Surviving A Novel I Don't Remember: A Tutor's Guide To Staying Alive

In the first world, he built with Norx, who had provided everything, and the humans became complacent.

The thought of that first world left a bitter taste in Alias’s mouth, stronger than the dry flour of the bread. He remembered it vividly: a land of eternal spring where fruit fell into waiting hands and the rivers ran with sweet water.

He and Norx had watched from above, expecting a masterpiece of peace.

​Instead, they had watched the humans rot. Without the need to strive, their spirits had grown dull; they had stopped creating, stopped dreaming, and eventually, stopped caring for one another. They became like stagnant ponds.

They began to lag in development, squander and divulge, because it was all there, and there was no reason to work hard.

​Norx had been the one to voice it first. "They aren’t living, Alias. They’re just existing. Let’s dry it up and see if they find their fire."

​Alias had watched the drought consume that world, his eyes turned away from the cracking earth and the silent, confused faces of his people. He had promised himself that the next world—this world—would be better. He had balanced every hardship against a potential reward. He had calculated that hunger would lead to agriculture, and scarcity would lead to community.

​But looking at Theo’s trembling fingers and the way the boy’s collarbones jutted out against his tanned skin, Alias realized he had made a grave error in his mathematics. He had calculated the ’survival of the species,’ but he had ignored the suffering of the individual.

Perfection... was not easy to attain. Or perhaps, he just wants good enough yet.

​"It shouldn’t be like that," Alias repeated, his voice quiet and low.

​Theo didn’t hear the cosmic weight behind the words. He just saw a pale stranger looking sad over a piece of bread. He gave a sharp, careless shrug and finally bit into his crust.

"Maybe not. But the world doesn’t care about ’should,’ Alias. It only cares about what is. And what is, right now, is that I’m the one with the knife and the bread, and you’re the one who looks like he’s about to cry over a snack."

​Maya, sensing the sudden dip in the mood, leaned her head against Alias’s shoulder. She was small and warm, her presence a grounding weight against the dizzying realization of his divine failure.

​"Don’t be sad, Mister Alias," she whispered. "Theo is very strong. He once fought a dog for a sausage and won!"

​Theo choked on his bread, his face turning a darker shade of bronze as he glared at his sister.

"Maya! We don’t talk about the dog incident. It was a very large dog."

​Alias looked at the two of them. In the heavens, a thousand years felt like a heartbeat. Here, every second of Theo’s hunger felt like an eternity. He had wanted to create a ’perfect’ world through logic, but sitting in the dust, he realized that perfection wasn’t a formula.

​"I want to understand," Alias said, his eyes meeting Theo’s blue ones. "Not just the sun. I want to understand how you stay... like this. How you can be empty and still give the most to her?"

​Theo stopped chewing. He looked at Alias for a long time, the mockery fading from his expression. He saw the genuine, raw confusion in the silver-haired man’s eyes and felt a strange, reluctant tug of sympathy.

​"It’s not a mystery, Moon-boy," Theo said quietly, his voice losing its edge. "You do it because you have to. Because if you don’t, the person next to you, the one you care about the most, dies. It’s not logic. It’s just... what you do for the people you love."

​Love. Alias knew the word. He had used it to describe his attachment to his designs, his scrolls, and his partner, Norx. But as he watched Theo hand the last scrap of his crust to Maya, Alias realized he hadn’t known the meaning of the word at all. He just knew the word as it was.

Love.

​Norx didn’t love the world; he loved the spectacle. And Alias? He had loved the idea of a world, but he hadn’t loved the people in it. Not until now.

He wanted to love. He wanted to learn to love. He wanted... to be loved.

Without realizing it, a small pink blush surfaced on his pale cheek, not from the heat and not from anything else, but from something he could not quite name.

The small meal was finished, leaving nothing but a few stray crumbs on the low wooden table and a heavy, quiet settling in the air.

Alias sat very still, trying to process the physical sensation of food in his stomach. He could consider himself full with only that and wondered if he ate more than this, if he wouldn’t be able to move as freely as he was doing now.

It was a funny thought, but he could not see himself laughing.

Then Theo suddenly stood up and clapped his hands together.

​"Alright," Theo announced, the sound sharp in the tiny room. "It’s time to sleep."

​Alias blinked, his silver-white brows drawing together in genuine confusion. "Sleep?"

​He understood the concept, of course. He had seen the inhabitants of his worlds go still when the sun vanished; he had watched from the heavens as the millions of tiny glowing dots across the continents dimmed and slowed until dawn broke through the darkness.

But he was a being of eternal light and constant thought. The idea of ceasing—of closing his eyes and letting the world go on without him—was entirely alien.

​Moreover, he turned his head toward the door. The sun was still a brutal, blinding force outside, its rays spilling through the cracks in the mud walls like glowing golden spears. The heat was at its peak, humming with a dry, relentless energy.

​"It is..." Alias began, his voice hesitant as he gestured toward the door. "Is it not a bit early? The sun has not even begun its descent."