The air was thick with silence. The door behind them slammed shut as they crossed the threshold, stepping into a barren field under a sky that was neither night nor day. The ground beneath their feet was cracked, remnants of a world that never fully formed. Meera looked around. "Where are we now?" she asked, her voice low. Ravi scanned the horizon. "I don't know… but I think we're outside the story." The field stretched endlessly, and the wind whispered in a language they couldn't understand. "It's like a void between stories," Raj said. "A place they forgot to rewrite."
A faint sound echoed in the distance—a voice, or maybe a cry. Aarav tensed, gripping the edge of his jacket. "Did you hear that?" Meera nodded, stepping forward cautiously. The air shimmered briefly, distorting the empty landscape. "It's not just us here," she murmured. "Something else is watching." Suddenly, the wind shifted violently, and the ground beneath them cracked open. From the fissures, shapes emerged—hazy figures, their outlines flickering in and out of existence. "Are they… people?" Raj asked, stepping back.
One of the figures lurched forward, its face blurred like a forgotten memory. It opened its mouth, but no sound came out. Ravi took a step closer. "What do you want?" he asked. The figure's eyes locked with his, and for a moment, Ravi saw an image—a family, smiling in a photograph that vanished before he could comprehend it. "They're lost," Meera whispered. "Fragments of stories that never made it." The figure dissolved into the air, leaving behind only a whisper. "We didn't matter." Another cry echoed through the field.
A distant flash of light caught their attention. Far off, a small figure stood, glowing like a beacon. Without thinking, they began to run toward it. The air grew heavier with every step, pressing in like the weight of an unfinished tale. The light flickered again, and they saw the figure more clearly—a woman, her features distorted, as if made of the same fragile threads as the void around them. "Who are you?" Aarav shouted, his voice hoarse. The woman's lips parted, but no words came. She raised a hand, beckoning them closer.
Meera stopped in her tracks. "There's something wrong," she said, her heart racing. "She's not real." Ravi turned to her. "How can you be sure?" "I just feel it," Meera responded, "This isn't just another version of us. She's something… else." The figure's form began to flicker more violently, as if the fabric of reality couldn't decide whether she existed or not. "Then what do we do?" Raj asked, looking to Meera for guidance. "We're not supposed to be here," she said, looking down at the ground. "None of us are. We need to leave this place."
But the woman took another step forward, her face momentarily coming into focus. Her eyes were empty, hollow, as though she had never been fully alive. She reached out a trembling hand, and the air around them rippled. "The lost cannot leave," she whispered. "Not until you understand why you were forgotten." The words sent a chill down their spines. "What do you mean?" Ravi demanded. "What are we supposed to understand?" The woman's form started to unravel, disintegrating like smoke in the wind. "You… are echoes," she murmured, vanishing into nothingness.
The group stood in stunned silence, each processing the revelation. "Echoes of what?" Raj asked, his voice breaking. "Of stories that should have been erased," Meera said quietly. "We're... the lost versions. The ones that failed to exist fully, lingering between realities." Aarav frowned. "But that means… we never should have come here." "No," Ravi said, his voice firm. "We are supposed to be here. We're the ones who broke the story, and now we need to finish it." He looked at Meera. "We can't be echoes anymore." She nodded. "We rewrite this place too."
With one final glance at the empty field, they began walking toward the flickering horizon. The air hummed, growing heavier with every step. It wasn't just the weight of forgotten stories. It was the weight of their own decisions. And in that weight, they began to hear the whispers again—the lost voices of all the stories that had never made it, trapped here forever. "We won't let them be forgotten," Meera said, her voice stronger now. "We'll give them a purpose. And then, we'll write our own ending." The horizon loomed closer, pulling them into the unknown.