Chapter 1879

There were now two children inside.

One sat on the bed.

The other stood beside the window.

Both looked towards Jude.

The child on the bed was the smallest Sol.

The child by the window looked exactly like Jude when he was younger.

The two children spoke together.

"Which one of us are you here for?"

Jude looked at the child beside him.

Then towards the room.

"I came for both."

The child on the bed smiled.

The child by the window did not.

He looked towards the older Jude.

"Father?"

The older man froze.

The younger child continued.

"Did he bring the other one?"

The older Jude took a step towards the door.

"No."

The child by the window looked disappointed.

"Then he has forgotten again."

The small room began to fade.

Jude stepped forward.

"Wait!"

The child by the window raised his hand.

"Before you come inside, answer one question."

Jude stopped.

"What?"

The child looked directly at him.

"Who made you?"

Jude opened his mouth.

He thought of the original Jude.

The older Jude.

The first Keeper.

The man without a face.

The two hearts.

The tree.

The promise.

He thought of every answer he had been given.

And for the first time, he realised something.

Nobody had ever told him where he came from.

They had only told him what he was supposed to be.

"I don’t know," Jude said.

The child by the window smiled.

"Good."

The room stopped fading.

The boy on the bed looked towards him.

"Now ask the house."

Jude stepped through the doorway.

The moment his foot touched the wooden floor, every silver root around the staircase withdrew.

The village became still.

The twelve women stood at the entrance.

The four Sols waited behind them.

The older Jude remained outside.

He looked terrified.

Jude turned towards him.

"Come with us."

The older man shook his head.

"I can’t."

"Why?"

"Because the room knows me."

Jude looked at the two children.

The boy by the window nodded.

"He is not allowed inside."

Jude turned back.

"Why?"

The child looked at the older Jude.

"Because he already chose."

The older man lowered his head.

Jude looked at the small room again.

Two chairs.

Two children.

One window.

One door.

On the table lay a wooden book.

It was much smaller than the enormous book beneath the tree.

Its cover was blank.

Jude approached it.

The child on the bed watched him.

"Don’t open it."

Jude stopped.

"Why?"

"Because it has your first story."

Jude looked at the book.

"Isn’t that what I need?"

The child shook his head.

"No. You need to know who wrote it."

The child by the window pointed towards the empty chair.

"Sit."

Jude looked at the chair.

The warning from the first house returned to him.

The house had tried to make him sit.

Once he sat, it could remember him.

He remained standing.

The child smiled.

"You learned."

A faint sound came from the window.

Three knocks.

Jude turned.

Outside, beyond the glass, stood the woman with Layla’s face.

She was no longer wearing the pale cloth.

She looked like the Layla Jude knew.

Her expression was gentle.

She raised one hand.

"Jude?"

He approached the window.

"Layla?"

She nodded.

"Open the window."

Jude looked at the children.

The child on the bed shook his head.

The other child said nothing.

Jude turned back.

"Who are you?"

The woman smiled.

"You know me."

"Prove it."

She tilted her head.

Then she said something that only Layla could have known.

A private joke from an ordinary day in the village.

Something that had happened beside the cooking area, before the mountain, before the doors, before the first house had begun to awaken.

Jude felt his expression soften.

It was real.

Or it was a memory so perfect that it might as well have been.

He placed his hand against the glass.

Layla did the same.

"Please," she whispered. "Let me in."

The child on the bed suddenly stood.

"That’s not her."

Jude turned.

The woman outside looked hurt.

"Why would you say that?"

The child pointed towards the window.

"Because she is standing on the wrong side."

Jude looked at the glass.

The woman’s reflection was visible.

But it wasn’t matching her movements.

The reflection was standing behind her.

And in its hands was a wooden key.

The real woman slowly lowered her hand.

The reflection raised its.

Then the reflection smiled.

The woman outside stepped away from the window.

The glass darkened.

A line appeared across it.

Then another.

Then a third.

The familiar symbol formed.

But beneath it was a fourth line.

Jude heard a whisper from behind the window.

"Do not trust the one who remembers everything."

He stepped backwards.

The child by the window spoke.

"Now you understand why the house has so many doors."

The wooden book on the table opened by itself.

Its blank pages filled with writing.

Jude approached cautiously.

The first page showed the island.

The second showed the village.

The third showed thirteen figures standing beneath the tree.

The fourth showed the two children.

The fifth showed a man kneeling before a door.

But the sixth page was different.

It showed Jude.

Not the older Jude.

Not the original-looking Jude.

Not the younger copy.

It showed the Jude standing in the room.

And beside him was Layla.

They were holding hands.

Behind them stood the twelve women.

Above them was a sentence.

THE KEEPER WAS NOT CREATED TO REMEMBER THE FIRST FAMILY.

Jude read the words.

A second sentence appeared.

THE KEEPER WAS CREATED TO FORGET IT.

He turned the page.

The next drawing showed a child being carried beneath a tree.

A man stood beside him.

A woman watched from a distance.

Then came another drawing.

The child was placed inside a small wooden room.

The door was locked.

The man walked away.