The Name That Shouldn’t Be

Aarav staggered back, his breath shallow. "What do you mean I was never supposed to exist?" The old man—barely more than a shadow himself—sighed deeply. "The Archivists don't just erase mistakes. Sometimes, they correct them. You… you were one of those corrections." Ravi's hands curled into fists. "That doesn't make sense. Aarav was our friend. We grew up together. He's real." The old man gave a sad smile. "Memories can be rewritten. Reality can be adjusted. You remember him because something went wrong. He slipped through the cracks." Aarav's voice trembled. "Then why do they want me gone now?"

The man glanced around the market, as if the very walls were listening. "Because you are a fracture. A tear in their perfect world. The longer you exist, the more unstable things become." Meera exhaled sharply. "That means they won't stop until they've erased him again." Aarav swallowed hard. "And this time… they'll do it right." Raj shook his head. "No. We won't let that happen." The old man hesitated. "There may be a way." He reached beneath his stall, pulling out a worn leather book. "This contains the names of those who were erased. If we can find the name they gave you before they took it away… you might be able to take it back."

Aarav's hands shook as he took the book. The pages were brittle, filled with names that flickered, as if they weren't meant to be read. He ran his fingers over them, eyes scanning desperately. "I don't know what I'm looking for." The old man leaned closer. "You'll know it when you see it." The market around them seemed to grow dimmer, shadows stretching unnaturally. Meera tensed. "We don't have much time." Aarav flipped page after page, panic creeping into his voice. "It's not here. My name isn't—" He stopped. His fingers trembled over a single word. A name.

It wasn't Aarav. It was something else. Something older. "That's… that's me," he whispered. The moment the words left his lips, the market trembled. The stalls flickered, voices warping into static. The old man's expression turned grim. "They know." Ravi grabbed Aarav's arm. "Then we need to go. Now." But it was too late. A deep, rumbling voice echoed through the market. "You should not be here." The air rippled as the shadows coalesced, forming figures cloaked in black. The Archivists. Their faces were blank, their presence suffocating. "Aarav," one of them intoned. "Come with us."

Aarav gripped the book tightly. "No." The Archivists took a step forward. "Then we will take you." The market-goers scattered, vanishing into thin air. The stalls crumbled into dust. "Run!" Meera shouted. They bolted through the collapsing market, the Archivists gliding after them, untouched by the destruction. "Where do we go?!" Raj yelled. "Anywhere but here!" Ravi pulled Aarav toward the nearest alley, but as they turned the corner, they skidded to a halt. A dead end. "Damn it!" Meera spun around, gripping a small vial of silver mist. "Get behind me."

The Archivists appeared at the alley entrance, their movements slow, deliberate. "Give him to us," one commanded. "Or be erased with him." Meera threw the mist. The silver vapor exploded into the air, colliding with the Archivists. For a moment, the figures flickered—distorted. "That won't hold them for long," Meera panted. Ravi turned to Aarav. "The name. If it's really yours, use it!" Aarav's hands trembled. "I don't know how." Raj grabbed him by the shoulders. "Then figure it out! Before they—" The Archivists surged forward. The silver mist burned away. Darkness consumed the alley.

Aarav squeezed his eyes shut. He whispered the name under his breath. Reality twisted. The world flickered. The Archivists stopped. Then, everything went black.