The version known as The Regret emerged slowly from his chamber, dragging tattered pages behind him like a funeral shroud. His sobs had quieted, replaced by a deep silence, one that grew like a vacuum around him. As he passed the other versions still encased in glass, their images flickered and faded, momentarily replaced with static—evidence of narrative instability.
Kale took a cautious step forward, hand on the Book's spine.
"Who are you?"
The figure looked up. His eyes were black, iridescent with words constantly scrolling like a corrupted script.
"I am you," he said. "The version who chose to unwrite."
He turned to Kale, lips trembling. "I loved someone. I rewrote everything to save them. I sacrificed plot, setting, character—and they still died. I became The Regret. I began to erase myself, but I was trapped."
The Book pulsed violently in Kale's hand.
> Rewrite convergence: Thread instability detected. Containment breached. Foreign glyph detected: UNMAKING LANGUAGE INITIATED.
Seris was already dragging Kale away. "We have to go. Now."
"Where?"
"To the Observatory. There's still time to stabilize your thread."
---
They sprinted through the sublevels as reality bent around them. Sentences peeled off signs. Light fixtures flickered between states: on, off, nonexistent.
"The Regret doesn't just destabilize versions," Seris panted. "He knows the Language of Unmaking. He can delete reality one concept at a time."
"But he's me," Kale said. "Why would I do that?"
"Because you thought it was the only way."
---
They arrived at the Observatory: a crystalline dome overlooking the Threads of Story—visible now as glowing cords suspended in a void. Dozens of glyphs floated midair, forming the interface for editing, observing, and converging timelines.
Milo waited, arms crossed. His gaze sharpened on seeing Kale.
"You let the Regret out?"
Kale shook his head. "The Book did."
Milo's expression tightened. "Then we're past the tipping point."
Seris countered. "No. He's still the Origin Thread. We stabilize him—we stabilize everything."
Milo turned to Kale. "We can bind you. Trap the glyph in stasis. But it might cost your ability to rewrite."
Kale considered it. Then the Book flipped open on its own, to a blank page. Ink bled onto it—not words, but emotions: guilt, longing, possibility.
And then: a new glyph. One never seen before.
A spiral inside a spiral.
> "If language can unmake, then let identity rewrite."
Kale whispered the phrase aloud.
Seris gasped. "That's a paradox. Glyphs shouldn't write themselves."
Milo's voice was quiet. "Unless the Book's chosen him as an Author."
---
Kale opened a portal using the spiral-in-spiral glyph. Light and ink spilled from the edges, forming a corridor that led directly back to the Vault of Versions.
He stepped through.
Seris and Milo didn't follow.
The Regret stood at the center of the Vault now. Around him, glass chambers flickered, names of selves vanishing with each breath he took. One chamber had gone completely dark.
"That one," he said. "That was Hopeful Kale. The one who never opened the Book."
"Why erase him?" Kale asked.
"Because he didn't know. He stayed innocent. He watched them die."
Kale swallowed. "But he lived. You didn't."
The Regret's jaw trembled. "I needed the story to go the way I wanted. I kept editing. Until it broke."
Kale stepped forward, holding out the Book.
"Let's write again. Together."
The Regret blinked. "I don't know how."
"We'll learn."
The glyph shimmered.
A blank page appeared between them.
Kale offered the pen.
And for the first time, the Regret reached out—not to erase, but to inscribe.
Together, they wrote a single line:
> "We remember every version, but we choose who we are now."
The Vault flickered—then stabilized.
The Regret dissolved into ink and light, merging with Kale.
And the Book closed.