Writing My Own End

I stared at the note long after Zayn had turned away.

The words were scrawled in sharp, rushed handwriting — the kind you write when you're terrified you won't have time to finish. Like the words themselves were running from something.

"If I forget who I am — tell me to finish the story."

What story?

The plot of the movie? The role I was supposed to play?

Or something deeper — a story I wrote without knowing it?

"Where did you find this?" I asked, finally.

Zayn's voice was quiet. "Tucked inside your old journal. The one you stopped writing in after the Cradle."

"That's what Lisan gave me earlier."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "That was your field book. The other one's different. Private. Hidden in your war tent, sealed with ashroot powder. Only people trained in temple glyphs could have opened it."

"So… magic," I muttered.

He grinned faintly. "Of a kind."

I looked back at the paper. It wasn't magical. It wasn't glowing. It didn't sing when I touched it.

But it felt heavier than it should have.

Like it carried more than ink.

"Finish the story."I kept repeating it in my head. Over and over.Why would I write that? Why would Nawar?

I didn't even know if Nawar and I were the same anymore.

Was I still Seif Amer?Or was that name already slipping away?

I stuffed the note inside the journal and followed Zayn along the ridge path. The trees thinned as we climbed, giving way to a sweeping view of the land below.

In the distance, smoke curled upward from a village nestled in the hills.

Zayn pointed. "That's Dera Hollow. It's one of ours. You wanted to avoid it last time — said the people there were too loud."

"Sounds like me," I muttered.

But I didn't remember any of it.

And every step I took forward in this world felt like another step away from who I used to be.

We reached a flat stone ledge where the cliff widened. Zayn crouched and started drawing something in the dirt with his blade — a symbol, jagged and circular.

"What's that?" I asked.

"A listening ward," he said. "Keeps the ears of the woods from catching our conversation."

…Okay. That's terrifying.

When he finished, the wind shifted slightly, and the birdsong in the area dulled — like someone had turned down the volume of the world.

"We're safe," he said. "Now talk. You said you remember the name 'Drosmere.' That's not nothing."

I hesitated.

Then I told him everything.

The movie. The accident. The script I didn't read. The fact that this world isn't just familiar — it's constructed.

And for the first time…

Zayn looked afraid.

Zayn didn't speak at first. He just stared at me, his face unreadable as the last words I spoke hung between us like a weight.

I had told him everything: my accident, waking up in a different world, the feeling that this place was a stage, a scripted performance. I had even said the words aloud.

The world was fake. This was a movie. I didn't belong here.

And for some reason, I thought Zayn might have the answers I needed.

But instead of answering, he leaned back against a stone and folded his arms across his chest.

"You've known this whole time, haven't you?" I asked, suddenly angry. "You knew I wasn't who they think I am. You knew I wasn't supposed to be here."

He didn't flinch. Just looked at the sky, like he was weighing something.

Finally, he spoke. "No. You're not 'supposed' to be here. None of us are. But there's a bigger problem, Nawar."

I felt a chill. "What problem?"

"You're remembering things. And it's dangerous."

I laughed bitterly. "I'm remembering things? What do you mean by that? You think I'm just pretending to have amnesia?"

He stood up, his face serious now, all traces of the smirk gone. "Not pretending. But you're starting to remember things that aren't meant for you to remember."

"Like what?"

Zayn walked toward me, his boots silent against the stone. "There's something you don't understand about this world, and it's something the temple, the kingdom… they don't want you to figure out."

I frowned, watching him carefully. "What are you talking about?"

"The script," he said, his voice low. "It wasn't just the movie. The movie is just part of the bigger plan. The story you're living — your role as Nawar — it's been written for you."

I stared at him, feeling the heat drain from my body. No. That can't be true.

"I'm not… I'm not some puppet," I said, though my voice wavered. "I'm not real? I'm just a character in some story you're telling me?"

Zayn didn't answer right away. Instead, he crouched in front of me, placing his hand firmly on my shoulder. "I'm telling you because it's the only way you can survive what's coming."

My heart beat faster. "What's coming?"

"Those memories you're unlocking? They weren't meant to be remembered. And the more you remember, the more the world will fight back." He paused. "You're not the only one who's been trapped in the story."

I swallowed, feeling the weight of his words.

Zayn took a deep breath, his eyes burning with something like regret. "You think you're the hero. You think you have a chance to escape. But the truth is… we're all stuck. And if you keep fighting the story, it'll break you. And then we'll all be lost."

A cold sweat broke across my skin. "So, what? You want me to just accept this? To live out a life that isn't mine?"

Zayn stood up slowly. "I don't want you to accept anything. But the choice is never really yours."

Zayn's words hung in the air like a heavy fog.

I wasn't the hero. I wasn't even in control of my own life.This story wasn't mine to write.

I turned away, trying to process the weight of everything he'd just said. But it didn't make sense. None of it made sense.

"I didn't ask for this," I muttered, more to myself than to him.

Zayn didn't respond right away. I could feel his eyes on my back, sharp and calculating. It was like he was trying to decide whether or not to keep pushing me further.

Finally, he spoke again, his voice steady but serious. "I know you didn't ask for it. But you're here now. And if you're going to survive, you need to understand something."

I turned slowly to face him. "What?"

"The story isn't just a script. It's a trap. The people who wrote it — they wanted control, Nawar. They wanted a hero, a leader, someone to fight their battles for them. But it's all a lie. The war you're fighting? The one you think you remember? It's not real."

I felt a knot twist in my stomach. The words felt familiar, but the way he said them — it was like he was digging into something buried deep inside me. Was I just a pawn in this story?

"You're telling me the war is fake?" I asked, incredulous.

Zayn nodded slowly. "The battles are real, but the purpose behind them is fabricated. You've been fighting a war for a kingdom that doesn't need to exist. For people who don't care about winning. The real enemy? It's the story itself."

The words crashed into me like a tidal wave.

The war wasn't real?

I staggered back, trying to make sense of it. None of it made sense.

But Zayn's face remained steady. "You're a key player in the story, Nawar. But you weren't meant to remember that. They want you to be the hero, the chosen one. They want you to fight and die for their cause. But if you keep remembering, if you keep pushing back against the story, it will twist you into something you were never meant to be."

I gripped the journal in my hands, my knuckles white. The journal. It had been a lifeline for me since I woke up here, but now I wondered — was it just another piece of the script?

"This… this isn't real," I whispered.

Zayn's eyes softened for a moment, just a flash. "It's real enough for now. But you need to choose, Nawar. You either accept your role in the story, or you try to break free from it."

I couldn't breathe. The weight of his words pressed down on me like a physical force.

Was I supposed to accept this?

I was supposed to be Seif Amer — just some actor who got unlucky. But now I was Nawar, a warrior, a leader, stuck in a world I didn't understand.

This wasn't the life I wanted.

But then again, did I even have a choice?

The silence that followed Zayn's words felt suffocating. The wind no longer felt refreshing; it felt heavy, like it was carrying the weight of an unwritten destiny.

I stared down at the journal in my hands, turning it over and over like it held the answers I was too afraid to find. This was real. This was my reality now.

Zayn was right — I had a choice. I could accept this role, this life, and follow the story that had already been written for me. Or, I could resist it. I could push against the walls that had been built around me and fight to break free. But Zayn had warned me — the more I fought, the more the world would fight back.

"Tell me, Zayn," I said, finally breaking the silence. "Why are you telling me all this? Why not just let me go along with the story, like everyone else?"

Zayn's eyes flicked to the journal in my hands, then back to me. "Because you're already starting to remember things you weren't supposed to. Because you're not just any character in this story. You're the key."

I shook my head. "The key? To what?"

"To the endgame." He said it like it was obvious. Like it was something everyone knew but me.

But it wasn't obvious to me. The more he spoke, the more confused I became.

"You're not just Nawar. You're the reason this whole thing started in the first place." Zayn's voice dropped lower. "You're the one who can end it. But not if you keep denying your role."

"End it?" I echoed, heart hammering. "How the hell am I supposed to end anything? I'm just a guy who forgot everything. I'm not a hero."

He tilted his head slightly, considering me. "You may not believe it, but you're a hero here. Even if you don't want to be."

I wanted to scream, but I swallowed it down. This wasn't about me. It wasn't about what I wanted. I had no choice. This wasn't my world.

Zayn took a step forward, and his next words were quiet, almost too soft for the growing tension between us.

"There's a war coming, Nawar. It's bigger than anything you've seen before. And you're going to have to decide: will you fight for the people who wrote your story? Or will you break free from the script, and write your own ending?"

The weight of his words settled heavily on my chest. What was I supposed to do with that?

I wasn't a soldier. I wasn't a leader. I was just an actor who got caught in a mess too big to understand. I was supposed to go back home — back to my old life. But that wasn't going to happen.

And the worst part?

I didn't know which choice would destroy me more: playing along with the story, or trying to fight it.

I stood there for a long time, just staring at the ground, trying to put the pieces together.

Finally, Zayn spoke again, his voice low, but filled with quiet certainty. "Whatever you choose, Nawar, you need to decide soon. The world doesn't wait for you to catch up."

I met his eyes, the decision burning in my chest, knowing that no matter what I chose, there was no going back. The role had already begun.

End of Chapter 4.