The Seventh Door

The scent of burning parchment filled the air as the numbers on the floor faded into nothingness. Orphyn's reflection in the black mirror had vanished completely—yet he still stood there, whole and breathing.

Lyx grabbed his wrist, her fingers cold as death. "The countdown wasn't for you," she whispered. "It was for **them**."

A sound like cracking ice echoed through the library. One by one, the bookshelves began splitting open, revealing **seven doors** where none had stood before. Each door bore a brass number:

**7**

**6**

**5**

**...**

**1**

The dark twin let out a delighted gasp. "Oh, you clever thing," he murmured to no one. "You've been hiding them in plain sight all along."

The little girl's doll began screaming—a high-pitched wail that made the ink pools ripple. She clutched it tightly, black tears streaming down her face. "Don't open Door Seven," she begged. "Not even a crack."

But the choice wasn't theirs to make.

With a groan of ancient hinges, **Door Seven swung open on its own**—

—and out poured every memory Orphyn had ever lost.

They came as **living shadows**: his mother's laugh, his first kiss, the night his village burned. They swirled around him, whispering in voices he'd forgotten existed.

Lyx staggered back as her own lost memories flooded out—a life before the Archive, before the red hair, before she was **Lyx**.

The dark twin simply smiled as the shadows passed through him. "Finally," he sighed. "The **First Draft** of the world."

Then—

A single word boomed from beyond the door, shaking the very foundations of the library:

**"REWRITE."**

And everything went white.