ERIS
"How peaceful."
It was the first thought that bloomed in my usually troubled mind.
I was floating.
Not falling. Not rising. Just… suspended.
There was no weight to my body, no breath in my lungs. No fire clawing through my chest. Just stillness. Soft and terrifying.
The space around me shimmered. Not quite light, not quite dark. It reminded me of a pearl, smooth, unending, and faintly cold. There were no walls. No ground. Just endless, silver-tinged air and the faint echo of a heartbeat that wasn't mine.
Something shifted.
A figure unfurled above me like smoke in a graceful and slow manner. Its body shimmered like moonlight caught in a fabric, long limbs clothed in fabric so fine it clung to skin like a whisper. No face. Just eyes that weren't quite eyes. Luminous, pupil-less. Watching.
"Well," it said, voice bright and careless. "You're awake."
I tensed. Or would have, if my body still obeyed me.
"Where am I?" My voice was my own, cold, steady, clipped.
The being tilted its head, as if mildly entertained by my suspicion. "Now, now. No need for that tone. You're not in danger, Eris."
My name in its mouth made something in me twist.
"How do you know my name?"
No answer. Just an irritating silence.
I glanced around again, calculating. "You didn't answer my question."
"Well, we're off to a charming start," it sighed. Then smiled, I think. "This is the portal. A place between worlds. Between endings and beginnings. The silent force that holds it all together."
"You're speaking in riddles."
"I'm being poetic, darling. Let me have my flair." It twirled lazily in the air, fabric trailing like smoke behind it. "If you must have it in dull terms, I am the Gatekeeper of the Hidden Realms. The keeper of every world that ever bloomed from the garden of a mind."
My eyes narrowed. "Hidden realms?"
"Imaginations. Fictions. Fantasies. The dreams your kind scrawl into parchment and call novels." The being drifted closer, upside down now, eyes level with mine. "The story you were in was one of them."
What? Story? One that I was in?
It let that hang between us, smug.
A pause.
I said nothing. Thinking.
"…a story?"
"Yes." It righted itself, arms folded. "The world you lived in was not purely born of dragons and gods like you believed. It was written. Shaped and bound by narrative laws. A world where roles are fixed and arcs must end."
I wanted to laugh. But I didn't. Instead, I stared. I feared my mind had wandered too far into darkness.
And then: "That's absurd."
"Oh, undoubtedly," it grinned. "But here you are, floating in the folds of reality. Burnt to ash. Dead by blade. And still conscious."
I turned my gaze away from it, staring into the silver void. If I was dead, then this place… was some borderland. A limbo. But if this being was telling the truth,
"Why am I here?"
"Because your death wasn't the end," it said. "It was a pivot. A decision point. Something… unusual happened. You see, most characters follow the script. But you?" It gave a little clap of delight. "You deviated. You became self-aware. Not fully, not yet, but enough to break something."
I frowned. "I don't recall becoming anything of the sort."
"No. But your soul did. A very loud one, at that. And now the system is… unsure what to do with you."
"What system?"
"The Narrative Engine. The thing that keeps your world spinning. It doesn't like loose ends. Or villains that die with regrets."
That stopped me. Narrative Engine? Characters? Script? What was happening?
"I died because I lost control."
"Ah, but did you?" The entity twirled again. "You let him kill you. The sword didn't win. You surrendered. And that, my dear villainess, changed everything."
I was silent. How did it?
"…Who are you?" I asked finally.
"Oh. Where are my manners?" the floating being gave a flourishing bow mid-air, like a court jester with too much grace. "You may call me Orrian. Keeper of the Veil, Watcher of Threads, Assistant to Chaos, Former Archivist of Forgotten Endings… but Orrian will do."
I blinked. "Orrian."
"It has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"
No, it didn't.
But I didn't say that.
After that, I didn't speak for a long while.
Orrian floated in front of me, completely content to drift like a piece of ribbon caught in still air. It was unnaturally patient. Or perhaps simply used to mortals unravelling like this.
"I was written," I said finally, voice flat.
"Correct," it chirped. "Not born. Not conceived. Not formed from womb like I remember, or flesh, but from ink and intention."
I narrowed my eyes. "And what of my thoughts? My memories? My decisions? My pain? Are you telling me those were… scripted?"
Orrian's head tilted, the fabric of it's robe fluttering even though there was no wind. "Scripted. Shaped. Steered. Does it matter what word I use, Eris?"
"You expect me to believe that nothing I did was mine?"
"I said your world was written. I didn't say you had no say."
I clenched my fists, or tried to. My fingers did not move. "You are telling me my life, my blood-soaked history, my regrets… my son…" I paused. "You claim it was all imagined."
"Yes," Orrian said. "But vividly. Lovingly. Brilliantly."
I turned away. My eyes scanned the silver void for anything, a crack, a mirror, a truth. But it gave nothing back.
"Then none of it was real."
"'Real' is such a delicate word," Orrian hummed, stretching out. "Were your emotions real to you? Was your ambition? Your grief?"
"That's not the point," I snapped.
"Oh, but it is." it drifted closer, lowering it's voice. "You felt them. You suffered. You fought. You destroyed. You chose. What difference does it make if your world was born from imagination, when your pain still carved you into what you are?"
I did not reply.
Orrian floated lazily beside me now, head pillowed on it's arms. "Silly humans cling to the idea that 'real' must mean tangible. Physical. But if a dream can wound you, does it not exist in its own right?"
I looked at it, unblinking. "That's a very pretty argument. But perhaps this is what one sees while dying, a fevered dream to soften the void."
"Ahhh." it grinned. "Denial. Stage one. Understandable."
"You're mocking me."
"Of course I am." it floated upright again. "Because I've heard this before. Every time someone learns what you just did, they always flinch. You all believe your stories belong to you, but you forget you were written into believing that too."