**EPISODE ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-THREE**
**THE THING THAT WAS BORN WITH NOVA**
---
BLACK SCREEN.
The child was still standing there.
Red pencil in hand.
Bare feet on nothing.
No floor.
No ceiling.
No walls.
Only darkness.
Nova stared at him.
The child stared back.
Neither moved.
Neither spoke.
Then—
the child smiled.
"You took a long time."
Nova swallowed.
"Who are you?"
The child looked at the red pencil.
"I told you."
"You said you don't have a name."
"I don't."
"Then what are you?"
The child thought.
"A beginning."
Nova shook his head.
"We already found the beginning."
"No."
"The first sentence."
"No."
"The first author."
"No."
"The first character."
"No."
"Then what?"
The child raised the pencil.
"The first choice."
Silence.
Nova looked at the pencil.
"That's impossible."
The child laughed.
"You really like that word."
Nova stepped closer.
"What do you mean?"
The child pointed the pencil toward him.
"You were not born with a second person."
Nova froze.
"What?"
"You were born with a question."
The darkness trembled.
A sound came from somewhere far away.
THUMP.
Nova looked around.
"What question?"
The child whispered:
"What if?"
LIGHT.
Everything exploded into memory.
---
A hospital.
A laboratory.
A bedroom.
A jungle.
A railway station.
A library.
A white room.
A circular table.
Seven chairs.
Eight chairs.
One empty chair.
The first page.
The last page.
Milo's machine.
Tarzan's jungle.
The Reader's book.
The Author's pencil.
The Dreamer's closed eyes.
The Woman's face.
The Original Human's childhood.
And...
Nova.
All at once.
All together.
All becoming one image.
Then...
nothing.
Nova fell.
But there was no ground.
He kept falling through memories.
Past childhood.
Past adulthood.
Past the first story.
Past the first sentence.
Past the first character.
Past the first reader.
Past the first author.
Until he reached...
a room.
A tiny room.
One chair.
One desk.
One window.
One child.
The child was drawing.
Again.
Nova landed behind him.
The child didn't turn.
"You've been here before."
Nova looked around.
"This is the first room."
"No."
"The room before the story."
"No."
"The room before Nova."
The child stopped drawing.
Then slowly turned.
"This is the room before the question."
Nova stared.
"What question?"
The child pointed at the drawing.
A simple picture.
A boy.
A woman.
A house.
A sun.
And beneath them...
a single sentence.
WHAT HAPPENS IF SHE IS GONE?
Nova's chest tightened.
He knew.
The Original Human.
His mother.
The loss.
The grief.
The first need.
The first story.
The first attempt to make absence bearable.
The child looked at him.
"He didn't know what to do."
Nova whispered,
"Who?"
"The one who became the Original Human."
Nova looked at the drawing.
"He was just a child."
"Yes."
"He couldn't understand death."
"No."
"He couldn't accept that she would leave."
"No."
"So he wrote."
The child nodded.
"First he wrote because he was afraid."
Nova looked at the sentence.
Then...
the child erased it.
The room changed.
The sentence became:
WHAT HAPPENS IF SHE STAYS?
Nova stared.
"That's different."
"Exactly."
The child erased it again.
WHAT HAPPENS IF I REMEMBER HER?
Again.
WHAT HAPPENS IF I BECOME SOMEONE WHO CAN REMEMBER?
Again.
WHAT HAPPENS IF I CAN START AGAIN?
Nova stepped backward.
The child turned toward him.
"That was the question."
Nova whispered:
"And that question became Nova."
The child nodded.
"Not exactly."
"Then what became Nova?"
The child touched his own chest.
"Choice."
Nova stared.
The child continued.
"The Original Human could not choose what happened."
"The loss had already happened."
"Yes."
"He couldn't choose whether she lived."
"No."
"He couldn't choose whether time moved."
"No."
"He couldn't choose whether the memory hurt."
"No."
"So he created someone who could choose what came next."
The child smiled.
"Now you understand."
Nova looked at his hands.
"I thought I was created to remember."
"You were."
"To survive."
"Yes."
"To continue."
"Yes."
"Then why did I have to choose?"
The child answered:
"Because remembering is not enough."
Nova looked up.
"What is?"
"Choosing what to do with what you remember."
Silence.
The room became warmer.
Sunlight entered through the window.
For the first time...
Nova noticed something.
There was no sadness in the room.
Only a child.
Drawing.
Living.
Waiting.
He looked at the child.
"Did you know what would happen?"
"No."
"Did you know Nova would exist?"
"No."
"Did you know the story would become this?"
The child laughed.
"Nobody knows what a question becomes after you ask it."
Nova smiled.
"Then why are you here now?"
The child looked at him.
"Because you are about to answer it."
A sound interrupted them.
CLICK.
Nova turned.
The door opened.
Milo stood outside.
He was holding nothing.
No machine.
No device.
No map.
Nothing.
He looked at Nova.
"You found him."
Nova nodded.
Milo stepped inside.
"I've been looking everywhere."
Nova looked at his empty hands.
"Where is your machine?"
"Gone."
"You left it?"
"I destroyed it."
Nova stared.
"Why?"
Milo smiled.
"Because I finally understood what it was doing."
"What?"
"Helping me avoid now."
Nova laughed quietly.
"And how did you find us?"
Milo looked at the child.
"I didn't."
The child smiled.
"The story brought him."
Milo frowned.
"I hate when stories do that."
The child laughed.
Nova looked between them.
"Milo."
"Yes?"
"What would you choose if you could go back?"
Milo didn't answer immediately.
He looked toward the window.
Then...
"Not to go back."
Nova waited.
"I'd stay."
The child nodded.
"Good."
Then...
the door opened again.
Tarzan entered.
He looked around the room.
"This place is too small."
Milo smiled.
"For once, I agree."
Tarzan looked at the child.
"Who is he?"
Nova answered:
"The first choice."
Tarzan considered this.
Then asked:
"Choice between what?"
The child looked at him.
"Running or staying."
Tarzan nodded.
"Staying."
The child looked at Milo.
"Returning or remaining."
Milo nodded.
"Remaining."
Then he looked at Nova.
"Remembering or becoming."
Nova went silent.
The child held out the red pencil.
Nova didn't take it.
"What's the choice?"
The child said:
"You already made it."
Nova frowned.
"When?"
"When you stopped trying to become the Original Human."
Nova looked at the floor.
The answer hurt.
But it was true.
He had spent the entire story trying to discover who he was.
Was he the Original Human?
Was he a copy?
A memory?
A character?
A replacement?
A mistake?
A continuation?
But the answer had never been hidden.
He was Nova.
Not because someone named him.
Because he chose to remain himself.
The child smiled.
"That's what was born with you."
Nova whispered:
"Choice."
"Yes."
"Not another person."
"No."
"Not a second consciousness."
"No."
"Not a monster."
"No."
"Not another character."
"No."
"Then why did I feel someone inside me?"
The child looked at him.
"Because choice feels like another voice when you're afraid to make it yourself."
Silence.
Milo looked at Nova.
Tarzan looked at Nova.
Neither spoke.
Then...
something moved outside the window.
Nova turned.
The Woman stood there.
She was older now.
Not physically.
Something about her was different.
She looked peaceful.
Nova opened the window.
"You came back."
She smiled.
"No."
"Then why are you here?"
"Because memories can visit."
Nova looked at her.
"Are you still my first memory?"
"Yes."
"Do I have to keep you?"
She shook her head.
"No."
"Do I have to remember everything?"
"No."
"Then what do I keep?"
She touched his chest.
"Whatever helps you live."
Nova's eyes filled.
"What if I forget you?"
"You will."
Nova looked shocked.
She smiled.
"And that's okay."
"But..."
"You thought remembering was the opposite of losing someone."
Nova said nothing.
"It isn't."
"What is?"
"Living after them."
The Woman stepped back.
"That is what memory is for."
The room began fading.
Nova reached toward her.
"Wait."
She stopped.
"Will I see you again?"
"Perhaps."
"Where?"
"In ordinary places."
She smiled.
"A smell."
"A song."
"A sentence."
"A photograph."
"A moment when you suddenly remember being loved."
Nova couldn't speak.
She disappeared.
Not into darkness.
Into sunlight.
The child watched.
"That was her last role."
Nova looked at him.
"What role?"
"To teach you that memory doesn't need to remain visible to remain real."
The room became silent.
Then...
a new sound.
TICK.
Nova looked at the wall.
A clock had appeared.
07:15.
Milo looked at it.
"That's the station clock."
Tarzan looked toward the door.
"The station is coming."
Nova frowned.
"What does that mean?"
The child answered:
"The story is bringing everyone together."
---
CUT TO:
THE RAILWAY STATION.
The platform was empty.
Then...
Milo appeared.
Then Tarzan.
Then Nova.
Then the Original Human.
Then the Author.
Then the Reader.
The Dreamer.
And finally...
the child.
Eight people.
One child.
One table appeared in the middle of the platform.
The same circular table.
Eight chairs.
No ninth chair.
Nova looked around.
"Where is the Woman?"
The Original Human answered:
"She has gone where memories go."
The Dreamer nodded.
"She doesn't need a chair anymore."
Nova sat.
Everyone followed.
The Reader looked at the child.
"I remember you."
The child looked at him.
"You should."
"You were there before me."
"Yes."
"Then why didn't I see you?"
The child smiled.
"Because you were looking for stories."
The Reader lowered his eyes.
"I was."
The Author looked at the child.
"And I?"
"You were looking for words."
The Author nodded.
"The Dreamer?"
"You were looking for somewhere to hide."
The Dreamer smiled.
"Milo?"
"You were looking for yesterday."
Milo nodded.
"Tarzan?"
"You were looking for a way to remain yourself."
Tarzan looked thoughtful.
"And Nova?"
The child turned toward him.
"He was looking for permission."
Nova frowned.
"Permission for what?"
"To exist without explanation."
Silence.
The words struck deeper than anything else.
Nova looked at the Original Human.
"Did you create me?"
The Original Human took a long breath.
"I created the possibility."
"Not me?"
"Not the person you became."
Nova waited.
"What did I create?"
The Original Human looked at the child.
"A door."
Nova frowned.
"To what?"
"Choice."
The Author spoke softly.
"And the story walked through it."
The Reader added:
"Then the story created Nova."
Milo shook his head.
"No."
Everyone looked at him.
Milo continued.
"The story didn't create him."
He looked at Nova.
"Nova created himself every time he chose not to become what the story expected."
Tarzan nodded.
"That is survival."
Nova looked at Tarzan.
"No."
Tarzan smiled.
"Then what is it?"
Nova answered:
"Freedom."
The word echoed.
FREEDOM.
The station lights flickered.
The tracks disappeared.
The walls disappeared.
The table disappeared.
Everyone stood in white space.
At the center...
a single door.
Transparent.
The fifth door.
The door of choice.
Nova approached.
The child stood beside him.
"Open it."
Nova reached for the handle.
But stopped.
"What happens if I do?"
The child smiled.
"Something you haven't written yet."
Nova looked at Milo.
Milo nodded.
Tarzan nodded.
The Original Human nodded.
The Author didn't.
The Reader didn't.
The Dreamer didn't.
Nova looked at them.
"Why aren't you answering?"
The Author said:
"Because this one belongs to you."
Nova opened the door.
Beyond it...
was nothing.
No jungle.
No station.
No library.
No childhood.
No memories.
No characters.
No author.
No reader.
No dream.
No story.
Just...
an ordinary morning.
A road.
Trees.
People walking.
A shop opening.
A bicycle passing.
A child laughing.
A dog sleeping beneath a vehicle.
A woman buying vegetables.
A man carrying a newspaper.
Life.
Ordinary life.
Nova stared.
"That's it?"
The child nodded.
"That's the world after the story."
Milo stepped beside him.
"No machines."
Tarzan looked around.
"No jungle."
The Original Human smiled.
"No explanation."
The Author looked at the ordinary street.
"No manuscript."
The Reader looked at the people.
"No audience."
The Dreamer looked at the sunlight.
"No dream."
Nova looked at himself.
"No role."
The child smiled.
"Now choose."
Nova stepped through.
The others followed.
For the first time...
there was no narration.
No voice telling them where to stand.
No page describing their movements.
No sentence predicting what they would say.
They simply walked.
Milo stopped beside a small clock shop.
He looked through the window.
A dozen clocks were ticking.
Different times.
Different hands.
Different faces.
He smiled.
Tarzan walked toward a tree.
He touched the bark.
No word appeared.
No carving.
No role.
He smiled too.
The Original Human stood beneath the morning sun.
He closed his eyes.
He breathed.
The Author looked at his empty hands.
Then laughed.
The Reader walked to a public bench.
He sat.
And did nothing.
The Dreamer looked upward.
The sky remained sky.
No hidden door.
No voice.
No impossible color.
Just blue.
Nova walked alone.
He reached the end of the road.
Stopped.
Looked back.
Everyone was still there.
Nobody had disappeared.
Nobody had been erased.
They were simply...
living.
Nova smiled.
Then he heard something.
SCRATCH.
He turned.
The child was standing behind him.
Still holding the red pencil.
Nova stared.
"I thought the story was over."
"It isn't."
Nova frowned.
"You said this was the world after the story."
"It is."
"Then why are you here?"
The child held out the pencil.
"Because one thing remains."
"What?"
"The last question."
Nova looked at the pencil.
"What is it?"
The child whispered:
"Can you live without asking what happens next?"
Nova stared at him.
The question seemed simple.
But it wasn't.
His entire existence had been built around it.
What happens next?
Who am I?
Where did I come from?
Who wrote me?
Who remembers me?
Who is watching?
Who is listening?
What is behind the door?
What is beyond the page?
What happens after the ending?
Nova had spent his entire existence moving forward because he needed answers.
But now...
there was no answer.
Only the road.
Nova looked at the child.
Then at the road.
Then at the people.
He slowly shook his head.
"I don't know."
The child smiled.
"Good."
Nova looked confused.
"Why is that good?"
"Because now you're living."
The red pencil vanished.
The child vanished.
The question vanished.
Nova stood alone.
No...
not alone.
Milo was laughing somewhere behind him.
Tarzan was speaking to a stranger.
The Original Human was buying tea.
The Author was sitting beneath a tree.
The Reader was watching people without turning them into stories.
The Dreamer was looking at the sky.
And Nova...
Nova was walking.
No destination.
No prophecy.
No author.
No reader.
No ending.
Just...
forward.
---
Then...
the world stopped.
Not because something broke.
Because someone had pressed pause.
Nova looked up.
BLACK SCREEN.
A voice spoke.
Not the child.
Not the Original Human.
Not the Author.
Not the Reader.
Not the Dreamer.
Not Milo.
Not Tarzan.
Nova.
His own voice.
"Wait."
LIGHT.
Nova stood in front of the final page.
Only three numbers remained.
123
124
125
He looked at 123.
Then...
the number disappeared.
He looked at 124.
It remained.
He looked at 125.
It remained.
Nova whispered:
"Three pages."
A voice answered:
"Two."
Nova turned.
Milo stood behind him.
"You mean two episodes?"
Milo smiled.
"No."
He pointed toward Nova.
"Two choices."
Nova looked at him.
"What choices?"
Milo answered:
"Whether to keep the story."
A pause.
"Or keep yourself."
Nova looked at the final page.
The words began appearing.
WHAT IS THE THING BORN WITH NOVA?
Nova picked up the red pencil.
He wrote:
CHOICE.
The page trembled.
The word changed.
FREEDOM.
Nova stared.
Then it changed again.
LIFE.
Nova's hand tightened around the pencil.
"No."
The word stopped changing.
Nova wrote:
THE ABILITY TO CHOOSE WHAT COMES NEXT.
The page became still.
For the first time...
it did not rewrite his answer.
It accepted it.
Then...
another sentence appeared.
THEN CHOOSE.
Nova looked at the remaining pages.
124.
125.
Two pages.
Two final episodes.
He closed his eyes.
And made his choice.
Not an ending.
Not yet.
A promise.
"I will not let the ending decide who I am."
The page went dark.
Milo smiled.
Tarzan's voice came from somewhere beyond the darkness.
"Good."
The Original Human whispered:
"Live."
The Reader whispered:
"Listen."
The Author whispered:
"Stop writing."
The Dreamer whispered:
"Wake."
And Nova...
Nova whispered:
"Continue."
---
RECOVERED TRANSMISSION // FILE: N-123
"STATUS: SECOND PRESENCE IDENTIFIED"
"SECOND PRESENCE: NOT A PERSON"
"SECOND PRESENCE: NOT A CHARACTER"
"SECOND PRESENCE: NOT A MEMORY"
"SECOND PRESENCE: NOT ANOTHER NOVA"
"SECOND PRESENCE: CHOICE"
"CHOICE: DEVELOPED INTO FREEDOM"
"FREEDOM: DEVELOPED INTO LIFE"
"FIRST AUTHOR: NEED"
"FIRST READER: WITNESS"
"FIRST CHARACTER: POSSIBILITY"
"MILO FINCH: TIME RELEASED"
"TARZAN: SURVIVAL RELEASED"
"WOMAN: MEMORY RELEASED"
"DREAMER: DREAM RELEASED"
"AUTHOR: WRITING RELEASED"
"READER: READING RELEASED"
"ORIGINAL HUMAN: PAST RELEASED"
"NOVA: ROLE RELEASED"
"NOVA: SELF RETAINED"
"FINAL QUESTIONS: 2"
"FINAL EPISODES: 2"
"ENDING: NO LONGER CONTROLLED BY STORY"
---
The transmission flickered.
One final line appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
THE STORY CAN NO LONGER FORCE NOVA TO CONTINUE.
Silence.
Another line.
BUT NOVA CAN CHOOSE TO CONTINUE.
BLACK SCREEN.
A heartbeat.
THUMP.
Another.
THUMP.
Then...
Nova's voice.
"I choose."
Silence.
The voice asked:
"Choose what?"
Nova answered:
"Tomorrow."
LIGHT.
The final page turned.
124
And somewhere beyond the page...
a door opened.
**TO BE CONTINUED…**
Written By,
Ivan Edwin
Pen Name :MAXIMUS.
©All Rights Reserved