Night had fallen over Naesyr, but the city did not sleep. The spirits of the walls still murmured, and every dream carried the same unspoken question. On the silent streets, shadows walked in reverse, while Albert, Elion, and Kaelya prepared to leave the sanctuary.
Kaelya paused at the threshold, glancing back at the dome where the symbols still pulsed.
— Why don't they fade?
— Because they're beginning to write a new story, Albert replied. And we are the first letters.
From the north, a cold vibration approached. The air contracted. The wind no longer blew. Elion placed a hand on his chest.
— What is this? I feel… an absence.
Albert frowned slightly.
— Something is coming that has no place in the world. Something that was… rejected.
— By whom?
— By everything.
*
At the edge of the city, atop the ruins of an ancient citadel abandoned by gods, a crack had opened in the ground. From it rose a black mist, and in the center of that mist… a dried tree trunk nailed in place by inverted lightning.
A female voice, shattered into multiple tones, spoke:
— The opening has been accepted. Permission was not requested.
— Consequences? asked a faint echo.
— They will be written in flesh. Not in time.
*
In the Council Hall of the Palace of Shadows, Queen Ysmena stood.
— A path has opened to the Wasteland of the Unchosen. When such a path opens, even prophecies become uncertain.
— What do we send? asked a bronze-masked advisor.
— Nothing. We only observe. Whoever enters that place… cannot be guided. Only understood.
*
Albert stopped at a place once called "The Plateau of Forgotten Heroes." There, names were carved into stones—names that no longer had any correspondence in the world. History had erased them. But Albert read them.
— Who were they? Kaelya asked.
— Those who chose… but whose choices were erased from reality.
Elion approached one of the names: "Alera, daughter of the one who foresaw the future."
— How can a choice be erased?
Albert answered coldly.
— When a choice threatens the imposed balance, reality seals it. It exiles it to the Wasteland of the Unchosen.
Kaelya froze.
— And if that wasteland returns?
Albert closed his eyes.
— Then we will live through echoes of paths never taken. And every person will feel what they could have been… if things had been different.
*
Behind them, a strange sound echoed. It wasn't a footstep. It was a "presence" that didn't arrive… but reappeared.
They turned. And standing before them was a man without contour. His shape constantly shifted: sometimes old, sometimes a child, sometimes a woman. But the eyes… were always the same. Voids of non-being.
Albert stepped forward.
— Who are you?
The entity's voice was spoken by the ground itself.
— I am the Unspoken Vote. And I have come to reclaim the reality you've forgotten.
The entity did not seem to breathe, yet every step it took altered the ground. Where it walked, stone turned to sand. Where it looked, the air froze into luminous particles. It had a human form, but a presence impossible to contain within a shape.
— I asked who you are, Albert repeated softly.
The entity did not answer immediately. It approached a stone slab inscribed with names and touched it. The letters evaporated.
— I am what you lacked the courage to decide. I am the voice you silenced… so you could move forward.
Elion stepped forward.
— Are you a memory?
— No. Memory has place. I am the space between choices. I am that "maybe" that was never allowed to be.
Kaelya gripped the hilt of her sword.
— What do you want from us?
The entity stared into the void.
— Not from you. From the world. I want to be expressed. I want to have echo.
Albert advanced.
— And if the world doesn't want you?
— Then the world must feel what it is to exist… without choice.
*
The sky above them darkened abruptly. Not like a storm. Like a page refusing to be written on. Even magic seemed to hesitate in the air.
— Elion, Kaelya… leave.
— We're not leaving you alone, Elion said.
— I won't be alone. I'll just be the only one *clear*.
Kaelya knew that tone. Albert wasn't asking. He was stating a certainty.
Reluctantly, they stepped back. But remained as witnesses.
*
The entity stopped a few meters from Albert.
— Before you judge me… look at me.
— I am.
— No. Look at *what I could have been*… if you had chosen me.
*
At that moment, behind the entity, a figure formed—not of shadow, but of unfulfilled desire. A man. Perhaps Albert, but younger, more aggressive, with empty eyes and a formless weapon. Around him, everything unraveled: people, ideas, worlds.
— If I had been expressed, I would have become him. Or maybe… something else. But at least… *I would have been*.
Albert was silent. Then, slowly, he stepped forward. He activated nothing. He summoned nothing. He only said:
— Not everything that could become, must become.
— And who decides that?
— Choice.
*
The entity whimpered.
— Then make me a choice.
— I can't. But I can make you… *a mirror*.
— What does that mean?
— It means I'll carry you with me. To show the world what it refused to see.
*
At that moment, the entity disintegrated. Not into dust. Not into light. But into letters—thousands of living characters that clung to Albert's cloak. A new script. A new layer of silence.
*
Kaelya asked:
— Did you close a path?
Albert shook his head.
— No. I opened one… that knows it's been closed.
*
In the distance, in nameless mountains, someone watched the scene through a ring of ash.
— He's beginning to embrace what even gods couldn't. Soon… we'll have to call him what he is.
— And what is he? asked another voice.
— He is not a King. Not a God.
— Then what?
— He is Choice… *incarnate*.
The silence that followed the disappearance of the entity was not an emptiness, but a density. The air felt heavier, as if every unspoken thought now carried more weight. Elion and Kaelya had returned to Albert's side, but neither asked him anything. Not yet.
Albert held his cloak close, and the letters inscribed upon it continued to rearrange themselves into forms only he could read. From time to time, his eyes glimmered faintly—a deep, contained light.
Kaelya finally broke the silence.
— What have you taken upon yourself?
Albert didn't stop walking.
— A version that wasn't chosen, but refuses to be forgotten.
— Will you keep it?
— No. I will carry it to a place where it can transform.
Elion looked up at the still-turbulent sky.
— And if it doesn't?
Albert answered simply:
— Then it will become echo… and the echo will become warning.
*
In the underground libraries of Naesyr, where scrolls wrote themselves in the language of Time, a new document began to appear. No hand wrote it. No mind dictated it. But the letters formed, and every monk-scribe who saw it dropped to their knees.
On the first page, it read:
**"He who is not Lord, but in his shadow the wounded choices reopen."**
*
Far away, in a realm hidden beneath reality's surface—in the Veil of the Unlived—faceless beings began to feel a strange discomfort. For the first time, reality was starting to remember them.
One of them, the oldest, spoke:
— Someone has brought an unchosen path back into the world.
— That is forbidden, said another.
— No. It was forgotten… but never forbidden.
— Then what do we do?
— We prepare. Because if he brings a second one… the Veil will begin to unravel.
*
Meanwhile, on the road toward the southern quarter of the city, Albert stopped in an alley paved with old steel, glinting faintly in the night. In front of him, without warning, appeared a little girl with short hair and eyes covered by a white ribbon.
— Are you the one who carries the weight of the unchosen?
Albert showed no surprise.
— Are you the one who dreams it?
She tilted her head.
— No. I'm the one who *translates* it.
— And what do you call it?
The girl whispered:
— "The Second Path."
— Then you know of the First?
— The First was silence. The Second… is the word.
Albert knelt to her level.
— And what is the third?
— I haven't dreamed it yet.
*
Kaelya and Elion stood a little behind, watching.
— He's becoming something else, Kaelya said.
— Or maybe he's becoming what he was from the beginning, Elion replied. We're just now beginning to see it.
*
At the same time, deep in the Silent Temple, the great oracle Sennian—who hadn't spoken in two hundred years—suddenly rose from his meditative state. He opened his eyes and said:
— The first circle has broken. If the second connects… we will awaken in a world where *everything* can be chosen.
And in echo… the temple walls trembled.
*
Albert rose and extended his hand toward the girl. She touched it briefly, then vanished, leaving behind a white ribbon.
On it was written a single word:
**"Yet."**
Albert wrapped it around his wrist.
— It's enough for now
Albert, with the white ribbon tied around his wrist, crossed a rusted stone bridge that led to the abandoned district of the Light Crafters—a forgotten guild that once shaped reality using tools forged from condensed rays.
Kaelya glanced at him sideways.
— He's changing. Not just in our eyes… but in the eyes of the world.
Elion nodded.
— It's as if reality itself hesitates when he walks.
Albert seemed to have heard them, though he hadn't turned his head.
— Reality doesn't hesitate. Limitation does.
Kaelya raised an eyebrow.
— Limitation of what?
— Of everything that thinks it understands.
*
Before them rose an old spiral-shaped structure: the Aether Workshop, once the sanctuary of those who tamed light. Now abandoned, but not empty. Every wall still held the trace of invisible hands.
Albert placed his hand on the main gate. Without force, it opened—not through power, but through recognition.
— This is where we leave behind what we've gathered, he said.
— What exactly? Elion asked.
— The echo.
*
Inside, the air was dense, like an inverted waterfall of light. Every corner vibrated with fragments of memory, and the atmosphere seemed to listen.
Albert stepped to the center and sat in meditation.
— I have to give it form. Otherwise, it will seek one on its own.
Kaelya looked at Elion.
— What does that mean?
— That if he doesn't define it… the world will. And the world doesn't know how to choose without fear.
*
A wave rose around Albert. The letters from his cloak detached and spun around him, forming a translucent sphere. Inside… a new shape began to emerge.
Kaelya stood frozen.
— He's creating… a being?
— No, Elion said. He's creating… an alternative.
*
From the sphere, a silhouette was born. Small, trembling. It looked human, but without defined features. Like a memory's outline.
It spoke, with a voice vaguely resembling Albert's:
— What am I?
Albert opened his eyes.
— You are what was never spoken. Now, you have the word.
— And what must I say?
— Nothing. Just *be*.
*
The entity stabilized. A face formed. Calm. Open. With gray eyes. Not like Albert's. Not like Elion's. But like someone… who had never been compared.
Albert stood and bowed gently to it.
— Welcome to the world.
*
Kaelya stepped back.
— He just… birthed a choice?
Elion smiled slightly.
— No. He birthed the possibility *to choose*.
*
From deep within the workshop, a bell of light was heard.
Not from metal. Not from magic.
From pure acceptance.
*
At the same time, atop the highest peak of Naesyr's citadel, a scribe silently read a new manuscript that had appeared from nowhere:
**"The third path is not the third. It is the first that has not yet been."**
The scribe laid down his quill and understood: nothing would ever be written the same again.
The newly born entity showed no fear. No curiosity either. Only… presence. It slowly turned to Albert and reached for the white ribbon.
— What does this "Yet" mean? it asked.
Albert replied calmly:
— That any truth… can still be relearned.
The entity nodded.
— Then let us begin.
*
Outside the workshop, the air gradually brightened, and the sound of Naesyr rose again like the hum of a living city. The three emerged together, but they were not alone. The new entity—still unnamed—walked behind them, like an idea made flesh.
On the streets, people stopped. Not in fear. Not in awe. But because, without knowing why, they felt that something impossible was passing by.
*
In the Palace of Shadows, Queen Ysmena sighed.
— He created a new echo.
— Should we be afraid? asked the masked counselor.
— No. But the world can no longer pretend it is whole without the holes it once exiled.
*
In the north, in the Inverted Tower, an old philosopher wrote on an obsidian slab:
**"When a choice becomes flesh, the laws bow."**
*
On a distant hill, the old blind mage Tarsin, who hadn't seen in a century, felt a ripple.
— He opened a path between what was never said and what can no longer be hidden.
— Should we act? asked his apprentice.
— No. We should relearn the alphabet.
*
The unnamed entity looked around.
— I can't feel boundaries. Is this the world?
Albert looked at it, without superiority.
— No. It's only the beginning of it.
— Then I want to speak my name.
— You'll receive it… when someone names you without fear.
*
Kaelya paused.
— You know what he's done, don't you?
Elion nodded.
— He turned the concept of choice into living reality.
— And what comes next?
— Maybe… a world where choice becomes contagious.
*
From deep within Albert, a blue light briefly flickered in his eyes. It wasn't a question. Nor an answer. Just absolute presence.
In that instant, for one second, all magical beings across the plane felt a shiver.
And the gods… fell silent.
*
Because in that moment, **Choice** had begun to walk among men.
The new entity was no longer just a
presence—it had become a point of gravity in the world's fabric. Wherever it
stepped, hidden symbols appeared on stones. Wherever it looked, people forgot
for a moment who they were… and remembered who they could have been.
Albert watched from a distance. He didn't
intervene. He gave no orders. He only observed—like a witness to a seed he had
planted without knowing what kind of tree would grow.
Elion whispered to Kaelya:
— People think she's a new being. But she's
not.
— She's not?
— She's a question… given form.
*
In the scribes' district, a young mute boy
dipped his pen in ink for the first time. He didn't know letters, but his hand
wrote without hesitation:
**"Truth can no longer just be spoken. It
must walk."**
His parents wept. Not because he wrote. But
because they felt it wasn't him who had chosen to write. It was the world,
through him.
*
Albert stopped in a crowded square. The
entity followed and sat beside him. A child approached and asked:
— Who is she?
Albert smiled slightly.
— She is an option.
— So can I choose her?
— No. But you can choose what you learn
from her presence.
*
From the sky, a thread of light descended
and touched the entity's forehead. At that moment, a circle formed in the air,
and within it appeared a tall woman with golden eyes and flame-like hair. She
wore a cloak woven from moving stars.
— I've come from the Council of Times. What
you've created… affects not just this world, but all the worlds that were never
chosen.
Albert looked at her calmly.
— I did not create. I allowed.
— That is more dangerous than creation.
*
Kaelya stepped forward.
— Why are you really here?
The woman smiled coldly.
— To decide whether he must be stopped… or
allowed to continue.
Elion stepped beside her.
— And who are you to decide?
— Time. Or more precisely… the part of it
that can still be negotiated.
Albert spoke with calm:
— Then let's negotiate.
The woman hovered gently above the ground. Her flame-like hair pulsed with the rhythm of her own cosmic clock, and the stars on her cloak slowly aligned like a silent timepiece. Her face was calm—but within that calm was the threat of a decision already made.
— Time is not a line, she said. It is a choice repeated until it becomes inevitable.
Albert didn't flinch.
— A choice only becomes inevitable if it's allowed to die without echo.
— You've created an echo so strong… it distorts futures that were never granted to you.
Kaelya stepped forward, but Albert raised a hand. He needed no shields. His words were sharp enough.
— If a future can be distorted, then it was never stable. Only imposed.
*
Elion bit his lip. The air itself felt tense. Not with explosive magic, but with something more dangerous: an ontological debate. In their silence, two forces were redrawing the borders of reality.
The woman waved her hand. A massive clock of light appeared between them. Its hands spun backward, and in the center, a name appeared:
**"Albert"**
— You've become a node. Every choice touches you. Every unchosen possibility tries to rewrite you.
— And that's exactly why... I must exist.
*
Around them, the world began to slow. Birds remained suspended mid-flight. Sounds became frozen echoes. Only the four of them—Albert, Kaelya, Elion, and the Woman of the Council—still lived in the present.
— I want to see, the woman said.
— See what? Elion asked.
— I want to see whether this *man* is merely choice… or consequence as well.
*
She lifted her palm, and a circle of light opened in the air.
Inside—a world where Albert had never been summoned.
Empty. Gray. Filled with imposed choices and standardized dreams. A world where no one asked *why*. Only *when* and *how much*.
The woman turned to him.
— This is reality without you.
Albert closed his eyes for a moment.
— Then you choose too. Do you want a predictable world… or a living one?
*
For the first time, the woman from the Council of Times hesitated.
And then, the clock of light stopped.
*
In that silence, something else was born: a single second… belonging to no one.
A moment in which *everything* could be rewritten from the beginning.
And Albert stepped into it… not as a guest.
But as an **author**.
When Albert stepped into that "ownerless second," nothing around him moved. Not the wind. Not the light. Not even thought. Only his heart beat—and with it, beat an entire world yet to be born.
The woman from the Council lowered her arm. The stars on her cloak dimmed for a moment. Not out of fear. But out of respect.
— Then… you are what you claimed, she said. Not just the choice. But its author.
Albert looked into her eyes.
— If time fears a choice, then it was never a good chronicler.
She smiled, for the first time.
— You've sown doubt in the Council. Some of us won't accept it.
— They don't have to. Doubt is the beginning of vision.
*
Kaelya stepped toward the still-open circle.
— What is this moment, truly?
The woman answered:
— It is a second without destiny. An anomaly. A "what if" made stable by will.
Elion shook his head.
— But what happens to the world if it's made of connected moments?
— Then this moment… will rewrite them all.
*
In the Temple of Forgotten Dreams, the oracles shuddered. Those who slept were awakened by a shared thought:
**"An author has entered time."**
*
In the desert where no sound exists, the spirits of the world heard a different silence: one that asked.
*
Albert stepped out of the circle, but that moment clung to him—like a symbol that could no longer be removed.
The unnamed entity approached and touched his arm.
— You've become the beginning of a sentence… that does not end.
— And you are the word that had not yet been invented.
*
The woman of the Council turned to them.
— I cannot follow you. But I can guarantee that time will no longer chase you. Not now.
Albert nodded.
— Because behind every clock… is a silence that decides.
*
Then, she disappeared. Not into light. Not into shadow. But into an intersection between *was* and *could be*.
And Albert… remained with eyes burned by truth, yet more open than ever.
Because from that moment, **the world was no longer a written story**.
It was **a question that had begun to walk**.
The sun rose slowly over Naesyr, but the
sky bore a strange shade of blue—one never seen before. It was the color of a
time that had accepted a fracture but held it silently, like a promise. Across
the city's streets, people moved with a new kind of clarity.
Kaelya adjusted her armor.
— The world has changed. Not visibly… but
it's felt.
Albert nodded.
— When silence shifts, words are born
differently.
The unnamed entity sat beside them on the
edge of a fountain. In the water, her reflection did not show her face. It
showed a question.
— It's the first time I've felt silence as
a beginning.
Elion grinned.
— Silence becomes dangerous when it starts
to speak.
— Or welcomed, said Albert. Depends on what
you choose to learn from it.
*
In the depths of the Red Citadel, the Grand
Archivist Ternim opened a forbidden scroll. During the night, a single page had
been added. Not by hand. Not by magic. But by reality itself.
It read:
**"One has stepped out of the clock. Now
every moment can become a choice."**
*
In the air, the spirits were restless. Not
with fear. But because they felt invited once more to decide.
*
Albert stood. His eyes no longer burned
with any color. They were black, deep, like the start of an unshaped sentence.
— We must leave, he said.
— Where to? Kaelya asked.
— To the place where the world refuses to
ask questions. That's the next node.
The unnamed entity smiled softly.
— What if the world doesn't want answers?
— Then we'll give it a question more
beautiful than any answer.
*
And with that phrase, the four—Albert,
Kaelya, Elion, and the Entity—set off westward, where maps had ceased to write…
because reality had lost the courage to draw.
And in the sky, for the first time, a new
constellation appeared.
Its name:
**"The Author of the Lost Second."**