A story… I am nothing more than a simple character in a story… No, perhaps not even that. Remembering something that 'Now' had said earlier, I asked:
"You mentioned before that my story was more interesting than the 'Beginning of the Layer' of my 'Realities'. Does that mean I'm just another Carter? And worse… maybe I'm not even the original? Or perhaps not even a real character in the story at all?"
With a proud look, 'Now' fixed their eyes on me.
"It seems you have understood, albeit superficially, the concepts I tried to convey. No, Carter, you do not belong to the 'Beginning of the Layer'; you found yourself in a random 'Version'. In your 'Version', all events were aligned toward a favorable outcome. And yes, Carter, you must accept this: you are not the protagonist, nor someone who takes part in the main plot. You are, in truth, just another iteration of the Original 'Carter'.
The main storyline was essentially a teenage romance which, after countless conflicts and challenges, culminated in a time-skip to the protagonist marrying her soulmate. Ironically, the event that was meant to unite you with your Fernanda would never happen, because your existence was interrupted before the moment destined to consummate that ending."
As soon as they finished speaking, 'Now' snapped their fingers, and suddenly a small tablet appeared on the table. Looking closer, it was unmistakably a Kindle.
"You may take the Kindle, Carter. This is the story that became the 'Beginning of the Layer' of your 'Realities'. Its title is Love for a Lifetime. The details of who wrote it, or whether it is considered quality literature, are irrelevant. The world it describes bears a remarkable resemblance to the original 'Beginning of the Layer' that gave life to it, and, as expected, other 'Realities' derived from it follow the same pattern.
There is, however, one curious fact worth noting: when a 'Beginning of the Layer' is born from a preexisting 'Realities', certain secondary details are often reused. For example, two different worlds may share the same ruler, or a historical event, such as the 9/11 attacks, may have occurred in both. Of course, the inheritance of such elements must always obey the internal logic of the world in question; nothing can be carried over if it contradicts the fundamental laws that sustain that narrative's coherence."
I picked up the Kindle, and indeed, there was a book titled Love for a Lifetime. I skimmed through some parts and, honestly, found nothing remarkable about it. Strange to think my entire existence came about because of a story like that.
Placing the Kindle back on the table, I simply stopped and stared at the sky—or in this case, the void of space. My whole life, the lives of my parents, friends, family, classmates, Fernanda… everything: wars, deaths, technological progress—was it all just background scenery for the main plot? Only there to make things feel more "real"? I have to admit, I never thought of myself as important, but I always believed I was the "protagonist of my life". I made choices and lived with that mindset. Yet now, learning that there was an actual "protagonist" out there makes me feel like I never mattered at all.
"You have taken this revelation far better than most who dared to face the 'All'. Usually, by now, I would have already witnessed people losing their minds—begging me to undo the truth, tearing their hair out in despair, trying to kill themselves out of helplessness… or, in blind rage, attacking me as if that would change anything. I have seen eyes glazed with hatred, I have heard hysterical screams demanding that everything be erased, I have watched bodies collapse to the ground simply unable to bear the revelation. Thus, I appreciate that you have maintained your composure.
But I want you to understand something, Carter: your life does have value. The fact that you are not the protagonist, nor even a relevant piece in the central narrative—nor the Original 'Carter'—does not make you meaningless. Quite the opposite… in a way, you are more important than he is. And, above all, you possess something none of the characters in the main story will ever have: freedom. A freedom that transcends the rigidity of the plot, one that can lead you to places not even the Original 'Carter' could dream of."
"Freedom… what do you mean?"
"In relation to the Carter of the 'Beginning of the Layer', you are indeed more important in my eyes. Not only that—you are more unique. Did you know that Carter never met a 'Fernanda'? In fact, he never had anyone with whom he could lose himself in such intense love as you did. That is just one of countless examples of the small—but meaningful—variations that occur between one 'Version' and another. What I want you to understand is simple: in essence, you are your own person, with your own experiences.
As for importance, consider this: that Carter must follow, with absolute precision, a life predetermined for him. A life in which every decision, every instinct, every step is manipulated to obey an immutable script. In the 'Beginning of the Layer', there is no room for true freedom. And if you think the main characters are fortunate, you are mistaken: they are nothing more than puppets, dolls dancing on invisible strings. True, in other 'Version' outside the 'Beginning of the Layer', they may enjoy some leeway, perhaps becoming entirely different from the base characters—but they are still trapped within the skeleton of the narrative until the 'End of the Layer'.
Tell me, Carter… would you wish for your life to be predetermined, every breath and every tear written long before you lived them? To me, that is far more terrifying than being called a mere 'NPC'. Because in the end, those so-called protagonists are nothing but imprisoned entities, adorned with the illusion of relevance.
And don't be mistaken, Carter—even they, the so-called 'main characters', are still people. Though destined to play roles they did not choose, each one has their own tastes, dislikes, fears, and desires. A protagonist may hate the taste of coffee or love chilly mornings; they may dream of writing poems that will never be read, or cry silently for a grief the plot does not acknowledge. But all of this—all these intimate details—are smothered by the weight of a narrative that forces them to move like chess pieces. They feel, they suffer, they desire… and yet, they rarely have the right to choose.
That is the irony, Carter: they call them heroes and heroines, but in truth, they are prisoners. Sophisticated dolls, adorned with genuine humanity, yet whose freedom is stolen in the name of a story larger than themselves—a story that, often, may not even matter. They are revered by all, yet in essence they remain shackled, condemned to repeat what was written for them.
You, however… you are free. You may stumble, err, love, hate, rise, and fall without it being scripted anywhere. You can create something that will never be repeated in any other 'Version'. That is why I insist: your life is no less valuable than that of any protagonist. Quite the opposite. For every life matters, Carter. Every single life, without exception. Each laugh, each sorrow, each fleeting instant—even if small, even if unnoticed in the grand tapestry of the 'All'—carries absolute worth. Not even the Carter of the 'Beginning of the Layer' can rival the singularity of who you are."
"…"
Speechless. I had no words. I had never really thought of it that way. I had always considered the role of "protagonist" something enviable. In a fantasy story, it is the protagonist who saves the world; in a mystery, the detective who solves the crime; in an adventure, the pirate who travels the seas in search of treasure. Every story has its protagonist, and through them we see the world evolve and unfold.
But would I really want that? Sure, the life of a protagonist may look incredible at times, but with all the pain, losses, and battles—does it truly balance out against the "good parts"?
"I love 'Version' stories, Carter. If I wanted only to follow the life of a protagonist, I would simply read the base material and be done with it. Yet still, the 'Version' always find a way to surprise me. Curious, isn't it? Did you know that, very often, the most fascinating parts of a 'Version'—and even of a 'Beginning of the Layer'—do not occur within the central narrative, but before or after it? Small moments that escape the reader's eyes, yet reveal more humanity than the entire plot.
Sometimes I wonder, Carter… why are these moments never written in the work? Perhaps because they are not 'important' to the plot. Perhaps because they are too ordinary, too common. But to me, that is where the beauty lies. A dinner before a first date. The silence after a farewell. The smile of someone who will never again appear in the story. Fragments that, though invisible to the plot, carry a truth no 'Beginning of the Layer' could ever capture.
And I do not speak only of romances. Think of an epic journey: often, the most unforgettable moments are not the monster battles or the climactic victories, but the conversation between companions around the campfire, the silent doubt before departure, or even the feeling of returning home after it all. In a tragedy, it might be the spark of hope before collapse. In a comedy, the melancholy hiding behind a joke. These are the moments that hold me, Carter… because they show that, in the end, life is so much larger than any storyline."
"I love stories, Carter. And perhaps that is why I love drinking tea so much. Earlier, you asked me what this beverage was—now I can answer clearly. This tea is not just an ordinary infusion. Through it, I can see into the 'All', or at least into everything I am permitted to touch and comprehend. For you, it is just tea. For me, it is the key, the medium that connects my hands to the invisible fabric that sustains all 'Realities'.
It was through this same intervention that I was able to return your memories to you. You were fortunate, Carter. Most hesitate to drink—suspicious, fearful of what might happen. And when they refuse, they undergo what I call the 'Almost-Reset.' Not a full erasure, but nearly. They lose their conscious memories, though instincts, reflexes, and even muscle memory preserve faint traces of who they once were. A kind of echo of their past life… but without memories to sustain it, they become mere shadows of themselves.
Now, to answer the question you surely want to ask: why lose memories at all? That, Carter, is part of the inevitable process of soul purification. Some do not reincarnate in new realities—they simply return as newborns, or whatever counts as an infant in that existence, pure and without recollection, beginning the cycle as if it were the first time. It is a 'cleansing', erasing the slate so that the experience of life may be written anew. Cruel, I know. But necessary—or so say those who built this flow. What occurs between death and a new birth is a conveyor belt of infinite gears, mechanisms beyond your comprehension… too complex, and for now, unnecessary to detail.
All you need to understand is that, in this moment, you hold something rare: memories. A thread of continuity. Something most lose forever."
I wanted to doubt them—I swear I did. But everything 'Now' said matched what I had felt since the 'Nothing'. Before the tea, I was just a body with reflexes: I walked without tiring, recognized the idea of "tree", "glass", "path", but I couldn't remember where any of it came from. It was like holding a key without knowing which door it opened. After that first sip, the flood came: names, scents, the feel of the office keyboard, Fernanda's laughter on some idle Sunday, even the faint irritation of a wedding ring pressing into my finger. It wasn't just one memory—it was all the gears clicking back into place.
The story of the 'Almost-Reset' made sense too. While in that dark place, there was a calm that wasn't peace—it was emptiness. It didn't hurt, but there was nobody there. I moved like someone following arrows on the floor: pure instinct, no context. It's easy to imagine someone reaching this point, refusing the tea, and returning to the line with only those loose sensations: the body remembering how to tie shoelaces, the ear recognizing a melody, but the mind… blank. A restart without ballast.
And the so-called 'soul cleansing'? Strangely, it doesn't feel so cruel once you've experienced it. It's like a deep cleaning that strips even what you never knew you held. It hurts less than you'd think, but leaves a chill behind—a hollow that only fills when memories return. For me, it filled all at once.
The feeling afterward resembled a hangover—that slow pressure, the faint confusion at the edges of vision, the urge to lie down and recover. Funny: I'd never actually had a hangover, since I don't usually drink. So, this was my first "hangover", in a figurative sense—a new sensation described by analogy with something I'd only heard of, but never lived. It hurt, and then it passed; it left me disoriented for a few hours.
In the end, 'Now' did not speak like someone trying to convince me. If it's true that many refuse to drink, I can understand why. But looking at what returned when I did, I can only think that, this time, I was lucky.
"Carter, unfortunately, our time together is drawing to a close. I wish I could prolong our conversation, but there are places I must go and other beings with whom I must speak. Do you have any last questions you would like to clarify before we move on to the main part?"
"Hm… yes, two. One not so important, the other more focused. Regarding the tea: how does it work for beings that don't drink liquids?
And more importantly—you said earlier that, by having this dialogue, I would gain an advantage. From the way you said it, the knowledge of the 'All' or my memories aren't that advantage. So what is it?"
"Indeed, Carter, your questions reveal just how 'random' you can be. To the first: if a being does not normally consume liquids, then, for this moment, that instinct is temporarily 'inserted' into them, along with a proper means of drinking. Are you satisfied with that explanation?
As for the second: the answer depends entirely on your response to this question—do you wish to reincarnate? You would begin again from zero, as a newborn, but with your memories intact and a full sense of self from the very beginning. Those who refuse the tea, yet are given this chance, retain only their sense of self, not their complete memories.
You will not, however, have the privilege of choosing where you will reincarnate, nor what kind of being you will inhabit. Yet I can assure you of this: the story chosen for your reincarnation already exists within your own 'Version'. It will be a rare chance to interact with the events of your life more consciously, perhaps even influence small changes once beyond your reach. But I can only reveal more if you accept. Once you do, there is no return—even if you later regret the choice. You would then become one of the many alterations within this new 'Version' of the 'Beginning of the Layer', carrying both the memory of who you once were and the opportunity to carve new paths in a preexisting narrative. You could even, in a figurative sense, become the new protagonist in the eyes of others. That is, of course, if you so wish."
I truly don't know. Many would kill for such an opportunity, and in most stories I've read, those who reincarnated or transmigrated—or whatever name it took—had deep regrets or unfulfilled dreams. But honestly? My life was pretty good.
I did everything I wanted. Played video games, went out with friends, worked in a job I loved, earned good money, and lived comfortably. I suppose my only regret was not being able to stay with the woman I loved until the end—or at least, a less tragic end.
"If I had to answer from my heart: I don't know…"
"I understand, Carter. Such a decision is not simple, especially for someone who has already experienced so much life as you. It is a weight few can bear—the chance to begin again, to reincarnate, carrying memories and sensations but without certainty of what lies ahead. Many would falter at the thought, terrified of repeating mistakes or of failing to achieve what they hold essential.
And yet, this opportunity is not merely a risk—it is a possibility. A chance to explore the same essence of your past life, but with the freedom to alter details, to touch paths once beyond your reach.
Now, if you will allow me a suggestion, Carter: drink the tea once more. It will open something before your eyes—something that, I believe, will be of great interest to you. But take heed—I cannot tell you what you will find. The experience, by nature, is something that must be discovered by you alone."