In the middle of the hallways of the Faculty of Letters, a young man with brown hair and a slim build walked with his eyes fixed on some papers he held in his hands. His name was Francisco, and his downcast posture made it clear that his mind was far from that place. Around him, students came and went, talking, laughing, or checking their phones. For them, it was just another ordinary day. For him, it was not.
"I don't know… maybe it's too soon," he murmured, his voice full of doubt.
As he walked, his thoughts became more and more chaotic. He was so lost in them that he almost crashed into a couple of students, barely managing to dodge them in time.
He sighed.
The reason for his unease was in those papers. An application form for the fantasy category of a literary contest organized by his university's publishing house.
Something small for anyone else. But for Francisco… it was different.
Since childhood, he had loved stories. He clearly remembered those nights when his parents sat beside his bed and read him stories before he fell asleep. Heroes, dragons, monsters, distant kingdoms. Worlds full of magic and endless adventures.
When he learned to read on his own, those stories became his refuge. The place he escaped to when reality became too boring or too heavy.
Since then, he had only one dream: to become a writer.
And now, in front of him, was a real opportunity.
"Come on, Cisco… you already made the decision," he said to himself, trying to cheer up.
He clenched the papers tightly.
"You can't back out so quickly."
He took a few more steps and stopped again. His reflection in the glass of a display window showed him the image of an ordinary young man, with slight dark circles under his eyes and an insecure expression.
'It's obvious you'll lose,' the thought appeared without mercy. 'No one will want to read what you write.'
He stood still for a few seconds, taking a deep breath.
Suddenly, he raised his hand.
Plap!
The slap echoed through the hallway.
He had slapped his own cheeks to clear the thoughts invading his mind.
Several gazes turned toward him almost immediately.
"What's wrong with him?" said a young woman walking beside her boyfriend. "No idea… just ignore him."
Francisco cleared his throat, embarrassed, and kept walking as if nothing had happened. Maybe he had gone a bit too far, but at least he had managed to wake himself up.
A few minutes later, he arrived at the small plaza in front of the university's main entrance. At its center stood a large fountain, surrounded by benches occupied by students talking or resting between classes.
'I should call the guys…' he thought of his friends, whom he usually bombarded with his ideas and loose story fragments. 'No. They have an exam until noon.'
Resigned, he decided to handle it on his own.
He sat down on one of the benches and placed the papers beside him. He rested his elbows on his knees and closed his eyes for a moment, letting his imagination begin to wander.
Brave dwarves setting out on a quest for a legendary artifact.
"No… too overdone," he murmured, discarding the idea immediately.
A young farmer who leaves his home to see the world and discovers he is the chosen one.
"Worse. Too cliché."
He sighed.
Every time a promising idea began to take shape, it vanished almost immediately. On top of that, the constant murmur of conversations, the sound of water falling in the fountain, and the movement of people coming and going made it impossible for him to concentrate.
Just when an interesting idea seemed about to form, it was lost.
"Damn it…" he muttered, frowning.
Annoyed, he brought his hands to his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to isolate himself from the outside world.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
He slowly opened his eyes.
Something was wrong.
The conversations had stopped. The people around him were motionless, frozen in the middle of their actions. A girl was stuck with her phone halfway raised. A student had one foot suspended in the air.
Francisco jumped to his feet.
The birds were frozen in the sky. The water in the fountain was no longer falling.
It was as if time itself had stopped moving.
"This… this has to be a dream."
His heart began to pound.
"It can't be real."
Then, a blinding light flooded his field of vision.
A deafening crash, like the sound of countless crystals shattering, echoed all around him.
Instinctively, he closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, the university was gone.
Francisco now stood in the middle of a vast prairie. The wind gently stirred the grass, but the surroundings were still wrapped in an unsettling silence.
"H-Hello?" he said, his voice shaking. "Is anyone there?"
There was no response.
"I'm definitely dreaming…"
'Do you really think so?'
The voice echoed directly inside his mind.
A shiver ran through his body. Instinctively, he slapped himself again.
Plap!
Nothing changed.
"W-Who's there!?" he shouted, his voice echoing through the entire space.
In front of him, the air began to crack like glass. A fracture opened in the middle of nothingness, and from it emerged a white orb that floated gently, wrapped in a faint glowing aura.
"You may call me Sorore," the voice said. "I am an Ancestral. The guardian of worlds."
Francisco stepped back, feeling fear crawl up his spine.
"An… Ancestral?" he murmured, trying to convince himself that everything was a dream.
"You have been brought here for a purpose," Sorore replied, its voice devoid of emotion.
The landscape suddenly distorted.
The prairie vanished, replaced by the vastness of space. Planets of different sizes floated before his eyes, some strangely similar to Earth.
Then, a gigantic rift opened among them.
From within it emerged a cloud of violet dust that began to spread, enveloping the planets one by one. Wherever it passed, life was extinguished, leaving behind lifeless rocks.
Francisco felt a knot form in his stomach.
"That is the Devourer," Sorore explained calmly. "An Ancestral whose only purpose is to consume worlds."
Terror seized him.
"And… am I supposed to deal with that?" he asked, still trying to believe it was all just a nightmare.
"No," the voice replied. "Your mission is to eliminate its herald, an inhabitant of the world it will devour, corrupted by the Devourer's power."
Space faded away, returning them to the prairie.
"If you fail, this world will be consumed. And you will disappear along with it," Sorore declared. "It will be as if you never existed."
Francisco clenched his fists tightly.
"So… it's win or die."
He took a deep breath, trying to calm the constant trembling of his body.
That grand speech was a death sentence. He knew it, and despite that, deep within him, a brief spark of recklessness took hold.
"Send me," he said in a barely steady voice, trying to imitate the confidence of the heroes he admired so much.
The orb shone brightly.
"Now go, chosen one. Save this world from its imminent end."
The wind began to blow strongly once more.
Time had returned to its course.
And with it, the countdown to save a world had begun.