Chapter 175: The Next Layer

Aria stared at the boy standing in the hallway. For several seconds, neither she nor Eden moved. The child looked exactly as he had before—six years old, messy hair, a small frame, and bare feet against the cold hospital floor. His expression was almost innocent, but Eden had learned long ago that appearances meant very little. Aria slowly stepped in front of him and demanded to know who he was. The boy smiled and replied that she already knew. When she insisted she had asked a question, he casually answered that he had already given one. Her jaw tightened at the response.

Eden rested a hand on her shoulder and quietly told her to stay behind him. She hesitated before nodding. The boy’s smile faded slightly as he watched the exchange and remarked that it was funny. When Eden asked what he meant, the boy said he still did the same thing he always had—protect people. He stepped farther into the room while the dead lights remained dark, leaving only pale moonlight from the window to illuminate his face. Eden studied him carefully and finally asked why he looked like a child. The boy shrugged and replied that it was the shape Eden remembered. When Eden pointed out that it wasn’t really an answer, the boy insisted that it was.

He wandered toward the television, whose screen remained black. Touching it lightly, he explained that Eden remembered Aria at six years old, so he had become six years old as well. Eden narrowed his eyes and reminded him that he wasn’t Aria. The boy agreed and repeated that he was the First Reader. When Eden demanded to know what that actually meant, the child turned toward him and described himself as a memory that had learned how to read. Aria stepped forward and asked why he kept following her father. The boy’s answer was immediate: because Eden kept trying to leave. When she asked what he was trying to leave, the boy smiled and simply said, "The story."

A chill ran through Eden. He reminded the child that he had already woken up, but the boy responded with a question of his own. Had he really? Eden glanced toward the machines surrounding the bed. The heart monitor was still dark, the IV had stopped, and the room should have been filled with alarms, doctors, and nurses rushing in every direction. Instead, there was silence. Looking out into the hallway, he found it empty—not quiet, but empty in a way that felt unnatural, as though nobody had ever walked there at all.

Eden asked where everyone was. The doctors, the nurses, the patients—none of them seemed to exist. The boy looked around almost casually and asked who he was talking about. Aria insisted that was impossible and reminded him that her father had supposedly spent twenty years in this hospital. The child simply asked if he really had. She turned toward Eden for reassurance, but he remained silent. Something was wrong. The hospital looked real, smelled real, and even felt real, but there was no life in it. No footsteps echoed through the halls. No conversations drifted from distant rooms. There were no elevator sounds, no traffic, and no background noise of any kind.

Slowly, Eden removed the tube beneath his nose. Aria immediately reached for him and asked what he was doing. He replied that he needed to see something. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he stood. His muscles were weak, but they worked. That alone should have been impossible. After twenty years in a coma, standing should have been a struggle. Instead, after a few unsteady moments, he was upright. Aria stared in disbelief as he looked down at his hands. They weren’t twenty years older. They looked exactly as he remembered. The same age. The same body. Looking down at his clothing, he realized he was wearing what he had worn before the accident.

Twenty years had either vanished—or never happened at all.

Quietly, Eden admitted that he wasn’t in a hospital. The boy smiled and told him he was finally beginning to understand. Aria looked frightened and asked where they actually were. Rather than answering directly, the child pointed toward the hallway and told them to come see for themselves.

They followed him. The hospital stretched much farther than it should have. Hallway followed hallway, each lined with identical doors. Eden eventually noticed something disturbing. The room numbers repeated. Room 101. Room 102. Room 103. Then the sequence appeared again. And again. He stopped walking and pointed out that they had already passed this corridor. The boy acknowledged that they had and continued forward. When Eden demanded to know where he was taking them, the child finally stopped and pointed toward a door unlike the others.

There was no room number, no sign, and no identifying marker beyond a small metal plate.

0.

Eden stared at it while Aria moved closer and asked what it was. The boy looked directly at Eden and explained that it was the room where the story started. Eden reached for the handle, but the child suddenly caught his wrist and told him to wait. When Eden asked why, the boy warned him that once he opened the door, he would no longer be able to pretend. A tired smile crossed Eden’s face as he admitted he had run out of things to pretend about a long time ago.

He opened the door.

The room beyond was small and completely white. A single hospital bed stood in the center, and someone was lying on it.

Eden froze.

It was him.

Twenty-seven years old. Unconscious. Broken. Connected to machines. Exactly as he had been before the story began.

Aria covered her mouth in shock while Eden stared at his own body. Believing he had finally found reality, he quietly said that this must be real. The boy immediately shook his head. When Eden asked what it was, the answer came without hesitation. It was the memory of the moment he died. Eden stared at the body and pointed out that he hadn’t actually died. The child nodded and said that was precisely what made it interesting.

Eden approached the bed. His younger self looked peaceful—far too peaceful. He reached down and touched the sleeping man’s hand. It was cold. Pulling away, he asked why the body was there. The boy remained silent, but Aria stepped closer and said she remembered that day. Eden turned toward her, surprised. Her voice became quiet as she explained that her mother had been driving them home from the hospital where he had been staying. Eden frowned and admitted he didn’t remember any of that.

Aria looked at him sadly and reminded him that he had called Luna shortly before the accident. His heart immediately began pounding. When he asked what he had said, she explained that he had a bad feeling and told Luna to take Aria home. Eden stared at the unconscious version of himself on the bed and asked what happened next. Aria swallowed hard before telling him that Luna came to get him. When Eden assumed the accident happened afterward, she shook her head and corrected him. The accident happened before Luna ever reached him.

Confused, Eden asked why Luna died if she never made it there. Aria looked down before answering. Luna had gone back. When Eden asked where, she finally told him the truth. Luna had gone back into the building to get him. The room fell silent. Aria wiped her eyes as she explained that Luna died trying to save him while she remained outside waiting for both of them to come back. Neither ever did.

Something clicked inside Eden.

The story had never begun with death.

It had begun with guilt.

The crushing belief that everyone he loved had suffered because of him.

Turning toward the boy, Eden accused him of knowing this all along. The child calmly admitted that he had. When Eden demanded to know why he had never told him, the answer was the same one he had heard countless times before: he wasn’t ready. This time, however, Eden told him that he was ready now. The boy nodded and said he knew.

Looking at the unconscious body again, Eden asked what had happened to his real body. The child pointed directly at the bed and said it was right there. Eden frowned and asked what body he was currently using. The boy smiled and replied that was the real question. Before Eden could respond, Aria pointed toward the machines and said there were two heartbeats.

Everything stopped.

Even though the monitors weren’t functioning, one suddenly flickered to life. Two separate lines appeared on the screen. Two distinct heartbeats. One belonged to the body on the bed.

The other belonged to Eden.

He stared in disbelief while the boy’s smile vanished. The child suddenly announced that they needed to leave immediately. Before Eden could ask why, the hospital walls began to crack. Not physically, but conceptually. Reality itself was splitting apart. Behind the walls was darkness. Behind the darkness were pages. Behind the pages were countless eyes.

Watching.

Eden grabbed Aria’s hand and demanded to know what was happening. The boy looked toward the ceiling and answered that someone had noticed Eden waking up. When Eden asked who, the child’s face went pale. It was the Reader.

Not him.

Someone else.

Before Eden could ask another question, the lights suddenly returned. Every machine screamed to life at once. Doctors appeared in the hallway. Nurses rushed past. Patients shouted. In an instant, the hospital became normal again.

Aria looked around in confusion.

Eden turned toward the bed.

The younger version of himself was gone.

The room was empty.

A doctor rushed inside and grabbed his shoulders, asking if he could hear him. Eden answered yes. The doctor immediately asked whether he knew where he was. Again, Eden answered yes. Relief flooded the man’s face as he explained that Eden had been unconscious for twenty years.

Eden stared at him.

Then at Aria.

She looked just as confused as he felt.

The boy was gone.

A knot formed in Eden’s stomach. He turned back to the doctor and asked if his daughter had been there. The doctor frowned and repeated the word daughter as though he didn’t understand. Eden pointed toward Aria and said her name. The doctor looked directly at her.

Then his face went pale.

Aria stepped forward and asked what was wrong. The doctor slowly backed away while staring at her. Looking from Eden to Aria and back again, he whispered that it was impossible. When Aria asked what he meant, the doctor pointed toward her and told Eden that he didn’t have a daughter.

Eden’s heart stopped.

The doctor glanced at the chart and quietly explained that he had never had children.

Aria’s face went white.

Eden immediately grabbed her hand.

"She’s right here."

The doctor stared at the empty space beside the bed.

His expression turned terrified.

"Who’s right there?"

Slowly, Eden turned.

Aria was gone.

His hand was holding nothing.

The noise of the hospital faded away. The doctor kept speaking, but the words no longer reached him. Eden looked down at his empty hand, then toward the doorway. There was nothing there. ℴℴ𝘮

No Aria.

No boy.

No Luna.

Only an ordinary hospital room.

Then the television turned on.

Static filled the screen before white text appeared.

YOU HAVE BEEN HERE BEFORE.

Eden stared at the words as another sentence appeared beneath them.

THIS TIME, YOU ARE THE READER.

The screen went black.

Then one final sentence appeared.

AND SOMEONE IS READING YOU.