I realized, the moment I fell into the fissure, that the book would not be destroyed as I had planned. It continued falling into that starry expanse of which I had only a fleeting glimpse. I’ve tried to speculate where it might have landed, but I must admit that such conjecture is futile. Still, the questions about whose hands might one day hold my Myst book are unsettling to me. I know my apprehensions might never be allayed, and so I close, realizing that perhaps, the ending has not yet been written.
Atrus, Myst