Heaven's Withering Script
I don’t know when stories began to die.
Not loudly. Not in flames. They didn’t collapse like kingdoms or scream like gods falling from the sky. They simply… slipped away. The kind of stories no one remembers. The ones that never made it into books. The lives that ended without witnesses.
This novel begins there.
Somewhere beyond the world, something that was never meant to feel begins to fail. It was created to remember everything—to watch over every story that could have existed.
But even it cannot hold on to what is forgotten.
And then, a boy is born.
There is nothing special about him. No prophecy follows his footsteps. No power awakens in his blood. He just feels things too deeply, too sadness without reason, grief without memory, loneliness that doesn’t belong to this lifetime.
He doesn’t know it yet, but forgotten stories are clinging to him.
Every pain he carries belongs to someone who was erased. Every emotion he cannot explain is an echo of a life that never got to be remembered. Slowly, without choice, he becomes a place where lost narratives gather, a fragile shelter for things the world has abandoned.
This is not a story about saving the world through strength.
It is about carrying weight.
As the line between existence and nothingness begins to blur, the boy must walk through memories that aren’t his, lives that never finished, and truths that were never meant to return.
The more he remembers, the more he risks losing himself.
Because remembering hurts.
And yet, forgetting hurts more.
At its heart, this is a story about why stories matter. About why even the smallest life deserves to be remembered. About how humanity, in all its weakness, might be the last thing standing when even systems and gods begin to fail.
I wrote this for the stories that were never told.
And for the people who feel like they were forgotten.
