The silence that followed Alaric's declaration did not feel empty.
Julien was the first to move. He closed the Annals with deliberate care and set it aside, as though the book might be offended by what came after. "If we are to continue," he said, voice low, "then we should understand one another. Origins matter. Even here."
Alaric nodded. His confusion had not faded; it had simply rearranged itself into sharper shapes. "You said we were summoned," he said. "But none of us knows how. Or why. So let's start with the simplest question."
He looked at each of them in turn.
"How did you die?"
Felix let out a short bark of laughter. "Wow. No warm-up at all."
Marcus didn't object. Silas inclined his head, as if the question were overdue. Theo hugged his knees tighter.
Alaric focused on Felix first--not because he was the loudest, but because he was the least guarded.
Felix raised his hands. "Fine. Mine's boring. Car accident. Night rain, bad visibility, truck ran a red light. I remember thinking--this is so stupid--right before the impact."
"And then?" Alaric asked.
Felix's smile thinned. "Then I woke up on a gallows. First death in Veritas. Very thematic."
Marcus frowned. "You didn't mention the repetition."
"Didn't realize it was relevant at the time," Felix replied. "Thought it was a nightmare. Or hell with extra steps."
Alaric turned to Marcus. "You?"
Marcus exhaled through his nose. "Hospital collapse."
Silas's eyes sharpened. "Structural failure?"
"Earthquake," Marcus said. "I was on shift. ICU wing. Power went out. Ceiling came down."
His jaw tightened. "I didn't leave."
Alaric didn't need clarification.
"You died saving patients," Felix said quietly.
Marcus did not confirm it. "I woke up here with blood on my hands that wasn't mine," he said. "And I noticed something wrong immediately."
"What?" Alaric asked.
"The dead didn't stay dead," Marcus said. "Not the way they should."
Julien glanced at him. "That's when you realized?"
"Yes." Marcus's gaze flicked briefly to Felix. "Some of us break the rules differently."
Felix gave a mock salute. "Happy to be of service."
Silas set his teacup down. "I suppose it's my turn." He smiled faintly. "Old age."
Felix blinked. "Seriously?"
"Quite," Silas said. "I was eighty-seven. Hospice bed. I had time to think."
"And you still ended up here?" Alaric asked.
Silas's smile widened just a fraction. "That is… curious, isn't it?"
Julien said nothing, but his fingers tightened on the spine of the Annals.
Alaric turned to him. "You're not from Earth."
Julien nodded. "No. I was born in Veritas."
"And yet you can see us," Alaric said. "You can hear us. That makes you an anomaly too."
Julien swallowed. "Perhaps. Or perhaps historians stand too close to the margin."
That answer raised more questions than it settled.
Alaric turned next to Theo.
The boy had been quiet for too long.
"Theo," Alaric said gently. "You don't have to--"
"I fell," Theo said suddenly.
Everyone looked at him.
"I fell down the stairs," Theo continued, staring at the floor. "At school. I was running. Late. I hit my head."
"That's it?" Felix asked softly.
Theo nodded. "I think so."
Marcus frowned. "You think."
Theo's fingers dug into his sleeves. "Some things come back wrong. Like dreams you don't want."
Alaric felt a ripple of unease. "What things?"
Theo looked up.
For a moment, his eyes did not look like a child's.
"When I first woke up here," Theo said, "I remembered more."
The room seemed to draw inward.
"What did you remember?" Julien asked.
Theo looked at each of them in turn--Felix's forced grin, Marcus's rigid posture, Silas's knowing calm, Alaric's fragile focus.
And then he said it.
"The world ended."
The words did not echo.
They did not tremble.
They landed with terrifying certainty.
Felix laughed reflexively. "Okay, wow. That's--"
"It wasn't an accident," Theo continued. "Not just mine. Earth, I mean."
Marcus straightened. "Theo."
"There were earthquakes," Theo said. "Everywhere. Buildings falling. Sirens didn't stop. The ground split open."
Silas's smile vanished.
"And fire," Theo whispered. "From the ground. Lava. Whole cities swallowed."
Alaric felt cold spread through his chest. "Theo," he said carefully, "how do you know this?"
Theo shook his head. "I don't remember watching it. I remember knowing it."
"That's not how memory works," Felix said, though his voice lacked conviction.
Theo looked at him. "That's what scares me."
Marcus stepped forward. "You said you fell down the stairs."
"I did," Theo said. "That was me. But I remember dying somewhere else too. In my country. The ground shaking. Heat everywhere."
"Which country?" Alaric asked quickly.
Theo opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
"I don't know," he said, panic flickering across his face. "I knew before. I swear I did."
Julien whispered, "Memory decay."
Silas nodded. "Selective erosion."
Felix's voice was very quiet now. "You're saying Earth didn't just… lose us."
Theo shook his head again. "It lost everything."
"No," Alaric said, too fast. "That's not possible. Billions of people--"
"--stories," Julien murmured.
Alaric turned on him. "Don't."
Julien flinched. "I'm sorry."
Marcus crouched in front of Theo. "Listen to me. You said earthquakes. Eruptions. Was it sudden?"
Theo hesitated. "It felt like… pressure. Like something giving way."
Felix ran a hand through his hair. "I died in a car crash. No apocalypse."
Marcus said nothing.
"Marcus?" Alaric asked.
Marcus's voice was hoarse. "The quake that killed me… wasn't reported. Not before. It came out of nowhere."
Felix froze.
"And the hospital collapse," Marcus continued, "was one of dozens. Across the region."
Silence spread again, heavier this time.
Alaric's thoughts raced. "If Earth was destroyed," he said slowly, "then this isn't just transmigration."
"It's evacuation," Felix said.
"No," Silas corrected softly. "It's salvage."
Theo's shoulders shook. "I don't remember how it ended," he said. "Just that it did. And that it was loud. And hot."
Julien pressed a hand to his mouth. "If that's true…"
"—then there is no Earth to return to," Alaric finished.
The words tasted wrong.
Felix stared at the floor. "That's not funny," he said faintly.
"No," Marcus agreed. "It isn't."
Alaric forced himself to breathe. "Theo," he said gently, "what else do you remember?"
Theo squeezed his eyes shut. "Nothing clear. Just… feelings. Fear. Running. People screaming in different languages."
Alaric's heart sank.
"And then?" Julien asked.
Theo opened his eyes. "Then nothing."
Silas spoke at last. "The Annals did not record Earth's ending."
Everyone looked at him.
"That is significant," Silas said. "If Earth collapsed completely, its story may have concluded. Finished stories do not appear here."
Felix swallowed. "So why do we?"
Julien stared at the blank page still resting on the table. "Because something interrupted the Ending."
Alaric felt the weight of it settle in his chest.
Earth. Gone.
Or perhaps worse--unfinished, like him.
He looked at the others, at their shaken faces, at the boy who carried the memory of a world's death in fragments too sharp to hold.
Whatever Veritas was, whatever the Living Annals wanted--
This was no longer about going home.
.
.
The question Julien asked was a simple one.
"What will you do now?"
Yet the moment the words left his mouth, the room seemed to lean closer, as though Veritas itself wanted to hear the answer.
Alaric did not respond immediately.
He stood apart from the others, near the circular shelf where the stone floor dipped slightly inward. His form was faint there, edges blurred, colors thinning like ink diluted too far. He stared at his own hands, semi-transparent against the lamplight, and felt a familiar tightening in his chest.
On Earth, he had always believed hesitation was a luxury.
Here, it felt like a sentence.
"I still want to finish my story," Alaric said at last.
Felix blinked. Marcus frowned. Even Silas looked momentarily taken aback.
"Finish it?" Felix repeated. "Buddy, no offense, but you already did. With style. Bells and all."
Marcus folded his arms. "The prince's Ending was recorded. Official. Irreversible."
Silas tilted his head. "You are proposing to complete something that has already concluded."
Alaric nodded. "Yes."
Julien studied him closely. "Explain."
Alaric searched for words. "I don't know how," he admitted. "I don't even know what 'finishing' means for someone like me. But if this world runs on stories, and if Endings are what allow existence to settle, then I can't accept remaining… unresolved."
Felix let out a slow breath. "You're aiming for closure."
"I'm aiming for continuity," Alaric corrected. "I don't want to fade into the margins."
Marcus shook his head. "That's not how the system works."
"That's how systems get broken," Felix muttered.
Marcus shot him a look. "This isn't a game."
Felix's smile faltered. "Yeah. I know."
Silas leaned forward slightly. "Tell us, Alaric. How do you intend to complete an already complete story?"
The question struck home.
Alaric opened his mouth, and closed it again.
"I don't know," he said finally.
The admission landed heavily.
For all his confidence, all his stubborn presence, he had no plan. Just a refusal to accept the alternatives.
Theo, who had been unusually quiet, lifted his head.
"If one story is finished," he said slowly, "then… you can write another."
Everyone turned toward him.
Felix laughed first, sharp and disbelieving. "That's it? That's the solution?"
Theo didn't smile. "Why not?"
Marcus's brow furrowed. "Because Veritas doesn't allow sequels."
"That's not true," Theo said. "Empires fall and rise again. Bloodlines continue. Wars echo."
"Those are continuations," Julien said quickly. "Not repetitions."
Theo's gaze didn't waver. "What's the difference?"
Silence followed.
Alaric felt something stir in his chest—small, dangerous, bright.
"A second story," he murmured.
Felix's eyes widened. "Wait. Wait. You mean--"
"--if a person can exist beyond their recorded Ending," Marcus said slowly, "they might establish a new narrative trajectory."
Silas straightened. "A rebirth without reincarnation."
Alaric's thoughts raced. "If the Annals only stabilize what they can frame," he said, "then perhaps an existence that begins outside the book… can be written anew."
Felix grinned, excitement breaking through his fatigue. "That's brilliant. Insane, but brilliant."
Marcus hesitated. "If it worked…"
"We wouldn't be anomalies anymore," Felix finished. "We'd be characters again."
Theo hugged his knees. "Complete."
For a moment, just one, the room felt lighter.
Julien shattered it.
"No."
The word was quiet, but absolute.
Everyone turned to him.
"The Living Annals," Julien said, voice tight, "record a person's story once. Birth to Ending. That is the foundation of Veritas. There are no second volumes."
"But--" Felix began.
"--any attempt to overwrite a concluded narrative results in erasure," Julien said. "Not death. Not fading. Deletion."
The excitement collapsed in on itself.
Marcus looked away. Silas exhaled slowly. Felix's grin vanished like a blown-out candle.
Theo's shoulders slumped.
Alaric felt the weight settle back onto him--heavier now, because it had briefly lifted.
"So that's it," Felix said flatly. "One story per customer."
Julien said nothing.
The lamplight flickered.
Alaric stared down at his hands again.
They were almost transparent now.
He raised one slowly, watching the stone floor show through his palm. He clenched his fingers, felt resistance without substance.
"Julien," he said.
"Yes?"
"My story," Alaric said carefully. "Prince Alaric Veyne's story—was complete the moment the ink dried, correct?"
Julien nodded. "Yes."
"And by Veritas's logic," Alaric continued, "a completed story leaves nothing behind."
"That is correct."
"Then why," Alaric asked quietly, "am I still here?"
The question cut through the room.
Julien opened his mouth—and stopped.
Alaric lifted his gaze, eyes sharp now, presence solid despite his fading form.
"You said Unwritten are anomalies," he went on. "People not yet recorded. Or people forgotten."
"Yes," Julien said slowly.
"But I'm neither," Alaric said. "I was written. Fully. Thoroughly. There was no omission."
Felix's eyes widened. "He's right."
Marcus turned back. "If the prince's story ended… there should be nothing left to forget."
Alaric's voice grew steadier with each word. "So either Veritas made a mistake--"
Julien shook his head. "Impossible."
"--or," Alaric continued, "the system is interpreting something incorrectly."
Silas leaned forward. "Go on."
Alaric spread his hands. "Unwritten implies absence of narrative. A blank space. But what if it's not absence?"
Julien's breath caught.
"What if," Alaric said, "it's misplacement?"
The word seemed to vibrate in the air.
Felix whispered, "Like a lost footnote."
Marcus frowned deeply. "You're suggesting--"
"That I don't lack a story," Alaric said. "I lack recognition."
Theo's eyes lit up. "Like when you forget a character, but they were always there."
Julien stared at Alaric as if seeing him for the first time.
"That would mean," Julien said slowly, "that the Annals did not fail to write you."
"They failed to remember me," Alaric finished.
Silence stretched.
Julien's hands trembled slightly. "That's… not possible."
"Why not?" Felix demanded.
"Because memory in Veritas is not personal," Julien said. "It's systemic. The Annals do not forget."
Alaric took a step closer. The floor did not resist him.
"You're a historian," Alaric said. "Tell me this--has there ever been a character who disappeared without an Ending?"
Julien hesitated.
"Not erased," Alaric pressed. "Not killed. Simply… misplaced."
Julien swallowed. "There are legends."
Felix leaned forward. "Legends of what?"
"Of Echoes," Julien whispered. "Figures who appear briefly, alter events, then vanish without record."
Marcus's voice was low. "You never told us this."
"They are considered apocryphal," Julien said. "Unreliable."
Alaric felt a chill--and something like triumph.
"What if Echoes aren't unfinished," Alaric said. "What if they're… remembered late?"
Julien looked shaken. "You're proposing that the Annals can be prompted."
"Yes," Alaric said simply.
Felix laughed, breathless. "He's suggesting we jog reality's memory."
Marcus stared at Alaric. "If you're right… then existence here isn't granted by completion."
"It's granted by acknowledgment," Alaric said.
Theo smiled faintly.
Silas's eyes gleamed with something like reverence. "A dangerous idea."
Julien took a step back, as if the floor had shifted.
"This goes against everything Veritas understands," he said.
Alaric met his gaze steadily. "So did my existence."
The Annals, closed on the table, shuddered.
A single drop of ink seeped from between its pages.
Julien stared at it, heart pounding.
For the first time in his life, the historian of Veritas wondered whether the world had not been broken--
But merely misremembered.
But can world misremember things?