《cheese moon》


 Chapter I, once upon a time

    Fantasy is not just a literary genre, it is a universal language for those who dare to daydream.


    It is the whisper of the winds that carry ancient stories, the voice of the trees whose roots touch the confines of time. It speaks in languages ??we have never heard, but have always understood. Its words slide through the air like the mist in an enchanted valley, drawing invisible landscapes, full of light and shadow, where the boundaries blur on the horizon.


    Right in the heart of this, imagination acts as a compass that guides those who enter its vast territories. Dreamers, with eyes full of stars, are the explorers of these worlds, walking along invisible paths where each step is a new page that writes itself.


    In this language there are no barriers, neither time nor space; It is the place where castles float above the clouds, oceans hide forgotten empires, mountains hold the secrets of gods and giants, and dragons fly above reddish skies.


    Fantasy is also a refuge for souls that carry the weight of a reality that is too rigid. For those whose hopes have been extinguished, it is an open door to infinite possibility. In its stories, they find solace, a piece of heaven where they can imagine what could be, what should be. Reality becomes a blank canvas, and with fantasy as a paintbrush, dreamers paint different futures, better worlds, and, above all, a place where everything is possible. Where the impossible love between a simple mortal warrior and an all-powerful sorceress tells the story of a boy who discovers that his shadow can come to life and take him to a hidden kingdom; it whispers the epics of a ship that sails over seas of dull clouds searching for the rainbow.


    Fantasy is, ultimately, the promise that magic exists. Not the magic of spells and incantations, but the magic of possibility, of dreams that push us to explore, to discover, to be something more than what we are. It is for those who believe that in every dark corner there is a hidden treasure, that in every goodbye there is a new beginning, and that, beyond the last sunset, there is always a dawn waiting.


    For this and much more, Arturo fell in love with fantasy literature.He grew up in a small town in western Aragon, where stories were the only escape from the daily monotony. His parents, both workers at a local factory, did not have much time to read, although they always made sure that their son had access to a wide variety of books in the community library.


    It was there, among dusty bookshelves and under the soft light of lamps, that he discovered his first book.


    He was ten years old when he came across an old copy of J.R.R. Tolkien''s "The Hobbit." The worn cover showed a small hobbit next to a majestic dragon, and from the first chapter, Arthur was fascinated. Tolkien''s words transported him to Middle Earth, a place of adventure, magical creatures and unlikely heroes. Every night, he lost himself in those pages, longing to be part of those epic journeys.


    He discovered that through words, writers could create entire universes, full of complex characters and intricate plots. Each book was a door to a new adventure, and Arthur soon became an avid reader, devouring everything he found about wizards, dragons, faraway kingdoms and brave heroes.


    "And so," Arthur said, his tone solemn as he waved a lantern that served as the story''s sword, "the brave warrior princess defeated the evil of her people. Because in the world, good always wins in the end."


    Maria sat in front of him, cross-legged, a cushion on her lap, staring at him in fascination. The room was dim, barely lit by the dim artificial light. The siblings had built a makeshift tent out of sheets and blankets, a small shelter where the two of them felt safe from the outside world.On the floor between them was a pile of small objects they had collected during the day: a couple of old buttons, a bird feather, a rusty key, and a small, oddly shaped stone that Maria had found by the river.


    "So, does good always win?"


    Arthur shrugged. "In my stories, yes. Evil never wins."


    "And in other stories? Has evil ever won?"


    Arthur lowered the lantern, looking down at the floor for a moment. It was a difficult question, even for him.


    Finally, he shook his head.


    "I shouldn''t. Because if evil wins, then people lose hope. And without hope, there are no more stories."


    Maria seemed to think about this for a long moment, playing with the quill they had found.


    "So, do you always have to write stories where good wins?"


    The older brother paused, thinking once more. He was delighted to satisfy his little sister''s curiosity.


    He raised the flashlight again, shining it on the ceiling where the shadows danced again. "Not always. But even if good doesn''t win at first, it always finds a way to triumph in the end."


    Maria looked at him with a small but satisfied smile. She knew she could trust Arturo''s stories, because somehow they always made her feel safer, braver.


    "You know what?" the young girl said, stretching out on her blanket. "When you grow up, you have to write a book. And I want to be the heroine," she said, tilting her head in an adorable pout.


    Arturo lowered his stick and nodded, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I promise."


    Maria smiled widely, but then her expression became more thoughtful. "And you? Who are you in the stories?"


    The young man shrugged again, sitting down next to her. He looked up at the ceiling, where the shadows on the blankets formed strange patterns that moved in the breeze from the half-open window.


    "I''m the one who writes the stories. The one who makes them up."


    With that promise, Arturo finished college, which opened up a new world of knowledge and critical analysis for him. There, he not only read more deeply but also began to understand the techniques and structures that authors used to construct their stories. He learned about mythology, symbolism, and the various literary currents that had shaped fantasy over the centuries.


    He had always felt that words were his true home, even more than any corner of his hometown.


    Fresh out of college, with his literature degree under his arm and a mind full of stories he had not yet managed to write, he found himself facing an abyss that all novice writers know well: the vertigo of the first step, the moment when the blank pages murmur mockingly from the desk.


    For weeks, Arturo had sent resumes to publishers, newspapers, and magazines in the hope that someone would see in him something more than a recent graduate.


    He knew he loved writing, but he wasn''t sure if he was strong enough to face the doubts, criticism, and expectations that came with it.


    He pulled out of his backpack a worn notebook, one he had carried with him throughout college. The pages were filled with fragments of ideas, characters, and unfinished dialogue. Some were promises of novels, others were simply flashes of inspiration that had never come to anything further.


    One page in particular caught his eye. It was a list of his goals, written during his first year of college.


    "Publish a book before I''m 25. Win a literary prize. Be a recognized author."


    Arturo let out a bitter laugh. They were ambitious goals, filled with the confidence of a young man who believed that talent and passion would be enough to conquer the world. Now, reading them, they seemed far away, almost impossible.


    "Writing the impossible as possible."


    He stared at those words for a long moment, letting them sink deep into his mind. They were a reminder of why he had started all this in the first place. Not to win fame or awards, but because stories, in their purest form, had the power to transform what seemed unattainable into something tangible.


    Writing, he thought, was an act of faith. Writing didn''t just tell stories, it gave shape to worlds that existed only in the imagination. And that, precisely, was what kept him writing.


    One morning, as he checked his email with the routine of someone already expecting bad news, a light flickered on his screen: a message from the literary magazine "Paper & Pen."


    He had heard about it.


    It was a magazine with the soul of a notebook and the spirit of a wandering troubadour. Its name was a metaphor in itself, a simple but profound promise. After all, what more does a storyteller need than paper and pen?


    On the day of the interview, Arturo found himself sitting in front of the editor-in-chief, a middle-aged woman with silver hair and curious eyes, as if she could read the sea of ??stories he still didn''t know how to tell.


    "So you''re Arturo, the recent graduate who hasn''t published anything yet, right?" she asked, without malice, but with a disarming honesty.


    Arturo nodded without further ado, feeling the weight of sincerity in the air. "Yes, it''s me," he thought, aware of his own fragility, it was a sheet of paper still blank.


    "Listen, I''ll give you a chance," said the editor, taking a sheet of paper from her desk and handing it to him. "Write for us. Write whatever you want, whatever inspires you. I just need you to prove that you have something to say, something worth reading."


    And so, with that simple offer, Arturo got his first job.


    Located in a small building in the center of the city, with modest but cozy offices filled with books and manuscripts stacked in every corner, Arturo arrived for his first day of work.


    An older man with a gray beard and bright eyes welcomed him with a warm handshake and showed him his workspace: a small desk next to a window overlooking a merely busy street.


    "Welcome to Paper & Pen," don Juan said. A man of impeccable appearance, with gray hair combed back, always dressed in dark suits that contrasted with his inexhaustible affable smile.


    At first glance, he might have seemed like one of those traditional publishers, who valued old scrolls the most. But it was enough to spend a few minutes with him to realize that beneath that


    facade of an old-school scholar, the heart of a revolutionary beat.


    He had witnessed the golden age of paper, and also the modern era. In his office, don Juan sat


    surrounded by piles of manuscripts and a state-of-the-art computer.


    For him, change in the literary industry was not a threat, but a door to opportunity for all. He had seen how readers'' tastes diversified, how young, fresh, untethered voices began to find an echo in a public tired of predictable formulas. He understood that the market was no longer content with just established names, but longed for new stories, perspectives that offered something different, something real and close.


    It is thanks to him that Arturo owes his work, when he developed his concept of looking for new faces for the magazine, young writers who, as he likes to say, "had fire in their eyes." He was not looking for perfection or impeccable technique; there were already manuals and courses for that. Don Juan wanted authenticity, even if it was in a raw, imperfect way and overflowing with emotion.


    "The reading industry is continually changing," he told him on his first day, as they walked through the halls of the office filled with shelves and clippings of old articles. "Readers no longer seek only what gives them comfort; they want to be challenged, they want to see the world through new eyes."Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    On a day-to-day basis, don Juan was the mentor that every young writer needs. He never imposed his vision and always knew what questions to ask. He was often seen having coffee with the newbies, listening to their ideas, discussing literature and offering them advice without it sounding like lessons.


    "Literature is like a dance: you can teach the steps, but you can''t teach the music." "That is born within every writer," he told her again. "People read on electronic devices, narrative podcasts are at their peak, and short stories are reviving on social media. Literature, like any art, must evolve, adapt, and, above all, breathe fresh air," he told a group of newbies. "That is why I never stop looking for new faces, those restless minds who, with their pen and paper, will transform the art of storytelling." Today had been a rainy day in the city, and despite the weather, the meeting room was full. Desks had been pushed to the sides, and a crowd of young writers, newly incorporated into the magazine, had gathered around a small improvised platform. In the center, with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand, sat don Juan.


    He had called together the new talents of the season to give them an official welcome, a ritual


    that he himself had established some time ago.


    "Listen" he continued, pausing dramatically, his eyes scanning the faces of each listener¡ªI have seen many generations of writers pass through these doors. I have seen styles born, evolve, and disappear. But what always remains is the desire to tell something. It doesn''t matter if they write about dragons, impossible loves, or the daily life of a small town. These are exciting times to be a writer. And I need you, there will be room for each one of you, if you prove to me that you are worthy.


    Don Juan finished his speech with a forceful, almost lapidary phrase that resonated in every corner of the newsroom:


    "And remember, young people, that if you do not write with sweat and blood, the words will be nothing more than dry ink on paper".


    Silence took over the place for an instant, as if everyone was swallowing that last sentence. The team of new editors, a dozen young men sitting around the large oval table, exchanged uncertain glances. Arturo, who was in a corner taking notes, looked up and saw some of them begin to clap their hands together in a timid applause.


    The first clicking sounds echoed through the room, but they were quickly stopped when don Juan raised a hand, gesturing for them to stop. He didn''t need to say anything; the slight movement was enough to silence the murmur of applause.


    A sly smile appeared on his face, one of those that showed both authority and a hint of mockery.


    "There''s no need to applaud. We haven''t written a single line worthy of such applause yet," he said in his calm but firm voice. "Now, let''s get to work."


    The crowd slowly dispersed, some of them staying to talk among themselves, while others, more timid, returned to their desks. Arturo, on the other hand, remained still for a moment, watching his boss with curiosity and, steeling himself, approached him, who was in a corner of the room pouring himself another cup of coffee; his favorite drink for long editing days.


    Don Juan looked up and smiled as he saw the young writer approaching. "Well, Arturo," he said, patting him on the back. "I see that the speech hasn''t scared you. What can I do for you?"


    "Good speech, boss. Although I must admit that for a moment I thought I was going to make them clap their knuckles on the table."


    Don Juan glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, with a barely perceptible smile on his lips. "If they applauded now, they would later run out of energy to write anything decent. I prefer that they save their enthusiasm for their texts, not for me," he replied in his typical ironic tone.


    Arturo nodded, laughing to himself.


    He knew that don Juan enjoyed these verbal games, these exchanges where both could measure their words intelligently.


    "And tell me, Arturo, were you also planning to join in the applause or were you just watching?" asked don Juan, looking out from behind a window and looking towards the inner courtyard of the publishing house.


    "No, no, I already know how this works," answered Arturo, raising his hands in surrender. "But I was watching you, and it made me think of something..." he said, adopting a tone of false seriousness. "What will happen when your passion for modernization prevails even when a machine steals our jobs?"


    Don Juan turned his head toward him, with an arched eyebrow and a sarcastic smile on his lips.


    "Are you telling me that I should start to fear those artificial intelligence gadgets?" he replied mockingly. "What''s next, Arturo? Are you going to bring me a machine that writes better than me?"


    "I don''t know, boss, but at this rate I wouldn''t be surprised if we soon had a machine writing columns for Paper & Pen. We could call it "Don Bot.""


    Don Juan laughed, a short but genuine laugh, and shook his head.


    ""Don Bot," huh? I like the name, but I''m afraid that machine would have to learn to drink black coffee and criticize mediocre stories before it could be called that". He patted Arturo on the shoulder in a friendly manner.


    "So, you don''t think that those tools could be useful for our work?" he asked, testing the waters once more.


    Don Juan paused, looking out the window at the gray sky. "I''m not saying that they don''t have their place" he admitted, shrugging his shoulders "but writing, the art of telling stories, is one of the most human things there is. It is a reflection of our emotions, our experiences, our doubts and dreams. How could a machine understand that? How could an artificial intelligence write something with the same depth as a human being who has lived, loved, and suffered?"


    Arturo nodded, finally understanding don Juan''s point, and watched as don Juan opened the door to leave the room and walked away down the hall.


    Before his figure disappeared around a corner, something burned in his conscience.


    "Boss!" he called, taking a few quick steps toward him.


    Don Juan stopped, turning his head in curiosity.


    "What''s wrong, Arturo?" he asked, with a half smile, thinking it was another joke.


    Arturo swallowed. He didn''t know how to say it without it sounding like a betrayal.


    He scratched the back of his neck, a gesture he always made when he was nervous.


    "There is something I must admit, and I think you should know it, since we have been talking so much about machines and writing from the heart." His words came out more hurriedly than he expected.


    "What have you done now? Have you plagiarized Shakespeare or what?"Arturo laughed nervously and shook his head.


    "No, nothing so extreme. But... sometimes, when I feel blocked or when I don''t know how to continue a story, I have used artificial intelligence to get out of a rut."


    The silence that followed was heavy.


    Don Juan looked at him, his expression unreadable. For a moment, Arturo didn''t know if he was disappointed, furious, or simply surprised.


    "So you use those ''machines'' to write, after all?" don Juan said, his voice low and calm, though his tone was ambiguous.


    "Not to write," Arturo quickly explained. "I use the artificial intelligence as a partner to do a kind of brainstorming. Sometimes I ask it questions like "how could I continue this scene?" or "give me some ideas for this conflict." But then I always rewrite everything, adapt it to my style, make it my own. I know it''s not the same, but..." he shrugged, suddenly feeling very small under his boss''s critical gaze. "I didn''t want to mislead you, don Juan. I just thought you needed to know."The boss stared at him, as if trying to read between the unspoken lines, as if he were evaluating Arturo from a completely new perspective. A few seconds passed that seemed like an eternity to Arturo.


    "You know, boy," he began, in a more friendly tone than Arturo had anticipated, "I''m not surprised. Perhaps a little disappointed, because I would have liked to think that new writers were still fighting those blocks with just their minds and a notebook. But I understand that times change. And if I''ve learned anything in this life, it''s that every writer has his methods and rituals."


    Arturo nodded slowly, still feeling somewhat embarrassed. "I know, and I feel guilty about it. It''s like I''m cheating."


    Don Juan laughed softly, a short, dry laugh, like a snort.


    "Cheating? Every generation finds new ways to deceive itself. Before, we were inspired by a shot of whiskey or by smoking until the room filled with smoke. Now it seems to be with machines and algorithms." His expression softened. "A partner in ideas, you say?" he asked thoughtfully. "I guess I understand the concept." But still, my pride as a writer would prevent me from resorting to a machine for ideas. I would rather beg for inspiration from my own readers." Don Juan stopped short, his eyes widening slightly as a sly smile began to appear on his lips. "Wait a minute... that''s it!"


    The editor-in-chief stepped toward the writer and raised his cup, laughing as if toasting an invisible audience.


    "Listen to this, Arturo: instead of looking for ideas in a machine, why don''t we ask our readers directly to give us their ideas? We could do something new, something interactive. A section of the magazine where readers send us short concepts, crazy ideas, or suggestions for stories. And we, the writers, will take those ideas and transform them into short stories".


    The idea was as simple as it was brilliant: a direct collaboration with readers, giving them a space to be an active part of the creative process.


    "This is what it means to adapt to the times. It is not blindly following trends or technologies, but finding new ways to connect. By asking readers to participate, we are not only inviting them to dream with us, but we are also giving them a voice. We are breaking the barrier between the writer and the reader".


    It was the evolution they were talking about, but done in Don Juan''s way: human, creative, and collaborative.


    He looked at Arturo with an expression that was a mixture of satisfaction and pride. "You know, Arturo?" he said, taking a breath and crossing his arms. "When I talked about the need for new faces in this magazine, I was referring exactly to this. It''s not just about bringing in young people to follow our old formulas. We need fresh voices that challenge our ideas, that make us rethink what we take for granted. If you hadn''t mentioned artificial intelligence, it would never have occurred to me to involve our readers in this way."


    "Thank you, don Juan, but..." he finally managed to say, with a shy smile, "I don''t think I''ve done much."


    Don Juan let out a soft laugh, a laugh that resonated with the warmth of someone who has found exactly what he was looking for. "These aren''t just random comments, boy. Great ideas always start with a casual conversation. Now that we''ve lit this spark, I want you to be the one to turn it into fire. Do you remember that I mentioned that there would be room for each of you to bring your personal touch to the magazine?" Arturo nodded. "Well, this is your moment" he replied. "I want you to stay with the idea. It will be your space to experiment, to test this thing that we just developed together. I leave it in your hands".


    Arturo''s eyes opened wide.


    "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice shaking with disbelief. "I mean, it''s a big responsibility, and I''m new here..."


    "Precisely because you''re new here is why I want to give you this opportunity. You''re not conditioned by our customs, you''re not tied to the old ways of doing things. This is your chance to show what you can bring to the table and see how our readers respond".


    Arturo was already full of ideas bubbling in his mind. Don Juan smiled, delighted to see that fire in his eyes.


    "First, we are going to announce this new section in the next issue. I want you to write a short editorial explaining the idea. Tell the readers that we are opening our doors so that they can also contribute, that we want to hear their suggestions, ideas for stories. You can invite them to send phrases, concepts, even titles. It will be a collaborative section, where each week we will select some ideas and transform them into short stories".


    Arturo could already see the idea taking shape in his mind. He visualized the readers sending their proposals, actively participating in the creative process. He felt that, for the first time, he was a professional writer.


    "I promise not to disappoint".


    "I have no doubt about that, Arturo. Now go to your desk and start working on it".


    He designed a call for readers to send their ideas, which would be published in the next issue of the magazine. Together with the design team, they created an engaging "Shared Letters" page, clearly explaining how readers could participate and what to expect from the process.The first edition received an overwhelming response. Letters and emails came in from all over and Arturo and his team dove into submissions, selecting the most promising ones.The first story published was a fantastical tale about an underwater kingdom, based on an idea sent in by a young 14-year-old reader. Arturo personally took it upon himself to develop it, making sure it captured the essence of the original idea while adding his own more technical and professional touch.


    And so, the next few weeks were a whirlwind of work. Arturo spent hours reading letters, each one containing unique and even quirky ideas. From stories about detective cats to tales of love on distant planets, there was no shortage of inspiration. However, turning those ideas into coherent and engaging stories was quite a challenge that required all of his creativity and literary skills.


    He looked out the window at his small office littered with crumpled papers and spent pens. By the time he finished the first draft of his next story, the sun had already begun to set behind the city buildings, bathing everything in a soft, golden light.


    Most of the proposals were interesting, but nothing excited him enough to write anything worthwhile.


    It was then that, as he shuffled through a pile of discarded letters, his fingers brushed against a small envelope, slightly bent at one corner.


    There was nothing special about it at first glance, but something made him pause. He opened it carefully and pulled out a sheet of paper, where a clumsy, slightly slanted handwriting occupied the center:


    "Go and tell the enchantment,that when day and night cross,the Diurnals keep the rootsand the Nocturnals seek the stars."


    idea written by A. Soler


    Arturo recited the words quietly, letting them roll off his tongue, feeling their weight. There was something deeply poetic about them, something that went beyond their form. They weren''t just words, they were a riddle, a fragment of a larger story he could barely glimpse.


    The idea was actually simple, almost schematic. It spoke of two opposing realms, separated not only by their nature, but also by their history and the magic that arose from them. The Day People, who ruled the light, used advanced technology and the power of the sun, while the Night People, who dwelled in the darkness, had developed an ancient magic that only flourished under the eternal moon.


    A story about the conflicts between day and night, the sun and the moon, he thought, as his mind began to recall a moment from his childhood: Maria, his sister, lying beside him in the garden at home, looking at the stars.


    "Can you imagine living on a planet with two sides?" she had said once. "One side with sun forever, and the other with moon. I would be on both sides, of course."Arthur had laughed at the time, joking that he would rule the side of the moon. But now, as he read the letter, he felt an inexplicable connection between that old conversation and the words in front of him.


    He could write something quickly, something that would fit into the journal.


    But as he wrote, the words seemed to take on a life of their own, developing into something bigger, more complex.


    He couldn''t help but smile to himself. That little idea, so simple on its surface, was crying out for more than just a short story.


    It wanted to be more. It wanted to be real.


    He ran his hands over his face, thoughtful. The letter spoke not only of the divide between the two realms, but also of something deeper: the internal struggle of the individuals who lived in those worlds, of the ideas of justice, power, and peace. On one side, light was seen as the path to progress and order, but also the oppression of those who couldn''t keep up. On the other side, darkness, which promised freedom and knowledge, but also chaos and sacrifice...


    Before he knew it, he had begun to write something more than just a short story.

 Chapter II, butterfly effect

    Arturo woke up early, as always, adjusting to the meticulous routine he had cultivated to stay productive in his position at Paper & Pen. However, something inside him had begun to change in the last few days.


    As he reviewed the ideas sent by readers, Arturo began to feel trapped by a proposal. Although, at first, he thought it would be just another short story for the magazine, soon the unlocked memories brought to him by the words of the letter absorbed him completely.The concept of two worlds divided between light and darkness, of the Day People, who lived under a relentless sun, and the Night People, who inhabited a world of eternal shadow, began to take life in his mind unconsciously.


    He didn''t want to let the opportunity slip away, but the problem was that he had a great responsibility in his daily job. As the editor of the section, he had to meet the weekly deliveries and make sure everything was ready for the magazine. So, as always, he tried to keep his focus on the task assigned to him. But as he did so, a story far bigger than any of his readers could have imagined was already brewing in his mind.


    At first, he took advantage of any small space of time that presented itself between meetings, corrections, and calls with the editor in chief. When it seemed like no one was looking, he would grab a blank sheet of paper and begin to write furtively, as if he were performing an entirely different task. Each word that shaped Diurnos y Nocturnos brought him closer to the heart of what he felt was a story in honor of his sister. Of course, in those working hours, he could not allow himself to write more than what he needed to meet that week''s deadline, but the seed of his novel was already planted.


    During the early hours of the morning, when the others were still at their desks, Arturo took advantage of the opportunity to write in the margins. While his editor reviewed other articles, he immersed himself in ideas about Solaris, the world resplendent under the incessant sun. The Day People, obsessed with perfection and productivity, dominated energy, but their world was slowly falling apart. Resources were running out, and the lack of shade had begun to erode the soil, turning it into an arid desert.


    This part of the story interested him deeply, not only for its narrative, but because it reminded him of the internal tension he felt in his daily life, working under the pressure of an environment that always demanded more.


    As soon as he finished one of his daily tasks, Arturo would take the opportunity to continue weaving his story in secret. Often, during the most mundane moments¡ªsuch as during coffee breaks or on the way to the office¡ªhe would mentally immerse himself in Nocturnia, a dark, frigid world populated by the Nocturnes. In Nocturnia, people searched for meaning through introspection and magic. It wasn''t just the darkness that defined them, but the ability to create power in their silence, in their absence of light. Arturo wrote about them in pieces, the characters taking shape in his mind as he played with words between meetings and formal talks.


    Despite the pressure of his job, Arturo felt trapped by the story he created. Every day his world took more shape. He began to write long, complex scenes. These moments of furtive writing were his refuge. He was writing more than a short story; He was building an entire universe, a world that somehow felt more real than the world he lived in.


    He knew that, as long as he remained faithful to his work obligations, the story was no longer a simple thing, something small to fill the pages of a magazine. He had found something much bigger.


    The story about the Diurnos and Nocturnos was no longer just a piece for the magazine. Arturo knew, deep down, that what he was creating was his first novel.


    Then, the familiar sound of the office door opening interrupted the place. Don Juan, his boss, appeared in the doorway with his usual jovial air and a mocking smile on his lips.


    With a shake of his head and an infectious laugh, the editor approached Arturo''s desk.


    "How are things going, boy?" Don Juan asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he entered Arturo''s office with his characteristic carefree air.


    Arturo, who was absorbed in his novel, tensed instantly. His hands, almost instinctively, moved quickly to gather up the notes, folding them clumsily and hiding them under a pile of papers in the corner of his desk.


    He tried to appear calm as he gave him a nervous smile.


    "Well, well, I''m almost done..." he replied, forcing a laugh that fooled no one. "I''m on it, putting the finishing touches on it."


    Don Juan arched an eyebrow and leaned slightly toward Arturo''s monitor, which displayed a blank page with the cursor blinking. Arturo had minimized the novel file as quickly as he had heard his approaching footsteps, but don Juan had a nose for detecting irregularities.


    "Finishing touches, huh?" he said in a tone of false distrust, glancing at the chaos on the desk. "Hey, don''t tell me you''ve become a novelist now, too. Do you really have time to be the next Garc¨ªa M¨¢rquez while you''re working here?"


    Arturo tried to shrug his shoulders, dismissing the comment, but couldn''t help a slight blush appearing on his cheeks.


    "Me? Impossible. There''s too much work to do on the magazine," he said, trying hard to keep the nervousness out of his voice.


    Don Juan burst out laughing, leaning back with a hand on his stomach.


    "Work, of course!" he exclaimed between laughs. "The important thing is that you continue to be our star writer, huh? Don''t let "parallel universes" and "complex plots" go to your head. We need quick and juicy content here, boy. Nothing more!" Arturo smiled weakly and nodded, although his thoughts were far from that conversation. As don Juan paced around the office, as he always did when he wanted to give an informal speech, Arturo glanced at the papers hidden under the pile.


    "You know what''s happening, Arturo?" don Juan said, turning back to him, this time with a more serious tone but still with his usual mischievous smile. "I hope you don''t forget why you''re here. Nobody gets famous writing for a magazine like this... but I assure you that if you keep doing your job well, one day you''ll be able to write whatever you want."


    Arturo nodded, grateful for the slight approval implied in don Juan''s words. However, he felt the weight of a truth that he could not share: the story he was writing could not be limited to the space of a magazine. It was not just a passing idea; it was a novel in the making, an entire world that needed to be told.


    When don Juan finally seemed ready to leave, Arturo let out a sigh of relief, thinking that the conversation was over. But as he reached the door, the editor-in-chief suddenly stopped and turned around with a mischievous smile.


    "I forgot..." he said, letting his words hang in the air for a moment. "A little while ago someone from Ediciones Horizonte came, asking for Arturo Duarte."


    Arturo''s heart skipped a beat at the mention of that name, and his thoughts began to race.Ediciones Horizonte. One of the most important publishing houses in Spain. The name rang in his mind like a bell.


    "What?" Arturo asked, trying to remain calm, although he could not prevent his tone from betraying his surprise.


    Don Juan, enjoying the moment, let out a small laugh.


    "Well, that''s it. A nice enough girl. She told me she wanted to talk to you about a project. But..." he paused, dragging his words as he watched Arturo''s reaction. "I told her that we don''t do miracles here, that you barely do your job..."


    "Hey!" Arturo exclaimed, indignant, although he knew that don Juan, even though he was joking, was more or less right.


    Don Juan raised a hand as if asking for calm.


    "Calm down, boy. I told her that you are a good writer. Although you haven''t won the gold medal yet, of course."


    "And what exactly did she want?"


    Don Juan shrugged his shoulders, as if the matter were no big deal.


    "You''ll have to find out for yourself. The girl is waiting for you in the cafeteria across the street." Then, with a wink, he added, "Don''t play dumb, Arturo. If someone from a publishing house is interested in you, you better not waste it." With that, don Juan left the office, leaving him alone with his thoughts.


    Arturo stood still for a moment, processing what he had just heard. Then he stood up, his heart beating fast, and without wasting much time, he left the office and walked down the stairs to the coffee shop on the corner.


    The noise of the city seemed to fade away as he walked through the glass door, and the warm, welcoming atmosphere immediately enveloped him. A light aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the sound of conversations and the murmur of cups clinking together. In the background, at a table by the window, he saw a woman who seemed to be waiting for someone.


    She was sitting with a cup of coffee, looking at her phone. Arturo recognized her instantly: she was the representative of Ediciones Horizonte. She had a serene presence, a woman with dark, tied-back hair and a professional but relaxed air. Her gaze lifted and her eyes sparkled as she noticed the young man''s arrival.


    "Arturo Duarte, it''s a pleasure to meet you," the woman said, shaking his hand firmly. "I''m Laura Ruiz, a representative of Ediciones Horizonte. I appreciate you agreeing to see me".


    Arturo slowly approached the table.


    "Nice to meet you," he said, with a nervous smile. "I wasn''t expecting this, to be honest. My boss told me you''d like to talk to me."


    Laura nodded and, without losing her smile, left her phone on the table.


    "Yes. Actually, we''ve been following your section in the magazine, and the response from readers... It seems you''ve won their affection."


    Arturo was silent for a moment, not quite sure how to react. All of this sounded so big, so unexpected, that he couldn''t help but feel like something was escaping him.


    Laura continued, her tone professional but close.


    "That''s why we''ve been thinking about something a little different." Laura paused, as if she were measuring her words. Arturo looked at her, intrigued. "We want to propose that you write an anthology of short stories, based on the best ideas from readers. A book that not only recognizes your talent as a writer, but also celebrates collaboration with your fans. We believe that there is an emerging market for this type of interactive project, and you seem to be the perfect writer to carry it out."


    Arturo felt a surge of excitement at hearing those words, but also a pang of doubt. He had worked hard on the interactive section, and he knew that the project had value, but it wasn''t what he really wanted to write. His mind automatically returned to the world he had been secretly building for weeks.


    "It''s a very generous proposal," he said, choosing his words carefully. "And I''m honored that you would think of me for something like this."


    Laura tilted her head, waiting for what seemed like a sequel.


    "However..." Arturo said, letting the word hang for a moment. There''s something else I''ve been working on in parallel to the magazine.


    Laura''s eyes sparkled with curiosity.


    "Anything else?"


    Arturo took a deep breath, knowing this was his moment to take a risk.


    "It''s a novel," he admitted, feeling a slight tremor in his voice. "Something that I feel encapsulates everything I want to say as a writer. Don''t get me wrong, I enjoy working with readers'' ideas, but this project... it''s very personal."


    Laura looked at him with interest, folding her hands over the folder.


    "And what''s your proposal?"


    Arturo cleared his throat, trying to sound more confident than he actually felt."I''m willing to accept the compilation book deal, but I''d like to ask you something in return: give my novel a chance. I just need you to take a look at it. If you think it has potential, I''d love to work with you to get it published."


    Laura let out a light laugh, not mocking, but from someone who appreciated the courage behind those words.


    "You''re bold, Arturo. I like that." She pulled a pen out of her bag and began scribbling something on a loose sheet of paper in the folder. Arturo watched her every move, feeling like a student waiting for his final grade.


    "Okay," she finally said, looking up. "Send me whatever material you have for your novel. No promises, but I assure you I will read it carefully."If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Arturo felt a wave of relief and excitement at the same time.


    "Thank you, Miss Ruiz. That''s all I ask."


    The day had passed between calls, last-minute corrections, and the inevitable paperwork that took up a good part of the work at Papel y Pluma. Arturo, however, had his mind elsewhere. Almost two weeks had passed since he sent the first chapters of his novel to Laura Ruiz, representative of Ediciones Horizonte, and each day without a response made the weight of uncertainty grow.


    That afternoon, while he was reviewing the latest stories sent by readers, his phone vibrated on the corner of his desk. The email notification appeared on the screen:


    "Comments on your novel ¨C Ediciones Horizonte."


    Arturo''s heart skipped a beat. He dropped the pen, forgetting everything else, and opened the message with a shaky click.


    From: Laura Ruiz [email protected]</a>


    To: Arturo Duarte [email protected]</a>


    Subject: Comments on your novel


    Dear Arturo.


    First of all, I want to thank you for sharing the first chapters of your novel with us. It''s clear that you''ve put a lot of effort into this story, and we always value the dedication and passion that authors invest in their projects.


    That being said, after reviewing the chapters you sent, we feel that the work is not yet developed enough to be considered for our editorial line at this time. While the premise of the planet divided between light and darkness is interesting, we feel that it lacks originality within the contemporary fantasy genre. Elements such as the conflict between kingdoms and social tensions, while effective, need a unique approach that sets them apart from other similar works.


    Additionally, we''ve noticed that the story, in its current state, is somewhat unpolished. There are aspects of character development and world background that could benefit from more depth, especially to capture the reader''s interest from the start. For example, we''d like to see a stronger connection between the characters'' internal conflicts and the environment in which they develop.


    Of course, this doesn''t mean that the novel doesn''t have potential. We believe that with time and work, you could take this story to another level. Therefore, we encourage you to continue working on it until you feel that it is completely finished. At that time, we will be happy to give it another read and reconsider it.


    In the meantime, we would love to focus on the short story anthology project based on your readers'' ideas. This concept has great appeal and we are sure that it will be a success with you as the main author.


    Thank you again for trusting us to share your work.


    We look forward to any other proposals you would like to develop.


    Kind regards,


    Laura Ruiz


    Ediciones Horizonte


    Arturo read the email once, then again. "It lacks originality," "It''s not developed enough yet," "We''ll focus on the anthology."


    He leaned back in his chair and let out a long sigh, staring at the ceiling. A part of him had been prepared for this possibility, but another, more vulnerable part of him had allowed himself to believe that this was his chance.


    The world he had poured so many hours of work and so much emotion into had been discarded.Arturo picked up the papers of the novel that were still on his desk, the sheets filled with notes, outlines, and character sketches. For the first time, the lines that had made him so proud seemed weak, as if the words were incomplete, as if something was missing.


    "Maybe I''m not as good as I thought I was."


    The thought hit him hard. For years he had struggled to find his voice as a writer, and this rejection brought all his insecurities back to the surface. Was this a sign that he should put aside his own ideas and settle for safer, more commercial projects? Arturo left the papers on the desk and leaned against the window, looking out at the city lights. As the sun disappeared and the sky turned orange and violet, a memory began to surface in his mind.


    It was a night like that when Maria, his sister, had told him about impossible worlds."What is your story about?" Maria asked, putting aside her drawing to look at her brother."It''s about a boy who wants to fly," Arturo replied, not taking his eyes off his notebook. "But everyone tells him he can''t, that it''s not possible."


    Maria leaned toward him, her eyes filled with curiosity.


    "And what does he do?"


    Arturo put down his pen and sighed. "I think he realizes they''re right. He can''t fly, so he gives up on the dream."


    Mar¨ªa frowned, indignant.


    "What? It can''t be."


    "Why not?" Arturo asked, amused by his sister''s intensity.


    Mar¨ªa crossed her arms and looked at him seriously.


    "Because the best stories don''t give up at the first difficulty".


    "And what should I do?" Arturo asked, although he already knew that his sister had a ready answer.


    "Keep trying" said Maria, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "If she can''t fly like birds, then let it be like humans. Maybe she can build some wings, or a rocket, or... I don''t know, something".


    Arturo had laughed at the time, but those words had stuck in his mind. Maria, even at such a young age, had always believed in the power of stories to overcome any obstacle. It was the same philosophy that had guided her life, even in the most difficult moments, when illness robbed her of her strength but never her imagination.


    Arturo closed his eyes, letting the memory flood over him. Maria had always believed in things that seemed impossible, in the magic of stories and invented worlds. It was she who had inspired him to write in the first place, who had made him promise that he would never stop creating stories, no matter what others said.


    The echo of Laura''s words was still present, but Arturo felt something different this time. Maybe his world wasn''t perfect, maybe it wasn''t ready yet, but he couldn''t give up on it. If there was one thing he had learned from Maria, it was that important stories didn''t give up at the first difficulty.


    He returned to the desk and looked at the papers. He took out his notebook and began to write a list of everything that needed improvement, every comment that Laura had pointed out. Not as a definitive rejection, but as a challenge.


    "The story is not over." he thought. "It is just beginning."


    And as night fell, Arturo continued to write. And the rejection from Ediciones Horizonte became something more than a simple disappointment for Arturo. It was as if Laura Ruiz''s email had lit a spark in his mind, not of motivation, but of a growing obsession.


    For days, he had barely slept, going over every page of the chapters, analyzing every line, every narrative decision he had made in building this world.


    The map of the planet was still spread out on his desk, next to the drafts, sketches, and notes. Solaris and Nocturnia seemed to look at him from the paper, demanding answers he could not give.


    It had all started with a letter sent to the magazine. The proposal, written in a simple but evocative manner, spoke of a planet divided between light and darkness, of two kingdoms in conflict and a place where reconciliation was possible.


    Who was A. Soler? How had he imagined that world? What details would he have added or changed?


    Arturo delved into the magazine''s archives, reviewing every letter sent in the last few months, looking for A. Soler''s original correspondence. Finally, he found it: a white envelope, with slightly shaky handwriting on the return address. There wasn''t much to identify beyond the name and the poem:


    "Go and tell the enchantment,


    that when day and night cross,


    the Diurnos keep the roots


    and the Nocturnos look for the stars."


    idea written by A. Soler


    There was something deeply poetic about them, something that went beyond their form. They weren''t just words, they were a riddle, a fragment of a larger story he could barely glimpse.


    They guard the roots... they seek the stars. Arturo repeated the phrases in his mind, trying to find meaning in them.


    First there were the roots. The Day People, with their connection to the sun and the fertile soil, to the fields bathed in light. They guarded the roots, protected the base, the foundation of life itself. Arturo imagined them as farmers and builders, with a physical strength that allowed them to keep their lands prosperous. They were the guardians of the tangible, the visible, the real.


    And then there were the stars. The Night People, who lived beneath the sky dotted with distant lights, always searching for something beyond their reach. The stars were dreams, ideals, infinite possibilities. Arturo imagined them as explorers, poets, musicians who whispered their hopes to the cosmos.


    "It''s a metaphor for balance," Arturo murmured to himself, drumming his fingers against the table. "A reminder that they both need something from each other."


    And then there was the idea of ??the crossing, the moment where day and night meet. The problem wasn''t who dominated, but how they could coexist.


    Go tell the enchantment...


    "The enchantment..." Arturo said, pausing on those words. Maybe the enchantment wasn''t a literal spell, but the unspoken pact between them. A broken promise, one that needed to be restored.


    Arturo took a blank sheet of paper and began to write frantically. Ideas flowed like an overflowing river, connecting in ways he hadn''t been able to see before.


    There was something else in those lines. A challenge.


    It was as if the text was inviting him to act, to take those words and transform them into something tangible.


    Arturo put his pen down on the table and leaned back in his chair, looking at the sheet with A. Soler''s lines and his analysis scribbled on the sides.


    It was more than an idea for a story. It was a reminder of why he wrote, why stories mattered. Because they were a bridge between roots and stars, between what we were and what we could be.


    Arturo folded the sheet carefully and put it away in his notebook.


    But it was the mystery behind the letter, the lack of a return address that held him back.


    The envelope had no distinctive stamps, just a simple postmark from a generic office. It was as if the letter had arrived from nowhere.


    Arturo read the sentence again, letting the words echo in his mind.


    "Go and tell the enchantment,


    that when day and night meet,the Diurnals keep the rootsand the Nocturnals seek the stars."


    "Enchantment..." he repeated, leaning across the table and setting the letter down in front of him. The word seemed loaded with meaning, like a beacon trying to guide him to something he couldn''t yet see clearly.


    What if it wasn''t a literal enchantment? What if it was a place?


    Arturo paused for a moment, feeling something start to click in his mind.


    Enchantia.


    The idea came like a flash, illuminating the scattered fragments of his imagination.


    Enchantia could be the name of the world he was creating. A place where day and night constantly crossed paths, a world defined by the fragile balance between the Diurnals and the Nocturnals.


    The name fit too well, as if A. Soler had written that line for his story, for him.


    Arturo leaned toward the screen, his fingers sliding across the keyboard as he searched the Internet.


    "Go and tell him" was the beginning of an uncommon phrase, too precise to be a coincidence.


    What else could it mean?


    Maybe there was a cultural or historical context that he was missing.


    He typed the phrase as is into the search engine, hoping to find some result that would shed some light on the origin of the words.


    "Go and tell him..."


    The first results didn''t seem relevant. A mix of similar phrases, forgotten poems, and song lyrics. Arturo sighed, clicking through page after page, but nothing fit with A. Soler''s letter.


    Then the young man frowned. He clicked on the link and was taken to a site dedicated to traditional Aragonese songs.


    There it was: "La Magallonera."


    The lyrics spoke of encounters and farewells, of sun-drenched landscapes and the melancholy of those searching for something beyond what they could see. But what completely captured his attention were the lyrics of the verses:


    "Go and tell the holy Christ that when he calls me to heaven, let him sing to me la olivera."


    The sky and the olive tree... weren''t they perfect metaphors for the Nocturnes and the Diurnals?


    The sky, vast and dark, where the stars shine like distant promises, was the domain of the Nocturnes. Their search was constant, always looking up, as if the answers were beyond their reach. The olive tree, on the other hand, was an earthly symbol, deeply rooted in the ground. Its roots stretched firmly into the earth, representing the Daypeople''s connection to the tangible, to what could be cultivated and cared for under the light of the eternal sun. The Daypeople protected what was theirs, the roots of life itself.


    It was a phrase that seemed to ask for a reconciliation, a bridge between heaven and earth. The Nocturnes and the Daypeople, so different in their perspectives, were represented in that simple request: that one who ascended to the stars should not forget the roots that had sustained him.


    And what was the Enchantia enchantment but a lost song that called for that same balance?


    Arturo felt a shiver run down his spine. A. Soler must have understood this, he must have felt it.


    La Magallonera was a classic piece of Aragonese folklore that spoke of the customs, landscapes and deep emotions of the land of Aragon, a song that captured the soul of the region.


    Arturo vaguely remembered hearing it once, perhaps in his mother''s voice when he was a child. He also remembered the letters that arrived at the editorial office, many of them signed by names that clearly came from here. Zaragoza, Huesca, Teruel... loyal readers who not only consumed the ideas of the magazine, but also contributed with their own words.


    It was logical. Papel y Pluma had a strong base in its own land, Aragon. Many of the ideas that arrived at the magazine were impregnated with the local culture.


    He had found a solid clue, but he could not help but wonder something: why had A. Soler not left a clearer path?


    There was no direction. There was no more information in the proposal that could serve as a guide. There was only that phrase: "Go and tell him."


    Arturo ran his fingers over the paper of the letter, as if by touching it he could unravel the mystery it hid.


    If A. Soler really wanted to be found, it would have been simpler to add a full name, an address or, at least, something that made it clear where he came from.


    Was that what A. Soler wanted?


    Arturo got up from his chair and began to walk around the room. The questions kept piling up in his mind. Maybe A. Soler didn''t want to be found. Maybe he preferred to remain anonymous, hidden behind a name that, although it suggested identity, revealed nothing.


    However, something in the construction of the sentence, in the cadence of the words, made Arturo think that this was not entirely true.


    "Maybe he wants to be found," he thought, stopping in front of the window. "But only by the


    right person."


    The idea struck him deeply. It wasn''t so unusual, after all. Stories were full of characters who left clues instead of instructions, who preferred to be found not by mere accident, but by a deliberate act of will. Perhaps A. Soler wasn''t looking for just any reader, but someone who understood his world, who shared his vision.


    What if the mystery itself was a test? A way to filter out those who would simply read the words from those who would actually listen to them.


    Arturo returned to the letter, holding it in front of him as if he could read between the lines.It''s as if he wanted to be hidden, but at the same time, not quite.


    Arturo let out a sigh, leaving the letter on the table. There was something deeply human in that duality. The need to be seen and understood, combined with the fear of being too vulnerable, too well known.


    He thought again of Magall¨®n, of the clue that had led him here. Could it be that this place had a special meaning for A. Soler? A place where, even if she hid behind words and metaphors, she also left a part of herself to be discovered?


    Arturo closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to imagine who A. Soler could be. Was she someone young, with a restless mind and a love of words? Or someone older, burdened with experiences and memories that had shaped her prose?


    "If you don''t want to be found, you shouldn''t have left anything," he finally said, more to himself than to anyone else.


    He took the letter and put it in his backpack, along with his notebook. He had a destination now, a place to go.


    Magall¨®n.


    Arturo typed "Magall¨®n, Zaragoza" into the Wikipedia search engine. The page loaded quickly, and he began to read with curiosity. Magall¨®n was a small town of about 1,000 inhabitants, located in the Campo de Borja region, known mainly for its wine and the famous Ecce Homo, a restoration that had gone around the world a few years ago in the city of Borja.


    Arturo smiled as he recalled the case, as it had gone viral on the internet.


    As he read more, he got an idea of ??what the town was like: cobblestone streets, old houses with brick facades, and a close-knit community, as small towns tend to be.In places like this, he thought, people know each other. Names don''t go unnoticed. Maybe finding A. Soler wouldn''t be so difficult after all.


    Arturo thought for a few moments, his index finger drumming on the table. He took a deep breath and leaned over to his computer screen, determined to do more research. He searched for "Soler" in combination with "Magall¨®n." The list of results wasn''t very long, but it was specific. A couple of family businesses, a bakery, some social media profiles. The Solers were probably acquaintances. Maybe a couple of calls to the town hall or the tourist office could help him find this person.


    For a moment, he felt a little uncomfortable and even embarrassed at the idea of ??going so far to contact someone who had simply sent a suggestion to a magazine.


    "Magall¨®n isn''t that far from here," he told himself, looking at the distance on the map. A couple of hours by car, maybe less.He could make the trip and ask. After all, he had lost a battle, but not the war.

 Chapter III, storyteller

    It was an autumn afternoon; golden and orange leaves fell like confetti over the rural landscape, and the sky was tinted a soft pink. Arturo watched the landscape pass through the window.


    The car, covered in dust after miles of secondary roads, stopped in front of his childhood home. The sun was shining brightly, and a soft breeze stirred the leaves of the poplars that flanked the entrance.


    Arturo got out of the car and stood for a moment, looking at the familiar facade. It was as if he had gone back in time; the houses were still the same, with their stone facades and geraniums in the windows.


    The trip to Magall¨®n represented an opportunity to advance his literary project, but at that moment, nothing seemed to matter as much as the words his mother had left him days before: "Mar¨ªa wants to be at home. She asked us to spend her last days here."


    Entering the garden, he pushed open the wrought iron gate with a creak that reminded him of all the times he had run in after school.


    "Arturo! You didn''t tell me you were coming eventually," his mother said from a distance, carrying shopping bags.


    Arturo rushed to help her, emptying his hands so she could take her keys out of her purse. "It was a last-minute decision, Mom. I''m passing through to a nearby town. I thought it wouldn''t hurt to stop by the house first."


    They walked in together, where the smell of home-cooked stew permeated the air.His father was in the kitchen, figuring out how to make dinner.


    "Look who''s here," Mrs. Duarte crooned.


    "I wasn''t planning on stopping, but I was looking forward to seeing you before I continued my journey," Arturo said once more, setting things down on the table to hug his father. "Besides, it''s always nice to have a good home-cooked meal."


    "Trip?" the cook asked, serving him a plate. "Where are you going?"Arturo hesitated for a moment whether to tell them the real purpose of his visit.


    "Tomorrow I''m going to Magall¨®n, a small town nearby, in search of the collaborator for my next book.


    "Book?""It''s a long story" he said, taking off his jacket and leaving it on the chair in the hall. "And Maria? Is she resting?"


    His father nodded, pointing to the hallway. "She''s in her room. She might have fallen asleep for a while".


    "You''re very skinny, Arturo," his mother said, worried. "Have you been eating well lately?"


    "Do you know if I still have any of my old notebooks? They might be useful for what I''m writing."


    Arturo''s mother paused for a moment, thoughtful. "They''re in your room, probably where you left them."


    Without saying anything, Arturo ran up the stairs, each step creaking just as it had when he was a child.


    Everything was the same: the posters of his favorite bands on the wall, the bookshelf full of books with pages yellowed from the time he read in his teens, and his light-wood desk, with pen marks and little drawings he''d made during his afternoons of studying.


    He walked over to the bookshelf and saw the black-covered notebooks, stacked on top of each other. Each one was filled with scribbles, ideas, book quotes, and short stories he''d written when he dreamed of being a professional writer.


    She opened the window and let the fresh country air flood into the room. She took a deep breath, enjoying the silence, the tranquility that only the village could offer her.


    Without thinking too much, she sat on the edge of the bed, letting herself be enveloped by the familiarity. She opened the notebook, the yellowed pages giving off a smell of aged paper. Her eyes slid over the old scribbles, the improvised drawings, the notes made in the haste of someone afraid of forgetting a brilliant idea.


    Each word was a window to a moment in her life, a time capsule.


    Then one of the notebooks, smaller and with a green cover, caught her attention. She opened it and found a list of ideas she had written when she was about thirteen years old. Some were simple sentences: "The Kingdom of Broken Mirrors," "A Stray Cat," "The Shadow That Talks."


    Others were small sketches of stories, with names of characters and places, fragments of dialogue that had never become anything more.


    Arturo smiled as he read, recognizing the boy he had been, the one who dreamed of writing books and creating worlds. It had been years since he had written those words, and although he was now closer than ever to fulfilling that dream, he felt like something was escaping him.


    Beside him, on the nightstand, was a more recent notebook. This was the one from Papel y Pluma. He opened it and began to read the ideas that readers had sent him and that he had liked the most.


    There was something beautiful about those proposals, how strangers shared fragments of their own imaginations, hoping that he could bring them to life.


    "A butterfly from the garden of a lost young man he had been caring for, guides him back to his home."


    Arturo let out a sigh, running his fingers over those words.


    There was something so simple and yet so profound about that idea. It was a metaphor that now seemed unavoidably personal to him. For so long, he himself had felt lost, not knowing how to move forward. But then, a small spark, a flash¡ªlike that butterfly¡ªhad guided him back to this place, to his childhood home, to the memories that had shaped him. To Maria.


    He could imagine her listening to this story. His sister, curled up in his bed like when they were children, with the same curious expression she always had when he told her stories. Arturo smiled to himself, thinking of how she always insisted on adding some detail. "Make the butterfly bright, like it was made of golden light," he could hear her say. "And let the child be afraid at first, but let the butterfly convince him that he is safe."


    Suddenly, something changed in him.


    He felt a spark of inspiration. It was a feeling similar to the one he had in his adolescence, that impulsive need to write, to put into words everything that stirred inside his mind.


    He got out of bed and sat at the desk, opening a blank page in the notebook. Without thinking twice, he took one of the old pens he had left there years ago and began to write by hand, almost frantically. He had no clear plan, no outline, just a torrent of ideas that spilled out onto the paper.


    "The wind howled through the trees of the forest, and the night fell like a dark blanket over the landscape. The young man walked alone, guided by a soft light that danced in front of him. It was a butterfly with bright wings, as if woven from moonlight. Every time the young man stopped, the butterfly would spin around him, its wings flickering in the darkness, as if trying to talk to him, to tell him that he was not alone. That his home was closer than he thought."


    Arturo stopped for a moment and looked up at the window of his room. The full moon illuminated the garden of withered flowers, the same one that Maria and her mother had cared for during her childhood. He felt a pang in his heart, but he did not stop writing. It was as if time had not passed, as if he were still the teenager who wrote until dawn at that same desk, dreaming of distant worlds and impossible adventures.


    "The young man followed the butterfly without hesitation, his small steps echoing on the dry leaves on the ground. As he moved forward, the fear dissipated, replaced by a strange warmth in his chest. He felt that the butterfly was guiding him not only back home, but towards something deeper, something he had lost and was finding again at that moment. When the young man looked up, he saw his home in front of him, bathed in the silver light of the moon. The butterfly landed gently on a flower in the garden, and the young man, with a smile, understood that he had arrived."


    Arturo let out a sigh as he finished writing the last paragraph. There was something cathartic about that short story, something he hadn''t planned but needed to get out of him. He closed his eyes for a moment and allowed himself to enjoy the silence, the momentary peace he felt.


    He realized then that being in his childhood room had brought back a part of himself that he had left behind. That spontaneity, that passion for writing without restrictions or worries.


    Everything felt different and, at the same time, the same.


    He got up from the desk and approached the bed again, lying down on the old blankets and looking at the ceiling of the room. Arturo''s ceiling was a blank canvas, a canvas where memories and emotions were woven into a chaotic collage.


    The mattress was a little harder than he remembered, the sheets had a lavender scent mixed with time, and the walls were still decorated with the faded drawings he had pasted there years ago.


    He kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling, as he used to do as a child. There were nights when he would spend hours staring at those same cracks, imagining them as rivers that ran through fantastic worlds. On those nights, he would invent more stories. More entire worlds that were born and died under his gaze: castles on impossible mountains, dragons that danced in the starry sky, heroes and villains that fought for the fate of distant lands.


    This was his refuge, his escape.


    "And Maria was always there," he thought, as another pang of pain crossed his chest. In those years, his sister had always been part of his stories, even if he didn''t know it. She was the brave princess who led armies, the explorer who navigated endless oceans, the light that illuminated the darkest moments of his imaginations.


    Arturo closed his eyes, trying to dispel the weight of nostalgia, but that only brought back more memories. The arguments with his parents.


    "Stop living in your fantasy world, Arturo!" his father would tell him, his tired and frustrated voice echoing like a distant echo in his mind.


    His mother, softer but equally concerned, would add:


    "We know you have talent, but you have to be realistic, darling".


    But for him, reality had always been boring. While other children played football or climbed trees, he preferred to stay in his room, inventing.


    Mar¨ªa was his only defender. Arturo clearly remembered the time she had argued with his parents about him.


    "Leave him alone," the young woman had said, crossing her arms in front of her bedroom door. "If he wants to make up stories, let him make them up. Who knows? Maybe one day we''ll read about it in a book."


    Maria.


    She had been his anchor and his storm. She had also been his accomplice on nights when the games seemed to have no end. He remembered the ones they used to invent together.


    His childhood bedroom was not just a room; it was a fortress, a pirate ship, a distant planet. The cushions were mountains, the blankets were oceans, and the old desk lamp was a sun that illuminated his adventures.


    Maria was always the boldest, the one who took the biggest risks. He was just trying to keep up with her, inventing rules as he went along to make sense of the chaos.


    He slowly got out of bed and walked over to the window. He looked out at the garden he had seen so many times from there. The wilted flowers and neglected plants welcomed him, as if his own pain was reflected in them. The flowers that used to be full of bright colors were now dry and gray, their leaves broken by the passage of time.


    Maria always took care of the plants. She loved the garden, she tended it as if it were her own little paradise.


    With a slight pang in his chest, Arturo walked out into the hallway, through the old house, and to the back door, where the plants were waiting for him.


    The night moon chilled the air, but the breeze was fresh. He crouched down next to one of the dried plants, taking the watering can that stood by the wall. Water fell on the leaves, some of them still struggling to stay alive. However, the plants no longer shone with the life they used to have.


    He paused for a moment, looking at the landscape he knew well since he was a child, the one that had been part of his happiest memories.


    The moon was still shining in the sky, majestic and clear, as always, but as he looked at it more closely, Arturo felt a shudder in his chest. It was no ordinary moon. It wasn''t just its silver glow that disturbed him, but something strange was happening on its surface.


    The moon seemed to... change. In the blink of an eye, its light became warmer, as if it were absorbed by something, as if its skin were slowly transforming into a kind of soft crust.


    Arturo frowned, his eyes fixed on the celestial satellite, trying to understand what he saw.


    The moon, that familiar figure, that immutable sphere, was beginning to crumble. It was not a simple play of light or an illusion. Slowly, as if the universe itself were crumbling, the moon was transforming into a piece of yellow cheese, with veins and cracks opening on its surface. The stars, which normally surrounded it, seemed to retreat a little, as if the sky itself was silently observing this supernatural process.


    Arturo''s eyes widened, he couldn''t take his eyes off the window, but he couldn''t understand what was happening before his eyes either. It was an impossible phenomenon, and yet, there it was. The moon, known for its cold serenity, now looked like a giant cheese, soft and curved, as if it had been sculpted by a craftsman from the sky, ready to fall apart.


    In his mind, something began to click, a feeling that this moment, this vision, wasn''t just a whim of nature or magic. It was as if the universe was sending him a signal, a message that he couldn''t yet understand, but that touched him deeply.


    "The moon made of cheese?" his mother asked, smiling. It was a smile full of that sweetness she used when she talked to Maria about her dreams or when she tried to calm Arturo''s anxieties as a child. "Son, that must have been a dream. It''s normal for the imagination to play tricks sometimes." "It might just be that," Arturo admitted, shrugging, though deep inside he couldn''t shake the feeling that it had been something more. Something symbolic, perhaps a sign.


    "Anyway, don''t go so soon. Wait until Maria wakes up, it will do her good to see you," his father insisted.


    Arturo pressed his lips together and looked toward the door to his sister''s room.


    "I can''t," he finally said, an apologetic tone in his voice. "I have a long trip ahead of me, I have to go to Magall¨®n and I want to get there before noon."


    His mother frowned. "But you could at least stay to say goodbye. Maybe this will cheer her up. You know how much she admires you, Arturo."


    The young man looked once more toward Maria''s room, hesitating. For a moment he felt the urge to stay, to wait until she opened her eyes and share one more story with her.


    "I know, Mom," he replied with a sigh. "But... if I stay, I don''t know if I''ll be able to leave afterwards." I need to do this, I need to find A. Soler and talk to him. It''s important to me, to what I''m writing, to what I feel I need to do.


    His parents nodded, resigned. "Then go carefully," his father said, patting him on the back. "And come back soon. This will always be your home, Arturo. No matter what happens."


    Arturo took his things, including the notebooks, and headed for the front door. He got into his car and headed back out onto the road, leaving his home and his sister behind, knowing that it might be the last time he saw her in life.


    As he drove toward Magall¨®n, the landscape slowly changed, from the green fields that surrounded his village, to the hills and vineyards that characterized that part of Zaragoza.


    His mind, on autopilot, let his thoughts wander to the story he had been working on.


    Enchantia, a strange and fascinating world, spun with a peculiar grace. Unlike Earth, its rotation was synchronous, meaning that one side was perpetually bathed in sunlight, while the other lived under the embrace of eternal night. Between these two extremes, lay the Terminator Zone, a strip of eternal twilight where shadows and light coexisted in balance.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    At the heart of this strip stood Lyra, the city that never slept. Here, the cultures of both sides mingled and influenced each other. There were bustling markets, literary cafes, and alchemy workshops. The sun illuminated the temples of science, while the moon gave life to the theaters of poetry and mystery. Life in Lyra was a vibrant mosaic of traditions, art, and science, where the inhabitants shared a single truth: the balance between light and darkness was essential to their survival.


    In the lands that stretched toward Solaris, farmers worked by day, harvesting golden fruits under the endless light of the sun. The crops never ended, and the fields were always in full bloom. The people of Solaris had learned to make the most of the constant light to create a paradise of abundance. The warmth of the sun nourished the crops and filled the hearts of the inhabitants with inexhaustible energy.


    Meanwhile, in the lands near Nocturnia, alchemists and philosophers collected plants that only flourished in the eternal darkness of the moon. The roots of these plants stretched into the cold gloom, blooming only at night. In the cities that bordered Nocturnia, poets, musicians, and artists created works of sublime beauty, inspired by the stars that twinkled in a perpetually dark sky. The night had given rise to a cultural explosion of music, literature, and art, while the calm of the moon fostered introspection and creativity without limit.


    The balance between both sides of Enchantia had been maintained by the monarchs of the Luminous Castle, a family that ruled with wisdom. The royal family was in charge of watching over the delicate balance that held together the inhabitants of Solaris, Lyra, and Nocturnia.


    However, as happens in all great stories, the balance did not last forever.


    Arturo imagined a pair of kings, monarchs whose real name had been lost in the echoes of Enchantia''s history, but whose legacy still resonated in the darkest corners of the world. These kings, one of Solaris and one of Nocturnia, were ambitious, with a vision that had altered the destiny of their land. With an oversized ego and a strategic mind marked by their own interests, they came to the conclusion that Encantia''s true potential was being wasted.


    Why share the light of the sun and the shadow of the moon when each could be fully exploited? According to them, the sun should be harnessed to strengthen the inhabitants of Solaris, illuminating their paths and granting them unlimited power and productivity. The moon, in turn, should be used to enrich the inhabitants of Nocturnia, creating a realm of magic, introspection and resources that only darkness could offer in its entirety.


    With that ambition as their driving force, the two monarchs decided that division would be the only way to ensure that Solaris and Nocturnia could reach their maximum splendor, without the need to share anything. And so, what had been a world of perfect balance began to break down, dragging with it all of Enchantia towards a dark and fragmented destiny.


    Thus began the separation.


    The crown separated the population, inciting the inhabitants to move towards the territory they most desired. Lyra became a divided city, as the people of Solaris and Nocturnia began to migrate to their respective realms.


    Solaris became a paradise of eternal light, where fields grew tirelessly under the watchful gaze of the sun, but at the same time, the price that was paid for it began to become evident. Little by little, the constant exposure to the sun transformed the inhabitants of Solaris. Arturo imagined them with skin tanned by the heat of the sun, eyes shining like golden light, as if the very essence of the sun had penetrated their bodies. Their bodies reflected the light of day, but that power came with a price. Drought began to ravage the once fertile fields, and the earth cracked beneath their feet, unable to sustain the exuberance of life that once flourished there. The golden fruits, which once fell in abundance, withered before reaching maturity. Rivers evaporated under the scorching sun and the creatures of the soil vanished.


    In Nocturnia, the eternal darkness also left its mark. The inhabitants, once people of a vibrant and dynamic culture, became shadows of themselves. Their pale skins and bright eyes like full moons adapted to the darkness, but the price of eternal night became unbearable. The perpetual cold began to freeze the waters of the rivers and seas, leaving the people of Nocturnia without essential resources. The plants that once grew in the gloom stopped blooming, and the inhabitants began to feel the emptiness of a world without warmth. The stars that once inspired hope became distant, almost unreachable.


    Meanwhile, the city of Lyra was falling apart. The people had become divided, drawn by the promises of a better life, and the king had achieved what he wanted: a city separated and fractured, where alliances crumbled under the weight of ambition.


    The king did not realize that the differences between the sun and the moon were what was similar between the two factions.


    Perhaps, he thought, it was a reflection of his own life, of his desire to find a connection in the midst of chaos. Perhaps that cheese moon represented an invitation to soften the barriers, to find humor in the impossible.


    He shook his head and turned his attention to the road. The sign for "Magall¨®n" loomed in the distance. He was almost there, and with each kilometer, he felt the anticipation grow.


    When he finally arrived, he turned off the car engine and let out a long sigh as he looked around. He had driven for two hours and was finally in Magall¨®n, a small Aragonese town that seemed trapped in time.


    The parking lot where he had left the car was next to the main square, which was bustling with activity at that moment. It was Tuesday, market day, and the cobblestone streets were lined with stalls with brightly coloured awnings, where vendors sold everything: fresh fruit and vegetables, artisanal cheeses, clothes, jewellery, and objects that looked like they had come straight from a dusty attic.


    The air was filled with a mixture of smells: freshly baked bread, dried herbs and the sweet aroma of ripe fruit.


    Arturo got out of the car and closed the door carefully, as if he were afraid of disturbing the harmony of the place. He stood for a moment, observing the scene before him. The voices of the vendors mingled with the murmur of the buyers.


    "Freshly picked tomatoes, one euro a kilo!" a man shouted from a nearby stall, his deep voice echoing above the bustle.


    The streets surrounding the market were narrow and meandered like a labyrinth between stone houses. The facades, some decorated with wrought iron balconies filled with pots of geraniums, had an ancient and charming air. The square itself was paved with large stone slabs and in its centre was a fountain that seemed as old as the town. The water flowed gently, creating a haven of calm amidst the hustle and bustle.


    The young stranger walked slowly between the stalls, letting himself be carried away by the atmosphere. He passed a shopkeeper selling goat cheeses, their wheels perfectly aligned on a wooden board. Further on, an older woman with a headscarf was selling jars of honey and bottles of olive oil, while patiently explaining to a young couple the properties of each product.


    There was something magical, something that made him feel as if he had entered another world.


    Each stall seemed to have its own story, each product a piece of village life. The smells, colours and voices created an atmosphere that completely enveloped him.


    Arturo stopped in front of a stall of old books. A thin man with round glasses and a wide-brimmed hat sat behind a table covered with dusty volumes.


    "Looking for something in particular, young man?" the bookseller asked, with a friendly smile.


    Arturo shook his head, although his eyes scanned the titles with curiosity. Most were novels by classic authors, but there were also short story books and some volumes of local history.


    "I''m just browsing."


    After a few minutes, and with a new acquisition in his personal library, Arturo continued walking. The streets leading away from the market were quiet, and in some parts, vines climbed the walls of the houses, adding a touch of green to the landscape dominated by stone and brick.


    He could hear the distant ringing of the church bells, marking the hour while at the same time guarding the village.


    He had decided to stay in a private house, following a suggestion he had found on a travel forum. It was the home of a man named Jacinto, a local resident who, according to comments, used to rent out one of his rooms to very infrequent travelers.


    As he approached the address listed, he realized that the house was no different from the others: a simple structure, with a worn wooden door and a small terrace with plants that seemed to need some more care.


    He rang the bell and waited a few seconds. Finally, the door creaked open, revealing a man in his sixties, with a graying beard and a tired but friendly look. He was wearing an old T-shirt and worn pants, like someone who had stopped caring about appearances a long time ago.


    "Good afternoon, are you Jacinto?" Arturo asked, trying not to sound too formal.


    "That''s right," the man replied, nodding with a polite smile. "You must be the writer. The one looking for stories, they say."


    Arturo was a little surprised to hear that. He hadn''t mentioned being a writer in any message, he had only asked for accommodation for a couple of nights. But in a small town like Magall¨®n, news travels fast.


    "I suppose so," Arturo admitted with an embarrassed smile. "I''m here to meet someone. And of course, I''m looking for stories too."


    Jacinto waved him in. "Come in, come in. The room is ready. It''s not much, but I hope it will help. People don''t usually stay here anymore. Tourists prefer the hotels in Zaragoza, and the few who come only stay for a night or two."


    Arturo followed the man down a narrow hallway, looking at the walls decorated with black and white photographs, images of Magall¨®n in times gone by. When he reached the room, he noticed that it was small but cozy. A single bed, a nightstand with an antique lamp, and a window that looked out onto the backyard.


    "I hope you''re comfortable. Anything you need, just knock," Jacinto said, leaning on the door frame. "The kitchen is at the back, if you feel like making something. I don''t have much to offer, though."


    "I''m sure it will be fine," the young man replied kindly. "I really appreciate it."


    Jacinto nodded, but before leaving, he paused for a moment, as if he wanted to say something else. He looked at Arturo with some curiosity and finally dared:


    "You say you''re looking for someone. A friend, family?"


    Arturo shook his head. "It''s someone I don''t know personally, only by his last name: Soler."


    Jacinto''s face lit up for a moment, as if he recognized the name.


    "Well, there aren''t many Solers here in Magall¨®n, at least that I know of. Maybe someone can help you. People here know each other pretty well".


    Arturo nodded. "That''s what they tell me and I hope so. I came here specifically to talk to this person".


    "Well, if I can help you in any way, tell me. I don''t usually receive visitors lately. Since my wife left and the children left, there isn''t much activity here anymore. So any company is welcome.


    Arturo felt a lump in his throat. He could see that the man, like the town itself, was burdened with the melancholy of times gone by, of better days that would never return.


    "Thank you, Jacinto. I think this is the perfect place for what I need to do."


    The man patted him on the shoulder, as a gesture of encouragement, and left the room, leaving him alone. Arturo walked over to the window and looked out at the patio, at the dried plants that seemed to be waiting for the return of someone to care for them.


    He took a deep breath, took his laptop out of his backpack and placed it on the small table next to the bed. He opened the lid and, after a brief pause while the device started up, he stared at the blank screen of the new document. His fingers hesitated for a second before touching the keyboard.


    Remembering what he had imagined during the journey and with the blinking cursor that seemed to invite him to write, he began the story of a young man who defied the beliefs of his people.


    With each word he typed, he could visualize the fantastic world, a place full of dazzling landscapes and magical creatures. He saw the golden and silver towers, the vast fields of flowers that changed color with the light of day, and the mysterious forests full of ancient secrets.


    However, there was something he did not see.


    Arturo could perfectly describe the adventures and challenges his protagonist would face, but every time he tried to visualize her in these scenarios, he found a blurred, masked figure, a presence he knew was there but could not clearly define.


    He stopped writing for a moment, looking up from his laptop.


    At least he was happier with the character: a daughter of the king who defied the rules, who sought the truth beyond what she had been taught, who dared to believe in a different world.


    He looked back at the screen and tried to imagine it once more. He could see the river in all its splendor, the stars reflecting in its crystal-clear waters, the soft sound of the flowing water... but its protagonist remained a mystery.


    "Why can''t I see you?" he murmured, frustrated. "What am I missing to be able to give you life?"


    "Have you tried resting a little?" Jacinto asked him, as he entered the room with two coffees.


    Arturo frowned. "Rest?" he repeated, as if the word sounded strange to him.


    "Yes, rest," he insisted, with a little laugh. "Sometimes, when you become so obsessed with something, all you do is get more entangled. Maybe you need to get away from the screen, take a walk, have a coffee..." he said as he left the infusion in front of Arturo, "or sleep, if you''ve been sitting there all day."


    "I can''t rest now, Jacinto." I finally feel like I have a thread to pull on, and I don''t want to let it go. I have the feeling that I just have to try to figure out how to bring my protagonist to life. That if I keep going a little longer I''ll succeed.


    "And if not, you''ll exhaust yourself and you''ll be in the same boat" then they both fell silent for a moment, each reflecting on the other''s words. "Arturo, you mentioned earlier that you were looking for someone".


    "Yes, Soler".


    "Soler, you say... There''s a Soler family nearby, on the outskirts of town. I''m not sure if they''re the same ones, but the last name isn''t very common. I know someone who has dealings with them. An old friend of mine, Mauricio, who lives on the next street. He worked for them for a while, taking care of the bakery".


    Arturo leaned forward, intrigued. "Really? Do you think Mauricio might know anything about the Solers?"


    Jacinto shrugged.


    "You have nothing to lose by asking him. If it''s not the Solers you''re looking for, at least you''ll have gotten out of the house a bit and put your feet on the ground. All that time writing will leave you with your head in the clouds."


    Arturo smiled, amused by the mental image.


    "Yes, Mauricio is a nice man, but he has his own rhythms. He likes to tell stories, so be prepared to hear the odd anecdote before you get to the point."


    Arturo got up from the table, feeling optimistic, and left the house, taking the path Jacinto had indicated. The morning air was fresh and invigorating.


    He would have to start thinking about what he was going to tell Mauricio. If that man really knows the Soler family, perhaps he would finally have a solid lead on A. Soler. Before leaving, Arturo had suggested that Jacinto accompany him, but his host had rejected the proposal with a laugh.


    "Me? Not a chance. Mauricio is a good person, but he has a gift for talking non-stop. If I go with you, we will end the day talking about how to take care of a bakery and not about what you need to know. Go on your own.


    As he walked through the streets, he finally saw Mauricio''s house. It was a modest building, with stone walls covered by vines that climbed up to the roof. In front of the entrance, an older man with gray hair and lively eyes was crouching, surrounded by a small army of stray cats. With calm movements, Mauricio poured water into some bowls while muttering something that Arturo could not understand.


    When Arturo approached, Mauricio looked up and frowned slightly at the sight of a stranger. He stood up with some difficulty, wiping his hands on the apron he was wearing.


    "What do we have here?" he asked, in a hoarse but friendly tone of voice, as he looked Arturo up and down. "You don''t see many strangers around here..."


    Arturo stepped forward, trying to be friendly.


    "Good morning, Mr. Mauricio. My name is Arturo, I''m a friend of Jacinto''s. I''m looking for information about the Soler family, and I was told that you might know them".


    Mauricio tilted his head, intrigued, and glanced at the cats, as if asking for their opinion.


    "The Soler family, huh? Wow, I didn''t expect that. And what are you looking for with them, if I may ask?" he asked, as he leaned over to fill another bowl.


    "I''m working on a project that came about through a collaboration with someone who signs as Soler," Arturo said, trying to sum up. "I don''t know who he is or where he''s from, but I''m sure he has some connection to this family."


    Mauricio looked at him in silence for a moment, scratching his chin. Then he set the bowl aside and crossed his arms.


    "Those are big words, young man. But look, you''re in luck. I know the Solers. I worked for them years ago, taking care of their bakery. Although I can''t guarantee that they''ll give you the answers you seek, I can tell you a little of what I know. How about that?"


    Arturo nodded gratefully, while Mauricio gestured for him to follow him to a small wooden bench by the entrance to his house.


    "Ah, but be prepared, boy. This story can''t be told in two minutes," the man warned with a crooked smile. "Although who knows, maybe you''ll find what you need in my words."


    Mauricio began to relate calmly, his voice hoarse but filled with an enthusiasm that made his love of memories evident. Arturo listened attentively, trying hard to separate the relevant details from the numerous anecdotes the man interspersed in his story.


    In his younger days, Mauricio had worked for years in a bakery in the village, a modest business but well known for its crusty loaves and the yeasty aroma that permeated the streets in the morning. The bakery was owned by David Soler, a kindly man with a strong voice who always had a story to tell. According to Mauricio, he and David would often stay and chat after long work days, when the machines were off and the heat of the oven no longer burned.


    "David was an encyclopedia of family stories," Mauricio said, with a nostalgic smile. "He always talked about his mother, Ana Soler, a woman of character who, according to him, had laid the foundations for everything his family was. "Everything we are, we owe to her," he said. He referred to her with such respect that one would think the woman was some kind of noble or something.


    Ana Soler, Mauricio continued, was known in the village for her wit and her ability to get by in difficult times. She had raised her children practically alone after marrying young, and her name still resonated among the oldest people in the community.


    "But the interesting thing, if I may say so," Mauricio added, leaning toward Arturo with a conspiratorial look, "is that David also mentioned that Ana wrote. It was never public, of course, but he used to find old notebooks full of stories and reflections. He said that his mother had an unparalleled imagination and that he sometimes thought that her love of words had been inherited in the family.


    Arturo felt something inside him click.


    A. Soler... Ana Soler. It was so simple that he almost felt silly.


    Ana Soler, David''s mother: a woman with dreams of the written word, with the desire to see her name printed on the pages of a book, but who, for reasons beyond her control, had to hide behind a pseudonym. Arturo imagined that in her youth, Ana, like so many other writers, had felt the spark of creativity burning within her. She probably had dreams of seeing her stories published, of sharing the worlds she had created with the world. But something, or someone, had stopped that impulse.


    Arturo couldn''t help but frown at her husband''s decision that she should dedicate herself to housework, to caring for her family.


    Perhaps he didn''t understand Ana''s need to write, to put her thoughts into words. Perhaps he thought his wife''s dreams were just that, dreams. Arturo couldn''t help but compare it to the story of so many female writers and artists who, over the centuries, saw their potential repressed by social and family expectations. Ana''s own husband, who surely seemed so wise and respectful, was the one who unintentionally extinguished the flame in her eyes.


    Arturo thought of the notebooks Mauricio had spoken of. Probably handwritten, full of stories from untold worlds, ideas never shared with most, but which, like a whisper, had reached him through an enigmatic name.


    It was not the first time that a writer used a pseudonym to hide his true face from the world. Some did it out of modesty, others out of a desire to escape the burden of their own identity, others to give space to their work...


    "Of course!" exclaimed Arturo, almost unintentionally, as he assimilated the connection.


    Mauricio looked at him curiously, although, seeing the expression on his face, he nodded with an understanding smile.


    "Everything okay, boy? Too much information?"


    Arturo had not noticed, but he had been biting his lip, absorbed in his thought. Now, seeing the cat lover''s worried face, he took a deep breath and looked back at him with a grateful smile.


    "I''m sorry, it''s just that... I just realized something. A. Soler... Ana Soler. It has to be her! The woman who sent her idea to the magazine... she''s the author!"


    Mauricio frowned, clearly not understanding right away, but he settled back on his bench and waited for Arturo to finish speaking.


    "I''d always thought A. Soler was a man. A pseudonym, of course. But what you''re telling me, it all makes sense."


    Mauricio''s face showed a flash of recognition, as if something was becoming clear in his mind as well. After a moment of reflection, the man nodded slowly.


    "That would be something very typical of her, yes," he said thoughtfully. "She never liked being the center of attention. From what people around here say, she preferred to stay in the shadows, watching. If what you say is true, then the idea is nothing more than a continuation of what began years ago."


    Arturo stood up suddenly, the search having taken an unexpected turn. The pseudonym was not only an enigma, but a key, a bridge between the work and the author, a way to hide his identity, but also to challenge those curious enough to discover the truth.


    "And David still lives here?" Arturo asked, a hint of desperation in his voice.


    Mauricio shook his head. "He moved away years ago. But his son, Jaime, stayed. Although if there is anyone who can tell you more about Ana Soler, it is herself."

 Chapter IV, sleeping beauty

    Arturo walked through the endless streets, his mind racing. Every step brought him closer to his destination, but also plunged him into a sea of ??doubt. The streets of Magall¨®n stretched out before him, one after another, curves and straight lines that seemed to have no end. It was a small town, but in his mind, each street multiplied as if he were trapped in a labyrinth of uncertainty.


    What would he say to her?


    At first, the idea of ??going to Magall¨®n had seemed simple. He just had to find Ana Soler and ask her more about the idea he had sent to the magazine. But as he walked through the streets of this town, Arturo began to feel that there was something bigger at play, something he couldn''t quite understand. Maybe it was the weight of the story that was beginning to take shape in his mind, or maybe the feeling of searching for answers he wasn''t sure he wanted to find.


    Arturo arrived at his address expecting to see a row of old houses, similar to those he had seen in other parts of the town. However, as he turned the corner, he came across something completely different.


    Instead of traditional houses, he found himself facing a large lot and a solitary building in the center. The building, although clearly old, had a neat and welcoming appearance. A sign in the front yard announced "Residencia de Ancianos."


    Arturo stood for a moment looking at the residence. It was not what he expected, but Mauricio had been clear with the address.


    Somewhat disconcerted by the location of his search, he tried to maintain his composure.


    "Hello, my name is Arturo. I''m looking for Ana Soler and, as I was told, she has lived at this address for many years," he explained to the woman at the counter, showing his note with the address.


    The receptionist looked at him for a second, as if she were evaluating how serious Arturo was.


    "Ana is in the common room. She is one of our residents. You can come in, but, if you don''t mind, I would like to know what relationship you have with her."


    Arturo hesitated for a moment. He didn''t intend to talk too much about the exact reason for his visit, as he still didn''t understand how it all connected.


    "I''m a writer."


    The receptionist looked at him with a raised eyebrow and, finally with a slight smile, nodded, quickly understanding.


    "Let me see if she''s available for visitors."


    The young man waited nervously in the lobby, watching the residents passing by, some strolling slowly, others chatting happily in small groups.


    A short while later, the woman returned with a smile.


    "Mrs. Soler will receive you in her room. Please follow me."


    When he reached the room, he saw a woman with gray hair tied back in a simple bun, sitting by a window. Her eyes, although somewhat dulled by age, still had the same spark that Arturo had imagined in his mind when he thought of the person behind A. Soler.


    "Mrs. Soler?" Arturo asked in a soft voice, trying not to startle her.


    She looked up, surprised. And when her eyes met Arturo''s, her expression changed to a mix of curiosity and something more... perhaps amusement. After a few seconds, a slight smile appeared on her lips.


    "Who are you, young man?" she asked, as if she were testing whether her memory, despite the years, could still recognize the faces of her past.


    He took a deep breath and began to explain.


    "My name is Arturo Duarte and I am a writer for the magazine Paper & Pen. I have been absorbed in the search for the person behind the idea for my novel and, after following the trail of several traces he left, I have arrived here. I knew it was you, madam. I am very grateful that you received me.


    Ana looked at him without further ado. She did not respond immediately, and for a moment, it seemed as if she were evaluating whether it was worth revealing what Arturo was implying.


    Finally, she took a deep breath and nodded slowly.


    "Well", she said, "her tone softening.It was one of the reasons why I used the pseudonym: to keep my life a secret, to hide from my own desires. But no, it is not something I regret... anyway, how could you have known? What story are you talking about, young man?"


    Arturo, unable to contain himself, almost interrupted her, already understanding what had happened.


    "A. Soler. The reader of the magazine "Paper & Pen" "he said quickly, as if everything made sense now. "I got here because... because I felt that I couldn''t keep writing without understanding everything. I needed to understand where that idea came from".


    Ana blinked, surprised. Her expression alternated between disbelief and shy pride. Arturo let the silence fill the space, giving her time to process what she had just heard. Finally, Ana took a deep breath and spoke.


    "A novel?" she asked, as if the word was foreign to her. "And you want my help?"


    "Exactly" answered Arturo, nodding with a slight smile. "And I already have the draft of the first chapters... Your idea inspired me so much that I couldn''t help but develop it further, give it life. But it would be an honor if we shared the credit. After all, without you, that story wouldn''t exist".


    Ana looked down at her hands, which rested in her lap. Her fingers trembled slightly as they fiddled with the hem of her jacket.


    She was clearly processing the magnitude of what Arturo was offering her.


    A few long seconds passed before she spoke again.


    "I don''t know if I''m the right person for this," she said, her voice tinged with doubt. "I''ve spent my entire life hiding behind a pseudonym, letting my ideas float in anonymity. To think that my name could appear in a book..." Ana paused, fighting the emotions that were playing on her face. "I don''t know if I''m ready for something like that."


    Arturo tilted his head in confusion. Ana deserved that recognition.


    "I understand what you feel," he said carefully. "But believe me, this isn''t just about a book. It''s a chance for your voice, the one that''s been silent for so long, to be heard." Your idea touched someone at a publishing house, and that same idea touched me," she said, taking her laptop out of her backpack. "I think there''s something in this story that needs to be told, and you deserve to be a part of it. There''s nothing wrong with letting the world know who you really are."


    Ana remained silent for a moment longer, looking out the window as if searching for an answer in the sky. Then her eyes met Arturo''s again, and then at something sticking out of her backpack.


    The Butterfly by Emilia Castell¨®n.


    It was an old book, with a worn cover and bent corners. She reached out a hand without permission and pulled it out, studying the cover with a look of disbelief.


    "Where did you get this?" she asked, holding it as if it were a treasure.


    Arturo was surprised by her reaction. "At the flea market. Why?"


    The old woman smiled for the first time since they had started talking. "This book was written by my mother," she explained, her voice tinged with an emotion she tried to hide. "When I was a child, I read it so many times that the pages fell apart. It was her only published work, but it was enough to make me want to be like her." Then Ana looked at Arturo intently. "My mother always said that stories find the people who need them." With that, she handed back the old book Arturo had bought. "I always dreamed of being a writer, you know? But life had other plans for me. In my time, women weren''t looked upon favorably if we had aspirations beyond our responsibilities. My husband, for example, thought it was more important for me to stay home, taking care of the children. And what could I do?"


    "So, that''s why you used a pseudonym?"


    Ana nodded, without hesitation. ¡ªYes, although at first it was out of fear. Fear of being rejected, of being ignored. But, over time, it became a necessity. A refuge where my words could exist without anyone judging them. ¡ªShe paused, her gaze becoming more intense. ¡ªOkay, Arturo. If you really think this story deserves to be told then, I will. I accept. What do we have so far?


    Arturo quickly turned on his laptop and showed her what he had written.


    "It''s very rare to find someone so interested in my ideas... You see, Arturo, my mother''s writing process was... how to put it? Quite ambiguous" she said, tilting her head with a smile that was a mixture of apology and amusement. "We''ve never been the kind to sit down with a perfectly detailed outline or a well-defined beginning and end. For us, writing is more like..."This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    Arturo raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Like what? What do you mean?" he asked, trying to figure out what he meant.


    "Tell me, Arturo," the lady began with a smile. "Have you ever tried writing fantasy stories?"


    Arthur nodded, intrigued by the question. "Yes, I did."


    Ana nodded slowly. "Writing fantasy stories is an art in itself, and it''s much harder than most people think. I know that for many this genre can seem like an escape, a place where anything is possible and rules are broken at will. But, in reality, creating a good fantasy story requires a very delicate balance."


    Arturo tilted his head, interested. "Balance? What do you mean?"


    "Fantasy, more than any other genre, needs to have one foot firmly planted in reality. Think about it: you''re asking readers to step into a whole new world, to believe in the impossible, whether it''s dragons or deities fighting for the sky." But if that world doesn''t have its own rules, its own foundations that make it believable, the reader doesn''t stay. They just don''t buy it.


    Arturo nodded slowly, knowing exactly what she meant. "So how do you make something fantastic feel... real?"


    Ana smiled with a hint of satisfaction, as if she had expected that question. "First, human emotions," she said, raising a finger. "No matter how extraordinary your world is, if the characters don''t feel something that connects with the reader, the story will be flat. Sadness, joy, fear, love... all of that is universal. Even if your protagonist is a magical being, their emotions must be human."


    "Makes sense," Arturo murmured, making mental notes.


    "Second," Anna continued, "consistency. Once you introduce the rules of your world, you have to stick to them. If you say that Nocturnes don''t come out in sunlight, you can''t have one of them come out in the daytime without a logical explanation. Otherwise, the reader feels betrayed, and the fantasy is broken."


    "And creativity?" Arthur asked, leaning back in his chair. "I''ve always thought that fantasy is about inventing new things, about surprising."


    Ana nodded, but held up a warning finger. "Of course, but creativity alone isn''t enough. If you fill your story with strange creatures and impossible events just for the sake of surprising, you risk overwhelming the reader. Magic must be something special, something that shocks. And often, less is more. A single, well-developed magical idea can be more powerful than a million extravagant details." Arturo paused thoughtfully. He had witnessed his own tendency to overload his stories with ideas that, in the end, ended up overshadowing each other.


    "So... magic should be limited?"


    "Exactly. Magic is like a good seasoning: it should be used sparingly. If you use it too much, it loses its effect. And, more importantly, it should always come at a cost. Nothing in real life comes without effort or sacrifice, so why should it be any different in fantasy?"


    Arturo let out a sigh, his face slightly exhausted.


    "I''d never thought of it that way. I always believed fantasy was a way to escape rules, not create them."


    "And it is, in a sense. But the best fantasies don''t take you to a place where everything is chaotic and meaningless. They take you to a new world, yes, but a world that feels so real you can almost touch it. It''s a complicated art, Arturo, but it''s also beautiful." When I start to feel like I''m not inventing, but remembering... That place already exists, and I''m just visiting it. That''s when I know the scene is ready to be written. Same with characters." He paused, looking at Arturo intently. "Have you ever tried sitting down and having a conversation with your own characters?"


    Arturo frowned. "Talk to them?" he said, laughing a little. "Like they are real?"


    "Yes. Think about it, Arturo: if you can''t talk to them, if you can''t hear their voices in your head, how are you going to convince a reader that they exist? When I have trouble understanding a character, I visualize them sitting in front of me. I ask them questions: What do you want? What are you afraid of? Why did you do that?"


    "And what happens if they don''t respond?"


    "Oh, some are more stubborn than others, that''s for sure ¡ªshe answered smiling¡ª. But that''s where the environment comes in. If the character doesn''t speak, I take him into his world. I put him in a scene that is meaningful to him and I observe him. Maybe he stays quiet, but his actions say a lot. What does he do first? Does he run away, does he scream, does he sit in silence?


    "I''ve never thought about writing this way. I''ve always focused on the words, on structuring the sentences perfectly".


    "It''s just that the words, Arturo, are just the skin of the story. If you don''t have a soul underneath, it doesn''t matter how beautiful the sentences are" Ana Soler stressed. "So I propose something to you: the next time you feel blocked, don''t force yourself to write. Close your eyes, look at the world you''re creating and stay there for a while. Let him tell you his story". she paused. "Come on, close your eyes".


    "What do you say?"


    "You came here for my help, you say? I want you to close your eyes, take a deep breath, and relax. It''s going to be a long journey to the world of Enchantia".


    Arturo didn''t know if it was the desperation he had to write his novel or it was the quiet atmosphere of the room along with Ana''s soft voice, which created the perfect environment for his mind to start wandering.


    "Imagine the Luminous Castle" he said while carefully observing the sketch of the world map sketched by Arturo. "Your silhouette is small compared to the grandeur of the castle. Feel the history in every stone, this castle is not only a fortress, but a beacon of hope for all the inhabitants of Enchantia. Do you see it?" Ana was guiding him with her voice, slow and calm.


    Arturo nodded slightly, his closed eyelids almost trembling as his mind began to build the landscape.


    Slowly, an image began to form in his mind. He saw an imposing white castle, standing on a hill, with towers rising majestically towards the sky.


    It had a shining dome, formed from an unknown material that reflected both the golden light of the sun and the soft silver light of the moon. The dome emitted sparkles that illuminated everything around it.


    The castle not only rose towards the sky, but also sank into the earth. The roots of the construction seemed to be connected to the very essence of the planet, as if the Luminous Castle were a bridge between heaven and earth, between past and future. Arthur could see how the corridors branched out into the depths of the earth, as if the castle itself was anchored to the essence of Enchantia, absorbing its secrets and keeping them within.


    The doors of the castle were immense, each one decorated with a complex mesh of intricate reliefs that seemed to change their shape when the light glided over them. At one of the doors, Arthur saw a figure, a winged woman, the figure seemed to be staring at him, as if sizing him up, as if the castle itself was testing him before allowing him to enter.


    "Describe the interior of the castle, Arturo. What do you see when you walk through its doors?"


    "Upon entering, I find a grand hall lit by enormous stained glass windows that cast a rainbow of colors on the marble floor. The walls are adorned with tapestries that tell stories of ancient battles and times of peace. In the center of the hall, a golden staircase rises to the upper floors, where the castle''s most sacred chambers are said to be," Arthur said, visualizing every detail clearly.


    "And who are there? Who are the kings who inhabit this place?" Anne asked, encouraging him to delve deeper into the dynamics.


    "I see two figures," she began, her voice shaking. "They are sitting on thrones that seem to be made of crystal and flames."


    "Describe each one," Anne asked, leaning slightly toward him, her voice heavy with interest.


    "The man has hair that seems to be composed of threads of golden light," Arthur continued, his eyebrows furrowed as he searched for the right words. His face is serene, but there is something unsettling in his eyes. I see him looking out at the horizon, but never directly at the people around him.


    "And the other one?" Ana asked softly, not interrupting his stream of thoughts.


    "The woman..." Arturo hesitated. "Her presence is heavier. She wears a dark cloak, like the fabric of the night sky, flecked with stars. But she doesn''t look threatening. She is... melancholy."


    Ana was silent for a moment before taking a step toward him.


    "What are they doing? How do they interact with each other?"


    "They are arguing," she finally said, her voice deepening. "Not with words, but with gestures, with glances. It is as if neither of them can decide the fate of this place. The king wants to move forward, to illuminate everything with his light, but the queen insists on staying calm, on preserving the stillness.


    Ana tilted her head, thoughtful. "And you? Where are you in this scene?"


    Arturo frowned. The image of himself began to appear in the room of his mind, an observer between two opposing forces.


    "I am in the center, right between them," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "They both look at me, as if waiting for me to decide something. But I don''t know what. It''s a responsibility I don''t fully understand."


    "Ask them, then," she said quietly. "Talk to them."


    Arturo opened his eyes in his mind, turning to the queen first.


    "What do you want from me?" he asked, her tone firmer than he expected.


    "I want you to walk in the light," she replied. "To trust that every step you take can light your path and that of others."


    Arturo nodded, then turned to the king.


    "And you? What do you ask of me?"


    "I want you to remember that darkness is not always the enemy. It is where dreams are born and fears are confronted. Without it, light would have no meaning."


    Arturo stood still, caught between those two truths. Then, he opened his eyes and looked back at Ana, who watched him with a mix of serenity and expectation.


    "Who are you going to choose?" Ana asked, genuinely curious.


    "I don''t want to be either of them," Arthur replied, feeling a strange certainty in his words. "I don''t want to be just Solaris, or just Nocturnia. What if I am both?" Or maybe, none...


    Ana watched him in silence. The question he had asked seemed to have touched something beyond logic, as if it were touching the soul of this world, this place he was linked to but couldn''t decide if he wanted to be a part of.


    Finally, Ana smiled with understanding.


    "So, you are a Twilight," she said softly, her voice like a confirmation that echoed in Arthur''s mind.


    Arturo opened his eyes slowly, looking at Ana, still in her state of visualization.


    "A Twilight?" he repeated, as if testing the word in his mouth, trying to understand its meaning.


    Ana nodded slowly. "Twilights don''t belong to either world, but they dream of both. They are the ones who live on the border, around the Luminous Castle in the ruins of Lyra, the city that once united Solaris and Nocturnia. Twilights see the shadows of the past and the lights of the future, and what they desire is something more. They want to unite those two worlds. But the fight will not be easy. The Separatist Kings of Solaris and Nocturnia will not allow that to happen.


    Images of Lyra began to materialize in Arthur''s mind. He saw a once-grand city, with architecture that fused the best of both worlds: towers of glass and metal under the sun of Solaris, and bridges of shadow and stone connecting the darkness of Nocturnia. But now, it lay in ruins, its buildings collapsed, and its inhabitants scattered, survivors living in the shadows of what once was.


    "The Twilights, then..." Arthur said, slowly understanding. "They are the ones who will not settle for division. They are the ones who fight to bring back what was lost. They want to restore Lyra, not just as a city, but as a symbol of the union between the two worlds."


    Ana nodded.


    "But they don''t want to destroy, Arturo. They want to heal what is broken, to unite what is separated. The true revolution begins within each of them, in the acceptance that there is not only light nor only darkness. Only when they understand this will they be able to restore what was lost."


    When he finally opened his eyes, he saw Ana Soler looking at him with a serene expression, as if she already knew everything he had just understood.


    "It was... incredible," he replied, still assimilating the experience. "I felt like I was really there, in Enchantia. I could see, hear and feel everything."


    She nodded, her smile widening. "That''s the power of visualization. Don''t forget that feeling, Arturo. Take it with you every time you write. Enchantia is as real as you allow it to be."

 Chapter V, clich茅

    As he left the residence, the morning had ended, giving way to noon.


    When he arrived at the house where he was staying, he stood in front of the door for a few moments, holding his backpack on one shoulder, hesitant.


    He had not received a key and, although Jacinto had assured him that he could enter whenever he needed to, Arturo did not dare to open the door without permission.


    He took a deep breath and knocked softly, knocking on the wood with his knuckles. There was no answer. He knocked again, a little louder this time. Only a few seconds passed when the door opened slightly, and Jacinto, with his hair disheveled and an apron stained with flour, stood there.


    ¡°What are you doing standing there like a thief with remorse?¡± asked Jacinto with a lopsided smile.


    Arturo scratched the back of his neck, feeling a little ridiculous.


    ¡°It''s just that... I didn''t dare to use the door without you. You didn''t give me a key and I thought that... I don''t know, maybe it would be disrespectful.¡±


    Jacinto snorted a laugh as he stepped aside to let him in. Arturo smiled in relief as he crossed the threshold.


    Jacinto''s house was warm and smelled of freshly baked bread, a scent that seemed to cling to the walls and give it a homely feel. Arturo left his things in a corner as Jacinto returned to what looked like a dough he was preparing.


    "How did it go with Ana Soler?" he asked, without taking his eyes off his work.


    "Good, very good. She''s a fascinating woman. She''s given me a lot to think about about my history... and about myself, I suppose."


    Arturo walked slowly up the stairs, tired but determined to organize the ideas that his encounter with Ana Soler had left him with. When he pushed open the door to the room Jacinto had assigned him, he got an unexpected surprise: a young woman was there, standing by the bed, arranging something on the desk. Her dark hair was tied back in a ponytail, and she had a distracted expression that quickly turned to panic at the sight of her.


    "Who are you?!" she exclaimed, taking a step back as if she had just encountered a burglar.


    Arturo raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, more confused than alarmed. "I''m sorry, I didn''t know there was anyone else here. I''m Arturo, I''m staying here for a few days. Jacinto offered me the room."


    Before he could explain further, Jacinto appeared in the doorway, still wearing his apron stained with flour.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on here?¡± she asked, looking first at Arturo and then at the young woman.


    ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯d like to know, Dad!¡± she replied indignantly. ¡°Who is this man and why is he staying in my old room?¡±


    Jacinto let out a heavy sigh, as if he was already accustomed to his daughter¡¯s dramatic tone.


    ¡°Calm down, Eva. Arturo is not a stranger, he is a friend who needs a place to stay for a few days while he works on a project. He¡¯s not going to hurt you.¡±


    Eva looked at him incredulously, shaking her head. ¡°A friend? I¡¯m sure you barely know him. And you left him in my room?¡±


    Arturo, who had been watching the exchange without knowing whether he should intervene, decided it was time to speak. He stepped forward and extended his hand toward Eva, with a kind but firm smile.


    ¡°I understand your concern, really. But I¡¯m not a stranger. I¡¯m Arturo Duarte, a writer for Paper & Pen magazine. I''m here in Magall¨®n working on a novel, and your father was generous enough to give me a place to stay. I promise you that I respect this space very much, and I won''t touch anything that''s yours.¡±


    Eva looked at him suspiciously, but finally shook his hand with a quick gesture, as if she wanted to end the moment as soon as possible.


    ¡±Eva Rodriguez¡± she said, dryly ¡±Jacinto''s daughter¡±.


    The man snorted, amused, as he leaned against the door frame ¡±Well, now that you''ve made the introductions, can you behave like civilized people?¡± he said, looking at Eva with a raised eyebrow ¡±Arturo is my guest, and you don''t live here anymore. If you''re visiting, you can use the couch, like any other ungrateful daughter who''s gone to the big city¡±.


    Eva rolled her eyes and gathered her things from the desk with a snort.


    ¡±Don''t worry, Dad, I won''t stay long. And you... Arturo, right?¡± she said, giving her one last suspicious look. ¡±I hope whatever you''re writing is worthy of invading my space¡±.


    With those words, he left the room, leaving Arturo and Jacinto in an awkward silence that was quickly broken when the latter burst out laughing.


    ¡±Don''t pay attention to her¡± said the elder, shaking his head. ¡±Eva has always had a special talent for making a storm out of a teacup. She just has... well, her days¡±.


    Arturo smiled somewhat nervously. ¡±It''s okay. I''m used to dealing with difficult characters¡±.


    When the door finally closed, the young writer took a deep breath and headed straight to his makeshift desk by the window. It was a cozy, quiet space, ideal for getting his writing started. From the window, he could see the park and hear the soft murmur of the town¡¯s nightlife.


    Deciding to focus on what really mattered, Arturo prepared himself for an afternoon of work, with his notebook in hand. He knew he would have another session with Ana the next day, and he was determined to make the most of his time in the town.


    He pulled out his laptop and sat down, remembering Soler¡¯s words and the visualization session. He closed his eyes, letting his mind travel back to Enchantia.


    ¡°What am I doing now?¡± he muttered to himself, trying to connect with his character.


    In his mind, Arturo was walking alongside the Torrenmiota River.


    The river ran calmly, dividing two opposite worlds. On one side, the light bathed the earth in a golden glow that turned every leaf, every stone, into a bright, vivid object. On the other side, shadows dominated, soft and enveloping, lending everything an air of mystery. Arthur was fascinated by the Terminator Zone. There was something about the edge, that ever-shifting boundary, that called to him.


    Stone structures stood in disarray, some buildings partially destroyed, others still standing but with deep cracks in their walls, as if time had left its mark relentlessly.


    Arthur was snooping around the remains of some twilight wandering group''s shelter, his eyes wide open. It wasn''t just the sombre beauty that attracted him, but the sense of belonging he felt there.


    Suddenly, among the ruins, something caught his eye. At first, he thought it was just an elongated shadow created by the afternoon sun, but as he looked closer, he realized it wasn''t an illusion. A figure loomed on the horizon, walking towards him.


    Arthur stopped, feeling a strange tingle on his skin. The figure was tall, clad in armor, but there was something about its bearing that made it seem distinct, as if it were part of the city itself. The figure slowly advanced towards him, and Arthur stood still, watching with growing intrigue.


    When the figure was a few feet away, it stopped. It didn¡¯t say anything right away, just stared at him as if it was waiting for something.


    Finally, the figure spoke, its voice echoing in the silence of the ruins:


    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± it asked, its tone gravelly but not threatening.


    Arthur, still shocked by the figure¡¯s presence, hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words. But something inside him, something he had always felt, led him to respond with raw honesty.


    ¡°This is the only place in Enchantia where I feel like I belong,¡± he said finally, staring at the figure, as if he could see beyond its physical appearance, into the soul of what it represented.


    The figure studied him silently for a moment. Its eyes, dark as the shadows of Nocturnia, shone with a mix of curiosity and understanding.


    ¡°You mean the Terminator? Why?¡±


    Arthur looked up at the ruins, as if he were searching for something in the fallen stones. He felt like the words were coming out on their own, that he had spoken them before, even without knowing it.


    ¡°Because everything in excess, even the good, has its price. Separation, fear¡­ all of it. We were taught to distance ourselves, to seek separate solutions. But¡­¡± he paused, as if those words didn¡¯t want to come out, ¡°in the end that doesn¡¯t unite us. Division only creates more division.¡±


    The figure didn¡¯t react immediately, but Arturo could see a flash of recognition in its eyes. As if what he was saying was familiar, something that belonged not only to his story, but to the story of Enchantia.


    ¡°And what would you do with what you find behind the wall?¡± the figure asked, his voice softer now, but filled with a contained tension.


    Arturo didn¡¯t know what to answer right away.


    What would he do? He knew that behind the wall were the ruins of Lyra, something that represented more than just a refuge. It was the place where the broken pieces of Enchantia could still be reunited. But what about him? What could he do for himself, when he didn¡¯t even know if he had the ability to repair what was broken?


    Finally, his words came out, with a firmness he hadn¡¯t felt before:


    ¡°Create something new. Maybe¡­ maybe the only thing we can do is rebuild. But for that, we need to understand what brought us down, what separated us.¡± Arturo looked at the figure, his resolve growing.


    The figure nodded slowly, as if he recognized in those words something more than a simple statement. It was a truth that had been waiting to be spoken.


    ¡°Then you will be a Twilight,¡± the figure said, his tone grave and firm, as if he were marking the beginning of something.


    And with that declaration, the wind of Enchantia seemed to come to life, as if the city itself was awakening from its long sleep. The ruins began to echo, and in the air, the promise of a new revolution began to take shape.


    With his eyes still closed, Arturo clumsily began to write, allowing the words to flow freely from his mind to the computer. Each word, each phrase, was a step closer to understanding and overcoming his own creative block.


    As time passed, Arturo lost himself in his writing. Time faded away as he created scenes, dialogues, and descriptions, immersing himself completely in the world of Enchantia. He paid no attention to the sound of passing cars or the birdsong outside.


    ¡°How do you like your lentils?¡± Eva asked as she opened the door, her arms crossed and her expression a mix of indifference and expectation.


    Arturo blinked several times, disoriented by the sudden intrusion. ¡°Lentils? Wasn¡¯t your father already cooking?¡± he asked, still half trapped in the fictional forest of his mind.


    Eva rolled her eyes. ¡°If you don¡¯t want burnt apple pie with a side of ¡®I-don¡¯t-touch-it-anymore¡¯ on your lunch menu, you¡¯ll have to resign yourself to my cooking.¡± Jacinto cooks for cats, not people,¡± she said, pointing to the window, where Arturo could see Jacinto spreading out bits of food on the floor for the felines roaming the yard.


    ¡°Cake as the main meal?¡± Arturo raised an eyebrow, still confused by the surreal turn of the conversation.


    ¡°It¡¯s my father, what did you expect?¡± Eva replied, as if her father¡¯s culinary eccentricity was as much a fact of life as the sun rising every day. ¡°So, do you want it with chorizo ??or are you up for my experiment with turmeric and ginger?¡±


    Arturo let out a small laugh, surprised by the peculiar situation. ¡°Chorizo ??is fine, thanks.¡±


    When he turned his head back to his laptop, he realized he had written several pages. He was exhausted but satisfied. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he had made significant progress on his novel.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Eva looked at the pages on the computer, her expression curious. ¡°Were you working on your novel?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I was trying a visualization session. It¡¯s something Mrs. Soler taught me. It helps me connect more deeply with my story¡°.


    Eva nodded, seemingly interested. ¡°That sounds fascinating. Do you mind if I stay a while? The food can wait¡° she said, sitting down in a chair near the table.


    Arturo hesitated for a moment, knowing that he needed to concentrate, but also feeling that refusing Eva¡¯s company might be rude. Finally, he decided to try to combine both.


    ¡°Okay. But I need it to be a little quiet so I can concentrate¡°.


    Eva smiled as she raised her hands. ¡°I promise not to make noise. I just want to see how you work¡°.


    Arturo closed his eyes again, trying to regain the connection he had had. He took a deep breath and let his mind return to Enchantia, to the forests and mountains.


    As the images returned to his mind, Arturo began to speak softly, describing what he saw and what he felt.


    ¡°I am in the Enchanted Forest, surrounded by tall trees whose branches seem woven with silver threads,¡± Arturo began, his voice low and rhythmic. ¡°The moonlight cascades down, illuminating small clearings where the grass sparkled as if it were covered in star dust.¡±


    Eva sat in the small room, her gaze fixed on Arturo. His eyes were closed, his hands resting on his knees, and his voice flowed with a calm but intense cadence.


    ¡°In front of me, a bonfire burns softly,¡± Arturo began, his low tone echoing in the silence of the room. It¡¯s the only source of light in the dimness of the forest. Around me, a group of figures is gathered, their faces barely visible in the flickering of the fire.


    Eva tilted her head slightly, caught up in the rhythm of the words. It was as if the forest and the bonfire materialized between them, as if she could feel the heat of the fire and hear the whisper of the wind through the trees.


    Arturo continued, without opening his eyes.


    ¡°I¡¯m sitting on a fallen log, staring into the fire. The others murmur among themselves, but the tension in the air is palpable, almost tangible. To my left is Liora. Her gaze is as sharp as the knife she plays between her fingers, sliding it with a rhythm that hypnotizes. To my right is Ghalen, a blacksmith from Nocturnia who joined the Twilights after losing everything. He checks a steel blade, his face reflected in the edge under the light of the flames.


    Eva crossed her arms, adjusting herself in her seat. She could picture it all clearly: the bonfire, the shadows, the figures. It was as if she were there, seeing through Arthur¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°In the center of the circle is a makeshift table,¡± Arturo continued, ¡°a wooden plank propped up on stones. On it, a hand-drawn map of the Luminous Castle. Each line indicates paths, entrances, strategic positions. The Separation Celebration is in a day.¡±


    ¡°Separation Celebration?¡± Eva asked, her voice barely a whisper.


    Arthur nodded slightly, as if the question connected him even more to what he was visualizing.


    ¡°An opulent party. A display of power and division. The kings of Solaris and Nocturnia gather to reaffirm that separation is the path to prosperity. But we Twilights know the truth: Solaris is drying up; Nocturnia is freezing over. Division isn¡¯t saving them. It¡¯s destroying them.¡±


    The silence in the room grew thick, broken only by the murmur of Arthur¡¯s voice, which seemed to emerge from somewhere deeper than his own mind.


    ¡°Ghalen says it¡¯s the only time of year when kings make a public appearance,¡± Arthur continued. ¡°But they¡¯re surrounded by guards, and Liora says facing them directly would be suicide.¡±


    Eva tilted her head toward him, as if she could draw more words with her attention.


    ¡°What do you do then?¡± she asked, her voice a thread that barely broke the silence.


    Arthur smiled slightly, though his eyes were still closed. The smile was not of joy, but of resolution.


    ¡°We don¡¯t need to face them directly,¡± he said, his voice gaining strength and clarity.


    Eva frowned, intrigued, but did not interrupt. Arthur continued, with the tone of someone making an irreversible decision.


    ¡°The lost key to the Luminous Castle.¡±


    Eva leaned forward, curious.


    ¡°The key?¡± she asked, her words filled with disbelief. ¡°It is the most powerful symbol of separation,¡± Arturo said, his voice now more intense. ¡°If we can find it, if we can get those who hold it to understand the truth and question what they have been taught¡­ we could crumble everything from within.¡±


    Eva stared at him.


    Silence filled the room as Arturo remained motionless, still lost in his vision.


    Although the young woman did not fully understand the context of what exactly he was narrating, she could see the passion and dedication in every word she spoke.


    Arturo, grateful for Eva¡¯s patience and kindness, decided to return the favor.


    ¡°Would you like to try a visualization session?¡± he asked. ¡°It can be a powerful tool.¡±


    ¡°I would love to. I have always wanted to know what the creative process of a renowned writer is like, as I am sure you are.¡±


    Ignoring the casual compliment, Arturo instructed Eva to sit comfortably and close her eyes.


    ¡°First, relax and breathe deeply.¡± Imagine a place where you feel happy and at peace. It can be anywhere: a forest, a beach, a mountain¡­


    Eva nodded with her eyes closed, breathing deeply as she visualized her happy place.


    ¡°Now, I want you to think of a story. What kind of story would you like to tell?¡± Arturo continued.


    Eva, still with her eyes closed, began to speak softly. ¡°I¡¯ve always liked romantic stories. I think of a young girl, who lives in a small town. Like this one. She¡¯s tired of seeing the same faces every day and dreams of living in a big city. But she has no money, no contacts. Just her bike and a great desire to get out of here.¡±


    Arturo nodded, intrigued. ¡°Sounds interesting. What happens next?¡±


    Eva hesitated, surprised by her own answer. ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­ I guess she cycles to the city. But when she gets there, she realizes that everything she imagined is not as she thought. It¡¯s noisy, chaotic. There¡¯s no one to lend her a hand. But then¡­ maybe¡­¡± she paused, searching for words, ¡°she meets someone.¡±


    Arturo let out a low whistle. ¡°Great, Eva.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± she asked, raising an eyebrow.


    ¡°Absolutely. You already have a base: a protagonist, a conflict, a goal. Sit down and write it.¡± It doesn''t have to be perfect; the important thing is to start.


    ¡°They could start talking. Little by little, she realizes that maybe he is the one, but there is a problem: he is passing through, and their journey will continue soon. She is afraid of losing him before she has had the chance to really get to know him¡°.


    ¡°How does she feel about this? What is her internal conflict?¡°


    ¡°She is torn between her fear of opening up to someone who might leave and her desire to live a true love story. Every minute that passes, her connection with him grows stronger, but so does her fear of the inevitable goodbye¡°.


    ¡°Well, now she visualizes a crucial moment in her story. What does she do? How does she face her fears?¡°


    Eva opened her eyes, resting on Arturo''s, who, feeling the emotion and connection in the story, could not help but get carried away by the moment.


    ¡°And in that moment...¡° Eva continued, her voice softening, ¡°they both look into each other''s eyes, knowing that what they feel is not fiction, it is real. Slowly, they get closer, feeling their hearts beat faster¡°.


    Arturo, without thinking too much, leaned towards her and then, as if Eva''s story was coming true, their lips met in a soft, emotional kiss. Brief, but intense.


    When they separated, they both looked at each other in surprise.


    The intensity of the moment became even more palpable when Eva, with a mix of shyness and desire, locked the door.


    ¡°Okay, imagine you''re that girl from the village you mentioned before,¡± Arturo ordered playfully. ¡°You''re in the big city, but you don''t know anyone. You''re alone, lost. You walk down a neon-lit street and you see a man in a caf¨¦, looking at you from the window. What do you think?¡±


    ¡°I think that man should stop staring at me so much¡±.


    Arturo rolled his eyes. ¡°Okay, just when I was going to say that the man is nice, he smiles at you and decides to invite you to a coffee so you won''t be cold¡±.


    Eva opened one eye, skeptical. ¡°What if he turns out to be a serial killer?¡±


    ¡°You''re visualizing, aren''t you?¡±


    Eva shook her head, although her lips maintained that mischievous smile. ¡°But, while we''re at it, I might as well give this story a happy ending¡±.


    The room was bathed in the soft moonlight that filtered through the curtains, creating an intimate and cozy atmosphere. The two slowly approached each other again and, without saying a word, began to explore their feelings and desires, letting their bodies speak for them.


    What followed was a passionate night full of emotion. Arturo, experiencing his first time with a woman, felt overwhelmed by the mix of sensations and emotions. Every caress, every kiss, was a new revelation, a discovery of intimacy and physical connection he had never experienced before. Eva, for her part, was patient and loving, guiding him.


    At that moment, Arturo was no longer a visitor or a stranger, and Eva was not simply the daughter of the man who had taken him in.


    When the embrace finally relaxed and they both breathed deeply, Eva moved slightly away from Arturo, looking into his eyes with an expression that Arturo couldn¡¯t quite understand.


    With a gentleness that surprised Arturo, Eva took off the necklace she had on and offered it to Arturo. He took it with curiosity, looking at the antique key. It was simple, but there was something in its design that made it special.


    ¡°It¡¯s for you,¡± Eva said with a smile, her voice soft but determined. ¡°Even if you¡¯re just a temporary visitor, as long as you wear this necklace, it will bring you back home.¡±


    As the day progressed, Arturo slept a little longer, dreaming about the incredible day he had had. From his encounter with Ana Soler to his unexpected connection with Eva, everything seemed to fit perfectly into a mosaic of experiences and discoveries. He felt like he had found not only inspiration for his novel, but also a new dimension in his personal life.


    He woke up to the light of dusk filtering through the poorly closed curtains of the room. His body was still warm, relaxed, as if time had stopped for a few hours.


    He sat up in bed, dazed, as memories of midday came rushing back to him.


    Eva.


    Shaking his head to get rid of those thoughts, he stood up, got dressed, and opened his laptop. There was something disturbing but wonderful about the whirlwind of emotions the young woman provoked in him.


    That energy needed to be channeled into words.


    ¡°Are you writing again?¡± Eva¡¯s voice sounded mocking, but sweet, and Arturo turned suddenly, finding her leaning against the door frame. She was wearing an old t-shirt and a pair of frayed jeans, but in her hands she carried a steaming bowl.


    ¡°What time is it?¡± Arturo asked, confused.


    ¡°Time for you to behave like a human being and eat something.¡± The girl moved towards him, placing the bowl on the table with a small thud. I made you some lentils hours ago, but since you fell asleep... I had to reheat them.


    Arturo felt a blush rise to his face, but he hid it with a smile. ¡°Thanks, but you didn¡¯t have to be upset.¡±


    ¡°Of course. Come on, eat them, they¡¯re going to get cold again.¡±


    Arturo was finishing the last bite of the lentils when his phone vibrated on the table. He looked at the screen and saw don Juan¡¯s name flashing.


    He sighed, knowing that ignoring it was not an option, and slid his finger to answer while still having a piece of chorizo ??in his mouth.


    ¡°Hmmm¡­ hello?¡± he murmured in a somewhat muffled voice, trying not to choke.


    ¡°What the hell is wrong with you?¡± don Juan¡¯s firm voice echoed on the other end of the phone. ¡°Why do you talk as if you had a sock in your mouth?¡±


    Arturo swallowed quickly and cleared his throat. ¡°I¡¯m eating, don Juan.¡±


    ¡°Eating?¡± don Juan replied with a mixture of disbelief and mockery. ¡°At seven in the evening?¡±


    Arturo smiled as he leaned back in his chair, setting the empty bowl aside. ¡°Not exactly. I fell asleep after¡­ well, a long morning of inspiration. So these lentils are my first serious meal of the day.¡±


    ¡°Ah, I see. Inspiration.¡± The word came out of don Juan¡¯s mouth as if it had a bitter taste. ¡°I need to talk to you about this week¡¯s short story for Paper & Pen. I haven¡¯t received it.¡±


    Arturo swallowed, trying to remain calm. I''m sorry. I''ve been very immersed in something that has taken me longer than I expected. I promise to send it as soon as I can.


    There was a brief pause in the conversation, and Arturo could sense the tension in don Juan''s voice. "I understand that you''re working on something important, but I''m also worried about your health, Arturo. I saw you very exhausted the other time. You need to balance your responsibilities."


    Arturo felt a pang of guilt. "I know, don Juan. I''m trying to manage everything as best I can."


    "That''s why I''m making you a proposal," he continued in a softer but firmer tone. "You have to choose between the ''Shared Letters'' section and the story you''re developing. I can''t allow you to neglect your obligations at the magazine, but I also recognize that your personal project is important to you."


    Arturo remained silent, reflecting on his boss''s words. Don Juan was right; he had been so absorbed in his novel that he had neglected his work responsibilities. However, the story with Ana Soler had come to life in a way he had never imagined, and he would feel empty if he abandoned her now.


    ¡°I understand the situation,¡± he finally answered. ¡°Can we find a way to balance both? Maybe I can devote the mornings to my novel and the afternoons to Paper & Pen.¡±


    There was another moment of silence before don Juan responded.


    ¡°I appreciate your willingness, but the truth is that the section requires constant attention. Readers expect quick responses and fresh content. If you decide to focus on your novel, you would have to give up that section.¡±


    Arturo fell silent on the other end of the line, feeling his throat closing up. Don Juan had posed an ultimatum that he could not accept: choosing between his dream of publishing his first novel and his commitment to Paper & Pen.


    It was like asking him to tear out a part of himself, something he was not willing to do.


    ¡°I can¡¯t choose,¡± he finally said, his voice barely a whisper. ¡°You both mean too much to me.¡±


    Another long silence stretched on, and finally, don Juan sighed.


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll do it for you, Arturo. As someone who cares about you, I think it¡¯s best that you go ahead with your novel. Consider this your farewell to Paper and Pen. I hope you understand that this is not a punishment, but a decision based on what I think is best for you.¡±


    Arturo felt something break inside him. He wanted to protest, to ask don Juan to reconsider, but the words didn¡¯t come out. He knew his boss was being sincere, but that didn¡¯t make it hurt any less.


    ¡°Thank you for everything,¡± he murmured at last, feeling the tears gathering in his eyes. Then, he hung up the phone.


    ¡°Fuck. Are you okay?¡± Eva asked, approaching with soft steps. He had heard enough to understand what had happened.


    Arturo looked up at her, trying to smile, but he couldn''t. Tears began to roll down his cheeks, and before he could say anything, Eva wrapped her arms around him. The hug was warm, firm, and although Arturo tried to contain himself, he allowed himself to fall apart completely at that moment.


    "I''m sorry," he said between sobs, clinging to her as if she were a lifeline. "I didn''t want this to happen. I didn''t want to let don Juan down... or anyone else."


    Eva stroked his back gently, her words soothing. "Don''t apologize. Sometimes losing something is the only way to gain what you really need. Maybe this is a chance to focus on what really matters."


    Arturo nodded weakly, feeling his breathing begin to calm down.


    Maybe she was right. Maybe this was the push he needed to devote his energy completely to the novel.


    Then he laughed through his tears, even though don Juan''s words continued to resonate in his mind, something else was beginning to take shape: the determination not to disappoint those who believed in him.

 Chapter VI, dark side

    Arturo headed towards the nursing home where, upon arrival, he was greeted with a warm smile by the same receptionist.


    He headed straight to Ana¡¯s room, who greeted him immediately noticing the change in his demeanor.


    ¡°Good morning, Arturo. I see you¡¯re in a very good mood today,¡± she said, with a sly look.


    ¡°Good afternoon. Yes, the truth is that I feel determined,¡± she replied, with a confident smile. ¡°I¡¯m ready for another visualization session. I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll do well.¡±


    Arturo sat next to the old woman, closing his eyes and preparing for the session. This time, he was more relaxed and confident. Soler¡¯s words gently guided him as he immersed himself in the world of Encantia once again.


    ¡°Imagine yourself breathing the air of Encantia, Arturo. Inhale¡­ exhale¡­ Now, tell me, what is the environment you¡¯re in like? What do you see around you?¡± The first sound that greeted him was the murmur of a crowd. Intermingled voices, laughter, and a vibrant murmur of celebration filled the air. When he opened his eyes, he found himself standing on a vast esplanade that led to the Luminous Castle, a colossus of glittering towers that seemed to have been carved straight from the twilight. Its white stone was adorned with both gold and silver.


    The sky, split between perpetual light and gloom, marked the boundary between the two worlds. Arthur paused for a moment, admiring the contrast that defined Enchantia.


    Ahead of him, a procession of ornate carriages moved slowly toward the castle gates. The occupants were the elites of Solaris and Nocturnia, wearing extravagant costumes, golden robes that reflected the glow of the sun, and black cloaks trimmed with silver that seemed plucked straight from the shadows. A carpet of cloth embroidered with threads of light and shadow stretched from the castle steps to the cheering crowd as prominent figures descended from their carriages.


    ¡°Where are you now?¡± Anne asked from the gloom, her voice echoing far away in Arthur¡¯s mind.


    ¡°On ??the esplanade of the Luminous Castle, during the Separation Celebration,¡± Arthur replied, not taking his eyes off the spectacle.


    Anne said nothing more, letting him immerse himself completely in the experience.


    Pennants fluttered overhead, representing the colors of both realms: the scorching gold of Solaris and the dark, silvery blue of Nocturnia. An orchestra played on a stage at the side of the esplanade, its instruments creating a melody that oscillated between bright and melancholic, as if trying to unite the two worlds through music.


    Arthur began to move through the crowd. The outfits of the people around him were ostentatious, and the dialogue was empty, focused on the riches and opulence of their respective kingdoms.


    ¡°This is a celebration, but not of unity,¡± Arthur murmured, more to himself than to Anna. ¡°It is a showcase of what separates them.¡±


    As he moved forward, he noticed that on the edges of the esplanade were grouped the less fortunate, those who could not afford to enter the castle but had still gathered to watch. Their clothes were simple, devoid of the ornaments that defined the wealthy. Some looked like they were from Solaris, with faded robes that were once gold, while others wore dark cloaks worn by continuous use in the cold of Nocturnia. Their looks were not of joy, but of resignation, as if they were there because there was nowhere else to go. ¡°The Separatist Kings have made sure that all eyes are on them, but the real Enchantia is here, on the sidelines,¡± he said, clenching his fists.


    A blare of trumpets echoed through the air, and the crowd turned toward the castle¡¯s main entrance. The giant doors of obsidian and gold slowly opened, revealing the Separatist Kings. Both stood on a raised balcony, from where they could look out over the crowd and be looked at by them.


    The king of Solaris, tall and regal in bearing, wore golden armor that reflected light with every movement. His crown was a glowing ring of sunbeams, and his face was marked by a severity that brooked no argument. Beside him, the queen of Nocturnia, wrapped in a black cloak decorated with silver stars, looked like a shadow moving gracefully. Her expression was as cold as her kingdom, but her eyes shone with an intensity that suggested she could see beyond the darkness.


    The crowd cheered and clapped, their voices creating a cacophony that echoed off the castle walls.


    ¡°Ladies and gentlemen of Enchantia,¡± the king of Solaris said, his voice echoing thanks to an amplifying spell, ¡°today we celebrate our greatness, our individuality, and the strength we have found in embracing our differences.¡±


    The queen of Nocturnia spoke up, her tone low and melodic.


    ¡°Today, we reaffirm that light and shadow are not meant to mingle, but to coexist in eternal balance. Each in their place, each with their purpose.¡±


    Arturo felt a pang of indignation.


    Balance? There was no balance in division, only isolation and suffering.


    Ana suddenly spoke, her voice a whisper in his mind.


    ¡°What will you do, Arthur?¡±


    He closed his eyes, letting the noise of the crowd and the empty words of the kings fade away for a moment.


    ¡°I will show them they are wrong,¡± he said finally. ¡°I will show them that light and shadow can not only coexist, but can unite. That Lyra can rise again.¡±


    When he opened his eyes again, the scenery had changed. In front of him, the Twilights, hidden in the crowd, were beginning to stir. Their gazes met Arthur¡¯s, and he knew they were waiting for something too. Something only he could unleash.


    Arthur continued to move through the crowd, his heart pounding as he approached the balcony where the Separatist Kings spoke.


    The words of the king of Solaris were a proclamation of supremacy, embellished with rhetoric that hid the cracks in his kingdom under a veneer of pride. The Queen of Nocturnia, for her part, spoke with a calculated coldness, her words exuding a serenity that Arthur knew was only a mask.


    But it wasn''t them who caught his attention. No, his gaze drifted to a figure standing to one side of the balcony, in a more discreet but no less prominent place.


    The crown princess, a living symbol of the union between the kingdoms.


    Arthur paused, feeling a lump form in his throat. There was something about her, the way she tilted her head as she listened to the kings, the way her hair fluttered in the breeze, that was painfully familiar.


    He moved closer, his steps unsteady, as if an invisible force was pushing and stopping him at the same time. When he was finally close enough to see her clearly, his world stopped.


    It was Maria.


    His sister.


    Arthur felt everything around him fade away. The crowd, the cheers, even the glow of the Luminous Castle, blurred to a distant echo. He could only see her, standing on the balcony, alive and radiant.


    But there was something different about her face, something distant, as if the memories they shared had been erased.


    ¡°Maria¡­¡± he murmured, barely able to say her name.


    His chest began to tighten. The scene before him was impossible, and yet, it was there. How could it be her? How could she be alive? Fragments of memories of his sister swirled in his mind: her laughter, her hair fluttering in the sun, her dreams of being a brave princess.


    The opulence of the pink dress, the crown adorning her head, couldn''t be real. They couldn''t belong to the Maria he knew.


    Suddenly, he felt like he was short of breath. His heart was pounding so hard he thought it might break. A fog began to envelop his vision, and his legs trembled.


    "No... it can''t be..." he whispered, bringing a hand to his chest.


    Anna''s voice came to him like a distant whisper, trying to cut through the panic that consumed him.


    "Arthur... breathe. Come back to me."


    But Arthur couldn''t. Anxiety gripped him with relentless claws, and all he could do was look at Anna, who didn''t seem to see him, or recognize him, or even notice his presence.


    "Arthur!" Anna''s voice grew louder, more urgent.


    The visualization crumbled. The castle balcony disappeared, along with the crowd and the kings. Arturo¡¯s eyes snapped open, gasping, as if he¡¯d been underwater for too long.


    He was back in Ana¡¯s small room, the dim light of the morning sun illuminating the room. The air was heavy and dense, and the heat of his own skin made him feel trapped.


    Ana watched him worriedly from her chair.


    ¡°What happened?¡± she asked, her tone firm but not demanding. She knew something had struck a deep chord in Arturo, something he couldn¡¯t ignore.


    Arturo couldn¡¯t answer right away. His breathing was erratic, and his hands shook as he pressed them against his knees.


    ¡°I saw her¡­¡± he finally managed, his voice barely a murmur.


    Ana leaned forward, frowning.


    ¡°Who did you see?¡±Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    Arturo looked up, his eyes filled with a mix of confusion and anguish.


    ¡°My sister. Maria. She was there, on the balcony, as if she¡¯d never died.


    The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the sound of the clock on the wall. Ana let out a sigh and stood up, walking around the table to sit across from Arturo.


    ¡°Visualization is powerful, Arturo,¡± she said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. ¡°It can bring things out from the depths of our minds, things we may not even have known we had inside.¡±


    ¡°But it wasn¡¯t a memory¡­¡± Arturo shook his head, his words coming out in a rush. ¡°It was her. She was alive, there, with them.¡±


    Ana watched him silently, her eyes filled with understanding.


    ¡°Maybe Maria has a bigger role in this story than you think.¡±


    Arturo clenched his fists, trying to regain his composure. But the images of Maria, dressed as the crown princess, were still etched in his mind.


    ¡°If that¡¯s so¡­¡± he finally murmured, looking at Ana with an intensity he hadn¡¯t shown before, ¡°then I need to know why.¡±


    Ana nodded slowly, giving him time to process what he had just experienced.


    ¡°We will know, Arturo. But for now, rest. The answers will come when you are ready to receive them.¡±


    Arturo left the nursing home at a hurried pace, his labored breaths mixing with the cold evening air. Crying had swept over him so suddenly that he didn¡¯t even notice when his tears began to wet his face. The necklace Eva had given him was hanging around his neck, weighing more than he could have ever imagined. He still couldn¡¯t understand what had just happened, what he had seen, what he had felt in the visualization.


    The weight of his own pain was choking his chest, and despite the quiet streets of Magallon, everything around him seemed like chaos. The houses, the shops, the people passing by¡­ everything seemed alien to him, as if it didn¡¯t belong here. It was as if the world he knew was falling apart, and in its place, the ruins of Lyra and the figure of Maria continued to haunt him, like ghosts that refused to go away.


    He ran aimlessly, his legs moving faster than his mind, as if the simple act of running away would free him from what he had just experienced. It felt as if the visualization had trapped his soul and thrown it into a world he couldn¡¯t escape. The familiar, quiet streets of Magallon became a labyrinth, as if he himself was trapped in the heart of Enchantia.


    He didn¡¯t know how much time had passed. Heavy breathing burned his throat, and the chill of the evening seeped into his bones. The city faded behind him, and the only thing that mattered now was getting to a place where he could hide, where he could stop feeling.


    Finally, he arrived at Jacinto''s house, where his mind and body seemed to go into automatic mode. The gate was open, and Arturo, without thinking, walked into the garden.


    Eva and Jacinto were in the living room, reading a book and watching television respectively, when they saw him enter. Noticing his red eyes and dejected expression, Eva immediately stopped what she was doing and stood up.


    "Arturo, what happened?" she asked worriedly, approaching him.


    Arturo didn¡¯t answer. He walked past them without looking at them and up the stairs two at a time, wanting only the shelter of a room.


    Eva followed him, insistent. ¡°Arturo, talk to me. Are you okay?¡±


    But he continued without stopping, the echo of his footsteps resonating in the house. He opened the door to his room and closed it behind him, blocking out the outside world.


    Eva and Jacinto stood outside, hands outstretched toward the door.


    Inside the room, Arturo dropped onto the bed. The crying that had once disappeared came back with force, shaking his body with silent sobs. He curled up on the sheets, hugging the pillow as if it could somehow fill the emptiness he felt.


    Tiredness and emotion finally overcame him. His tears continued to fall, but his eyelids grew heavy. Slowly, exhaustion plunged him into a restless sleep.


    They both stood outside the door a moment longer.


    They wanted to help him, they wanted to tell him that he wasn''t alone, but Jacinto understood that at that moment he needed his space. With a sigh, Eva moved away from the door and they went down the stairs, deciding to wait until he was ready to talk.


    Arturo wanted to sleep because it was the only time where he didn''t think about anything, where everything was possible and where he could see his sister safe and sound.


    In his dreams, the weight of reality faded away.


    There were no expectations to meet or failures to regret. The walls of the room, so suffocating during the day, dissolved into an infinite space where freedom was his only guide. In that dreamlike state, Arturo was not a failed brother or a blocked writer; he was simply a human being seeking comfort in the most hidden corners of his mind.


    Maria was safe.


    He saw her with the clarity of the most vivid memories: her hair blowing in the wind, her crystalline laughter echoing like a familiar melody, and her eyes, always full of energy and love.


    In those moments, Arturo not only saw her, he felt her. In his dreams, they could walk together through endless meadows, or sit under the tree where they used to share secrets as children. He could tell her about his fears and his failures, and she always responded with words of encouragement, giving him back a peace that was denied him in the waking world. In that state, Arturo could be the brother he always wanted to be and the writer his sister admired.


    He dreamed of a world where his work was complete, and Maria read each page with pride and admiration. He dreamed of reconciliation, of a life where pain was replaced by gratitude for having known and loved her.


    Suddenly, something disturbed his peace. A distant sound, as if someone was calling him.


    ¡°Arturo¡­ Arturo¡­¡±


    The voice grew louder, pulling him out of sleep.


    With one last glance at Maria¡¯s smile, Arturo felt the flowery field begin to fade, dragging him back into consciousness. He opened his eyes with a start, expecting to see the room where he had been staying, but what he found was completely different.


    He saw a small group of people leaning over him, familiar and unfamiliar faces illuminated by the light of a nearby bonfire. One of them, a woman with dark hair and eyes like embers, gave him an intense look as she spoke quietly to the others.


    ¡°He¡¯s awake now,¡± she said, with a mixture of relief and caution.


    Arturo sat up slowly, his senses still clouded. He looked around, trying to understand where he was. Tall trees rose up like columns that seemed to have no end, and the sound of a nearby stream filled the air with its constant murmur.


    It was the Enchanted Forest.


    ¡°What is going on?¡± he asked, his voice raspy and full of confusion.


    ¡°We are your allies, if you decide we can be,¡± the woman said, her tone firm but not aggressive. ¡°You carry with you what we have sought for generations. The key to the castle.¡±


    Arthur looked down at his chest and saw the necklace hanging around his neck.


    ¡°This¡­ this is just a gift. It means nothing,¡± Arthur said, fingering the key nervously.


    ¡°Nothing?¡± one of the men replied, his voice rough as the dry leaves of the forest. ¡°That key is the hope of Enchantia. It opens the doors of the Shining Castle, the home of the Separatist Kings. And now you carry it.¡±


    ¡°I am not who you think I am,¡± he said, looking at the group in fear and frustration. I''m just¡­ I''m just a writer.


    The woman with the glowing eyes stepped forward, her gaze implacable.


    "So you write stories, right? And what are leaders but those who narrate the future? If you''ve found the key, it''s for a reason. Lyra needs us, and we need someone who believes in the impossible."


    Arthur stood up slowly, staggering a little. His eyes scanned the expectant faces around him. Despite the distrust he felt, he couldn''t ignore the spark of hope he saw in each of them. The key weighed on his neck, but more than that, there was the responsibility that seemed to come with it.


    ¡°What do you expect of me?¡± he finally asked.


    A man with skin tanned by the cold, who until then had remained silent, answered:


    ¡°We expect you to take us to the castle, to open the gates and to be the leader we need.¡±


    The rumor spread like wildfire in a dry field. From the depths of Nocturnia, where the sorcerers whispered their dark spells, to the bright peaks of Solaris, where the emissaries of the sun debated in elevated tones, the news was the same: the key of Lyra had been found.


    The key, long relegated to legends and tavern songs, was now a tangible reality. And the most disturbing thing for the Separatist Kings was not only that it existed, but that it was in the hands of an unknown man, a stranger who had been proclaimed leader of the Twilights, the dreamers who longed for the reunification of Solaris and Nocturnia.


    The news came at dawn. A night messenger burst into the council chamber, his robes torn in haste and his words heavy with urgency.


    The key to the castle had been found.


    The king of Solaris, swathed in robes that shone as if the sun itself woven into their threads, paced back and forth, his hands clasped behind his back. Each step echoed like an impending judgment.


    The queen of Nocturnia, sitting on her onyx throne, watched him coldly. She was a woman of few words, but her presence was commanding. Beneath her night-black cloak, she seemed motionless, as if the shadows themselves surrounded her, absorbing any light that dared to approach.


    They both knew what that rumor meant.


    Lyra, the lost city of the Terminator, had for decades been an impossible ideal, a dream buried by the reality of division. If the key had truly been found, that dream might reemerge, and with it, the threat that their kingdoms would no longer be needed.


    But there was an even bigger problem. It was the week of the Separation Celebration, the most important holiday for both kingdoms, an opportunity to reaffirm the independence of Solaris and Nocturnia. The agenda was full of commitments: speeches, banquets, parades and ceremonies. Cancelling any event would be interpreted as a sign of weakness.


    The only solution was to delegate.


    The kings turned to the same figure at the same time: the crown princess, who stood by a window, her gaze fixed on the horizon. Her bearing was impeccable, her expression, inscrutable. Since she was little, she had been prepared for these moments, trained to be the voice of the crown when her parents could not raise her.


    The princess immediately understood what was expected of her. Although her heart was pounding under the weight of that responsibility, she did not show it. It was her duty, and duties were without doubt.


    A meeting would be arranged. Arthur, the supposed bearer of Lyra¡¯s key, would be summoned to discuss the future of Enchantia. But the princess knew that this was not a simple diplomatic meeting. It was a test, both for Arthur and for herself. If she managed to divert his cause, if she managed to make the Twilights doubt him, the kings would have gained time to strengthen their defenses and crush any attempt at rebellion.


    However, if Arthur proved to be more than just a circumstantial leader, if he truly believed in his cause¡­ then the princess would have to make decisions that would change the course of her life.


    With her gaze still fixed on the horizon, the princess felt the tension in the room grow with every second. The kings had already decided. The orders were clear. It was her time to prove that she was ready to shoulder the future of Solaris and Nocturnia.


    The world of Enchantia was changing, and the princess knew it better than anyone.


    ¡°News from the Luminous Castle,¡± a Twilight said, handing him the message. ¡°The crown princess wishes to meet with you. Formally.¡±


    Arthur, his hands still stained with soot, unfolded the scroll. The words were written in firm, elegant calligraphy:


    ¡°To the bearer of the key of Lyra:


    For the welfare of Enchantia, I request a formal meeting to discuss the fate of our land. Division is our present, but the future can still be negotiated.


    ¡ªYour Highness, Crown Princess of Solaris and Nocturnia.¡±


    Arthur¡¯s heart began to pound. He didn¡¯t need to see the signature to know who it was.


    Maria.


    He stood up abruptly, ignoring the gaze of the Twilights surrounding him. ¡°I will go,¡± he said, with a firmness that brooked no argument. ¡°I must speak to her.¡±


    Liora stepped in, her face full of concern.


    ¡°Are you mad? You cannot. This has all the hallmarks of a trap. If you go, the kings will capture you, execute you, and use the key for their own purposes.¡±


    ¡°I have to see her,¡± Arthur replied, gripping the parchment so tightly his knuckles turned white. ¡°If there¡¯s even a chance I can convince her, I have to try.¡±


    Ghalen let out a snort and threw a branch into the fire.


    ¡°Convince her of what? Of betraying her own parents? She¡¯s a princess of the Separatist crown. She¡¯s not going to join us, Arthur. This will only serve to weaken us.¡±


    Arthur looked up, meeting the eyes of the Twilights who watched him with a mix of disbelief and disappointment.


    ¡°They don¡¯t understand, it¡¯s not just the princess,¡± he said in a tense voice. ¡°It¡¯s Maria.¡±

 Chapter VII, sonder

    Arturo took a deep breath before entering Ana Soler''s room.


    It had been a few days since their last session and since that strange and transformative experience.


    Ana sat in her usual chair, her countenance serene and attentive, radiating the same welcoming energy that Arturo remembered.


    She gestured for him to take a seat.


    "Arturo, welcome back," she said with an empathetic smile. "How have you been?"


    He settled back into the chair, feeling a mix of nervousness and excitement. Recent experiences had left him with a strange sense of purpose. "I''ve been fine... better than last time, I''d say," he began, looking into her eyes. "I''ve had a dream, Ana."


    The old woman smiled more strongly, interested.


    "Tell me about it."


    Bluntly, Arturo explained what he had had a dream about. The princess, the proposed meeting, the weight of the words that still echoed in his mind. As he spoke, Ana listened in silence, his expressions soft but clearly thoughtful.


    When he finished, Arturo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his voice firmer than she expected.


    "I''m ready to continue with the story, Ana. I need to."


    Ana closed the notebook carefully, as if the sound might upset the fragile balance of the conversation. She didn''t respond immediately. Instead, she studied Arturo with a gaze that seemed to pierce through him, as if she were searching for something deeper, beyond his words.


    Finally, she spoke, her tone low and calm, but laden with meaning.


    "Arturo, every step you take in this story drags you further from reality. I can''t help but wonder if you''re looking for something in Enchantia that you can''t find here."


    Arturo didn''t look away, his hands tense on his knees.


    "Maybe I am," he replied after a pause, "but I can''t ignore what I feel. This... this is more than a story, Ana. It''s something I need to finish."


    Ana sighed, closing her eyes for a moment before nodding slowly.


    She knew she couldn''t stop him, not even with her growing concern.


    "If that''s what you truly wish, then let''s continue. But I want you to remember something, Arturo. The worlds we create come at a cost. If you go too far, you might find something you didn''t expect... or you might not be able to return."


    Arturo nodded, grateful that she was willing to continue, and closed his eyes. Ana motioned for him to settle into his seat, lit a nearby candle, and placed her hands over Arturo''s.


    The visualization process began again, the dim light in the room blurring and the real world disappearing. Arturo felt his mind being drawn into the depths of Enchantia once more, the forest air filling his lungs, the cold ground beneath his feet.


    When he opened his eyes, a crash cut the session short.


    The door swung open and Eva, tense-faced and pale, quickly entered the room followed by her father Jacinto and two municipal police officers.


    Arturo stood up, confused, his heart beginning to beat faster.


    Eva looked visibly upset, her gaze fixed on him. The police officers stood at the entrance, watching the scene, but said nothing, expectant.


    "He has it!" she exclaimed, pointing at Arturo with a trembling finger. "That necklace is mine, and he stole it from me!"


    Arturo couldn''t believe what he was hearing.


    He opened his mouth to defend himself, but the words wouldn''t come out. He looked at the necklace hanging around his neck, the gift Eva had given him. A simple necklace, but full of meaning, something that seemed to transcend the moment.


    Jacinto looked at his daughter, perplexed. His face, normally so serene, was full of disbelief.


    "Eva, what are you saying?" he asked in a slightly surprised voice.


    Eva spoke firmly. "That key was Mom''s, I inherited it from her! It''s very valuable, and he''s wearing it without even explaining how he got it. I told you he wasn''t trustworthy... Do you still want him to sleep in my bed?"  her voice broke at the end, as if everything she was saying was more of a cry of frustration than a logical accusation.


    Arturo, not fully understanding what was happening, unconsciously touched his necklace, looking at those present.


    The police exchanged glances and then the writer, confused and now more concerned about the accusation than his own defense, looked at Eva.


    "Eva, I..." his voice faltered. "What is happening here? You gave me this key, remember? I carry it as a memory, as a bond. You yourself told me that the distance did not matter".


    She looked at him with disgust, her hands shaking nervously.


    Ana Soler stood up quickly as she could, observing the scene with growing discomfort. She moved forward to intercede, but the police finally spoke up.


    "Could you join us for a moment, please?" said one of them, his tone neutral but with a hint of firmness.


    Arturo, still in shock at what was happening, nodded. He wasn''t sure what was going on, but he just followed them.


    "This is a misunderstanding, really..." he muttered, trying to calm the situation while the policeman gestured for him to offer him the necklace and accompany him.


    They both took positions and began to walk with him, without saying another word, while Eva, Jacinto and Ana watched them from a distance, completely silent.


    When they reached the car, he had no choice but to get in. One of the officers sat as co-pilot, while the other started the vehicle. In silence, the journey lengthened, passing through the streets of the town, until reaching the outskirts of the same.


    The car moved slowly along the roads of Campo de Borja. Despite it being almost noon, the light had barely begun to illuminate the vineyards and olive groves that stretched out on both sides of the road. Arturo was in the back seat, his mind spinning over what had happened. The necklace Eva had given him rested on top of the glove compartment of the car, cold but eerily bright, as if something inside it was alive.


    Arturo sat in the backseat, staring out the window without really seeing anything. The discussion had been quick, surprising. That necklace, that damn necklace, was causing everything. In his hands, it seemed harmless, a simple piece of jewelry, but now, apparently, it had become something much bigger.


    A key.


    The policemen were silent, their presence menacing and cold. Arturo looked ahead.


    It had been a mistake. He hadn''t stolen anything.


    A small gust of wind came through the car window, brushing his face. He could feel the heaviness in the air, he was about to be interrogated, perhaps even imprisoned for something he didn''t even understand.


    The patrol car turned a corner, moving away from the residential areas of Borja¡ªwhere the nearest police station was¡ªand into the center of the town. The police continued their route with a disturbing serenity, as if it were just another case.


    Suddenly, the car door opened with a loud creak, and one of the policemen, the taller of the two, motioned for him to get out. He had no choice. He got out of his seat, forced to follow his destiny, even though his body resisted.


    ¡°Come on, let¡¯s walk,¡± the policeman said curtly.


    Arturo walked among them, his eyes fixed on the ground, not daring to look at them. When they reached the doors of the grey stone building, surrounded by a high fence that seemed isolated from the rest of the town, he was pushed into the cell without saying a word.


    The metal doors closed with a dry noise, and the bars crossed between him and the outside world. The dim light of the cell illuminated his pale face, reflecting the confusion and pain he felt at that moment. Standing in the middle of the room, he tried to process what had just happened. Eva, the necklace, the arrest¡­ everything seemed taken from a strange dream, but he was there, in a dark place, waiting for answers that did not come.


    One of the policemen approached, his eyes empty of emotion, and said in an impersonal tone:


    ¡ªWait a moment. We are going to bring someone.


    Arturo said nothing. He just sat on the cell bench, his hands clasped together, head drooping, lost in thought. He knew something bigger was brewing, something far beyond his immediate understanding.


    Minutes later, the cell door opened again, this time more forcefully. Arturo looked up, and when he saw her enter, the world seemed to stop. It was her. There was no doubt.


    Maria.


    But it was not the Maria he knew. The woman walking towards him was dressed in royal robes, an outfit that reflected power and authority. Her upright posture and cold gaze were those of a crown princess, not the little girl who used to laugh with him in his room, making up stories of far-off worlds.


    The Maria that Arturo saw now was not his sister, she was a stranger.


    ¡°Arturo Duarte,¡± Maria said in a cold, calculated voice, as if she were not facing her own brother, but a stranger. ¡°I am sorry for the confusion. The letter you received was not completely honest.¡±


    Arturo watched her intently, searching her face for any trace of the girl he remembered. His eyes scanned every detail: the way she held her head upright, the way the shadows played across her face¡­ But he found nothing familiar.


    Without thinking, he jumped up, his desperation spilling over. He took a step toward the bars that separated them, his hands tightening around the cold metal as he spoke.


    ¡°Maria! It¡¯s you!¡± His voice trembled, filled with a mixture of disbelief and pleading. ¡°Do you remember when we were children? The stories we made up together!¡±


    But Maria did not react. She looked at him as if she were listening to a stranger tell stories that did not concern her. His eyes, normally warm in his memories, were now empty wells of emotion, filled with distance and coldness.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you are talking about,¡± she replied, her tone firm and dispassionate, as if it had been rehearsed a thousand times. ¡°I am here only for this.¡±


    Maria raised her hand, revealing the necklace she had been wearing. Arturo felt the air suddenly escape from him as he recognized the object, unaware of its true meaning.


    The key. The key that, according to the Twilights, could open the doors of the Luminous Castle, and with them, perhaps, the fate of Enchantia. His mind raced in a thousand directions: the conversations in the forest, the scattered clues, the signs he had ignored. Everything pointed to that moment, to that revelation, and to the terrifying truth that Maria, his sister but also heir to Solaris and Nocturnia, now held that power in her hands.


    ¡°As for you¡­ you have threatened the Separatist peace of Enchantia,¡± Maria continued, stepping forward menacingly as she drew her sword from her belt.


    ¡°No!¡± she exclaimed, pounding the bars with her clenched fists. ¡°The Maria I know is not a coward! She would not hide behind titles, nor face an unarmed man as an act of power. The Maria I know would fight for what is right, not what others tell her to do!¡±


    For an instant, something in her gaze changed. Arturo¡¯s words seemed to pierce the armor that protected her. Maria averted her eyes, as if in doubt, but the shadow of her duty fell upon her again. With an elegant but weighty gesture, she raised a hand.


    One of the guards stepped forward, placing a gleaming sword in his hands. Maria stepped up to the bars, her figure firm as a statue, and extended the sword toward Arthur.


    ¡°If you truly believe what you say,¡± she said, her voice now filled with defiance, ¡°prove it. Take this sword and fight. Fight for what you stand for. Fight for what you say I am.¡±


    Arthur stood still, shocked by the turn of events. He looked at the sword, then at Maria. For a moment, he couldn¡¯t move, the weight of the situation falling on his shoulders. But then something inside him changed.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    He reached out and took the sword. It was heavy, cold to the touch, and at first his fingers trembled as he held it.


    Maria stepped back, drawing her own sword in one fluid motion. She stood on guard, her gaze fixed on Arthur, her expression impenetrable.


    The guards moved forward to open the bars. The screech of shifting metal echoed through the cell, and Maria crossed the threshold with firm steps, the sword still in her hand, and her eyes fixed on Arthur.


    There was something relentless in his gaze, as if he had erased any personal connection that might have existed between them.


    Arthur raised his head, holding his own sword awkwardly, and swallowed. His heart was pounding, and every fiber of his being screamed that he must stop this before it was too late.


    Mary moved with perfect posture, the reflection of years of training. Arthur, on the other hand, could barely hold the sword steady, and his every movement was clumsy and unsure. Maria was the first to strike, a quick, precise blow that Arthur blocked just in time.


    The impact resonated in his arms, forcing him back. But Arthur didn¡¯t stop looking at her. He couldn¡¯t stop looking at her.


    ¡°Mary, listen to me,¡± he gasped as he deflected another attack, his voice filled with desperation. ¡°You are not this!¡± You are not a tool of the Separatist kings!


    She did not answer. Her sword moved with deadly precision, forcing him back again and again. But Arthur, despite his clumsiness, refused to fall.


    ¡°Do you remember who you were?¡± he shouted as he attempted a clumsy counterattack that Maria effortlessly deflected. ¡°You were the girl who dreamed of being a heroine! The one who told me that one day I would save the world!¡±


    For a brief moment, Maria¡¯s sword wavered. Arthur took advantage of the pause to step forward, his words coming out with renewed force.


    ¡°Look around you, Maria!¡± Arthur shouted, his voice laden with desperation and truth. ¡°All this power, all this wealth your parents amass, what is it for? Only the richest enjoy it, while everyone else suffers. In Solaris, people burn; in Nocturnia, they freeze. Is that what you stand for? Is that what you want to perpetuate?¡±


    Maria, eyes alight with fury, did not stop her attack. Her movements, until then precise and controlled, became more aggressive, more instinctive. Arthur took a step back, raising his sword just in time to block another fierce blow.


    ¡°There is another way, Maria!¡± Arthur continued, dodging another sword slash. ¡°The Terminator, Lyra¡­ You could be more than a princess of broken kingdoms. You could be the queen who unifies all of Enchantia! You could be our heroine, Maria.¡±


    The mention of ¡°heroine¡± seemed to ignite something in her, but not in the way Arthur expected. With a scream filled with frustration and seeking to silence him once and for all, Maria raised her sword and swung it at him with all her strength. Arthur barely managed to dodge it, feeling the edge graze his side before the blade dug deep into the wall, vibrating with a metallic clang.


    The sound reverberated through the room, marking a moment of tense stillness. Arthur was breathing hard, his hands shaking on the hilt of his sword, but he didn¡¯t attack. He had the chance to fight back, to disarm her, even to kill her and be done with it, but he couldn¡¯t. He wasn¡¯t going to.


    ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± he said finally, his voice barely a whisper. He lowered the sword slowly, letting it fall to the ground with a thud. ¡°You¡¯re my sister, Maria. It doesn¡¯t matter what you¡¯ve forgotten. I haven¡¯t forgotten.¡±


    Maria stared at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her expression, once hardened with rage, began to change. Doubt crept back onto her face, but this time it was mixed with something else: curiosity, or perhaps the beginnings of something resembling understanding.


    ¡°If what you say is true¡­¡± he said, his voice lower, but thick with tension. ¡°Then I have to see it with my own eyes.¡±


    She pushed away from the wall, leaving her sword stuck in it, and stood up straight with the haughty stance of someone who has made an irrevocable decision.


    Arturo looked at her, not quite understanding at first.


    ¡°Take me to them,¡± Maria continued, taking a step towards him. ¡°Take me to the Twilights. To your people. Let me see the poverty you speak of with my own eyes.¡±


    Arturo felt a lump form in his throat. The idea of ??taking Maria, the princess daughter of the Separatist Kings, directly to the Twilights¡¯ lair or the poorer lands of Solaris and Nocturnia was dangerous. He knew they would not trust her. Probably not even accept her.


    ¡°They do not trust you,¡± he said finally, his voice heavy with warning. ¡°And if they see you as a threat, they will not hesitate to act.¡±


    Maria raised her head, her eyes meeting Arthur¡¯s with unwavering determination.


    ¡°Then I will have to prove them wrong,¡± she said, her tone as sure as an oath. ¡°I will not be a queen of words, Arthur. If I am Lyra¡¯s queen, it will be because they believe it too.¡±


    Maria put the key on her neck.


    ¡°Take me to them,¡± she repeated, her tone leaving no room for doubt.


    Arthur took a deep breath, lowering his head for a moment before looking directly at her.


    ¡°Okay,¡± he finally said. ¡°But this will not be easy.¡±


    Maria smiled, a small smile, almost imperceptible, but charged with a quiet strength.


    ¡°I never thought it would be.¡±


    Together, they left the cell, leaving behind the swords abandoned on the floor. The guards, perplexed by the change in dynamic, just watched in silence without daring to intervene as Arthur and Maria crossed the halls of the building. The echo of their footsteps resonated on the cold stone, and although silence surrounded them, it seemed as if all of Enchantia was holding its breath.


    As they crossed the halls of the building, Arthur felt that something had changed between them. For the first time in years, there was a real, albeit fragile, connection between them.


    Soon after, they were riding through the Enchanted Forest. The rhythmic sound of hooves broke the serenity of the afternoon, while the fresh air of the forest caressed their faces. They found themselves crossing a winding path, surrounded by tall trees whose intertwined branches formed a natural roof, filtering the golden light of the setting sun.


    Maria, riding with an upright and determined posture, seemed a regal figure, as if the vestige of her former life as crown princess vanished with each step of the horse. Her armor, which she wore over a dress that still retained the delicacy of royalty, was hidden under a long coat of white cloth, encouraging the new twilight airs. Above her head, the hood of her coat moved slightly in the wind, partially obscuring her face.


    Arthur, riding beside her, was the guide, leading the way to the Twilights'' lair. Although the path was nothing familiar to him, there was something about the atmosphere of the forest that made him feel like each step brought them closer to their destination.


    As they moved forward, Arthur glanced at his sister, as if he still couldn''t believe she was there, fighting by his side. He knew she had the strength to lead, to be the heroine Enchantia needed.


    The Enchanted Forest seemed to open up before them as they moved forward, the trees growing taller, older, and the shadows deeper. Nature itself seemed to sense the presence of the two, and the wind blew in a peculiar way, as if it were guiding them.


    The terrain grew increasingly rugged as they neared the lair. The narrower paths required the horses to proceed with caution, but neither Arthur nor Maria faltered.


    The journey through the Enchanted Forest eventually brought them to a clearing hidden among trees so dense that sunlight could barely filter through.


    There, Arthur and Maria dismounted from their horses.


    Arthur was the first to advance toward the entrance to the Twilights¡¯ lair: a crevice between two huge, moss-covered rocks, barely visible to the untrained eye. From within the shadows, a murmur of voices rose as they noticed their arrival.


    From the shadows emerged several Twilights, dressed in a mix of white robes and makeshift armor, their eyes shining with a glint of caution and defiance. One of them, a tall, robust man with a scar running across his cheek, raised a hand to stop Arthur before he could speak.


    ¡°What is this?¡± ¡°She is not just a princess,¡± he growled, his voice deep like distant thunder. ¡°You are bringing the Crown Princess to our refuge?¡±


    Arthur raised his hands in a sign of calm, but his gaze was fixed on Maria, who remained upright, not showing even a hint of hesitation.


    ¡°She is not just a princess,¡± Arthur said, turning to the group with a voice that tried to sound firm, although he felt the weight of distrust in every glance he received. ¡°She is Maria, and she is here because she seeks the same thing we do.¡±


    The scarred man let out a dry laugh, and others followed with nervous laughter.


    ¡°The same thing we do?¡± he repeated in disbelief. ¡°And what is that?¡±


    Arthur gritted his teeth, but before he could respond, Maria stepped forward. Her coat billowed with the movement, fleetingly revealing part of her armor.


    ¡°I have come here because I want to see what you see,¡± she said, her voice firm but not aggressive. I am not here to bring war, I am here to find absolute peace.


    Maria¡¯s words fell like a stone in water. A momentary silence swept through the Twilights, interrupting the tense murmurings that filled the air. The looks of distrust and mockery began to slowly dissipate, leaving room for cautious curiosity, but there was still a trace of uncertainty hanging in the air.


    ¡°And why should we trust you?¡± asked a sharp-faced woman, her eyes cold as steel. Her tone carried the venom contained by years of resistance, years of broken promises by those she called her enemies. ¡°You are the daughter of kings, the heir to all that we have suffered, to all that we hate.¡±


    Maria held her gaze without wavering. She didn''t move away even an inch, as if the woman''s words didn''t touch her in the slightest.


    "For the same reason I''m going to trust you," she replied, her tone full of calm, but with a force that couldn''t be ignored. "Because I love Enantia."


    Arturo saw how Maria''s words were beginning to sink in with some, but distrust was still present in most of the air. The young man took a step forward, standing between Maria and the Twilights.


    "Guys, trust me," he said, his voice more urgent now. "I''ve been with you and I know what we''re facing. Maria isn''t here to destroy what we''ve built. She''s here because she wants to help us get Lyra back."


    The name of the lost city caused a murmur among the group. The Twilights exchanged glances, some visibly shocked by the mention.


    Finally, the scarred man narrowed his eyes, looking at Arturo and then at Maria with a mixture of doubt and resignation.


    ¡°If what you say is true, then you will have to prove it,¡± he said, pointing towards the interior of the den. ¡°If she wants our trust, she will have to prove that she is not one of them.¡±


    Maria nodded slowly, as if accepting the challenge without further words. Arturo felt a slight relief at seeing that she did not flinch, but he also knew that the tests that awaited him would not be easy.


    The Twilights moved aside, making way for the dark entrance of the den. Arturo and Maria exchanged a glance, and although they did not say anything to each other, they both understood that this was a decisive moment.


    Without further delay, they walked together inside, with the murmurs of the Twilights following them.


    Inside the den, the atmosphere was tense but full of expectation. The Twilights had lit several torches that illuminated the rock walls and the map spread out on a worn wooden table. Arthur and Maria stood in front of the group, surrounded by figures who watched them skeptically.


    Arthur leaned over the map next to Maria. The Luminous Castle dominated the center, surrounded by the access routes and strategic positions marked by the Twilights in red and black lines.


    Arthur was the first to speak, pointing out the main point of the plan.


    ¡°Tomorrow afternoon you will enter the Luminous Castle as you always have,¡± he said, looking at Maria. ¡°You will pretend that nothing has changed. You will attend the final ceremony as if you were still the obedient princess they expect.¡±


    Maria nodded slowly, her gaze fixed on the map, but her mind clearly on something larger.


    ¡°When the time comes for me to step out onto the balcony with my parents for the farewell speech,¡± she added, her voice firm and charged with determination, ¡°I will make my own announcement. I will declare that the gates of Lyra are open once again to all the inhabitants of Enchantia.¡±


    A silence filled with surprise and bewilderment followed her words. Some Twilights exchanged glances, clearly shocked by the audacity of the proposal.


    ¡°That won¡¯t be enough,¡± said a woman at the back of the room, crossing her arms. ¡°What makes you think people will listen to you?¡±


    Maria looked up and scanned the face of each Twilight present. Her voice, when she spoke, was like a blow of authority.


    ¡°Because I will open the gates of the fortress to all, proclaiming myself queen of the city that never rests.¡±


    The Twilights gaped. Some tensed, others crossed their arms, but the bewilderment was evident. Even Arthur stood still for a moment.


    ¡°A queen?¡± Ghalen, the nightsmith, muttered with a mix of disbelief and disdain. ¡°Do you even hear yourself? The Twilights don¡¯t need another crowned figure telling us what to do.¡±


    Maria didn¡¯t back down an inch.


    ¡°I won¡¯t be a queen like my parents,¡± she replied, her tone firm but not aggressive. ¡°I won¡¯t rule from a tower or seek more power for myself. I will be the leader Enchantia needs, a heroine to those who have lost hope, to those who want to find a home.¡±


    Arthur stepped forward.


    ¡°She¡¯s right,¡± he said, looking at the group with determination. ¡°If Maria is the one to declare Lyra¡¯s reopening, if she¡¯s the one to lead the return, it will be impossible for the Separatist kings to silence her without delegitimizing themselves. And if we support her, if the people see that the Twilights believe in her, they will too.¡± ¡°You take me to Solaris and Nocturnia,¡± Maria said, offering her hand to the scarred Twilight, ¡°and I will be your leader.¡±


    A murmur ran through the room, and the faces of the Twilights filled with doubt and internal debate. Maria let the silence work for her, holding her head high, Lyra¡¯s key shining in the torchlight as a symbol of her decision.


    The Twilight squeezed her hand, and the others scattered about the lair, accepting the plan, though not without some reluctance. The torches illuminated tense faces as they began to prepare for the mission. Some were busy reinforcing their improvised weapons and armor, others studied the map of the Luminous Castle, pointing out routes and possible access points.


    The energy in the room was a mix of determination and doubt.


    Maria stood next to Arturo near the central table, watching as the Twilights worked in silence. Although she had managed to gain their attention, she knew that not all of them fully trusted her. Arturo, for his part, tried to remain firm, supporting her with his presence and his words when necessary.


    Suddenly, one of the Twilights approached them. He was an older man, with gray hair and a stern expression, but his eyes had a gleam of wisdom along with sadness. In his hands he carried something wrapped in a dark cloth.


    ¡°Maria,¡± he said in a deep voice, stopping in front of her.


    Maria turned to look at him, holding her head high.


    ¡°Yes,¡± she answered, her tone reflecting more curiosity than defiance.


    The man carefully unrolled the cloth, revealing what was inside: a handmade tiara. It was simple, constructed from pieces of recycled metal, but there was something beautiful in its design. The Twilights had worked every detail with care, incorporating small engravings that represented both the sun and the moon, linked by a pattern of stars.


    Maria stared at the object, bewildered.


    ¡°What is this?¡± she asked, her voice softer now.


    The man held out the tiara to her, holding it as if it were something fragile but full of meaning.


    ¡°This is who we are,¡± he said, his words slow and measured. ¡°We made it years ago, when we still dreamed of Lyra. We always knew that, one day, someone would come to lead us.¡±


    Maria looked at him, her eyes moving between the tiara and the man¡¯s face, seeking to understand the weight of his words.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I am that person,¡± she admitted, with an honesty that made Arthur look at her with a mix of surprise and admiration.


    The man nodded, as if he had expected that answer.


    ¡°Maybe you aren¡¯t yet,¡± he said, his voice softer now. ¡°But that¡¯s not up to me or anyone else here. It¡¯s up to you.¡±


    He held out the tiara, bringing it a little closer.


    ¡°When you feel you are worthy of wearing this,¡± he continued, ¡°when you believe you can be the queen Enchantia needs, then wear it. Until then, keep it as a reminder of what is at stake.¡±


    Maria reached out carefully, taking the tiara as if it were something much heavier than it looked. For a moment, she stared at it, her fingers brushing the engravings with a mix of doubt and fascination.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he finally said, his voice barely a whisper.


    The man nodded and stepped back, letting Maria process the moment. Arthur moved closer to her, placing a hand on her shoulder.


    ¡°It¡¯s a symbol,¡± Arthur said, smiling slightly. ¡°Not just for them, but for you.¡±


    Maria nodded slowly, her eyes still fixed on the tiara. She held it to her chest for a moment before wrapping it back in the cloth and tucking it carefully into her belt.


    ¡°First, I¡¯ll give a speech at the farewell to the Separation Celebration,¡± Maria said, looking up with renewed determination. ¡°Then, I¡¯ll see if I¡¯m worthy of being their queen.¡±

 Chapter VIII, end

    The group moved forward in silence, the rhythmic sound of horses'' hooves echoing in the growing gloom.


    The group moved forward in a tense silence, broken only by the rhythmic sound of horses'' hooves on the uneven ground. Arturo, Maria, and some of the Twilights had left the relative safety of the Enchanted Forest behind them, heading deeper into Nocturnia. The sunlight was fading behind them like a distant memory, while a damp chill seeped into their clothes, soaking into their bones.


    The terrain began to change. Beneath the horses'' hooves, the ground became soft, damp, and treacherous. The roots of the trees, twisted and gnarled, rose like misshapen hands trying to grab them. The intertwined branches of the trees formed a dense canopy, letting in only a glimmer of light from the lamps.


    ¡°This is where your nightmares become real,¡± Liora, one of the Twilight captains, murmured. Her gaze was hard, but even she seemed to contain a tremor as she looked out at the forest around them.


    Arthur swallowed. The stories he and Maria had invented as children came back to him: shadows that fed on fear, monsters that could only be defeated with pure light. But this darkness was no children¡¯s tale. It was tangible, a presence that seemed to lurk around every corner.


    Maria said nothing, but her hand subtly slid toward the hilt of her sword under her cloak. Her eyes, hidden by the shadow of her hood, remained fixed on the path that opened before them, defying the gloom that threatened to swallow them.


    Finally, they reached the outskirts of Night City, a place where the darkness was thickest, where shadows seemed to come to life and evil creatures stalked the most vulnerable. The air was heavy, permeated with a constant chill that clung to the skin. The buildings of rotten wood and moss roofs rose like specters from a forgotten past, their windows opaque and covered in dirt, like empty eyes that watched with disdain.


    The few inhabitants who went out into the street stayed away in the shadows, wrapped in threadbare cloaks, their gazes full of distrust and fear. The feeling of threat was palpable, as if every corner was watched by something invisible but present.


    Maria dismounted firmly, the sound of her boots crunching on the wet ground. Her eyes scanned the landscape, a mixture of sadness and determination. The others followed her, advancing cautiously, the air becoming increasingly colder, as if the earth itself feared what was to come. Maria fixed her gaze on the nocturnals who kept their distance, watching them distrustfully from the darkness.


    ¡°We have not come to bring trouble,¡± Maria said, her voice calm but full of resolve. The words seemed to dissolve into the air, as if the wind itself welcomed them with hope. ¡°We are here to see what you see. To understand.¡±


    One of the night people, a hunched witch leaning on her crooked broom, stepped forward. Her gaze was sharp, as if she could cut through any lie.


    ¡°Why would the children of the sun come here?¡±


    Maria looked up, her eyes shining with a mix of determination and vulnerability.


    ¡°To bring light to the darkness, to bring back balance,¡± she replied.


    A thick silence fell over the townspeople, broken only by an incessant murmur from among them. Arturo felt the weight of their gazes and a knot formed in his stomach. Before anyone could speak, a low, guttural sound broke the stillness.


    From the shadows of the forest, something moved. A figure materialized, darker than the night that surrounded them. Her eyes, two burning embers, watched them hungrily. Arthur felt the air grow colder around him, and his breath escaped in small white clouds.


    ¡°Watch out!¡± Liora shouted, unsheathing her sword.


    The shadow advanced, its twisted and sinister form moving with unnatural speed. Arthur instinctively stepped back, feeling his heart pounding too hard.


    Maria, without hesitation, unsheathed her sword.


    ¡°We will face them,¡± Maria said, her voice full of authority.


    The Twilights, with their bravery in tow, began to fight the shadows, unleashing a whirlwind of weapons and improvised magic. However, there were too many of them. The dark creatures multiplied in the gloom, attacking from all angles, relentless, like a sea of ??darkness surrounding them.


    Liora skidded to the side, slicing a shadow through the air, but her sword vanished into smoke before she could cut through it. Other Twilights fought back just as desperately, attacking relentlessly, but the sheer number of creatures was overwhelming them. Each one that fell was replaced by two more.


    Arthur looked around desperately, trying to find a way out, but the darkness seemed to give no respite. It was then that he saw an older man, with a tattered robe and eyes full of determination. With shaking but firm hands, the man raised a wand and, with a low whisper, let out a stream of blue fire that illuminated the landscape in a cold glow.


    The blue fire spread rapidly, surrounding the group with a bright, icy barrier. The shadows backed away, screaming in a guttural sound, unable to withstand the intensity of the freezing heat.


    ¡°Quickly, inside!¡± the old man shouted, pointing towards a nearby house, run-down but seemingly safe.


    Maria did not hesitate. With her sword still in hand, she stepped forward towards the house, with the Twilights following her. Arthur, seeing the danger momentarily receding, hurried inside with them.


    Inside, the shelter was gloomy, but at least they were safe, at least for now. The old man, who had created the barrier of fire, entered after them, quickly closing the door.


    Maria let out a sigh, her breathing still ragged from the struggle, but she did not seem to have lost her resolve.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Arthur said to the old man, acknowledging the sacrifice he had made for them.


    The man nodded humbly, his eyes still alight with the power of his spell.


    ¡°The fighting is constant here. It¡¯s not easy to live in Nocturnia. But if I can help in any way, I will.¡±


    ¡°Tomorrow will be the day,¡± Liora said suddenly, with a clarity that brooked no doubt. ¡°It¡¯s time to act. Gather as many Nocturnians as you can, call them to the walls of the Luminous Castle tomorrow afternoon.¡±


    The old Nocturnian looked up, and for a moment, the glow of the blue flame illuminating his wand reflected a deep sadness in his eyes. He knew what those words meant. He knew there was no turning back. The war they had all been avoiding, the scars of generations of suffering, were finally boiling over.


    ¡°Are you sure it¡¯s time?¡±


    Liora looked at the hooded Maria, then at Arthur, but said nothing.


    ¡°It¡¯s now or never,¡± Arthur interjected, his voice heavy with a conviction he didn¡¯t know he had. If we wait longer, we will give the kings time to strengthen their control after finding the key. The opportunity is here, at their weakest, and we must take it.


    The old man sighed deeply, resignation painted on his face. For years, he had seen his people suffer under the shadow of the kings, but he had never imagined that the end of oppression would come this way. Now, the future was about to be written.


    ¡°Then, I will do what I can,¡± the old man replied, his voice softer but filled with determination. ¡°I will gather those I can, but it will not be easy.¡±


    Liora crossed her arms, her dark eyes assessing the old man and her surroundings.


    ¡°We don¡¯t need a full army, just enough to make noise.¡±


    Maria looked up, her eyes catching the blue light of the old man¡¯s wand.


    ¡°How many will be willing to join this cause?¡± she asked, her voice less authoritative and more filled with genuine curiosity.


    The old man looked down for a moment before answering.


    ¡°More than you think, but fewer than you would need. The people are tired, but they are also afraid. The darkness that dwells here consumes not only our strength, but our hope.¡±


    A silence fell over the group, broken only by the murmur of the wind that carried a whisper through the twisted trees. Maria looked at the Twilights, clearly affected by what she had seen.


    ¡°And in Solaris, how is it?¡±


    In Solaris things were worse, because at least in Nocturnia, death is quick if the shadows find you. In Solaris, death by dehydration or heatstroke is slow and painful.


    Daylight City shone like an emblem of power and wealth, a manifestation of the ingenuity of the Daylighters who had thrived under the eternal sun of Solaris. The streets glowed with a blinding brilliance, while tall buildings of glass and steel rose like giant mirrors, reflecting the light in a dazzling spectacle. Here, in the heart of opulence, everything was designed to take advantage of solar energy: roofs covered in photovoltaic panels, wind turbines complementing the infrastructure, and advanced systems keeping the scorching heat at bay. It was a city that did not sleep, a technological paradise in constant motion, powered by the inexhaustible energy of the sun.


    The Daylighters, resilient like few others, had adapted their world to coexist with the relentless sunlight. Floating vehicles, powered by solar energy, glided without noise or pollution, while the squares, adorned with artificial trees powered by light, gave an appearance of eternal prosperity. However, beneath this gleaming surface, the reality was different.


    The wealth of Day City was enjoyed by only a few. The sun, revered as a symbol of progress, was also a silent executioner. The wealthy, with access to advanced thermal regulation and air conditioning systems, lived in comfort, while the less fortunate suffered. The dense, energy-saturated air was a luxury few could endure without help.


    As Maria, Arturo, and the Twilights moved forward, they left the opulent glow behind and entered areas where technology no longer mitigated the sun''s force. Here, light, rather than being a symbol of life, became a burden. Wide streets narrowed, bright buildings gave way to worn-out structures, and shadows were a nonexistent luxury.


    Feris, on the outskirts of Day City, represented absolute abandonment. It was a place where the light was relentless, a constant fire that burned the land and its inhabitants. The houses, made of weak and worn materials, barely stood. The ground was cracked, parched, and the few plants that once flourished were now skeletons of their former selves.


    The inhabitants of Feris looked like shadows of their former selves. Their bodies, marked by burns and dehydration, spoke of constant suffering. Children with cracked skin ran barefoot through the rubble, while adults took shelter under precarious structures that barely offered relief from the heat. Water was a precious commodity, almost nonexistent, and every drop seemed like a miracle.


    Maria dismounted from her horse, her boots echoing on the dusty ground. She walked among the remains of what was once a town, feeling the weight of every desperate gaze that fell on her. Feris'' vision was an open wound that revealed the truth behind Solaris'' brilliance: the sacrifice of many to sustain the luxury of a few.


    Then she felt a profound change. Arthur''s words about unification were no longer just a distant ideal, but a palpable necessity. She looked at the Twilights, who kept guard but could not hide the hope in their eyes. If she wanted to be queen of Lyra, if she wanted to bring about unification, she would have to fight for everyone, especially those most in need.


    Maria paused as she noticed a young woman sitting on the threshold of a rundown house. Her skin, burned by the constant sun, showed painful cracks that seemed sculpted by the relentless heat. Her hair, dry and dull, fell in messy strands over her face. The young woman looked up when she sensed Maria''s presence, revealing eyes filled with silent resistance.


    Maria, wrapped in her cloak that concealed her identity, leaned slightly towards her. For a moment, she said nothing, allowing the weight of her surroundings to speak for themselves. Finally, she broke the silence.


    ¡°Hello.¡± Her voice was soft, but firm. ¡°What is your name?¡±


    The young woman eyed her warily, as if measuring whether she should trust this stranger.


    ¡°Elira,¡± she finally replied, her tone dull but not lifeless.


    Maria nodded and sat on the edge of the threshold, making sure to keep a respectful distance.


    ¡°You look about my age, Elira. But I feel like you¡¯ve lived much longer than you should.¡±


    Elira let out a bitter laugh, looking at the ground.


    ¡°In a place like this, age doesn¡¯t matter. You grow up fast or you don¡¯t survive.¡±


    Elira''s words hit Maria like a punch. Raised in a castle with every imaginable comfort, she had never considered what it meant to grow up in such a hostile environment.


    "What do you dream of?" Maria asked suddenly.


    Elira looked at her in disbelief, as if the question was absurd.


    "Dreaming doesn''t fill my stomach, nor does it protect me from the sun."


    Maria lowered her head, feeling a mix of shame. But also a new determination began to burn inside her.


    "I''m going to do everything in my power to make what you dream of possible."


    Before Elira could answer, the door of the nearby house opened. Arturo and the Twilights came out, their faces serious but determined. Liora, the group''s strategist, approached Maria.


    "The infiltrated leader has confirmed his support." Her tone was low, almost a whisper. "They''re waiting for us at the west wall tomorrow afternoon."If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Maria nodded, processing the information as she took one last look at Elira.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said, with a slight nod. Then she turned to the Twilights. ¡°Tomorrow is the day, and we cannot fail.¡±


    The Twilights exchanged glances, their expressions hardened by resolve. With determined steps, they began to organize the final preparations, while the moon slowly rose in the sky, bathing the grounds in its cold glow.


    Later, enveloped by the gloom of the Enchanted Forest, the group advanced on horseback, each wrapped in their thoughts. The winding path wound its way between the tall trunks, and the crunch of leaves under hooves was the only sound that broke the tense silence. Shadows played on their faces, and the moonlight barely managed to filter through the treetops, illuminating just enough to guide their way.


    Arthur rode in front, his figure rigid with the burden of responsibility. At his side, Maria stood imposingly, her cloak fluttering slightly in the night breeze, as her eyes remained fixed on the horizon. Behind them, a dozen Twilights rode in a row, their expressions reflecting the mix of anxiety and determination that united them.


    The night was thick with anticipation, and Arthur knew he couldn¡¯t let doubt take over. He turned his head slightly, raising his voice so everyone could hear.


    ¡°Listen,¡± he said loudly, turning his head slightly to make sure everyone heard. ¡°This is what we¡¯re going to do.¡±


    The Twilights tightened their reins, tilting their heads to pay attention. The atmosphere seemed to hold its breath, as Arthur¡¯s words began to outline the plan that would decide the future of Enchantia.


    ¡°When we reach the castle gates, Maria and I will go straight in. She will act as if nothing has changed, as if she is still the princess her parents believe her to be, announcing my death and showing the key with her. I will accompany her as her secretary.¡±


    There was a slight murmur among the Twilights, and Arthur noticed the expression of distrust on some faces, but no one spoke.


    ¡°You,¡± he continued, gesturing to them with his hand, ¡°will infiltrate the crowd that will be outside the Luminous Castle.¡±


    The murmur among the Twilights stopped as they listened intently.


    ¡°The farewell to the Separation Celebration will be the perfect time to mingle with the people. The attendees will be distracted by speeches and shows, allowing them to move around without raising suspicion. Your mission will be to prepare the ground. Spread the word among those you can trust, especially the disgruntled. Tell them that Maria will make an announcement that will change the course of history.¡±


    Arturo paused, letting his words sink into the group before continuing.


    ¡°We know that not everyone will be ready to accept what we are going to do. But we need to plant doubt in the hearts of those who still believe in separation. Ask questions, talk about Lyra, about the Terminator. But stay alert. Do not expose yourself unnecessarily.¡±


    Liora, the strategist, who was riding close to Arturo, leaned forward.


    ¡°What if we are discovered before time?¡±


    ¡°If something goes wrong, do not try to fight unless absolutely necessary,¡± she replied firmly. ¡°Retreat to the nearest escape point and wait. We have memorized the exit routes; use them. We will not risk more lives than necessary.¡±


    The group nodded, although the atmosphere was still tense. Arturo turned slightly to Maria, who had remained silent but attentive.


    ¡°When we are on the balcony,¡± Arturo continued, now addressing both Maria and the group, ¡°she will make the announcement.¡± He will declare that the castle gates are open to all.


    A murmur ran through the line of Twilights behind them, but Arthur held up a hand to silence it before the debate could begin.


    ¡°I know it seems impossible,¡± he said, raising his voice for everyone to hear. ¡°But trust me. Maria has the courage and determination to do it.¡±


    The group continued to ride in silence for a moment, each lost in thought as they processed the plan. Finally, Ghalen, though visibly uncomfortable, spoke up from the back.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I trust you yet,¡± he said, his voice echoing between the trunks. ¡°But if Arthur believes in you, then I will do my part.¡±


    Maria turned her head slightly toward him and nodded, not needing to say more.


    Arthur felt a small glimmer of hope upon hearing that. He knew the Twilights did not easily agree, but actions spoke louder than words, and Maria was determined to prove her worth.


    The group rode along the path, with the Luminous Castle visible in the distance, its golden glow like a beacon illuminating the night. But the tension became palpable when a messenger intercepted them on the way. It was a Twilight who had been watching the movements in the region. His face was pale, his eyes filled with worry, and his labored breathing revealed that he had run tirelessly to find them.


    ¡°News!¡± he shouted, raising a hand as he approached.


    Arthur stopped his horse and the rest of the group followed. Maria frowned, leaning forward on her mount.


    ¡°What is it?¡± asked Arthur, with the urgency of someone who already knew it would not be good news.


    ¡°The separatist kings have declared war for the crown of your daughter,¡± the messenger said, his tone of disbelief mixed with fear. ¡°They have learned of your betrayal¡­ or what they consider a betrayal. Someone has alerted them of our plan.¡±


    Mary tightened her grip on the reins so hard that her knuckles turned white. Her gaze hardened, but she said nothing. Arthur watched her, searching for a reaction, but she merely listened, her mind clearly processing the gravity of the situation.


    The messenger continued.


    ¡°The surroundings of the Shining Castle are being reinforced. They¡¯ve doubled the security at the gates and walls. Even the roads to Lyra have guards posted. They don¡¯t want to take any chances.¡±


    An uneasy murmur ran through the Twilights behind them. Some exchanged nervous glances, while others looked ready to turn tail and flee.


    Arthur took a deep breath, trying to remain calm.


    ¡°How much time do we have before the entire road is completely closed off?¡± he asked.


    The messenger shook his head, visibly disturbed.


    ¡°Not much. They¡¯re mobilizing more troops from Solaris and Nocturnia. If we reach the castle, it will be a race against time.¡±


    Maria, who had remained silent until now, straightened her back and looked at the group.


    ¡°This doesn¡¯t change anything,¡± she said, her voice cutting through the air like a knife. ¡°The plan is still in motion.¡±


    Some of the Twilights looked at her in disbelief, but her authoritative tone kept them silent. Arthur, though worried, nodded.


    ¡°Listen,¡± she said, turning to the group. ¡°We knew this wouldn¡¯t be easy. Maria and I will enter as planned. If they reinforced the castle gates, that means the walls will be unguarded. The infiltrators among the nobles have to do their job. And the rest¡­¡± she paused, looking at each of the Twilights, ¡°the rest will stay in position to cover our retreat if something goes wrong.¡±


    The silence that followed was heavy, but Arthur could sense something changing in the air. The Twilights, though still tense, were beginning to show signs of acceptance, and the messenger, though still uneasy, returned the way he had come to continue monitoring the troops'' movements. Arthur and Maria resumed their path to the castle, with the Twilights following them.


    The road to the Shining Castle was a scene straight out of a nightmare. Flames from torches and fires illuminated the darkness of the night, casting elongated shadows of the guards and villagers struggling to survive. Screams, cries, and the clash of swords filled the air, along with the acrid smell of smoke and blood.


    Arthur, Maria, and the Twilights halted their horses as they reached the top of a small hill overlooking the chaos. From there they could see the supposedly last closed path to the walls protecting Lyra and, beyond, the imposing glow of the Shining Castle.


    The scene before them was a portrait of absolute misery. Villagers ran in terror, some carrying their children, while others, desperate, tried to confront the guards with sticks, hoes and any tool they could find within reach. The air was filled with screams, the clash of metal and the smell of burnt earth. Wounded and lifeless bodies lay on the ground as silent witnesses to the brutality, and the earth, darkened by blood and ash, seemed to absorb all hope.


    Arthur pulled the reins of his horse, stopping abruptly. The weight of the scene sank into his chest like a stone, extinguishing any glimmer of conviction he still had left. His hands shook slightly as he lowered his head, his jaw clenched, trying to contain the feeling of failure that invaded him.


    Finally, he raised his hand to stop the group. His voice, although low, cut through the noise of the nearby battle.


    ¡°This is not right.¡±


    Maria, riding beside him, turned to him with a scowl, her cloak billowing in the ash-laden wind. The Twilights stopped behind them, their expressions split between doubt and expectation.


    Arturo looked up, gesturing at the devastation before them.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to turn back,¡± his voice heavy with resolve but tinged with sadness. ¡°This can¡¯t go on like this. We¡¯re going back to the lair. We need to think of a new plan, one that doesn¡¯t involve more suffering, something that doesn¡¯t turn our fight into a lost cause.¡±


    The murmur among the Twilights grew, some showing relief, others frustration. Maria, however, didn¡¯t take her gaze off of Arturo, her dark eyes assessing him as if she were measuring something deeper than his words.


    ¡°Is that all?¡± she said finally, with a coldness that chilled the air between them. Arturo looked at her, but couldn¡¯t find the words to respond right away. The weight of the decision hung between them, as the chaos of battle continued in the distance, reminding them that there was no time for indecision.


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s it.¡±


    The group began to turn their horses as Maria dismounted with a firm movement, her boots echoing against the dusty ground.


    ¡°No,¡± she said, her voice cutting through the air like a sharp blade.


    Arturo turned to her, confused.


    ¡°Maria, we cannot advance under these conditions.¡±


    She looked at him, her eyes burning with an intensity that silenced him.


    ¡°It¡¯s now or never,¡± she said, her tone unforgiving. ¡°If we turn back now, we lose everything we¡¯ve gained. If we leave, they win.¡±


    Not giving him time to reply, Maria unbuttoned the white coat she was wearing, letting it fall to the ground.


    Underneath, her suit gleamed in the light of the fire and the moon. It was a striking hybrid: the lower half retained the delicate details of a princess, with brocades and ornaments that spoke of royalty, but the upper half was armor that looked like it had been forged for a warrior. The metal reflected the light of the flames, and her split skirt, made of a heavy but flexible fabric, moved with each step she took, giving her an air of strength and elegance at the same time.


    The others watched her in silence, stunned by the figure that stood before them. Maria, the daughter of the Separatist Kings, with the crown of the Twilights on her head and the key to the castle hanging around her neck, looked like the spitting image of a leader destined to change the fate of Enchantia.


    Without hesitation, she began to walk towards the battlefield, her determined steps echoing like a war drum.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Arthur shouted, quickly dismounting to catch up with her.


    She didn¡¯t stop or turn her head.


    ¡°If they need a reason to believe, I¡¯ll give it to them.¡±


    Arthur stood frozen for a moment, watching his sister march into the chaos without hesitation. The shocked Twilights began to murmur amongst themselves, torn between following her or staying.


    Finally, Arthur clenched his fists and shouted.


    ¡°Twilights! Follow me!¡± He mounted his horse and spurred the beast on, galloping after Maria. The Twilights, inspired by the gesture and Maria¡¯s bravery, followed, raising their weapons and shouting in support.


    Maria reached the edge of the battlefield and stopped, watching the chaos for a moment before raising her voice with an authority that rang above the noise.


    ¡°People of Enchantia!¡± she shouted, her voice firm and clear. ¡°I am not your enemy!¡± I am here to open the gates and give you a better future!


    Some villagers stopped, confused by the figure, and the guards, bewildered, stopped as well, their weapons raised but not attacking.


    Arturo came to her side, his heart pounding as he watched the chaos transform into something else: a pause, an opportunity.


    Maria, her suit reflecting the light of the flames, raised the key and held it high.


    ¡°Together, we can claim what is right! Together, we can build a united Enchantia!¡±


    And in that moment, the silence turned to a roar. The villagers, inspired by her words, began to mobilize, not to flee, but to fight with renewed purpose. The Twilights raised their weapons and advanced alongside them, while the guards retreated in the face of unexpected resistance.


    Arturo watched it all. Maria was not only fulfilling her role as a hero, she was changing the course of history.


    The sound of gears echoed throughout the valley as Maria, holding the castle key high, inserted the object into the center of the great metal gate that separated the ruins of the ancient city and castle from the rest of Enchantia. The echo of the creaking and grinding of metal as the gates opened sounded like an ancient roar, as if the city itself was awakening from its slumber.


    From the other side of the gate, a group of crown warriors emerged, armed and ready to defend what they considered theirs. Their armor gleamed in the light of the flames, and their swords shone like mirrors reflecting the chaos around them.


    The Twilights, who until then had followed Maria with hope and fear, tensed their weapons. Arthur, who stood beside Maria, felt the weight of responsibility like a knot in his stomach.


    ¡°For Lyra!¡± one of the Twilights shouted, and with that shout, the battle began.


    The crown warriors advanced in tight formation, their movements trained and precise. But the Twilights, though less organized, fought with a determination born of desperation and a desire for a better future.


    The clash of swords filled the air, and the field in front of Lyra¡¯s gates became a whirlwind of movement and sound. Arthur, not a warrior himself, did what he could to dodge attacks and help the wounded Twilights get out of the way.


    Meanwhile, Maria stood at the center of it all. Her half-princess, half-warrior outfit seemed designed for this moment. With every movement, her armor reflected the light of the flames, while her sword cut through the air with deadly precision. She faced the crown warriors with fierce grace, each blow she delivered seeming like a declaration of her will to change the fate of Enchantia.


    ¡°Advance towards the castle!¡± Maria shouted, her voice clear and firm despite the chaos. ¡°Do not stop!¡±


    Arthur moved toward her, his breathing labored and his sword still in his hand, though he had barely managed to use it.


    ¡°Maria, this way!¡± he told her, pointing to the path that opened beyond the ruins of Lyra.


    She nodded, her jaw clenched.


    ¡°Twilights, hold your position! Arthur and I will go to the castle!¡±


    Though some hesitated, most of the Twilights nodded, knowing that their role was to guard the entrance and give Maria and Arthur a chance to reach the Luminous Castle.


    Maria and Arthur began to run down the cobblestone path leading to the castle. As they moved forward, the sounds of battle behind them faded, replaced by a tense silence that was only broken by the echo of their footsteps.


    But that silence didn¡¯t last long. Just as they rounded a bend, a group of guards appeared in front of them, blocking the way. Their faces were hidden by helmets, but their stances were clear: they weren¡¯t going to let them pass.


    Arthur stopped, but Maria moved forward without hesitation.


    The guards charged towards her, but the young woman faced them with obvious training that left Arthur paralyzed. Her movements were precise and deadly, each blow of her sword felling one guard after another. It was as if time slowed down as she moved forward, her armor shining and her determination unwavering.


    One of the guards managed to deflect his sword, and for a moment it looked like he was going to strike her, but Maria spun around, using the momentum to deliver a devastating blow that knocked him to the ground.


    Arturo, who had been watching in amazement, finally moved, raising his own sword to confront a guard who had managed to slip past his flank. Though his movements were clumsy, his passion to protect what he held dear kept him standing.


    ¡°Don¡¯t stop, Arturo!¡± Maria shouted, cutting a path through the guards.


    Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the path was clear. The fallen guards were left behind, and Arturo and Maria continued their march towards the Luminous Castle, their hearts pounding and their minds focused on the mission ahead.


    Arturo pulled on the reins, stopping at the edge of the hallway as he watched Maria advance without looking back. Her silhouette was outlined against the light that filtered weakly through the large windows of the Luminous Castle, as if shadow and light were intermingling around her.


    Arthur took a deep breath.


    ¡°It is your time.¡±


    Maria advanced with firm steps, crossing the corridors of the Luminous Castle, which resonated with the echoes of the battles that were still being fought in the surroundings. Her face was marked by a mixture of serenity and determination. She finally arrived at the doors of the main room, the large carved gates that led to the core of the Separatist Kings¡¯ power.


    With a determined movement, she pushed the doors, which opened with a bang. Inside, her parents turned to look at her, their faces a mixture of surprise and fury.


    ¡°How dare you?¡± the king roared, his voice echoing like thunder.


    Maria did not respond immediately. Her hands clenched tightly on the hilt of her sword as her gaze swept the room, lingering on the symbols of opulence that had held Solaris and Nocturnia apart for so long.


    Maria raised the sword, not as a threat, but as a symbol. Her eyes, filled with conviction, locked with her mother¡¯s first, then her father¡¯s.


    ¡°I am Maria of Enchantia,¡± she said, her voice clear and powerful, breaking the silence with a force that echoed beyond the room, ¡°daughter of light and shadow. In the name of Lyra, the city that never sleeps, their separation ends today.¡±


    And so, in that place where light and dark intertwined, Lyra awoke. Not as a lost city, but as a dream reborn, a beacon of hope for the children of the sun and moon. For when the impossible becomes possible, worlds are forever changed.