Beneath an Ill Sign

{Meanwhile, on Bablovia}
The book floats in emptiness, a perfect vacuum at the dead center of the planet’s inner core. Magic of an age and power that rivals the stars themselves courses through the miles of silicon and wire on all sides. A machine that could tear apart this entire plane in an instant, used instead to stabilize a scant few meters of reality at its heart.

A young man steps out of the book, holding his breath. He’s done this before. He barely flinches as an airlock opens above (beneath?) him, and pulls him up (down?) through the intestines  of this vast machine. It deposits him in a room filled with dials and holograms, at the feet of perhaps the only other individual left in this reality: a thing of mummified flesh and cold steel.

"Parsul." It speaks in a voice like metal grinding against bone.

"Heya, Watcher Ym." The young man jumps to his feet, flashing the cyberlich a cocky grin. "What’s new?"

"I suppose you think that’s clever." The last and only Watcher Ym fixes Parsul beneath a withering glare. "But I have, in fact, made many discoveries since last we met. It seems the Pattern is finally awake."

"No drain, Watcher Ym. I’m its Chosen, remember?"

"Yes. As you never fail to remind me." Watcher Ym points a desiccated talon at one of the holograms. A terrified Parsul stands in a dilapidated house, clutching a familiar book to his chest. He cowers before a thin blonde woman in a blue dress, flanked by a tall robed figure. "You know the what, but not the who or the why."

"But I do know." Parsul crosses his arms in front of his chest. "It’s me, as it should be. And the why is–"

"Not you. The zombie. Sabok." As Watcher Ym continues to point, the woman fires a spear of ice at Parsul’s doppelganger, who vanishes into the book. The other entity procures a pile of bones from beneath its robes and tosses them on the ground, where they twist and knot together into a walking corpse.

Parsul glares at Ym. "What are you playing at? Trying to replace me with another dead guy?"

"Just wait until you learn about the robot." Watcher Ym’s mouthparts twist into something vaguely resembling a smile. "No one’s replacing you. The pattern is simply… rearranging itself. You still play a vital role." Its gaze seems almost to soften. "Every you."

"Don’t bother sugarcoating it." Parsul stares sullenly at the ground. "Not like I’ll remember this anyway."

"I wish you could, Parsul. I can promise you will retain one thing, at least." Ym gestures to another hologram, depicting a young girl sifting through the rubble of a decaying city. Closer inspection reveals this is the cover of a book. The title reads A Child of Mileran.

Parsul follows its gaze. "What am I looking at?"

"The end. The last story that will ever appear in the World Book."

Parsul’s face gradually breaks into an eager grin. "If that means what I think it does..."

"Yes, Parsul. Then the real work can begin."