**EPISODE ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY**
**THE PLACE WHERE NOVA FIRST SAID I AM HERE**
---
The sentence remained.
I AM HERE.
Nova stared at it.
The words were written across the page.
Simple.
Four words.
Yet the entire world seemed to be waiting for what came next.
Milo stood beside him.
Tarzan stood behind them.
Neither spoke.
The page trembled.
Then...
the words disappeared.
Nova touched the paper.
Nothing.
He turned it over.
Blank.
Milo looked at him.
"That's it?"
Nova shook his head.
"No."
"What do you mean, no?"
"It's a door."
Milo sighed.
"Of course it is."
Nova looked at him.
"You've been doing this long enough to know."
"I was hoping we'd finally discovered a normal piece of paper."
Tarzan looked toward the horizon.
"Nothing here is normal."
Milo nodded.
"Yes."
A pause.
"That's becoming the most normal thing about this place."
Nova smiled.
Then the ground moved.
Not shook.
Moved.
Like something enormous had turned beneath it.
The jungle trees bent.
The sky darkened.
A low sound traveled through the earth.
THUMP.
THUMP.
THUMP.
Nova looked down.
A crack appeared beneath his feet.
Light came through it.
Not white.
Not blue.
The same impossible color he had seen beyond the first door.
Milo stepped backward.
"That's not good."
Tarzan crouched.
He touched the ground.
"Something is beneath us."
Nova whispered:
"The first page."
Tarzan looked at him.
"You remember?"
Nova nodded.
"I think so."
Milo frowned.
"Think?"
Nova looked toward the crack.
"The memory is incomplete."
Milo laughed.
"Finally, something we have in common."
The crack widened.
Then...
everything fell.
---
BLACK SCREEN.
No sound.
No light.
No movement.
Then...
a voice.
Nova's voice.
"I am here."
Another voice answered.
"You were here before."
Nova asked:
"Where?"
The answer:
"Before you knew your name."
Silence.
Then...
LIGHT.
Nova opened his eyes.
He was standing in a room.
The same room.
The child's room.
The room where he had first seen the drawings.
But now...
there were no drawings.
There were no walls.
No ceiling.
No floor.
Only an enormous circular table.
Around it sat seven people.
The original human.
The woman.
Milo.
Tarzan.
The Reader.
The Author.
The Dreamer.
Nova stared.
"All of you."
The original human nodded.
"All of us."
Nova looked at the empty chair.
"Where am I supposed to sit?"
The woman pointed.
At the center.
There was a chair.
Nova walked toward it.
He sat.
The moment he did...
the room became silent.
Then the Author spoke.
"You have reached the first room."
Nova looked at him.
"Who are you?"
The Author smiled.
"You've asked that before."
"Answer me."
"I am the person who believed he was writing the story."
Nova frowned.
"Believed?"
The Author nodded.
"I thought I created Milo."
Milo looked at him.
"You didn't."
"I know."
The Author looked at Tarzan.
"I thought I created Tarzan."
Tarzan said nothing.
"I didn't."
The Author looked at the Reader.
"I thought I created the Reader."
The Reader shook his head.
"No."
Then the Author looked at Nova.
"And I thought I created you."
Nova stared at him.
"But you didn't."
"No."
"Then who did?"
The Author looked toward the woman.
The woman smiled.
"Nobody."
Nova's expression changed.
"Again?"
She nodded.
"Again."
Milo leaned forward.
"Then what started everything?"
The woman answered:
"A thought."
Tarzan asked:
"Whose thought?"
The woman looked at Nova.
"His."
Nova froze.
"Mine?"
The original human spoke.
"Not the Nova you know."
Nova looked at him.
"Then who?"
The man pointed toward the center of the table.
A small object appeared.
A red pencil.
Nova stared.
The pencil moved.
SCRATCH.
A sentence appeared on the table.
I AM HERE.
Nova whispered:
"That's what I wrote."
The woman shook her head.
"No."
Nova looked at her.
"Then who?"
She pointed at the original human.
"He wrote it first."
Nova stared.
The original human closed his eyes.
"I was a child."
The room changed.
---
A little boy sat at the same table.
He was younger than anyone had seen him.
He held a pencil.
Across from him sat his mother.
The woman.
Alive.
Smiling.
The boy looked at the blank paper.
"Mom?"
"Yes?"
"Will you always be here?"
The woman smiled.
"I'll try."
The boy frowned.
"That's not always."
She laughed softly.
"No."
"Then what is always?"
She thought.
"Nothing."
The boy looked frightened.
"Nothing?"
"Everything changes."
"Even people?"
"Especially people."
The boy looked at the paper.
Then he wrote:
I AM HERE.
His mother read it.
She touched his head.
"That's enough."
The scene froze.
Nova watched.
He felt something break inside him.
The original human whispered:
"That was the first sentence."
Nova turned.
"Not NOVA?"
"No."
"Not the story?"
"No."
"Not Milo?"
"No."
"Not Tarzan?"
"No."
"Then why did I become Nova?"
The original human looked at him.
"Because I forgot the sentence."
Nova stared.
"What?"
"After she died..."
The man's voice trembled.
"I forgot what it meant to say I am here."
Silence.
The woman looked at him.
"You remembered everything except yourself."
Nova understood.
The original human had remembered the loss.
The face.
The voice.
The room.
The final moment.
But he had forgotten the person who remained.
Himself.
So he created Nova.
Not to remember the dead.
But to remember the living.
Nova whispered:
"I was you."
The man nodded.
"Once."
"And then?"
"You became something else."
"What?"
The man smiled.
"Someone who could continue."
---
Milo stood.
"Wait."
Everyone looked at him.
"If Nova was created from the original human..."
He looked at the Author.
"Then why did I find him?"
The Author answered:
"Because you were searching for the same thing."
"Memory?"
"No."
Milo waited.
"Permission."
"Permission for what?"
"To stop trying to go back."
Milo looked down.
His hands trembled.
Tarzan placed a hand on his shoulder.
Milo looked at him.
Tarzan said:
"You have stopped."
Milo nodded.
"Yes."
"Then you have found it."
Milo smiled.
"For the first time."
Nova looked at Tarzan.
"And you?"
Tarzan's expression remained calm.
"I was never searching."
"Then why are you here?"
Tarzan looked at the others.
"Because someone must stay when everyone else leaves."
The room went silent.
The Reader spoke.
"That is why Tarzan was first."
Nova looked at him.
"You said I was the first reader."
"You were."
"But Tarzan was the first character."
"Yes."
"And Milo came later."
"Yes."
"Then what was the Author?"
The Reader smiled.
"The first person who thought a memory needed a shape."
"And the Dreamer?"
"The first person who thought a memory should never end."
Nova looked toward the Dreamer.
He was silent.
Nova asked:
"Is that why you kept the story alive?"
The Dreamer nodded.
"Yes."
"Even when it hurt?"
"Especially then."
"Why?"
The Dreamer answered:
"Because I believed ending meant losing."
Nova looked at him.
"And now?"
The Dreamer smiled.
"Now I know ending can mean letting go."
---
The room began changing.
The circular table became a circle of light.
The seven people disappeared.
Only Nova remained.
The floor became transparent.
Below him...
he saw millions of stories.
Some were alive.
Some were fading.
Some were unfinished.
Some had been forgotten for centuries.
Characters walked through them.
People lived.
People died.
People loved.
People lost.
Stories began.
Stories ended.
Nova watched.
He saw Tarzan walking through a jungle.
Milo standing beside a machine.
The Reader opening a book.
The Author writing.
The Dreamer sleeping.
The original human sitting beside his mother.
And himself...
standing between all of them.
Nova whispered:
"Are these real?"
A voice answered:
"They are as real as the people who remember them."
Nova turned.
The woman stood behind him.
"Are you real?"
She smiled.
"To you?"
"Yes."
"Then yes."
Nova's eyes filled with tears.
"But you're gone."
"I am."
"Then how can you be here?"
She touched his face.
"Because love doesn't require a body to remain."
Nova closed his eyes.
For the first time...
he didn't fight the memory.
He didn't try to change it.
He didn't try to escape it.
He simply remembered.
The woman's hand.
Her voice.
Her smile.
Her final words.
That's enough.
Nova whispered:
"Thank you."
She smiled.
Then disappeared.
Not violently.
Not tragically.
Simply...
gone.
Nova stood alone.
And he allowed himself to cry.
---
Milo appeared beside him.
He didn't say anything.
Tarzan appeared too.
Then the Reader.
Then the Author.
Then the Dreamer.
Finally...
the original human.
All stood around Nova.
Milo asked:
"What happens now?"
Nova looked at them.
"I don't know."
The Author smiled.
"Good."
Milo laughed.
"Why does everyone keep saying that?"
The Reader answered:
"Because certainty was what trapped us."
Nova looked toward the darkness.
"There is still something missing."
Tarzan asked:
"What?"
Nova looked at the original human.
"The name."
The man nodded.
"My name."
Nova asked:
"What is it?"
The man smiled.
"I don't know if it matters anymore."
"It does to me."
The man looked at him.
"Why?"
"Because you gave me a name."
"Nova."
"Yes."
"And now you want mine."
Nova nodded.
The man thought for a moment.
Then...
he whispered a name.
The room went silent.
Nova stared.
Milo looked confused.
Tarzan remained still.
The Reader lowered his head.
The Author closed his eyes.
The Dreamer smiled.
Nova repeated the name.
Once.
Then again.
For the first time...
Nova knew exactly who he had been.
And exactly who he was not.
He was not the original human.
He was not a replacement.
He was not a copy.
He was not a mistake.
He was not a prison for grief.
He was not an unfinished experiment.
He was Nova.
And the name finally felt like his.
---
The room disappeared.
Nova opened his eyes.
He was standing in the jungle.
Milo and Tarzan were beside him.
The sky was bright.
The trees were moving.
Birds were singing.
Everything seemed ordinary.
Milo looked around.
"We're back."
Tarzan nodded.
"Yes."
Nova looked at the ground.
There was no machine.
No door.
No page.
No strange symbol.
Just earth.
Milo smiled.
"Maybe it's finally over."
Nova looked at him.
"Not yet."
Milo sighed.
"I knew it."
A sound came from the trees.
SCRATCH.
They turned.
A small boy stepped out.
He was carrying a red pencil.
Nova froze.
Milo whispered:
"Who is that?"
The boy looked at Nova.
He smiled.
"I've been waiting for you."
Nova stepped forward.
"Who are you?"
The boy raised the pencil.
He pointed it toward Nova.
"You know."
Nova shook his head.
"No."
The boy smiled.
"You do."
He turned.
And began walking into the jungle.
Nova followed.
Milo followed Nova.
Tarzan followed Milo.
The boy stopped beside an enormous tree.
There was writing carved into its trunk.
THE FIRST QUESTION WAS:
CAN A STORY REMEMBER?
The boy touched the writing.
It changed.
THE SECOND QUESTION WAS:
CAN A CHARACTER CHOOSE?
Nova touched the tree.
The writing changed again.
THE THIRD QUESTION WAS:
CAN A MEMORY LIVE WITHOUT THE PERSON WHO MADE IT?
Milo stepped closer.
"What is the answer?"
The boy looked at Nova.
Nova understood.
"Yes."
Milo frowned.
"How?"
Nova looked at him.
"Because we are the proof."
The boy smiled.
Then he wrote one final question.
THE FOURTH QUESTION:
CAN A STORY LET GO?
Nova stared at it.
The answer did not appear.
He waited.
Nothing.
Milo waited.
Nothing.
Tarzan waited.
Nothing.
The boy handed Nova the pencil.
"Your turn."
Nova looked at the blank space beneath the question.
He could write anything.
He could preserve the story forever.
He could keep every character alive.
He could stop every ending.
He could make every loss reversible.
He could make the story infinite.
Or...
he could let it end.
Nova understood what the final choice really was.
Not whether the story should continue.
Whether the characters should remain trapped inside it.
He placed the pencil on the tree.
SCRATCH.
He wrote:
YES.
The tree shook.
The jungle became silent.
Then every leaf fell.
Every bird stopped.
Every branch became still.
The entire forest seemed to hold its breath.
Milo looked frightened.
"Nova..."
Nova didn't move.
The boy smiled.
Then the tree began glowing.
Words appeared across every trunk.
LET GO.
LET GO.
LET GO.
LET GO.
The message spread through the jungle.
Then beyond it.
Across the world.
Across every story.
Across every page.
Characters stopped.
Readers looked up.
Authors lowered their pens.
Dreamers opened their eyes.
And somewhere...
the original human smiled.
Because he finally understood.
He didn't need Nova anymore.
Not because Nova had failed.
Because Nova had succeeded.
Nova had remembered him.
And now...
Nova could leave.
---
The jungle faded.
Milo and Tarzan remained.
Nova looked at them.
"Will you remember me?"
Milo smiled.
"I don't think I could forget you."
Tarzan nodded.
"The jungle remembers."
Nova looked at the boy.
The boy was already disappearing.
"Who was he?"
Tarzan answered:
"The first question."
Nova smiled.
Then the boy vanished.
Milo looked at Nova.
"What happens to us?"
Nova looked at the horizon.
"We keep living."
"Where?"
Nova smiled.
"Wherever the story doesn't need us."
Milo laughed.
"That's surprisingly vague."
Tarzan started walking.
"Come."
Milo followed.
Nova followed them.
Three figures disappearing into the sunlight.
Behind them...
the jungle remained.
But for the first time...
it was not a prison.
It was simply a place.
A place where someone could stay.
Or leave.
And that...
was freedom.
---
BLACK SCREEN.
No music.
No heartbeat.
No machine.
No voice.
Only silence.
Then...
one final sound.
SCRATCH.
A sentence appeared.
RECOVERED TRANSMISSION // FILE: N-120
STATUS: ORIGINAL SENTENCE RESTORED
FIRST SENTENCE:
I AM HERE.
FIRST CHARACTER:
TARZAN.
FIRST MEMORY:
LOSS.
FIRST STORY:
SURVIVAL.
FIRST READER:
NOVA.
FIRST QUESTION:
CAN A STORY REMEMBER?
SECOND QUESTION:
CAN A CHARACTER CHOOSE?
THIRD QUESTION:
CAN A MEMORY LIVE WITHOUT ITS CREATOR?
FOURTH QUESTION:
CAN A STORY LET GO?
ANSWER:
YES.
Then...
another line.
MILO FINCH:
HAS STOPPED RETURNING.
TARZAN:
HAS STOPPED RUNNING.
DREAMER:
HAS AWAKENED.
READER:
HAS STOPPED READING.
AUTHOR:
HAS STOPPED WRITING.
ORIGINAL HUMAN:
HAS STARTED LIVING.
NOVA:
HAS FOUND HIS NAME.
A pause.
Then one final line appeared.
BUT FINDING YOUR NAME WAS NOT THE END.
It was the beginning of the final journey.
BLACK SCREEN.
A page turned.
One.
Then another.
Then another.
Pages flew through darkness.
Episode 121.
Episode 122.
Episode 123.
Episode 124.
And finally...
Episode 125.
The last page stopped.
It was blank.
Nova's voice whispered:
"What happens when the last page is blank?"
A second voice answered.
His own.
"It means we finally get to write what comes after."
BLACK SCREEN.
**TO BE CONTINUED…**
Written By,
Ivan Edwin
Pen Name :MAXIMUS.
©All Rights Reserved