The conveyor belt rattled, slowly pulling Ilyan and Ashwen forward through a dimly lit corridor of towering filing cabinets, all marked with the names of people long forgotten by time and space. Each drawer clicked open with a soft groan as if mourning its contents before closing once more, sealing secrets too ancient to be remembered.
Clerk 404 led them, trailing behind like a shadow, his bow tie fluttering with each step.
"You may wonder why this process takes so long," Clerk 404 remarked nonchalantly, adjusting his oversized spectacles. "But as I've said, paperwork is eternal. It's alive. The Ministry ensures all things—and I do mean all things—are documented and accounted for. If not, well..." He let the words hang, eyes twinkling mischievously. "But that's a problem for another day."
"I think I've had enough of your 'another day' business," Ashwen muttered under her breath. "This place is giving me the creeps."
Ilyan ignored her, instead focusing on the grim reality unfolding in front of him. Each step felt like a journey further into the abyss, the cavernous walls of the Ministry almost swallowing them whole. Finally, they reached a large steel door at the end of the corridor, an inscription above it reading:
"The Final Reconciliation of Truth and Lies."
"Here it is," Clerk 404 announced, with an air of finality that made Ilyan uneasy. He pushed open the door with a flourish.
Inside was a stark, white room with a single, long table. Sitting at the table were three figures, each with their own air of importance. One was a rotund man with a monocle, the second was a woman in a flowing white robe, her face hidden behind a porcelain mask, and the third was a figure in black who wore a wide-brimmed hat, casting their face in shadow.
Ilyan swallowed hard. It was clear they were the final gatekeepers of his quest.
The rotund man spoke first, his voice like gravel scraping against stone. "Form 27B... I've seen this before." He reached out a hand, and the form floated toward him, its corners turning to ash in his grasp before solidifying again. "An interesting case. One that's never been filled properly..."
The woman in the robe spoke next, her voice soft but carrying a weight of ancient wisdom. "You see, Ilyan of the Recently Dead, there are things about your death that don't add up. Things that were lost, things that were hidden. But now, by the power of the Relic you possess and the witnesses who signed off on your demise, it's time to face what you've been running from."
Ilyan felt his heart skip a beat. "What... what are you talking about? I'm just here to fix my record. I just want to live again—"
"Live?" The man in black laughed, though the sound was cold, hollow. "You can never truly live again, Ilyan. Not in the way you want. The truth of your passing is written in the fabric of existence. To undo it—well, that's not something we can allow. But we can remake it. We can give you what you've truly lost."
Ashwen tensed beside him, her sharp eyes narrowing. "What do you mean by that?"
The woman in white stepped forward, her eyes glowing beneath the mask. "All this time, you've been running from something deeper than your own death. The Ministry will now ensure that your records reflect the truth you've sought. Whether you like it or not."
Ilyan stepped back, his hand instinctively reaching for the relic in his pocket. It thrummed with a power he had yet to fully understand, and his thoughts raced. "Wait—no. I don't want to be remade."
"You have no choice," the man in black said, standing from the table. "This is what happens to those who fall through the cracks of existence. They are stitched back together. They are made... whole."
"But I'm already whole!" Ilyan protested. "I don't need your... your fixing. I just need my name cleared!"
There was a long silence before the woman in white spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper. "Not every soul can simply pass through. Some must be remade. And for those who seek what they once had—there's always a price."
Ilyan's chest tightened. "A price?"
Clerk 404 gave a dramatic sigh. "A very big price. I've seen this happen. Many, many times. Once you are submitted into the Ministry's archives, your fate is set. You are either erased from history, or you become part of it—whether you want to or not."
Ilyan took a step back, his mind racing. What was happening? Why had he come all this way only to face this cryptic nonsense? He wanted to scream, but the words caught in his throat. Ashwen was beside him, her hand on his shoulder, silently urging him to remain calm.
He took a deep breath. "How do I fix this? How do I go back to what I was—alive, in the world, without all these strings pulling at me?"
The rotund man gave a slow, calculating smile. "Simple. You don't. The system has its ways. And the only way to move forward... is to accept what you've already lost."
With that, everything went still.
The room seemed to stretch, twisting and contorting around them like a funhouse mirror. The three figures at the table began to blur, their faces melting into something unrecognizable, their voices merging into a single soundless hum.
Then, with a snap—everything went quiet.
Ilyan found himself standing alone in the room, the form 27B now burned to nothing but ash in his hand. His relic had stopped vibrating, and the lingering sense of bureaucracy's grip slowly faded from his chest.
Ashwen's voice broke the silence. "Ilyan... are you okay?"
He didn't know how to answer. All the answers, all the fears, all the regrets that had built up in him—nothing had been resolved. It was as though the Ministry had erased him, only to leave behind something that didn't belong anywhere.
But there was one thing he knew for certain.
"Yeah," he said, a small, crooked smile tugging at his lips. "I'm fine. I'm... I'm fine."
They turned to leave, walking past Clerk 404 who gave them a nod, before they exited the room into a long hallway, the Ministry's echoing silence accompanying their steps.
As the doors behind them closed, Ilyan felt, for the first time in his life, like he could finally breathe.