Iris sat alone in her dimly lit room, the weight of her encounter with Fate still a heavy shroud over her thoughts. Her mind churned with unanswered questions and a deep, gnawing dread. Just as she exhaled a shaky breath, a faint golden glow caught her eye.

  A flurry of golden butterflies burst forth from the red book on her desk, their delicate wings scattering shimmering fragments of light across the room. The sight quickened her heartbeat—a silent signal that a new letter had arrived, a message from her future self.

  With trembling hands, Iris rose from her bed and approached the desk. She hesitated for a moment, her fingers hovering over the open pages as the golden butterflies danced around her, slowly fading into the air. The room itself seemed to hold its breath, as if the world outside had paused for this moment of revelation.

  Steeling herself, she picked up the letter. The flowing script, familiar yet haunting, made her heart ache with anticipation and fear. She began to read, each word landing like a cold blow.

  “If things have unfolded as they did for me, you’ve just spoken with Fate again. By now, you’ve likely heard of the gods’ twisted game. But let me guess—he didn’t tell you his true purpose. Fate never answers until it’s too late; his truths come as riddles wrapped in half-lies. But know this, Iris: you are far more important to him than you realize. His silence isn’t indifference—he’s protecting you in his own way.”

  A shiver ran down her spine as she read on.

  “By the end of the month, you’ll meet another apostle, Maxwell. Yes, that Maxwell—the one I mentioned before. I’d like to prepare you for him, but it’s best if you meet him without any preconceived notions. Let your first reaction be genuine, as mine was. But be warned: in the game that the classes will play, you must fight to win. I ended up losing, and he relentlessly taunted me for it—a small defeat I never forgot. Trust me, this is a game you cannot afford to lose.”

  Iris’s eyes blurred with tears as the letter continued, and her hands gripped the paper tighter.

  “There’s something else—something I didn’t have the chance to tell you before. It’s about your classmates. I had hoped to write sooner, but time is as cruel as you know. There’s no softening this truth: you cannot save Alice.”

  Her heart clenched. “Her fate is sealed. In a few months, no matter what you do, she will die. Alice is the one classmate you won’t be able to save. So please—make her remaining days as joyful as you can. Cherish every smile, for when the time comes, you must let her go. She will be executed, no matter your efforts.”

  The final words burned into Iris’s mind, echoing like the distant rumble of an approaching storm.

  “—Your future self, Iris Blackwell.”

  Tears blurred her vision as the inevitability of her fate and the cost of those she loved sank in. The stakes were higher than ever, and the time she had left to protect them slipped away like sand through her fingers.

  Her voice trembled as she whispered, “What does she mean? How is it impossible for me to save her? That’s not fair…” The memory of Alice’s joyful smile haunted her, a cruel reminder of the future she dreaded.

  Overwhelmed, Iris buried her face in her hands, muffling her sobs as the room seemed to shrink around her. Even the golden butterflies, once vibrant and full of promise, fluttered weakly in the dim light—unable to lift the crushing weight of her grief and despair.

  A sudden knock shattered Iris’s solitude. “Hey, Iris. It’s Charles. Jacob’s dragging us to get ice cream. Wanna come?” Charles’s voice was casual but laced with concern he couldn’t quite hide.

  Iris hastily dabbed her tears away, forcing her voice to steady. “N-no, I’m fine. You guys go on without me.”

  A pause lingered at the door. Charles, perceptive as ever, wasn’t convinced. “Iris... what’s wrong?” he asked, his tone softening into genuine worry.

  Iris squeezed her eyes shut, struggling to muster composure. “Oh, don’t worry—I’m fine, really. I’m perfectly fine,” she lied, though her trembling voice betrayed her.

  After another long pause, Charles’s voice turned firm. “I’m coming in. Either you open the door, or I’ll use my telekinesis to break it down.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. Knowing Charles never bluffed, Iris swallowed hard, wiped away the last of her tears, and opened the door.

  “S-see? I’m fine,” she said with a forced smile, even as her red-rimmed eyes and blotchy cheeks told another story.

  Charles stepped inside, his gaze cutting through her feigned normalcy. He said nothing at first, just stared, waiting for the truth to break through her fragile act. Finally, he sighed. “Iris… tell me the truth. Please.”

  “I told you, nothing’s wrong,” she insisted, her voice too high-pitched to convince. Then, desperate to escape the suffocating silence, she blurted, “Actually, I’m suddenly in the mood for ice cream. Let’s go.” She tried to push past him, eager to leave behind the uncomfortable scrutiny.

  Charles muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “What a horrible liar.”

  Reluctantly, Iris left her room and joined the others in the hallway. Yet, as she merged with the group, her eyes caught sight of a figure that didn’t belong. Standing in the center was a young girl—no older than twelve—with long black hair streaked with white and eyes that shimmered with an otherworldly light. Clutched in her arms was a small, worn teddy bear, its faded fur hinting at years of cherished memories. Curiously, everyone treated her as if she had always been part of the group.

  Iris frowned, suspicion prickling at her. “Um, sorry—I don’t think we’ve met. Who are you?” she asked, her voice edged with uncertainty.

  Jacob glanced at her, eyebrow raised. “What do you mean, Iris? Anya’s been in our class this entire time. Are you feeling alright?”

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  Charles joined in, his brow creasing. “Yeah, Iris, are you sure nothing’s wrong?”

  Iris’s heart pounded as she stared at the girl. Anya? She remembered clearly—this girl hadn’t been in their class yesterday. Something was profoundly wrong. “Sorry,” she muttered with a forced smile. “I guess I’m just still tired from everything that happened yesterday.”

  But as she stole another glance at Anya, her unease deepened. The girl moved seamlessly among her peers—laughing, joking, and chiming in as if woven into the fabric of their lives. Yet Iris’s gut twisted; Anya hadn’t been part of their world before. It was as though reality had been rewritten to include her.

  A chill crept over Iris. What kind of power could make people forget someone wasn’t real? Or worse—make them believe she had always been there?

  As the group ambled toward the cafeteria for ice cream, Iris’s attention fixed on every subtle detail. Laughter and friendly banter filled the air. Everyone picked their favorite flavors: Iris opted for strawberry, Alice chose vanilla, Jacob went for chocolate, and Charles enjoyed cookies and cream. Even Celia, Theo, and Xavier had their quirky preferences. Anya selected mint chocolate chip—a choice that twisted something deep inside Iris, stirring an inexplicable dread. Everything about this girl made Iris want to vomit.

  Unable to tear her eyes away, Iris observed Anya’s every gesture. The girl seemed too perfect: a rehearsed natural, her smiles and laughter oddly scripted. Each time someone mentioned memories or past events, a shiver ran down Iris’s spine. These were real stories—stories Iris knew she should remember—but Anya’s presence rewrote them, as if she’d been woven into every shared memory.

  “What a faker,” Iris muttered under her breath, her eyes narrowing as she glared at Anya.

  Charles caught her whisper and shot her a look—curiosity mixed with concern. His silence spoke volumes; he sensed something was amiss too, though he waited for more evidence.

  As they gathered around to enjoy their ice cream, the ordinary clamor of choices and flavors belied the turmoil within Iris. Amid the laughter and chatter, she felt an overwhelming need to uncover the truth. Who was Anya, really? And what power could twist reality so that someone suddenly belonged in a group, even if she hadn’t been there yesterday?

  Iris’s mind raced with questions, each one echoing in the quiet spaces between the group’s banter. “Who are you really? What do you want?” she thought, eyes locked on the enigmatic Anya as the world around her continued in blissful ignorance.

  Just then, Wallace appeared, his weary eyes betraying the long day he’d had. He licked at his coffee-flavored ice cream, barely disguising his exhaustion behind a casual yawn.

  “Oh, hello everyone. Ice cream nights are always fun, huh?” he drawled, rubbing the back of his neck.

  Iris stiffened. Even Wallace acted as though Anya was familiar—a fact that made her pulse quicken. She searched his face for any sign of recognition, any hint that he saw through the deception. But he, like everyone else, addressed Anya as though she had always belonged. It made no sense. Wallace, who should’ve seen through any illusion, regarded her with the same casual warmth as the rest of the group.

  Her heart raced. If Wallace saw nothing amiss, then this must be deeper than she’d imagined. This wasn’t just a trick—it was as if reality itself had been altered.

  Gripping her spoon tightly, Iris stared down at her half-melted strawberry ice cream, her thoughts a tangled mess. Someone or something powerful was at work. The more she tried to unravel it, the more questions piled up: Was Anya a spy? An illusion? A weapon sent to infiltrate their group, or worse—an apostle of one of the other gods? And why was she the only one who remembered the truth?

  As Anya laughed at something Jacob said, Iris couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched—studied, even. For a fleeting moment, Anya’s gaze met hers with a cold, unreadable glance that made Iris’s stomach twist.

  Whatever Anya was, she was dangerous. And Iris was determined to unearth the truth before it was too late.

  Moments later, Markus joined the group, his presence instantly lightening the atmosphere as he ambled up to his brother.

  “Hey, I’m sorry, what was your name again?” Markus asked, his voice casual yet laced with confusion. “I must’ve had too much to drink… I can’t even remember their names.” He gestured toward Anya, scratching the back of his head.

  Iris’s eyes widened. So it wasn’t just her—Markus didn’t remember Anya either. This was her first solid clue that something was deeply wrong. It wasn’t mere paranoia.

  “It’s Anya,” she heard the girl reply with a bright, disarming smile. “Everyone’s so forgetful today.”

  Iris barely registered Anya’s words; her mind was racing. Markus’s inability to recall her confirmed that something was off—some force was warping reality, implanting false memories so that everyone else believed she’d always been part of their lives.

  Before Iris could probe further, Alice approached timidly. “Um, Iris, Markus… if you don’t mind, can I speak with you two alone?” Her voice was a nervous whisper as she glanced furtively at Anya, as if fearing she might be overheard.

  Intrigued and anxious, Iris and Markus exchanged a look before nodding. Alice quietly led them away from the group, her anxiety palpable as she glanced back at the others—especially Anya—before they slipped out of earshot.

  Once alone, Alice’s voice trembled as she finally spoke, “Y-you two don’t remember Anya either, right? Everyone else treats her like a friend, but I… I have no idea who she is.”

  The words struck Iris like a bolt of lightning. Finally, she wasn’t alone. “I knew it! I knew she was suspicious!” she burst out, her excitement mingling with relief. Confirmation that Anya’s presence wasn’t a mere figment of her imagination lit a fierce determination in her eyes. Someone—or something—had inserted this girl into their lives, and only a select few saw through the deception.

  Markus rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “So we’re dealing with an authority-type ability, aren’t we? That would explain why only the three of us can’t remember her.”

  Iris’s curiosity peaked. “Authority? You think that’s what’s going on?”

  Markus nodded slowly. “Yeah. Authority-type abilities are rare, however, ones like this usually can’t affect other authority users. The three of us—us and perhaps the Bookkeeper—are the only ones with those abilities, which is why our memories are unaffected.”

  Alice’s voice trembled with a mix of relief and fear. “You really think that’s it? But how could someone just… implant memories like that?”

  “There’s an authority for most aspects of the world—memories included,” Markus explained. “It seems Anya—or whoever’s behind her—has access to this ability. That’s why everyone else believes she’s always been here, while we remain unaffected.”

  He paused, then added thoughtfully, “The only other authority user in the facility might be the Bookkeeper. If he truly has one, he might already know exactly what’s happening.”

  Iris bit her lip, her mind racing. “So it’s just us three against… whoever or whatever Anya really is?”

  Alice’s eyes darted between them, worry evident in her small voice. “What… what should we do? We can’t just confront her directly. What if she’s dangerous?”

  Markus’s voice was cold and calculating. “Eliminating her would be simple enough, but it’s smarter to play the long game. Befriend her, act as if nothing’s changed, and watch for any slip-ups. I’ll inform my brother discreetly—but under no circumstances do we tell anyone else.”

  “Agreed,” Iris said firmly. “We’ll keep our eyes on her.”

  Moments later, Jonathan stepped into the room. His eyes briefly flared with a subtle, accusatory glare directed at Anya before he turned his steely gaze toward Markus.

  “Markus, I need to see you in my office—it’s urgent,” Jonathan said, his tone low and determined. Without waiting for a reply, he strode purposefully out of the room, leaving a heavy silence in his wake.

  Markus let out a weary sigh, a mix of resignation and apprehension in his voice. “I hope I’m not in trouble. Good luck to you two,” he murmured, watching Jonathan’s retreat with a hint of uncertainty.

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