The air inside the house was too still.

  The kind of stillness that did not belong.

  Darius and Ais stood frozen, their backs against the wooden wall, their fingers tight around their weapons. But they already knew—steel meant nothing here. Because the thing in the room with them was not human. Darius exhaled slowly. His pulse was steady, controlled—but beneath it, a deeper part of him screamed.

  Ais was tense beside him, her dagger drawn, her breathing measured. And the voice behind them spoke again.

  "You should not be."

  Darius turned. The child from the town square stood in the doorway. But he was no longer a child. His form flickered—too tall, too thin, shifting between something known and something impossible. His features were indistinct. His presence blurred at the edges. And yet, he was undeniably there.

  Darius' grip tightened on his sword. "What are you?" The figure's head tilted slightly. "That is not the question you should ask." Ais's jaw clenched. "Then what should we ask?" The thing stepped forward. Not walking. Not moving. Just becoming.

  It stood before them now, close enough that Darius could feel the air distorting around it.

  "Ask," it whispered, "why you are still here."

  Darius' stomach turned. Because that was exactly what he had been wondering.

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  The figure moved—though it never really moved at all.

  It simply was somewhere else.

  It now stood in the center of the dimly lit room, its presence pulling at the very fabric of reality around it. And Darius realized something horrifying. The house was wrong. Not abandoned. Not old.

  It had never existed.

  The wood beneath his boots felt too smooth.

  The dust on the floor had no scent.

  The walls did not creak, did not breathe, did not age.

  This house was not part of Celestara.

  And yet, it had been written into the world. Just like the town. Just like the people. Just like them.

  Ais took a slow, steady breath. "What are you?" she asked again.

  This time, the figure answered. "I am a Watcher."

  Darius' pulse hammered.

  The word was wrong.

  It felt wrong. Not because it was unfamiliar—but because it was too familiar. Like something he had always known, yet never spoken aloud.

  Ais's voice was sharp. "Watcher of what?"

  The entity shifted again.

  "The mistakes." Darius' throat went dry. "Us." The thing inclined its head. "Yes."

  Darius felt his heartbeat steady—not in relief, but in grim certainty.

  "You knew we would be here." The Watcher did not blink.

  "You were not meant to find each other," it said. "You were not meant to remember. And yet... here you are."

  Ais's fingers curled around her dagger. "Why does the Thanatarchy hesitate to erase us?"

  For the first time, the Watcher paused. Then— "Because something is wrong." Ais stiffened. Darius took a step forward. "Wrong?" The Watcher tilted its head. "The Thanatarchy does not make errors. It does not leave remnants." It turned its hollow gaze toward Darius.

  "And yet, you remain."

  Ais's breath hitched.

  Darius clenched his fists. "So what does that mean?" The Watcher went silent. Then—slowly, deliberately—it spoke. "It means the Thanatarchy is no longer certain of its own work." The words struck like a thundercp.

  Ais inhaled sharply. "That's impossible." The Thanatarchy was absolute.

  It did not fail. It did not doubt. It simply was.

  And yet—

  The erasure had stopped. Something had changed. And even the Watchers did not understand why.

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  Darius took a slow step forward.

  "You knew we would come here," he said. "You were waiting for us."

  The Watcher did not deny it.

  "Then you must know something the Thanatarchy does not," Darius continued.

  Silence. Then— A whisper. "There is a fw." Ais's eyes widened. "A fw?"

  The Watcher's form flickered. "You were not meant to remain." Its voice was distant, hollow. "And yet, you remain." Darius felt it again—that deep, gnawing sense of wrongness. Like he had escaped something that no one should have escaped.

  Like he should not be standing here.

  And the Watcher knew. The Thanatarchy knew. But neither of them knew why.

  Ais's jaw tightened. "So what now?" The Watcher did not answer. It simply turned toward the window—toward the town outside. The streets were empty. Silent. And yet, something was shifting.

  The world was correcting itself.

  The Thanatarchy had hesitated.

  But it would not hesitate forever. And when it returned— It would not stop again. Darius felt it too. Their time was running out. Ais exhaled sharply. "We need answers." Darius met her gaze. He nodded. "Then we find them."