CHAPTER 1
THE OTHER WORLD

In the dim light of an ancient forest, beneath the fierce glow of a full moon, something unnatural was stirring.
The air vibrated with an unseen, powerful energy, as though the very fabric of the world were twisting upon itself.
Suddenly, between the treetops, a luminous rift split the sky like a scar, tearing reality open with a muffled roar.
A swirling vortex of pulsing energy sucked in leaves, branches, and clumps of earth—until, with a crackle of magic, a figure was hurled from the breach, tumbling across moss-covered ground and tangled roots: Mikha’el.
Dazed, he slowly pushed himself upright. The book—the same one that had been on his study desk—now lay beside him, faintly lit by the pale glow of the moons overhead. Yes, moons. Because now there were two.
One was vast and majestic, yet bore a colossal fracture: a portion of its surface appeared shattered, its fragments orbiting like cosmic dust in an uneven ring. The other, smaller and swifter, spun between the shards like wind dancing across dunes.
The clearing where Mikha’el had landed seemed swept clean by an invisible force—the vortex had left the ground bare, as though prepared for his arrival. He looked around, inhaling the scent of damp earth and crushed leaves. Beside the book lay familiar items: his flashlight, a cellphone with no signal, his worn jacket, a decorative katana from his collection—blunt-edged—and an old cracked compass.
As he tried to comprehend the strangeness around him, the forest’s silence was broken by a guttural growl.
From the shadows emerged a creature: a black lynx of monstrous proportions—twice Mikha’el’s size—striped with crimson and eyes burning like live embers. The beast advanced with razor claws and deadly grace.
Mikha’el tried to run but tripped over a branch and fell. His heart pounded, terror locking his limbs.
In a flash of white, a shadow sliced through the darkness. A warrior burst from the trees, moving like lightning.
The blade in his hand swept an arc through the air, striking the lynx with brutal precision. The creature crashed against splintered trunks, and before it could rise, the warrior’s final blow severed its head.
Mikha’el dropped to his knees, stunned. Before him, the warrior stood like a living statue—clad in white armor marked with cracks and battle scars, gilded details gleaming beneath the twin moons.
From deeper in the forest, two more figures approached. One, cloaked in dark fabric embroidered with arcane symbols, shouted:
“Are you alright? You almost became cat food!”
Seeing Mikha’el unresponsive, he added, “Hey, did you hear me?”
“He’s catatonic. Must be because of Asper,” said the swordsman beside him.
“HEY, ASPER! YOU SCARED THE FARMER!”
“Nonsense—I just saved the guy!” Asper shot back. “Hey, farmer, you alive over there?”
Mikha’el only nodded, trembling.
“Whew! Thought you’d turned to mush. If you’d died, we’d have lost our reward for letting a farmer like you slip away!” the mage said, laughing. “Name’s Anail. And you? What’s your name?”
“Mikha’el.”
“Mikha’el?” The swordsman chuckled. “Strange name. You from around here?”
“No, sir… I’m… lost.”
Anail and the others exchanged glances.
“Lost, huh? Then we’ll take you to the city,” the warrior said at last.
The swordsman pointed to himself with pride:
“I’m Elay, Class-A adventurer. This is Anail, Class-B mage. And that brute over there is our leader, Warrior Asper—Class-S, prodigy level.”
Mikha’el had been lucky. That night, the adventurers had been patrolling the forest, hunting beastly tigers that had been attacking farmers. They were fulfilling a Guild contract when they heard the roar of the vortex and rushed to the site.
“Hahaha! You escaped death by a hair’s breadth, noble farmer,” Asper said with a mischievous grin. “What were you doing alone in this forest?”
“I… I’m not from this world. A portal opened while I was trying to translate a book… and now I realize something strange: how am I even speaking with you? I don’t know this language…”
“Don’t worry,” Anail replied. “Once we reach the city, maybe the Guild will have some answers.”
Under the soft glow of the twin moons, the group set off, escorting Mikha’el toward an unknown destiny beneath a starry sky that felt torn from an ancient dream.
Through a long night’s march, beneath the silver watch of the twin moons, Mikha’el walked wrapped in a canopy of unfamiliar constellations—beautiful, mysterious, and endless—until, silently behind him, a massive golden sun rose, spilling its light across stones and crags along the mountain trail. After countless steps skirting the cliffside, a colossal city appeared before his eyes, built at the mountain’s foot. Ahead of him, a stone-paved road led to the immense western gates of a city surrounded by towering walls—Quartz, as they called it—a metropolis of such grandeur it seemed crafted by giants.
The gates stood open, guarded by soldiers in gleaming armor who inspected a line of travelers beneath a great stone arch carved with arcane symbols.
One of the guards recognized the adventurers and called out, “ASPER! Looks like tonight’s hunt went well,” his sharp gaze flicking to the trophies hanging from their packs. “And this one? He doesn’t look local.”
“Found him lost in the forest,” Asper replied seriously. “We’ll take him to the Guild and report.”
“Alright, Asper. Go on through,” the guard said, waving them forward.
Passing through the gates, Mikha’el followed the group along a broad avenue paved with pale stones. From there, at the city’s heart, rose a massive obelisk-shaped tower—majestic and unmissable from any point within Quartz. Countless windows and balconies dotted its surface, and winged creatures swooped in and out with disciplined precision, keeping perfect order in the air. They were soon guided to the second main street, leading to the commercial sector, where a black-stone cathedral awaited them. Over its entrance arch, the emblem of the Adventurers’ Guild had been carved in relief.
Inside, Mikha’el was asked to wait in the main hall until summoned. He bid the three adventurers farewell with gratitude.
“Thank you, sirs, for bringing me here.”
“No problem,” Asper said with a smile.
“Just remember to buy us a drink later, and we’ll call it even!” Elay teased with a wink.
“See you soon, traveler Mikha’el. Time to claim our reward!”
Shortly after, a Guild secretary—a poised woman in an immaculate uniform—arrived to fetch him, leading him up a spiraling staircase. Stained-glass windows, inlaid with colored crystals, lined the walls, filtering sunlight into dancing beams that painted the mosaic floor below in shifting hues. As they climbed, Mikha’el noticed the crystals had been set with exquisite precision to form three horses with flaming manes. As the light shifted, the horses’ colors seemed to come alive—a sublime union of art and magic.
After a long corridor, they reached the final door. The secretary opened it with reverence and announced, “Master, I bring the traveler from another world.”
The man stood before a stained-glass window similar to those in the hall. Arms folded behind his back, in the stance of a soldier at rest, he radiated authority.
“Thank you, Marlu. Leave us, please,” he said without turning from the window.
Mikha’el remained standing, admiring the room lined with shelves overflowing with ancient tomes. At its center stood a robust wooden desk carved with the image of an eagle in flight, commanding respect.
“Please, sit,” the man said at last, his voice firm.
Mikha’el obeyed, settling into the chair.
“Tell me, traveler… if you are from another world, what do you call it?”
“We call it Earth,” Mikha’el replied calmly.
“Earth… intriguing. I’ve never heard of it.”
Mikha’el placed the mysterious book on the desk.
“It was because of this book that I came here.”
The master turned, his gaze falling upon the book without surprise.
“I’m aware of all that has happened to you—even the subtlest details,” he said.
“I was curious to meet you, but I didn’t imagine you’d bring the book here. That’s dangerous. This world balances between the light and the darkness of magic. Such an object could draw ambitious eyes.”
As he spoke, he leafed carefully through the book, though the symbols remained indecipherable.
“I’m seeking answers… I need to know how to return to my world,” Mikha’el said, his voice hopeful.
The man raised his eyes, studying him for several seconds.
“Forgive my lack of courtesy. I am Táitus, Master and overseer of this Guild.”
He paused briefly, then continued,
“Unfortunately, I cannot help you. This writing is completely unknown to me.”
“Then… there’s no one in this world who could guide me?” Mikha’el asked, distressed.
Táitus regarded him seriously.
“Perhaps… in the City-State. There are wise masters of arcane writing there. But it’s a long journey—at least fifteen days’ travel—and a dangerous one. Dark places and hostile creatures lurk along the way.”
Mikha’el hung on every word, and, in a surge of hope, asked,
“Is anyone bound for the City-State?”
The Guild Master crossed his arms, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
“By fortune, the adventurers who saved your life hail from there. Once they finish their missions here, they’ll return to the great city.”
At this, Mikha’el’s eyes shone like auroras, bright with determination and longing for his wife and daughter.
Táitus stepped to a hidden drawer behind his desk and retrieved a small iron pedestal, upon which rested a colorless crystal stone, no larger than a clenched fist. It gleamed faintly, as if holding something greater than mere light within.
“Before anything else,” Táitus said, placing the artifact on the table, “I’d like to conduct a test. Nothing invasive—just a… magical verification.”
Mikha’el looked hesitant.
“What kind of test?”
“This stone reveals the magical potential of whoever touches it. Nothing more. If you have no magic, it will stay clear. But if you do… well, you’ll see.”
Curious, Mikha’el nodded, extending his hand to the crystal. The moment his skin met its cool surface, something happened.
A brilliant light burst from the crystal’s core. Its colors shifted—first a deep blue glow, then purple, and then… the unexpected. A cosmic display unfurled within: starlike points shimmered inside a dark expanse, as though the crystal held the universe itself. Nebulae swirled slowly, wrapped in a golden aura. Táitus stepped back, visibly shaken.
“By the old gods…” Táitus murmured. “This… is impossible.”
“What’s wrong?” Mikha’el asked, withdrawing his hand. The crystal continued to pulse with light. Táitus stared at it, eyes wide, before taking a deep breath and stepping closer.
“Mister Mikha’el… you are a dangerous man.”
“What? How… what do you mean?”
“This stone measures the magical affinity of an individual. The scale goes from one to four. Most people barely reach level two. Four is almost legendary. Anything beyond… is the realm of gods.”
“And I…?”
“You’ve surpassed the limits. This stone has revealed something unseen for centuries: a total, absolute magical potential. Not only do you have affinity with all elements—fire, water, air, earth, light, and shadow—but you seem to… integrate them. You could cast any known spell—or even create your own.”
A heavy silence hung between them.
“This is far too dangerous,” Táitus continued in a low voice. “Many would fear you. Others… would hunt you. Do not tell anyone what you have seen here. This conversation must not leave this room.”
Mikha’el nodded, still trying to absorb what he had heard. Táitus’s expression softened as he carefully gathered the crystal and stored it.
“For now, we must ensure your safety. I’ll offer you shelter at the Guild’s inn—food, a bed, and, if you wish, the chance to speak with our adventurers. Perhaps you’ll discover more about this book… or a way to return to your Earth.”
In the following days, Mikha’el remained at the Guild’s inn, an annex to the grand cathedral, with walls of polished stone and high ceilings adorned with tapestries bearing ancient crests. Adventurers from all corners gathered there after long missions, sharing stories, laughter, and scars.
Táitus made sure Mikha’el was well-fed and had a comfortable room, away from the common dormitories. Still, Mikha’el made a point of mingling, talking with hunters, mages, and healers—discreetly asking if anyone recognized the strange script of his book. The answers were always negative. The writing remained indecipherable, like a code from another plane.
One night, seated at a table near the tavern counter, Mikha’el engaged in lively conversation with a group of archers. A glass filled with a golden liquid had been carelessly left nearby. Distracted, he picked it up, raising it to drink. At that precise moment, the innkeeper—a quick-handed man with sharp eyes—leapt over the counter to intercept him.
“NO!” he shouted, gripping Mikha’el’s wrist with surprising strength. The glass fell, shattering, spilling its viscous contents across the wooden floor.
“That wasn’t meant for you,” the innkeeper said, his expression stern, voice low. “This drink is a toxic reagent. One sip, and you would have been paralyzed for three days… or worse, dead.”
Mikha’el swallowed hard.
“It was an accident, I swear… I thought it was mine.”
“Fortune spared you. But… stay vigilant, stranger. This city is beautiful, but far from innocent.”
The next day, with a clear head and a rested body, Mikha’el decided to explore the city. Quartz revealed itself in all its splendor under the sunlight. The clear sky made the crystals embedded in towers and walls glint brilliantly. The city had been founded by a mage obsessed with precious stones—and it was easy to see why: crystals were everywhere—on lamp posts, window ledges, even the paving of main streets.
At the city’s heart stood the grand obelisk. Without doors or windows, made of polished granite streaked with veins of gold, it soared skyward, piercing the clouds. As the sun moved, its shadow swept the city like the hand of a giant clock, silently marking the passage of time. The houses arranged around it seemed to acknowledge its presence, as if every brick knew the importance of the symbol.
There was also a bustling central market, rich with aromas: herbs of every kind, bottled potions, gleaming weapons, enchanted scrolls—all mingling with the cries of merchants extolling their goods.
A large lake cut through the city from north to south, circling the obelisk and reflecting the sky like a perfect mirror.
While walking, Mikha’el encountered an unusual figure. A tall man, pale-skinned, with deep-set eyes, wearing black robes detailed in silver. He watched Mikha’el with curiosity.
“You’re the one who claims to be from another world, aren’t you?” the stranger asked.
“Yes… that’s me,” Mikha’el replied cautiously.
“You must be careful. Quartz is beautiful, but it hides dark secrets. Walking alone can be… reckless.”
“Thank you for the warning. I was just heading back.”
“Good. Then allow me to accompany you. But first…” the man made a slight bow, “I am Manon, licensed necromancer of this city.”
Mikha’el’s eyes widened.
“Are there many necromancers here?”
“No. Only I am permitted to practice necromancy in Quartz. A solitary art… but profitable.”
They walked together, and Mikha’el took the opportunity to show Manon some of the book’s symbols. The necromancer studied them intently, then shook his head.
“I’ve never seen anything like this. But if I find anything, I’ll let you know.”
Manon then bid farewell and disappeared through the Guild gates, vanishing among stone columns.
On the seventh day, waiting for the adventurers to complete their missions, Mikha’el decided to reward them with a round of drinks. The Guild Master Táitus had allowed him to use the facilities, so he felt at ease doing so.
As they toasted, the mage Anail approached, curious.
“Have you taken the magic test yet?”
Mikha’el shook his head, saying he saw no need, as he had no intention of becoming an adventurer.
“What a shame,” Anail commented, “if you had affinity with water, I could have taught you some spells myself.”
“Even without affinity, I’d like to learn,” Mikha’el replied.
With a gesture, Anail stood. Mikha’el followed him, leaving the inn within the Guild to reach a large training hall.
The building was an imposing monument of ancient stone, three floors supporting a colossal clock tower—stopped for decades. Inside were a cozy tavern, a training area, rooms for travelers and adventurers, and corridors that seemed like enchanted labyrinths. Curiously, some rooms, small from the outside, expanded magically upon entry. It was said the entire complex had been built by a non-elemental sorcerer whose mastery altered reality itself. Over centuries and countless wars, parts of the structure had collapsed, leaving the remainder as shelter and barracks for adventurers. Many halls were sealed—even from the Guild’s leaders—since those who entered out of curiosity often never returned. For safety, they were kept locked and protected.
Once inside the training hall, Anail positioned himself as if facing an invisible enemy.
“Watch carefully,” he said with seriousness. Raising his palm toward a target, he whispered solemnly,
“O LORD OF WATERS, GRANT ME YOUR POWER TO STRIKE MY ENEMIES WITH YOUR FORCE. BLADE OF WATER!”
From his hand, a shimmering, liquid blade emerged, slicing through the target with surgical precision.
“Now it’s your turn,” he instructed. “Close your eyes, focus, feel the presence of water around you. When ready, recite the incantation.”
Mikha’el closed his eyes, trying to calm his mind. A sudden, overwhelming sensation took hold—as if he were submerged in an endless ocean. He opened his eyes, startled, remembering the promise he had made to Táitus: never reveal his gift. Apathetically, he recited the words, and, as expected, nothing happened.
Anail smirked sarcastically.
“Seems you really have no affinity.”
He turned and left, joining the others in the tavern. Mikha’el watched him go, then glanced at his hand—it was soaked. Anail hadn’t noticed.
“…Phew… almost revealed too much…”
Upstairs, hidden in shadows and silence, Táitus observed quietly. He saw everything and, without a word, returned to his office.
At day’s end, Mikha’el retired to his quarters. Sitting on the bed, staring at his own hand, he decided to try again. This time, calmly. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and sensed an entire ocean around him, as if the world itself had become liquid. When he opened his eyes, his body was covered in a film of pure water. In seconds, the magic dissipated, drenching the bed and floor. He spent the rest of the night experimenting, training discreetly. He could not cast attacks or speak spells effectively, but he was learning to sense and manipulate.
In the days that followed, before his next departure, he remained locked in his room. Many found his behavior strange. Some blamed Anail for being harsh during the lesson. Little did they know that Mikha’el was secretly training—taming something he did not yet fully understand.
Finally, the day of his departure arrived. Mikha’el bid farewell to everyone at the Guild with a shy smile and steady steps, heading toward the meeting point: the eastern city gates. Entering the space between the inner walls, he encountered two colossal pillars. One was adorned with intricately carved roses spiraling to the top, as if a magical vine had petrified mid-dance. The other, smooth and austere, revealed only the ruggedness of its form. To encircle their bases with outstretched arms, thirty-three people would be needed.
As Mikha’el admired the monuments’ majesty, the adventurers arrived mounted on exotic creatures resembling dodos, with reddish plumage and gleaming harnesses.
Anail, with a crooked smile, remarked,
“Ready for the journey? Don’t worry, it’ll be smooth… before you know it, we’ll be there.”
Without replying, Mikha’el mounted the bird next to Anail, and together they set off along the dirt road.
The first night brought danger: mystical wolves emerged from the forest but were quickly dispatched by the group. The following day, they veered off the main road, entering a trail through the forest. Mikha’el hesitated, remembering Táitus’s warning:
“The road is protection. If you stray from it, stay alert. Not every adventurer is worthy of trust.”
At nightfall, they camped beneath the closed canopy of trees. Asper prepared the meal while the others laughed and talked. When the food was ready, Mikha’el thanked them silently, but instinct warned him. A sour odor rose from the bowl. Observing the others, he saw that no one had taken even a single bite. The smell was familiar—a toxic brew used to paralyze… or kill.
“Not hungry, friend?” Asper asked, feigning kindness. “We need to stay well-fed for the journey.”
“I’m not hungry today,” Mikha’el replied, trying to stay calm.
Anail smiled darkly, lowering his head slightly. His eyes, now shadowed, revealed a cruel side Mikha’el had not yet seen.
“I knew he would notice. Not as foolish as he seems,” the sorcerer said, rising.
“Calm down, Anail. Since that didn’t work, we move to Plan B,” Asper added. “Nothing personal, Mikha’el. We just want your book. Two options: hand it over willingly… or we take it by force. The first option is less painful. Look around. This forest is treacherous, especially at night. Without us, you wouldn’t last a day.”
Mikha’el’s heart raced. Unsure of what to do, he turned and ran with all his might.
“Wrong answer!” Anail shouted.
With a gesture, the sorcerer sent sharp blades of water flying toward Mikha’el, striking him and sending him tumbling seven meters. Amid cruel laughter, Anail taunted:
“Ha… I love crushing insects. But you… you’re worse. A microorganism. Unworthy of my magic. But since we’re here, let’s play a little.”
Waters coiled around Mikha’el’s arms like shackles, suspending him between two liquid columns.
“I’ll pierce your chest, near the heart. Then squeeze your neck—not to kill, just to feel your agony. And finally, I’ll take your head. Your tongue will be my trophy.”
Elay placed a hand on Anail’s shoulder.
“I understand your fondness for sadism, but we are human, like him. We don’t do this to one of our own… unless he deserves it. End it quickly. The forest will take care of the rest.”
As Asper approached, exchanging glances with Mikha’el, the young man stared back with fury and fear.
The warrior did not hesitate: he delivered a brutal punch to Mikha’el’s left side of the face. Teeth flew, bones cracked, and his left eye was torn. Mikha’el spat blood, choking on his own pain.
“Don’t look at me like that! You are nothing! I gave you a choice… and you chose the worst. Now, you will pay with your life.”
Mikha’el, engulfed in despair, only wished to return home. Tears streamed down his face. He longed to see his daughter grow. To embrace his wife. To say goodbye to the world he would leave behind. But the blow came. Asper hurled him with fury into the trees, sending his body flying twenty meters deep into the forest.
“DAMN, ASPER! Almost destroyed everything, haha…” Anail laughed.
“Pick everything up. Nothing left,” Asper replied curtly.
[...]
Seconds before being launched, Mikha’el had plunged into the depths of his pain. There, he found a spark—the memory of his gift. He summoned the last of his power, invoking water as a shield. A liquid cocoon wrapped around his body at the exact moment of impact. His head and torso were protected, but his right arm shattered in multiple places. He felt every tree strike him before passing out amid the debris.
[...]
Later, he opened the only eye that remained. Everything was pain. The sky was heavy with dark clouds. Rain began to fall.
“So… this is how I’ll die? What did I do to deserve this…? I never harmed anyone…”
His cry was silent, but it tore at his soul. He thought of his wife, the daughter he would never see grow. Friends, work, his life… all left behind, without farewell.
[...]
A sound among the branches caught his attention. Something was approaching. Weak, almost unconscious, he saw the silhouette of a gray wolf… and another figure, indistinct. A magical energy enveloped him, and his mind went blank.
Or perhaps… did he die right there?