The golden page flickered in Meera's hands, its light dimming with every passing second. "We don't have much time," she said, her voice tight with urgency. Kael stared at the horizon, his eyes scanning for danger. "Time runs differently here. The longer we stay, the more we'll unravel." Ravi looked around, the city no longer entirely whole, edges fraying like a worn manuscript. "How do we fix this?" Elian asked, his voice low. "We don't," Raj muttered. "We just survive long enough to make the next chapter matter." The golden page pulsed. "Then let's rewrite the rules."
Suddenly, a figure appeared at the edge of the city, walking slowly toward them. His silhouette was sharp against the bleeding sun. "Who is that?" Aarav whispered. Kael squinted. "A character that shouldn't be here." The figure's steps echoed as he drew closer, the faintest glimmer of recognition sparking in Ravi's mind. "That's... impossible," he murmured. "That's the Prologue." The Prologue. A story never told. An introduction lost to the narrative, left out by the writer before the first chapter ever began. "How?" Meera asked. "How are you alive?"
The Prologue's eyes glowed a soft, unnatural blue. "I was never meant to exist," he said, his voice a haunting melody. "I was written, then erased. A forgotten first draft." His words echoed in the air, the city around them quivering in response. "You're the missing part," Elian said, taking a cautious step forward. "The story's beginning. But why come now?" The Prologue smiled faintly. "Because the end is coming. And without the beginning, there can be no conclusion."
The ground beneath them trembled. "We're not the only ones stuck in this narrative," Raj said. "There are others—people caught between drafts." The Prologue nodded. "Yes. And they're waking up." As he spoke, dark figures emerged from the shadows, their forms fragmented and incomplete, like half-written characters searching for purpose. "They'll rewrite everything," the Prologue warned. "And when they do, there will be no more room for you."
Meera stepped forward, the golden page glowing brighter. "Not if we write our own ending first." The Prologue's face softened, almost wistful. "That's what I wanted to do. But the writer never finished me." His hands trembled. "I've been waiting for my chance." "Then take it," Kael said, stepping back. "We'll help you finish what was started." But the Prologue shook his head. "You don't understand. To finish me, you must first face what was lost."
A burst of energy surged through the city, warping reality itself. "The lost prologue," Ravi said, his voice filled with dread. "It's more than just a beginning. It's everything that was discarded—the first choice, the failed plotlines. It's the untold." The Prologue looked at him, a flicker of acknowledgment in his eyes. "Exactly."
The ground cracked open. From the fissures, endless streams of unfinished narratives poured out—stories of lives that could have been, events that never happened, the forgotten beginnings of the world. "They're all here," Raj whispered. "The stories that never saw the light of day." The Prologue raised his arms. "And now they will have their say."
Suddenly, the city buckled under the weight of the lost stories. Buildings shifted into strange shapes, morphing into memories, into dreams. The air thickened with the pressure of untold lives, every character scrambling for a place in the narrative. "We have to finish the story," Meera said, her voice shaky but determined. "We have to rewrite the beginning to control the end."
The Prologue took a step back, fading into the sea of forgotten drafts. "It's yours now," he whispered, his voice a fading echo. "Tell your story. And never let it be erased." The golden page flickered one last time, a new sentence emerging—In the beginning, there was a choice.
A new chapter was beginning.