Unfinished

The First Ending

Cass

The last words come out in a rush, my fingers moving faster than my brain can keep up. The blinking cursor lands at the end of the final sentence, and just like that, Darius’s story is done.

For a moment, I just sit there, staring at the screen, waiting for some grand revelation to hit me. Some burst of pride, a flood of relief, anything that will make this feel real.

But all I feel is exhaustion.

It’s finished. It’s not perfect. Some of the sentences are clunky. The pacing wobbles in places. I probably could have deepened the emotional arc more. But it’s done.

And imperfectly beautiful.

I take a deep breath, pressing the heels of my palms against my eyes. There was a time when I thought I would never be able to say those words—it’s finished. That I would always be trapped in an endless cycle of half-started ideas and abandoned drafts, forever haunted by stories I was too afraid to complete.

But Darius’s story is whole now. A beginning, a middle, and an end. He has a full arc, a resolution. He’s more than just a knight now—he’s a person.

And somehow, that thought makes my heart clench.

The air in the room shifts. A presence stirs behind me, and I know before I turn around that they’re all here.

I spin in my chair, and sure enough, Darius stands at the front of the group, his golden armor catching the dim light. His expression is unreadable for a moment—then, slowly, he bows his head.

“Thank you.”

His voice is steady, filled with something so heavy it nearly takes me apart. “You gave me something I never knew I wanted,” he says. “A purpose beyond the battlefield. A life beyond the war. I never thought I could be anything else, but you… you proved me wrong.”

I swallow, not trusting myself to speak.

Jack, leaning against the far wall, lets out a mock groan. “Alright, alright, we get it. You’re a real boy now. Do we need to hold a coronation?”

Darius shoots him an unimpressed look, but I don’t miss the way Jack’s eyes linger on him, thoughtful in a way that makes my stomach twist.

Jack hides it well—he always does—but I can tell. The way his jaw tenses. The way he shoves his hands into his pockets, a little too forcefully.

He’s envious.

Not of Darius’s story, not exactly. But of the certainty Darius now has. The clarity of knowing who he is, where he stands.

Jack doesn’t have that yet. And maybe, deep down, he’s afraid he never will.

Lena, on the other hand, is practically vibrating with excitement. “This is incredible!” she says, rushing over. “You did it! You actually did it!” She pulls a small device from the satchel at her waist—something metallic and sleek, whirring faintly in her hands. “I made this earlier, but I think it might help you with the next stories. Maybe streamline the process a little.”

I blink at her, stunned. “You made something to help me?”

“Of course,” she says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s what I do. I fix things. I build things.” She grins. “And now, so do you.”

My throat tightens, and for the first time in a long while, I feel like maybe—just maybe—I’m not completely lost.

Then, in the midst of all the warmth, a cold presence lingers at the edges.

Azrael.

I meet his gaze across the room. He hasn’t spoken, hasn’t moved closer. There’s something unreadable in his eyes—something too distant to name.

He isn’t angry. Not exactly. But he’s watching me like he’s trying to piece something together. Like this moment means something to him, but he isn’t sure what.

And then there’s Rex-9. The ever-practical, ever-logical android tilts his head slightly. “Statistically, the completion of Darius’s narrative increases the stability of the overlap,” he states.

I frown. “The overlap?”

Rex-9 nods. “The convergence between your world and ours. The more you complete, the more stable it becomes. In theory, finishing more stories may have… greater consequences than we initially calculated.”

A cold shiver runs through me.

More consequences.

I glance back at Azrael, whose gaze flickers—just for a second—before he turns away.

There’s something here I don’t understand yet.

And I have a feeling that whatever comes next… it won’t be easy.

Azrael

I don’t know what I expected.

The moment Cass finally finished something, I thought maybe—just maybe—it would be proof that she can. That she will.

But watching Darius revel in his completed story, in the freedom of a whole and finished existence, only leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

Because I know I will never have that.

Not yet. Maybe not ever.

I see the way she looks at me, hesitant, unsure. Like she doesn’t know what to do with me.

Because I am the story she is most afraid of writing.

And if she never finishes me…

What happens then?