The sky was still dark red, yet now it looked hollow like the color had drained from existence and left only the aftertaste of despair. The Deity loomed above, motionless, its body a labyrinth of jagged shapes.
Each edge glistened faintly as if coated in liquid night. Its form was darker than void itself so dark that even shadows refused to touch it. It didn't had any.
Along its enormous torso, between the rotating cubic eyes, rows of fangs emerged long, needle-like, sliding and shifting through its surface with writhing innards.
They didn't belong to a mouth; they simply existed, moving across its body as if eager to devour the very concept of form.
If spoke, a word.... Just a single word....
The space shattered like mirror
A hole tore open in the sky. A wound in the fabric of existence, circular at first, then stretching, folding, forming a spiral that expanded until it reached the horizon. Through that wound…. they saw another world.
Not a fantasy world. Not an alien dimension. It was confusing to every four standing there. People inside the bunker were frightened, scared.
Buildings, skies. Humans walking casually who looked very similar like them. Lights flickering in distant cities.
Two colleagues going to their work.
A woman with a dog hanging around in a park. Sunflowers in each side of that path blooming like they praised her luck.
A world that looked familiar but more civilised but also foolish.
Tom's mind went blank. His heart forgot how to beat. He stumbled back, clutching his head.
What.… what is that? he thought.
The Deity's cubic eyes turned rotating each eyes until their centers aligned perfectly on him.
Then, with a sound like collapsing stars, it spoke again reading Tom's mind.
"THAT… IS REALITY."
Its voice wasn't heard; it was felt. It pressed through their skulls, their memories, even their dreams. Every time it spoke, space fractured. The cracks reached miles wide, glowing like veins of light before sealing again with a soundless hum. The people inside also felt it harder.
"YOUR THOUGHT… IS KNOWN TO ME," the voice continued, layered, impossible to locate where it was coming from.
"THE TRUTH YOU SEEK, YOU ARE BUT A THOUGHT YOURSELF."
Tom lost his stability. His breathing hitched. The world tilted. He wanted to vomit. "What do it means?"
"WHEN A MIND FROM THAT REAL WORLD THINKS OF AN IMAGE, A NAME, A SCENE AND DOES NOT SPEAK NOR WRITE IT…"
The sky convulsed. The stars blinked out, one by one.
"…IT SPAWNS HERE. IN THIS LAYER. ABOVE THEIR FICTION. BELOW THEIR CONSCIOUSNESS."
Rosario froze mid-breath. His eyes unfocused.
"Is it true?" he repeated weakly turning at Elior barely.
Tom's throat dried. He looked around at Elior, Vera, the sand, the broken moon, the air itself. Everything suddenly felt unreal, fragile, like stage props lit by divine lamps.
He thought to himself, "We're being.… watched....?"
The Deity's eyes blinked slowly, impossibly large.
"YES."
That single word cracked the dunes open. Mountains in the distance split apart. Clouds collapsed inward like dying lungs.
Tom's vision trembled. "We're.… fictional?"
"YOU ARE THE GATHERING OF INFINITE IMAGINATIONS.
EVERY AUTHOR, EVERY DREAMER, EVERY FRACTURED MIND THAT EVER CREATED YOUR VERSE IS THEIR STAGE OF ENTERTAINMENT. YOU ARE ABOVE THE TIER OF SCALING SYSTEM, NOR YOU ARE FICTIONAL, BETTER TO SAY, NONE OF YOU EXIST BUT DOES. BECAUSE OF THAT..."
The Deity for a moment went silent, it was shuddering from an unknown past. The Overseer was scared to even talk about it.
The space behind the Deity unfolded into spirals, endless corridors filled with floating books, stories, unfinished worlds, and broken words. He could see them, all half-formed, screaming in void.
Elior whispered under his breath, "It's beyond.… any divine logic."
"YOU EXIST IN A PLANE THAT IS FLATTER THAN LIGHT.
AN INFINITE SHEET OF THOUGHTS FLOATING ABOVE FICTION YET BELOW TRUTH."
The words resonated through their souls, leaving trails of madness behind. Tom's mind fractured for a moment when he saw flashes of those beings outside their world, typing, writing, existing somewhere else. Someone else's hands moving in his place.
The Deity tilted its head. Its fangs clicked in rhythm, like laughter.
"DO YOU NOW UNDERSTAND, LITTLE THOUGHT?"
Tom stared up, trembling, unable to breathe, unable to deny it anymore.
The realization killed him like throwing a ice at lava no— even worse.
he wasn't born, didn't had any home, he was imagined, everyone....
Somewhere, far beyond the broken moon and crimson desert,
the real world was staring back writing his next move as the hole in the space closed back to the dark scarlet sky.
The Outer Deity leaned closer.
The last thing they heard before reality dimmed,
"WELCOME TO THE EDGE OF ALL STORIES."
....
Tom drifted in nothingness.
Just the slow, sinking rhythm of existence fading away.
He opened his eyes.
The Light was pure, clean, infinite and spilled through the deep blue ceiling above.
It wasn't sunlight. It wasn't even light as he knew it.
It was clarity itself, condensed into glow.
He tried to move. The water beneath him rippled gently but didn't drag him down. His feet touched the surface and didn't sink.
He stood, unsteady, staring around the endless ocean that lengthened to infinity, glimmering like glass beneath a white sky that had no sun, no horizon.
His breath echoed.
"Where…. am I?"
"You're standing where everything begins."
Tom was shocked and terrified. It was a man's voice, but not quite human. It came from above, from everywhere, as if the air itself was speaking in harmony. Every syllable carried a kindness too vast to hold.
He looked up, shielding his eyes though there was no glare. "Who are you?"
"I am.…"
A pause, like a smile made of wind.
".…the reason why this novel exists."
Tom's knees almost gave in. His chest tightened.
"What did you say?"
"Exactly what you heard, lad."
The voice chuckled softly as a warm, human sound that shouldn't have belonged to such an unearthly tone.
Tom's heartbeat beated like drum in marriage ceremony. His lips trembled.
"I'm in a.… novel?"
"Technically, yes."
The laughter came again, softer this time like an old friend trying not to scare a frightened child.
"Calm down, Tom. You've seen a lot in just two days and nearly twenty nights."
Before Tom could respond, short waves formed in the water ahead.
Figures rose from the surface—five, six.… Not less or more.
Mermaids, glinting and graceful, their tails glinting like molten sapphire, baskets of fruit balanced in their hands. They smiled at him, their eyes gentle, not predatory.
Tom took a hesitant step back.
"Are you planning to feed me first and make me fresh so you can eat me later? Where am I?"
"A pause," said the voice. "Between realities. You could call it the editor's table if you want."
The mermaids came closer, laying the baskets beside him. Apples that glowed softly. Pears shaped like stars. The scent was divine, nostalgic, like a memory of warmth that never truly existed.
"You've earned rest," the voice continued. "You and your friends were never meant to face that thing yet."
Tom clenched his fists. "Then why? Why send us there at all? Why show me that?"
"Because," the voice said, tone dipping into something vast and ancient, "I wanted to give you a chance. And mostly, because I need it myself."
The words were kind but heavy, like they carried centuries of regret or it was trying to manipulate him?
But it was sure, it was planning something....
Tom frowned. "Everyone's dead, aren't they?"
"Yes," the voice admitted softly. "Durkan has fallen. The Overseer's fragment took it. Everything there is dust now."
Tom's shoulders trembled. He felt the ocean shift with his heartbeat.
"Then why am I here?"
"Because stories don't end when they die," said the voice. "They end when they're forgotten. And I can't let yours end yet."
Tom looked down at his reflection. It smiled faintly at him though he didn't.
He whispered calmly, "Who are you really?"
The ocean shaked, answering in laughter again.
"Just…. A poor Narrator."
The word didn't sound boastful, it sounded lonely.
The voice continued, gentle and unhurried,
"That Overseer you saw? That was not its true form. Only a fragment like a shadow cast across layered mirrors. Every Overseer's at least one fragment exists in each layer of reality, each story, each dream. You met one reflection among the infinites."
Tom blinked rapidly, holding his head. His mind felt like it was overheating.
Smoke, faint and white, curled from his hair. "This is too much.… this is—"
"Easy, easy."
The voice grew calm again, almost playful now.
"Don't think too hard. You'll melt that little protagonist brain of yours."
Tom glared upward. "You're mocking me?"
"Just keeping you sane. Humor is medicine."
A chuckle drifted through the empty sky, echoing like sunlight over still water.
"Now, I'm sending you back. You have another chance, Tom. Make it count this time."
Tom shouted, "Wait, why me?"
"Because," the voice said, fading into the wind,
"even the author doesn't know how his story truly ends until it does, beside that, I have personal issues behind this."
The ocean beneath Tom's feet began to glow.
The mermaids smiled one last time, waving gently.
Before he could speak out another word,
the light swallowed him whole and the sound of my voice—
"My Voice"—
whispered through the fading void,
"Welcome back, Tom."