The night sky was no longer black.
It was gray, a color that shouldn't exist.
Each star twinkled like a watching eye and in the middle… something stared back.
Harith walked alone on the path that should have led to the village of Lyria. But every step he took only brought him to the same place.
The trees changed shape every time he breathed as if the world was trying to remember who he really was.
He stopped by the river. The water wasn't clear but it reflected a face that wasn't his.
"Finally you heard me."
The voice came from the reflection of the water.
Calm, but heavy like an echo from a place much deeper than this world.
Harith slowly bowed. In the reflection, he saw someone with the same face, but older, more tired eyes, as if he had written thousands of stories and lost them all.
The shadow smiled faintly.
"You wrote me. Now, I'm writing you."
Harith took a step back. "Who are you?"
"Me?" The voice laughed softly. "I am the writer's shadow. I am the sin of every sentence that was never completed."
The river water was turbulent. From the bottom, letters rose flying like luminous insects, fragments of words he had once written, now alive again.
"Dear Lyria…"
"If I had the chance to rewrite this world…"
"I promise, I will not let you die."
Harith covered his ears, but the voices were not coming from outside...they were coming from inside himself.
Every promise he had made to the characters before, now demanded a return.
---
"Why am I here?" Harith whispered softly. "I just want to rewrite the ending of the story... so that he would be happy."
The shadow in the water looked at him sharply.
"You never wanted to make him happy. You just wanted to rewrite yourself."
The words stabbed deeper than a sword.
"No… I just"
"You don't understand, Harith. This world was born from your silence. Lyria is just an echo of the memories you created to cover up your loss."
The river water began to reflect memories in the small room with the wooden table, scattered papers, the young man sitting writing with a bloody hand.
It was Harith staring at the computer screen, his face full of tears.
The last words on the display were "The Song of Two Stars — Draft Incomplete."
He gaped.
"That… that's me…"
"A writer who died in his own story," the shadow replied. "You never left this world, Harith. You just kept writing without realizing it and now this world is writing back."
---
The sky rumbled softly.
Rain fell, but it didn't hit the ground… each drop floated in the air, like frozen time.
Harith tried to touch one, but his fingers went straight through. He wasn't entirely real anymore.
"If you want Lyria to live," the shadow's voice grew heavier, "you have to accept that you are not a hero. You are just a forgotten writer."
Harith clutched his chest. His breath caught in his throat.
"What do you mean… forgotten?"
"Your name is no longer in the original world. You died before you could finish this novel. But the world you created refused to die with you so it absorbed your spirit, making you a character."
The river water began to recede, leaving behind a reflection of her now empty face.
Only a line of words appeared on the surface of the water, shining faintly like living ink
"The story remembers the one who forgot himself."
---
Lyria arrived there, running with a worried face. "Harith! Where were you just now? This world seems to have changed!"
Harith looked at the girl, her honest eyes, her smile that didn't know the truth.
He tried to answer, but his tongue was stiff.
Because now he knew that if he told the truth, the world might be destroyed before Lyria could live happily.
He smiled...the first smile full of sadness but calm.
"I just... saw a shadow of myself."
Lyria held his hand. "You look scared. Are you okay?"
Harith replied slowly, almost whispering
"As long as I can write, I will keep this world alive."
And above the sky, the voice whispered again only he could hear.
"But every letter will be your shadow, Harith. And every shadow will swallow the light."