There was no last moment.No accident, no scream, no impact.No blinding light, no warmth of a farewell.Only… nothing.An absence so absolute I couldn't even call it darkness.
Then, I awoke.
I was standing in a circular chamber without doors, without windows, without a visible ceiling. There were no shadows. No clear origin for the light that wrapped around me, yet everything glowed with a soft, uniform, almost suffocating radiance. The walls were made of a smooth, translucent material, like crystal polished with centuries of patience, and yet I felt as though they pulsed—alive.
In the center floated a book.It did not rest on a pedestal nor was it held by invisible strings; it simply remained suspended in the air, opening and closing by itself, as if an unseen hand were riffling through it at impossible speed. Each time the pages turned, an invisible awl pierced through my mind, leaving behind the vague impression of having lost something I could no longer recall.
I tried to speak, but my voice shattered in my throat. The sensation of not having uttered a word for centuries struck me like vertigo.
—Subject three-two-seven.
The voice came from no particular direction; it did not travel through the air. It passed through me. It was as if my very thoughts had been invaded by something cold and alien. It was not male, nor female, not even human. Mechanical… yet organic, like a whisper through a thousand mouths.
—Where am I? I managed to ask.—In the Archive. Where everything that was and will be is kept.
The book halted abruptly. The pages stilled on a sheet completely blank. And in that instant, I understood without need of explanation: that page was my life… or what was left of it. And it was empty.
—Your record has been altered, the voice continued. Fragments missing. Sequence incomplete.
A muffled tremor rolled through the floor—or what I assumed was floor. A low hum began to fill the chamber, and from the crystal walls black fissures began to spread, thin as hairs at first, soon widening like living cracks.
Something moved inside those fractures.
Dark strands, twisted, slithering like worms inside a jar. One by one they reached toward me. They carried neither heat nor cold, yet when they brushed against me, I felt as though something was being inscribed into my bones, letter by letter, as if my body were a parchment.
Symbols I did not recognize flared in my vision: lines, circles, strokes that shifted constantly, as though searching for a language I could understand. Finally, they stabilized:
[Authority assigned: The Last Record]Function: Read and rewrite events.Restrictions: Limited time before the thread collapses.
—What does this mean? I asked, while the strands coiled around my arms and chest.—It means that from this moment on, you are the last reader of your own existence, the voice replied. Everything you write… or erase… will become real.
The book at the chamber's center began to burn, but not with ordinary fire: it was a white flame, giving off no heat and consuming no paper, instead transforming each page into fragments of light. One of those sparks drifted toward me, embedding itself into my forehead.
Suddenly, a sharp sound, like shattering glass, echoed everywhere. The walls split further and further until they collapsed into a storm of luminous dust. The nothingness I had seen before awakening returned… but this time, it was not empty.
Around me unfolded a purple sky torn by black lightning. Four shattered moons hung in the firmament, bleeding silver dust that fell like ash. Beneath my feet sprawled impossible cities: leaning towers floating over oceans of fire, streets folding into themselves, ships sailing upside down along rivers that climbed toward the heavens.
And then, the voice spoke one final time:
—Relocation initiated. Let your writing be precise… or there will be nothing left to record.
An invisible wind tore me from where I stood, hurling me across the sky like a dry leaf. The world warped around me, and through the flashes, I glimpsed colossal silhouettes watching me… with eyes that seemed made of ink.
I do not know how long I fell.
All I know is that when I awoke, the book was in my hands. And the first line was already written:
Chapter 1: The Timeless Room.