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—such as during coffee breaks or on the way to the office—he 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 García Márquez 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."

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

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 – 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]

To: Arturo Duarte [email protected]

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."

María frowned, indignant.

"What? It can't be."

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

María 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 Magallón, 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.

Magallón.

Arturo typed "Magallón, Zaragoza" into the Wikipedia search engine. The page loaded quickly, and he began to read with curiosity. Magallón 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 "Magallón." 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.

"Magallón 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.