**EPISODE ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-ONE**
**THE AUTHOR WHO WAS NEVER THERE**
---
The page was blank.
Not white.
Blank.
There was a difference.
White meant something had been placed there and erased.
Blank meant nothing had ever been written.
Nova stood before it.
Milo stood beside him.
Tarzan stood behind them.
The others remained around the circular table.
The Original Human.
The Woman.
The Reader.
The Author.
The Dreamer.
Seven people.
One empty page.
Five episodes remaining.
Nova looked at the number written in the corner.
121
Then...
the number changed.
120
Then...
119
Then...
nothing.
The page had forgotten how to count.
Milo stepped closer.
"That's not possible."
Tarzan looked at the page.
"It is."
Milo frowned.
"You understand numbers now?"
Tarzan shook his head.
"No."
He pointed at the page.
"I understand fear."
Silence.
Nova looked at him.
Tarzan continued.
"The page is afraid of what comes next."
A sound came from somewhere behind them.
SCRATCH.
Everyone turned.
The Author was holding a pencil.
Nova stared.
"You said you stopped writing."
"I did."
"Then why are you holding it?"
The Author looked down at his hand.
The pencil was gone.
His fingers were empty.
He looked confused.
"I wasn't."
SCRATCH.
Again.
This time from the blank page.
A single line appeared.
Not written by a hand.
Not written by a pencil.
Written by pressure.
As though something underneath the page was pushing upward.
A sentence appeared.
WHO WAS THE FIRST AUTHOR?
Milo whispered,
"We already know."
Nova shook his head.
"No."
"The Original Human."
"No."
"The Author."
"No."
"The Dreamer?"
"No."
"The Reader?"
Nova stared at the sentence.
"No."
Tarzan stepped forward.
"Then who?"
Nova didn't answer.
Because something had begun moving underneath the floor.
THUMP.
Everyone froze.
THUMP.
Again.
THUMP.
The circular room trembled.
The table moved.
The seven chairs moved.
The blank page remained perfectly still.
Milo pulled his machine from his coat.
Its screen flickered.
"TEMPORAL ANOMALY"
Then...
"LOCATION: UNKNOWN"
Then...
"TIME: BEFORE STORY"
Milo stared.
"That's impossible."
Tarzan smiled faintly.
"You say that often."
Milo ignored him.
The machine began counting backward.
10.
11.
12.
13.
14.
Nova looked at the Original Human.
The Original Human wasn't looking at the machine.
He was looking at the door.
The same door Nova had entered through.
The door marked...
nothing.
The Original Human whispered,
"He's coming."
Nova turned.
"Who?"
The Original Human didn't answer.
The Woman stood.
Her face had changed.
For the first time...
she looked afraid.
Nova remembered her.
First memory.
First attempt.
The woman who had appeared before every explanation.
The woman who had remembered him before he remembered himself.
"What do you know?" Nova asked.
She looked at him.
"I remember the beginning."
"Then tell me."
"I can't."
"Why?"
She touched her temple.
"Because the beginning remembers me differently."
The lights went out.
BLACK SCREEN.
No sound.
No movement.
Then...
a voice.
Not male.
Not female.
Not old.
Not young.
A voice without age.
"Every story lies about who began it."
LIGHT.
The room returned.
But it was different.
The circular table was gone.
The chairs were gone.
The seven people were gone.
Nova stood alone.
Milo was gone.
Tarzan was gone.
The Original Human was gone.
Even the blank page was gone.
Nova looked around.
He was standing inside a library.
An enormous library.
Shelves rose beyond the ceiling.
Books covered every wall.
Some were ancient.
Some were new.
Some were still being written.
Some were breathing.
Nova approached the nearest shelf.
A book moved away from him.
He reached for another.
It moved too.
He stopped.
The books stopped.
Nova whispered,
"You don't want me to read you."
A book opened by itself.
One page turned.
Then another.
Then another.
Nova saw a sentence.
HE CAME LOOKING FOR HIS AUTHOR.
The next page.
HE FOUND HIM.
The next.
HE WAS DISAPPOINTED.
Nova frowned.
"Why?"
The page answered.
BECAUSE THE AUTHOR WAS HIM.
Nova stepped backward.
"No."
The book closed.
Another book opened.
HE HAD ALWAYS KNOWN.
"No."
Another.
HE JUST DIDN'T REMEMBER.
"No."
Another.
THAT WAS THE PURPOSE OF THE STORY.
Nova grabbed the book.
The pages became blank.
He dropped it.
The floor beneath him changed.
Wood became stone.
Stone became earth.
Earth became jungle.
Nova blinked.
Leaves surrounded him.
Rain fell.
Somewhere far away...
a bird screamed.
Then...
a familiar voice.
"You're late."
Nova turned.
Milo stood beside a tree.
He was holding the machine.
Tarzan sat on a branch above him.
Nova exhaled.
"Where are we?"
Milo looked at the jungle.
"Apparently, nowhere."
Tarzan jumped down.
"Everywhere."
Milo sighed.
"That too."
Nova looked at the machine.
"What happened?"
Milo turned the screen toward him.
"FIRST AUTHOR: NOT FOUND"
"FIRST AUTHOR: SEARCHING"
"FIRST AUTHOR: SEARCHING"
"FIRST AUTHOR: SEARCHING"
Nova stared.
"It can't find the author."
Milo shook his head.
"No."
"What does that mean?"
Milo looked at him.
"It means we're asking the wrong question."
Tarzan walked toward them.
"What question?"
Milo switched off the machine.
"Not who wrote the story."
He looked at Nova.
"Who needed the story to exist?"
Silence.
Nova knew.
But he didn't want to say it.
The jungle suddenly became quiet.
Too quiet.
Tarzan looked upward.
"The trees remember."
Nova looked at him.
"What?"
"The first story."
Milo's face tightened.
"Where?"
Tarzan pointed.
At the center of the jungle stood a small wooden house.
Nova had never seen it.
Yet...
he remembered it.
Not from the story.
From childhood.
A window.
A wooden chair.
A small table.
A pencil.
And someone sitting beside the window.
His mother.
Nova stopped breathing.
"No."
Milo placed a hand on his shoulder.
"You don't have to go in."
Nova stared at the house.
"I do."
Tarzan nodded.
"Then we go together."
The three walked toward it.
The rain stopped.
The clouds disappeared.
The jungle became silent.
The house remained.
Nova reached the door.
His hand trembled.
He touched the handle.
CLICK.
The door opened.
Inside...
there was no mother.
No child.
No memory.
Only a desk.
On the desk...
a sheet of paper.
Nova approached it.
There was one sentence.
I AM HERE.
Nova touched the words.
The room changed.
A child appeared.
A very young boy.
Sitting at the desk.
Holding a pencil.
Nova watched him.
He knew the boy.
The Original Human.
The boy looked toward the empty chair beside him.
"Will you always be here?"
No answer.
He waited.
Then he whispered,
"Please."
The chair remained empty.
Nova closed his eyes.
He already knew what happened next.
But the memory refused to continue.
The child picked up the pencil.
He wrote:
I AM HERE.
The page trembled.
The child looked at it.
Then he smiled.
And said—
"That's enough."
Nova opened his eyes.
The child was gone.
Milo stood beside him.
Tarzan stood near the window.
Nova looked at the empty chair.
"That's where it began."
Milo shook his head.
"No."
Nova looked at him.
Milo pointed toward the page.
"That's where you began."
He pointed toward the empty chair.
"That's where the need began."
Then he pointed toward Nova.
"And that's where the story began."
Nova stared.
Three beginnings.
Not one.
A beginning of memory.
A beginning of need.
A beginning of story.
Tarzan spoke quietly.
"And none of them is the author."
Nova turned.
"Then who is?"
A sound came from behind the house.
SCRATCH.
The three turned.
Someone was writing on the wall.
One letter.
Then another.
Then another.
N
O
V
A
Nova stepped closer.
"Who's there?"
No answer.
He followed the writing.
The letters continued across the wall.
NOVA
NOVA
NOVA
Until the final word appeared.
NOT YOU.
Nova froze.
Milo moved beside him.
Tarzan's hand went toward the knife at his belt.
The wall cracked.
A door appeared.
Nova stared at it.
"That wasn't here."
Milo shook his head.
"It wasn't."
Tarzan looked at Nova.
"Open it."
Nova reached forward.
The door opened.
Beyond it...
was another room.
A child sat at a desk.
But this child was different.
Older.
Maybe ten.
Maybe twelve.
He was drawing pictures.
Nova entered.
The child didn't look up.
"What are you drawing?"
"A man."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
Nova looked at the drawing.
It showed a person standing beside a door.
The face was unfinished.
Nova felt a strange sensation.
"Why is his face blank?"
The child answered,
"Because I haven't decided who he is."
Nova's heart stopped.
"Who are you?"
The child finally looked up.
He looked exactly like the Original Human.
But younger.
Much younger.
Nova whispered,
"You're him."
The child smiled.
"No."
"Then who are you?"
"I am the person before him."
Nova frowned.
"The person before the Original Human?"
The child nodded.
Milo stepped forward.
"That makes no sense."
The child looked at Milo.
"You're the one who keeps going back."
Milo went silent.
"You know me?"
"I know what you wanted."
"What?"
"Another chance."
Milo's expression changed.
The child looked at Tarzan.
"And you."
Tarzan narrowed his eyes.
"What about me?"
"You wanted to survive."
Tarzan said nothing.
The child looked at Nova.
"And you wanted to know why."
Nova felt cold.
"Why what?"
The child smiled.
"Why you were made."
Nova stepped closer.
"Tell me."
The child pointed toward the unfinished drawing.
"You're looking for an author."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because every story has one."
The child shook his head.
"No."
He placed the pencil on the desk.
"Every story has a reason."
Nova stared.
"The author is only what the reason becomes when it wants a name."
Silence.
Milo whispered,
"That's the answer."
Nova looked at him.
Milo continued.
"The first author wasn't a person."
The child smiled.
"The first author was a need."
Nova stared at the child.
"A need?"
The child nodded.
"Someone needed to remember."
The room changed.
"Someone needed to survive."
The jungle appeared around them.
"Someone needed time to stop."
Milo's machine appeared.
"Someone needed a character."
Tarzan appeared beneath the trees.
"Someone needed a witness."
The Reader appeared.
"Someone needed to dream."
The Dreamer appeared.
"Someone needed to write."
The Author appeared.
"And someone needed to continue."
Nova appeared.
The child pointed at him.
"You."
Nova's voice broke.
"But I didn't create them."
"No."
"Then what did I do?"
The child answered:
"You continued them."
The words echoed.
CONTINUED.
CONTINUED.
CONTINUED.
The entire jungle became filled with the word.
Nova looked at Tarzan.
Tarzan was smiling.
Milo looked at Nova.
For once...
Milo wasn't trying to calculate anything.
He simply nodded.
"We've been asking who started the story."
Nova whispered,
"And the answer is..."
"The one who needed it."
Milo finished.
Nova looked back at the child.
"Then why did you show yourself?"
The child picked up the pencil.
"Because you are almost finished."
Nova's stomach tightened.
"Finished?"
The child nodded.
"There are five pages."
Nova remembered the blank page.
Five episodes.
Five pages.
"Why five?"
The child looked at him.
"Because some endings require five goodbyes."
Nova looked at Tarzan.
Tarzan understood immediately.
"One for survival."
He looked at Milo.
"One for time."
Milo nodded.
"One for memory."
Nova looked toward the window.
"One for the person who created the need."
Then...
he looked at himself.
"And one for me."
The child smiled.
"Exactly."
The room began to dissolve.
Nova grabbed the edge of the desk.
"Wait."
The child stopped.
"One more question."
"What?"
"What's your name?"
The child looked surprised.
Then he laughed.
"I don't have one."
"Why?"
"Because names come after stories."
Nova stared.
"Then what should I call you?"
The child thought for a moment.
Then pointed toward the blank space on the drawing.
"Call me what comes before the name."
Nova whispered,
"Beginning?"
The child shook his head.
"Need."
BLACK SCREEN.
A heartbeat.
THUMP.
Another.
THUMP.
Then...
Nova opened his eyes.
He was back at the circular table.
Everyone was there.
Milo.
Tarzan.
The Woman.
The Reader.
The Author.
The Dreamer.
The Original Human.
And Nova.
Eight people.
Nova counted again.
Eight.
He frowned.
"Why are there eight?"
Nobody answered.
The Original Human looked at the empty chair.
Nova followed his gaze.
There had been seven chairs before.
Now...
there was an eighth.
And someone was sitting in it.
A person whose face Nova couldn't see.
Not because it was hidden.
Because it hadn't been written.
The figure spoke.
"You finally found the author."
Nova stared.
"Are you the author?"
The figure shook its head.
"No."
"Then who are you?"
A pause.
"I am the reason you needed one."
Nova stepped forward.
The figure leaned toward him.
"And now that you know the reason..."
The lights flickered.
"...you don't need the author anymore."
The eighth figure disappeared.
The chair remained.
Nova walked toward it.
On the seat...
was a pencil.
A normal pencil.
Nothing magical.
Nothing ancient.
Nothing impossible.
Just a pencil.
Nova picked it up.
For a moment...
nothing happened.
Then the blank page appeared on the table.
Five empty lines.
One beneath another.
121
122
123
124
125
Nova stared at them.
Milo stepped closer.
"Don't write the ending yet."
Nova looked at him.
"Why?"
"Because we haven't said goodbye."
Tarzan nodded.
"Not yet."
The Woman looked at Nova.
The Reader lowered his eyes.
The Dreamer smiled sadly.
The Author placed his hands on the table.
The Original Human looked at Nova.
For the first time...
he wasn't afraid.
Nova understood.
The next four episodes would not be about discovering the truth.
They would be about releasing it.
One piece at a time.
Nova placed the pencil on the first line.
He didn't write.
Not yet.
Instead...
he wrote one sentence beneath the five numbers.
WE ARE STILL HERE.
The page accepted it.
No explosion.
No universe collapsing.
No door opening.
Just...
a quiet response.
SCRATCH.
One more sentence appeared beneath his.
THEN CONTINUE.
Nova looked at Milo.
Milo smiled.
Tarzan stepped toward the doorway.
The Woman followed.
The Reader stood.
The Dreamer opened his eyes.
The Author put down his pencil.
The Original Human took a breath.
And Nova...
for the first time...
did not ask what would happen next.
He simply walked forward.
Behind him...
the page began turning by itself.
PAGE 121.
PAGE 122.
PAGE 123.
PAGE 124.
PAGE 125.
Then...
it stopped.
The final page remained blank.
Nova looked back.
And somewhere beyond the story...
someone whispered:
"The ending is not something you find."
A pause.
"It is something you allow."
BLACK SCREEN.
---
RECOVERED TRANSMISSION // FILE: N-121
"STATUS: FIRST AUTHOR IDENTIFIED"
"AUTHOR: NOT A PERSON"
"AUTHOR: A NEED"
"FIRST NEED: TO REMEMBER"
"SECOND NEED: TO SURVIVE"
"THIRD NEED: TO STOP TIME"
"FOURTH NEED: TO BE WITNESSED"
"FIFTH NEED: TO DREAM"
"SIXTH NEED: TO WRITE"
"SEVENTH NEED: TO CONTINUE"
"ORIGINAL HUMAN: NO LONGER HIDING"
"MILO FINCH: NO LONGER RETURNING"
"TARZAN: NO LONGER RUNNING"
"READER: NO LONGER WATCHING"
"AUTHOR: NO LONGER WRITING"
"DREAMER: AWAKE"
"NOVA: CONTINUING"
"FINAL PAGES: 5"
"FINAL ENDING: PENDING"
---
One final line appeared.
Not from Nova.
Not from the Author.
Not from the Reader.
Not from the Original Human.
From the story itself.
THE AUTHOR WAS NEVER THERE.
A second line appeared.
THE NEED WAS.
Then...
a third.
AND THE NEED HAS FINALLY BEEN HEARD.
BLACK SCREEN.
Silence.
Then Nova's voice:
"I am here."
And another voice answered:
"We know."
**TO BE CONTINUED…**
Written By,
Ivan Edwin
Pen Name :MAXIMUS.
©All Rights Reserved