The Story That Shouldn’t Exist
Ezra stood before the door.
It wasn't old like the rest of the Archive. It wasn't made of stone, or wood, or anything recognizable.
It was smooth.
Black.
And it looked like it had been waiting for him.
His other self whistled. "You ever get tired of opening ominous doors?"
Ezra didn't answer. His fingers hovered over the surface— cold despite the airless warmth of the Archive.
A presence leaked from the cracks, something deep, something buried.
Something that was not supposed to be remembered.
Ezra exhaled. "If I die—"
His other self grinned. "I'll be very disappointed."
Not helpful.
Ezra pushed.
The door did not creak.
It did not resist.
It simply opened.
And on the other side—
Was nothing.
Not darkness.
Not a room.
Not even emptiness.
Just absence.
Ezra's breath caught.
Because deep within that non-space , something shifted.
A hand.
Not human.
Not monstrous.
Just a hand, reaching through the void.
And it was holding a book.
A book with his name on the cover.
Ezra didn't move.
Because somehow—
He knew if he took it—
Everything would change.
Ezra stared at the book.
His name was written across the cover, clear as day. Not in ink. Not carved. Etched.
Like it had always been there.
Like it had been waiting.
His other self exhaled slowly. "Well, that's unsettling."
Ezra's throat felt dry. "Only just now?"
A chuckle. "Fair point."
The hand holding the book did not move. It simply waited.
Patient. Expectant.
Ezra's fingers twitched.
He should turn around.
He should walk away.
But he already knew— that wasn't an option.
Something about this moment felt too important.
Like a hinge in a story, a place where a path diverges.
Where choosing not to act is still a choice.
Ezra exhaled sharply.
His hand moved before his mind caught up.
Fingertips brushed the book's cover—
And the world broke.
Not violently.
Not with sound.
Just a quiet unraveling.
Like a story being rewritten from the first page.
The hand let go.
The book fell into his grip.
And suddenly—
Ezra was somewhere else.
Ezra didn't fall.
He didn't move.
Yet, in the span of a blink, he was somewhere else.
The Nameless Archive was gone.
The void behind the door was gone.
Instead, he stood in a place that should not exist.
A sky stretched endlessly above. Not blue. Not black. Just blank.
Below his feet was no ground, no floor—yet he stood.
And around him, in every direction—
Shelves.
Not like the Archive. These weren't old, weren't rotting.
They were pristine. Polished. Perfect.
And filled with only one book.
The same book he held.
The same book with his name on it.
His other self whistled. "I think we just stepped into something way above our pay grade."
Ezra exhaled, his grip tightening.
The book in his hands was warm.
Not physically—but in a way that shouldn't be possible.
Like a living thing.
Like it was aware of him.
His fingers hovered over the cover.
And then—
A voice spoke.
"You should not have come here."
Ezra turned sharply.
But there was no one.
Just the shelves. The endless copies of his book.
And a feeling, a weight—
Like the place itself was watching.
He clenched his jaw. "Too late for that."
A pause.
Then, the voice— no, voices —whispered back.
"Then read."
The book in his hands opened.
And Ezra—
Saw something he was never meant to see.
Ezra's breath hitched.
The book in his hands flipped open on its own.
Not by wind. Not by force. By will.
The pages were not blank.
They were filled with words he knew but had never written.
His story.
Not the one he remembered.
Not the one he had lived.
But a different version.
A life he had never had.
A path he had never taken.
His pulse quickened. The ink shifted as he read—flowing like it was alive.
And then, the pages stopped turning.
A single passage stood out, etched deeper than the rest.
"Ezra Kane should not exist."
His stomach twisted.
The words bled , darkening, shifting—
Until they changed.
"Ezra Kane was never meant to wake up."
His hands trembled.
His other self—silent for once—leaned in, golden eyes narrowing. "Well. That's ominous."
Ezra exhaled sharply. "No kidding."
The book suddenly grew heavier.
Like it had gained weight.
Like it had become realer.
Ezra tried to close it—
But the pages fought back.
More words appeared.
A new line.
One that sent ice down his spine.
"You are being watched."
Ezra's breath caught.
A slow, heavy silence settled.
Then—
The shelves around him shifted.
Not a sound.
Not a movement.
Just a quiet, impossible change.
Like something else had arrived.
Something that had been waiting for him to read those words.
Ezra was not alone anymore.
And whatever had been watching—
It had just decided to step closer.
Ezra's grip on the book tightened.
The air changed.
No sound. No movement. But something shifted.
Like the weight of an unseen gaze settling on his back.
His other self exhaled slowly. "Well, that's unpleasant."
Ezra didn't respond.
Because for the first time since stepping into this impossible place—
He felt watched.
Not like being stared at.
Not like being observed.
Something deeper.
Like a presence wasn't just looking at him—but through him.
Like it had been reading him as he read the book.
A cold realization settled in his gut.
"This book… was never meant to be read."
His other self smirked. "And yet, here we are."
Ezra snapped the book shut.
The moment he did—
The silence broke.
A sound rippled through the air.
Not a voice. Not a whisper.
Something older.
A hollow chime, like a bell tolling from nowhere.
And then—
From the rows of endless shelves, something moved.
A shape.
Not a person.
Not a creature.
Just a distortion.
A place where the air itself bent, like a ripple in reality.
And it was coming closer.
Ezra's breath quickened.
His mind screamed run.
But his legs wouldn't move.
Because deep down—
Somehow—
He knew.
If he ran—
It would follow.
And it wouldn't stop.
Ever.