Light surrounded them, endless and blinding. Ravi felt weightless, as if drifting through nothingness. Then, suddenly, gravity returned. He hit solid ground, gasping for breath. Around him, the others landed—Raj, Meera, Aarav, and finally Rana. The light began to fade, revealing a vast, empty space stretching infinitely in all directions. The walls shimmered like glass, but behind them, nothing existed. "Where… are we?" Raj muttered, rubbing his head. The Archivist stood before them, their silver mask untouched by the chaos. "You stand in the space between stories," they said. "A place that should not exist."
Rana clenched his fists, his body flickering between solid and transparent. "Then why bring us here?" The Archivist turned to him, their expression unreadable behind the mask. "Because you made a choice. And choices have consequences." The words hung heavy in the air. Meera glanced around. "Are we safe?" The Archivist tilted their head slightly. "For now." Ravi wasn't convinced. "And after that?" The Archivist didn't answer. Instead, they reached into their robes and pulled out a single, blank page. "A story rewritten must find a place to belong. Otherwise, it unravels." Rana's form flickered again. "So I'm still unraveling?"
Aarav stepped forward. "There has to be a way to stop it." The Archivist traced a finger over the blank page. "Perhaps. But it requires something dangerous." Raj crossed his arms. "Great. More riddles." The Archivist turned their masked face to him. "Would you rather I lie?" Silence. "Thought so." Ravi exhaled, rubbing his temples. "Alright. What do we have to do?" The Archivist held up the blank page. "A story is bound by memory. Rana exists because you remember him. But the world does not. To rewrite a story permanently, you must make the world remember."
Meera's eyes narrowed. "And how do we do that?" The Archivist turned, gesturing to the endless glass walls. "By returning to the story's origin. To the moment before it was erased." The words sent a chill through them. Rana's voice was low. "You mean… go back to the past?" The Archivist nodded. "Not the past. The memory of it." Aarav shook his head. "That's impossible." The Archivist remained still. "So was your survival. And yet, here you are." Raj frowned. "If we do this, what happens if we fail?" The Archivist's voice was quiet. "Then the world will forget Rana… forever."
The weight of the choice settled over them. Ravi looked at Rana, who was still flickering, his existence unstable. "We don't have a choice," he said softly. "We have to do this." Rana met his gaze, uncertainty in his eyes. "But what if I wasn't meant to come back?" Meera placed a hand on his shoulder. "We decide what's meant to be. Not them." The Archivist stepped forward, holding out the blank page. "Then it is time." The page pulsed with a faint glow. "Step forward, and the memory will guide you. But beware—memories are fragile. And some do not wish to be remembered."
The glass walls around them began to ripple, distorting like water. Shadows flickered within the glass, figures shifting just beyond sight. Aarav swallowed. "Something's in there." The Archivist nodded. "Memories take shape in ways we do not always expect." Ravi took a deep breath. "No turning back now." He stepped forward, the blank page glowing brighter as he touched it. The moment his fingers met the paper, the world around them shattered. The void disappeared, replaced by something new. Or rather… something old. They stood in a familiar place. The past. The moment before Rana was erased.
It was their old school, untouched by time. The hallways were empty, silent. The air was thick with nostalgia, yet something felt off. Meera turned slowly. "This… isn't right." Raj pointed ahead. "Look." Down the hall, they saw a familiar sight—Rana, standing alone. But he wasn't flickering. He was solid. Whole. "That's me," Rana whispered. Ravi's chest tightened. "Then this is the memory." Aarav looked uneasy. "And if this is the memory… then that means we're not alone." Shadows flickered at the edges of their vision, shifting unnaturally. Meera clenched her fists. "They're watching us again."
The Archivist's voice echoed in their minds. "You must restore the memory… but beware. If it rejects you, you will be lost within it." Rana took a deep breath, stepping toward his past self. But the moment he moved, the shadows surged forward, forming figures—twisted reflections of their younger selves. The younger Ravi, Raj, and Meera stood before them, but their faces were wrong—hollow, lifeless. "You don't belong here," their past selves whispered in unison. The air turned heavy, suffocating. The memory was rejecting them. The past did not want to be rewritten.
Ravi's pulse pounded in his ears. "This is bad." Rana stared at his own past self, his voice shaking. "How do we fix a memory that doesn't want to be fixed?" The shadows lunged.