There are rivers that flow through mountains and valleys.

Rivers that carve through stone and history, shaping the land as they move.

And then…

There is the River That Led Nowhere.

A river that does not move through space.

But through time.

Its waters do not erode stone—they erase memories.

Its currents do not lead to oceans—they lead to the past, the future, and places that should not exist at all.

I know this because I once sailed its waters.

And though I returned…

I am not sure I ever truly left.

The Map That Should Not Have Existed

It began, as many of my misadventures do, with a whisper of lost knowledge.

I had been searching for a map rumored to chart the unknown—a parchment older than any kingdom, drawn by a hand that no mortal had ever seen.

The man who possessed it was a scholar named Edran Blackwood—a man whose mind had been fractured by secrets too vast to comprehend.

“You do not want this map, Merlin,” he had warned, his fingers clutching the fragile parchment.

“Some roads were never meant to be traveled.”

I should have listened.

But curiosity is a dangerous thing.

And so, I took the map.

And I followed the river it revealed.

The Waters That Defied Reality

The river was not on any chart.

It did not appear in the records of kings, nor in the tales of sailors.

And yet, as I walked through a forgotten valley, there it was—

A river that should not exist.

Its waters were not like normal waters.

They did not reflect the sky above.

They did not ripple with the wind.

Instead, when I looked into them…

I saw memories.

Not mine.

Not yours.

Memories of time itself.

The rise and fall of empires.
The birth of stars.
The end of worlds.

All playing out in the depths of the river, as if it was a reflection of history itself.

I felt a chill creep up my spine.

And yet…

I stepped into a boat waiting on the shore.

Because I had to know where this river led.

The First Drift Through Time

The moment my boat left the shore, the world around me shifted.

The sky above me twisted, the stars moved in ways that defied nature, as if I had left the present behind.

The river was taking me somewhere else.

Or somewhen else.

I watched as the water beneath me rippled—visions emerging like reflections in a distorted mirror.

The building of the pyramids, stone by stone.
The fall of the great Roman walls.
A city that had never existed, and yet… I remembered it.

I was not traveling through the river.

I was traveling through history.

And that was when I saw them.

The figures standing on the shore.

Watching me.

Waiting.

The Keepers of the River

They were not human.

Not quite.

They were tall, robed in flowing fabric that shimmered like liquid moonlight, their faces hidden beneath masks carved from stone.

And though they did not speak, I felt their message pressing into my mind.

“Turn back.”

“This is not your path.”

“This river was never meant for you.”

I should have listened.

I should have turned the boat around.

But I had already traveled too far.

And the current was pulling me deeper into time.

So I sailed onward.

And the figures on the shore vanished.

The River’s Warning

The deeper I traveled, the less real the world became.

The sky turned a color I do not have words for.

The air was thicker, filled with a hum that resonated deep inside my bones.

And the water…

The water began to speak.

Not with words.

But with memories.

Flashes of my own past.

A boy in a tower, learning his first spell.
A king with a golden crown, laughing beside me.
A battle I had fought and lost, though I could not remember when.

And then, the river showed me something I did not recognize.

Something that had not happened yet.

Something I was never meant to see.

The Vision of the End

It was a city I did not know.

Its streets were lined with towers of silver, its people wearing robes of strange patterns, their eyes filled with a knowledge beyond human comprehension.

I did not know them.

And yet—

They knew me.

Because I was standing among them.

Older.

Worn.

Holding a book I had never seen before.

And the moment I saw myself, the vision shattered.

The boat lurched violently, the water screaming around me, the sky ripping apart like fabric torn by an unseen hand.

And suddenly—

I was falling.

The River’s Last Secret

I woke on the shore.

Not where I had started.

Not where I had meant to be.

But somewhere else.

The boat was gone.

The river was gone.

And as I stood, disoriented, staring at the empty land around me…

I realized something terrifying.

I could not remember where I had been.

The journey, the figures, the visions—

All of it was fading.

Like a dream slipping through my fingers.

Like the river had erased itself from my mind.

All except for one thing.

One name, written in my own hand, on a piece of parchment tucked into my robe.

A name I did not recognize.

A name I had never heard before.

And yet, somehow…

I knew it was mine.

Time is not a road.

It is not a river.

It is a place.

A place that can be traveled.

A place that can be lost.

And though I returned from that journey…

A part of me wonders—

Did I come back the same?

Or did the river bring back someone else?

The Name That Should Not Exist

I stood in the empty valley, staring at the parchment in my hand.

A single word had been scrawled onto its surface.

A name.

My name.

But not Merlin.

Not Emrys, nor any of the other names I had been called throughout time.

It was a name I did not recognize.

And yet…

I knew it was mine.

It felt like a word I had forgotten, like a truth buried so deeply in my soul that time itself had tried to erase it.

But why?

Where had I heard it before?

Or had I heard it at all?

The longer I stared at it, the more my head ached, as if my mind was rejecting something it was never meant to hold.

And then…

I heard the whispers.

Not from around me.

From inside me.

“You were not meant to remember.”

“You should not have come back.”

The Fractured Memories

I staggered, gripping my staff.

The whispers grew louder, breaking apart my thoughts like cracks forming in glass.

Suddenly, I was standing in the boat again.

The river rushing beneath me.
The sky shifting with colors beyond mortal sight.
The Keepers on the shore, watching, waiting.

But this time…

I saw what I had not seen before.

The moment I fell.

The moment I was cast back onto the shore.

And the figure that stood in my place.

A man, cloaked in shadows, his face obscured.

A man who wore my name.

I gasped, the vision snapping away as I fell to my knees.

What had I done?

Had I truly returned from the river?

Or had I been replaced?

The Man Who Should Not Be

I needed answers.

And there was only one place left to look.

I turned my gaze eastward, toward the ruins of a city that had once held the greatest records of time itself.

A place few dared to walk.

A place where knowledge had been buried by those who feared what it would reveal.

The Sunken Archives of Al’Zahir.

The Journey to the Archives

It took weeks to reach the ruins.

The desert sands had swallowed them whole, burying the great towers of Al’Zahir beneath centuries of dust.

The people of the nearest village refused to go near it.

“That place is cursed,” they whispered.

“The ones who seek its knowledge never return.”

“Some doors should remain closed.”

But I had already opened too many doors to stop now.

So I went alone.

Through the broken corridors.
Past the shattered remains of forgotten scholars, their bones left untouched by time.
Into the heart of the archives, where the last records of history waited to be read.

And there, deep within the ruins…

I found my name.

But not where it should have been.

It was not in the books of sorcerers.

Not in the scrolls of kings and advisors.

No.

It was written in a warning.

A single page, nailed to the door of the deepest chamber.

The ink had not faded.

As if someone had written it yesterday.

And the words sent a chill through my soul.

“If he returns, he must not be allowed to remember.”

The Truth of the River

I pushed open the doors.

Inside, the chamber was filled with mirrors.

But they did not show my reflection.

They showed him.

The man from the river.

The other me.

A thousand versions of myself, flickering between the mirrors—

Some older.
Some younger.
Some wearing armor I did not recognize, standing in lands I had never set foot in.

And then…

One of them spoke.

“You were never meant to leave.”

“The river is not a path, Merlin.”

“It is a prison.”

“And you were supposed to stay inside it.”

The Battle for Existence

The mirrors shattered, and the air split apart, as if reality itself was breaking at the seams.

And then, the man from the river stepped forward.

Not an illusion.

Not a vision.

A living being.

A man who wore my face.

But his eyes…

His eyes were not mine.

“You stole my place,” he said.

“Now, I am here to take it back.”

And then, without a word, he attacked.

The Duel Against Myself

He moved like I did.

His magic matched mine.

Every spell I cast, he countered.
Every strike I made, he dodged.

Because he knew everything I did.

Because he was me.

But there was one difference.

One thing he did not understand.

I had spent my life learning.

Changing.

Evolving beyond the man I had once been.

And if he was a version of me trapped in time…

That meant he was not ready for what I had become.

I let him strike first.

And then, when the moment was right…

I rewrote the rules of the battle.

The Final Spell

“You should not exist!” he shouted.

“Neither should you!” I answered.

And with one final incantation, I cast a spell that neither of us should have known.

A spell that unwrote one of us from existence.

The chamber exploded with light.

Time folded in on itself.

The mirrors collapsed into nothingness.

And then—

Silence.

I was alone.

The man was gone.

Or maybe…

I was.

The Final Question

I left the archives that night.

The city of Al’Zahir crumbled behind me, as if it had only remained standing long enough for me to find my answers.

I returned to the valley.

The river was gone.

No trace of it.

As if it had never been there at all.

And yet…

When I closed my eyes…

I could still hear it.

Still feel its current pulling at the edges of my soul.

And the name I had found?

The one that had belonged to me before the river took it away?

I never spoke it aloud.

Because if I did…

I was afraid I might become him again.

And the next time, traveler…

I might not make it back.

Merlin’s Final Words

Some rivers lead to oceans.

Some lead to nothing.

And some lead to a place where time has no meaning.

I do not know which version of myself returned from the river that day.

But I know this—

If you ever hear the sound of water where no river should be…

Do not drink from it.

Do not follow it.

And most of all…

Do not sail it.

Because once you do…

You may never be certain if you are still you.