Chapter -15 ARVIN POV

"Regret writes the first line. Awareness writes the last".

📖 Main Story

CHAPTER -15 ARVIN POV

THE THREE WITNESSES

It should have been a normal day. I remember a half-full cup of black coffee sitting near the monitor. Juno was fiddling with cables as usual, Elias was taking notes, and Mr. David was sitting in his chair while Shayla drew in the corner. It was just like any other day. Calm. In control. Safe. I like the calm. Because in the calm, I can control everything. Then the Prayer Server indicator light started blinking. At first I thought it was just a normal power fluctuation. But the blinking pattern was… strange. Like an anxious heartbeat. I leaned in, my eyes squinting to read the screen. “David… there’s an incoming intent pattern. It’s not from us. It’s… external feedback. This machine is reading two sources of consciousness.” Juno turned, her face pale. “One is yours… and the other is… a child’s.”

We turned simultaneously to Shayla. The little girl stared blankly at the machine’s core, as if hearing a call no adult could hear. Mr. David tried to reassure her, but a subtle vibration cut through his words. The Prayer Server dimmed its lights. Like… calling. Shayla stood up. I wanted to scream, to tell her to stop, but my tongue was stuck. The girl slowly moved to touch the core panel. Golden light spread across the surface of the machine. The monitor flickered wildly. The intensity graph jumped. “DAVID!” I screamed. “HE’S BEEN DRAGEN!” The room shook. Juno screamed, but her voice was muffled by the roar of the machines. David was pale, panicked, trying to force the panel open. Juno and I shouted at the same time: “DAVID, DON’T! YOU’LL BE DRAGEN!”

But a father… will never let his son go. The vortex opened. Mr. David was sucked in in an instant. And I, I saw their shadows vanish in a swirl of blinding light. Then silence. Only charred shadows on the metal floor remained. Juno and I looked at each other. “We can’t just let them disappear like that…” Juno whispered. I nodded, though my chest tightened. “We’re a team. We have to try.” We turned the manual lever, uttering the desperate prayer of someone who knows it’s too late. The Prayer Server responded. The vortex opened wider. Wind swirled. Gravity collapsed. We were sucked in. When I came to, I was standing in a long, endless hallway. On either side were thousands of doors. Some were made of worn wood, some of frosted glass, some of rusted metal. I opened one. And there, I saw my old self a child, crying in the corner of my room because I'd done poorly on a test, while my dad said, "You have to do better."

I slammed the door. I opened another. I saw my teenage self, failing a science fair, my annoying friends laughing at me. Another door. I was a college student, my group presentation a mess because I was too much of a perfectionist and wouldn't accept feedback. Another door. I was a young engineer, making a calculation error that delayed the project by weeks. Another door. David and I, arguing over the design of the Prayer Server. I was stubborn, David gave in. I felt victorious. But now… look at the results. All the doors were open. All of them. And in each one, I saw myself failing. Or making someone else fail. Or failing to save them. I ran. Opening door after door, I shouted, "Let me fix it! Let me do it right this time!" But every time I stepped inside, time rewinded. The same scene repeated itself. And I could only watch my old self repeat the same mistakes. Trapped. Unable to change anything.

Exhausted. Frustrated. I fell to my knees in the silent hallway. Then, at the end of the hallway, the faint sound of an alarm in the background and the light of an unclosed portal. But I stopped. A voice came from the cracked wooden door next to it. "Dude…" Not human. Not machine. Not David. Not Shayla. But the rhythm… like a call. The door vibrated softly, the air around me saying, "Don't open it. This isn't your way." But guilt was always stronger than my reason. "If I don't come in… it's all my fault." I touched the doorknob. The door didn't open. It opened itself. A burst of heat hit my face, not fire, but a broken rhythm, a broken sound rearranged by something older than time. “Cak… cak… cak…” Not beautiful. Not sacred. Not orderly. And so I entered.

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