"No."
The machine answered:
YES.
Then another line appeared.
PASSENGERS:
MILO FINCH.
TARZAN.
NOVA.
And beneath them...
a fourth name.
Milo stared.
He had never seen the name before.
The machine displayed it slowly.
THE ORIGINAL AUTHOR.
Milo stepped backward.
The machine began counting down.
10.
11.
12.
13.
14.
Milo whispered:
"Nova..."
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
ZERO.
WHITE LIGHT.
BLACK SCREEN.
**TO BE CONTINUED…**
Written By,
Ivan Edwin
Pen Name :MAXIMUS.
©All Rights Reserved