Chapter 168: The Voice Behind the Door

Eden didn’t move. The voice behind the door continued to breathe softly, almost patiently, as though it had all the time in existence to wait for him. That was what made it worse. There was no desperation in the voice, no anger, and no attempt to force him. It knew he would eventually open the door. It knew him too well.

"Luna?" Eden whispered.

The younger Eden immediately shook his head and told him not to say her name. When Eden asked why, the boy answered that it heard names. He took another step backward, and for the first time since Eden had met him, he looked like an ordinary child. Not a mysterious being. Not the First Reader. Just a frightened six-year-old who desperately wanted to be somewhere else. Quietly, he told Eden they had to leave.

Eden stared at him and asked where they were supposed to go. The boy glanced around before answering with a single word: the story. A bitter laugh escaped Eden as he admitted he thought he had already left it. The younger Eden shook his head and explained that Eden had only left the part that was written. The scratching on the other side of the door suddenly stopped, and silence settled over the room before three gentle knocks echoed through the space.

Eden’s stomach tightened. The younger Eden stepped toward him and urged him to listen. Eden reminded him of everything he had done. He couldn’t accept losing them, so he built worlds where they were still alive. He made copies, erased memories, and forced Eden to live through the same search over and over again. The younger Eden admitted he knew all of that. When Eden finally asked what would happen if he opened the door, the younger Eden looked at it and said it would give him what he never could—an ending.

The door handle appeared. Eden stared at it while the younger Eden slowly backed away and warned him that the ending would not be his. As Eden reached toward the handle, the boy shouted his name, causing him to stop. Trembling, the child reminded him of a promise. Eden asked what promise he meant, and for a moment the boy looked confused before whispering that Eden had promised not to open the door again. A chill ran through him. When he demanded to know what the child meant by "again," the boy explained that he had opened it before.

Eden’s stomach dropped as he asked when. The child looked toward the younger Eden, who finally answered. Every time Eden remembered, he opened the door. Each time he saw Luna, and each time he stayed. When Eden asked how long, the younger Eden explained there was no time inside. The room seemed to shrink around him as he stared at the door and demanded to know what he had seen. The answer came in a barely audible whisper. Everything.

A faint glow appeared around the edges of the door. Memories leaked through the cracks. A kitchen. Luna cooking. Aria laughing. A birthday. A summer afternoon. Rain tapping against the windows. Eden standing behind Luna with his arms around her waist while she laughed and called him annoying. He teased her about marrying him anyway, and she joked that it had been a terrible decision. The memories hit him with overwhelming force because they did not feel like scenes from a story. They felt like his life. He could smell the food, feel Luna’s warmth, and hear Aria laughing somewhere nearby.

The door opened slightly, allowing warm light to spill into the room. The younger Eden grabbed Eden’s arm and begged him not to go. Eden insisted he needed to see her and know the truth, but the younger Eden argued that he already knew. Luna was dead. Eden admitted that wasn’t enough. He never got the chance to say goodbye. The younger Eden fell silent while Eden reached for the door again.

The child began to cry and pleaded with him to stop. His voice shook as he warned that if Eden opened the door, Luna would ask him to stay. Eden quietly replied that maybe he should. The boy shook his head violently and told him he didn’t understand. When Eden demanded an explanation, the child wiped away his tears and revealed the truth. Luna wasn’t waiting for him. The thing that had learned how much he loved her was.

The warmth vanished instantly. The light beneath the door darkened until it became completely black. Eden stepped backward while the younger Eden whispered that now he understood. A violent impact struck the other side of the door, shaking the entire room. Books fell from the shelves and the lamp shattered. The little boy screamed. Another impact followed, and then another. The wood bent inward as a crack spread across its surface.

Through the crack, Eden saw an eye. It wasn’t human, nor was it monstrous in any familiar way. It was simply too large and too still. Reflections filled its dark surface. Hundreds. Thousands. Versions of Eden stared back at him. Some were young, some old. Some were dead, crying, laughing, writing, begging, or kneeling before Luna. Every single one of them was watching him. The eye blinked.

Then Luna’s voice returned.

"Eden."

The younger Eden grabbed his shoulder and warned him not to listen. When Eden asked why, the answer came immediately. It knew exactly what he regretted. Another crack split the door, and Luna’s voice called to him again. This time it was perfect. Not similar. Not close. Perfect. The sound of her breathing, the hesitation in her voice, the softness at the end of his name. Eden closed his eyes and remembered everything. Sleeping beside her. The first time she said she loved him. The last time she said it.

Then another memory surfaced. A hospital room. Luna sitting beside his bed with red eyes and trembling hands. Eden promising he would see her tomorrow. Luna smiling and telling him he better. He never saw her again.

When Eden opened his eyes, he finally understood. The thing behind the door wasn’t pretending Luna was alive. It was using the memory that hurt the most because it knew exactly how to break him. Slowly, he stepped forward. The younger Eden shouted and demanded to know what he was doing, but Eden placed his hand against the door and answered that he was saying goodbye.

The younger Eden’s face fell. Eden looked at him and explained that he wasn’t opening the door. For once, he was choosing what happened next. Silence filled the room. Keeping his palm against the wood, he spoke softly. He told Luna that he loved her more than he ever knew how to explain. He admitted he wanted to save her and bring her back. His voice shook as he confessed that he finally understood he couldn’t.

The pounding on the other side resumed, growing more violent with every second. The room trembled. The door splintered. Yet Eden never moved. He said he couldn’t bring her back. He couldn’t rewrite what happened. He couldn’t create another world simply because he hated the ending. Then he took a breath and spoke the words that mattered most.

"But I can remember you."

Everything stopped.

The pounding ceased. The voice vanished. The room fell silent. A crack spread across the door, but this time it came from the inside. The wood split apart, revealing no monster, no darkness, and no false version of Luna. Instead, there was only a small bedroom. Eden’s bedroom from his original life.

His old bed stood against the wall. His desk sat beneath the window. Children’s drawings were taped everywhere. A photograph of Luna rested nearby. On the floor sat Aria’s stuffed rabbit. Eden stared at it as his knees nearly gave out. He remembered that rabbit. Aria carried it everywhere and refused to sleep without it.

Ignoring the younger Eden shouting behind him, Eden stepped through the doorway. The door closed, leaving him alone in the room. Silence lingered for several moments before a small voice spoke from the bed.

"Daddy?"

Eden froze. His heart shattered. Slowly, he turned and saw Aria sitting there. She looked six years old, with messy hair, sleepy eyes, and the stuffed rabbit clutched tightly in her arms. Smiling, she told him he had come back. Tears filled Eden’s eyes as he took a step toward her.

Then he stopped.

Something was wrong.

Aria tilted her head and repeated the word. "Daddy?"

The smile on her face widened. Wider. Far wider than any child’s smile should have been. That’s when Eden noticed the writing on the wall behind her. In childish handwriting, four words had been scrawled across the surface.

THIS IS NOT ARIA.

Eden’s blood turned cold. The girl’s smile vanished. Then, slowly, she began to laugh.