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 use the door without you." You didn't give me a key and I thought... 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, crossing the threshold.

Jacinto's house was warm and smelled of freshly baked bread, an aroma that seemed to cling to the walls and give it a homely feel. Arturo left his things in a corner while Jacinto returned to what seemed to be 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 that Jacinto had assigned to him, he got an unexpected surprise: a young woman was there, standing next to the bed, arranging something on the desk. His dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and he had a distracted expression that quickly turned to panic at the sight of him.

"Who are you?!" he exclaimed, taking a step back as if he had just stumbled upon 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 Magallón 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 town".

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?" he 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 Encantia.

"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 land in a golden glow that turned every leaf, every stone, into a bright, vivid object. On the other side, shadows ruled, soft and enveloping, lending everything an air of mystery. Arturo 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 relentlessly left its mark.

Arturo was snooping through the remains, eyes wide open. It wasn't just the bleak beauty of the city that drew him in, but the sense of belonging he experienced there.

Walking down what was once a main street, Arturo observed the remains of what were once bridges of light, now covered by weeds and shadows. Lyra had been the meeting place, the meeting point between the kingdoms of Solaris and Nocturnia, but now it was only a vestige of what it had been. It was like a broken mirror, reflecting the fragmentation of everything that had happened in Enchantia.

Suddenly, among the ruins, something caught his eye. At first, he thought it was just a long shadow created by the afternoon sun, but upon closer inspection, he realized it was no illusion. A figure loomed on the horizon, walking towards him.

Arturo 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 was slowly advancing towards him, and Arthur stood still, watching with growing intrigue.

When the figure was a few feet away, he stopped. He didn't say anything right away, just stared at it as if he was waiting for something.

Finally, the figure spoke, his voice echoing in the silence of the ruins.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his tone gravelly but not threatening.

Arturo, 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 answer with raw honesty.

"This is the only place in Enchantia where I feel like I belong," he finally said, staring at the figure, as if he could see past 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.

"Why do you think this place belongs to you?"

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

"Because Lyra is what should never have been lost." It is what was meant to come together, and seeing its ruins..." Arthur paused, swallowing. "I feel like everything I've lived through, everything that has separated me, everything I've left behind, has been because of this... division. And here, among the ruins, I feel like there's something that..." his voice cracked a little. "Something that can still come together."

The figure didn't react immediately, but Arthur could see a flash of recognition in its eyes. As if what it said was familiar, something that belonged not only to its history, but to the history of Enchantia.

"And what will you do with what you find here, in the ruins of Lyra?" the figure asked, its 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 Lyra represented more than just a refuge. It was the place where the broken pieces of Enchantia could still come together. 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. Something that will unite again what is divided." Arthur looked at the figure, his resolve growing. "This city, these ruins, must rise again."

The figure nodded slowly, as if recognizing in those words something more than a simple declaration. 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 statement, the wind of Enchantia seemed to come alive, 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 became lost in his writing. Time faded away as he created scenes, dialogue, and descriptions, immersing himself completely in the world of Enchantia. He paid no attention to the sound of cars passing by or the birdsong outside.

"How do you like your lentils?" Eva asked as she opened the door, her arms crossed and with an expression that mixed indifference with 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-this-or-eat-it" on the midday menu, you'll have to resign yourself to my cooking. Jacinto cooks for cats, not for people" she said, pointing towards the window, where Arturo could see Jacinto handing out bits of food on the floor for the felines roaming the patio.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

"Pie as the main meal?" Arturo raised an eyebrow, still confused by the surreal turn of the conversation.

"He's my father, what did you expect?" Eva replied, as if her father's culinary eccentricity was as commonplace as the sun rising every day. "So, do you want them 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.

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? Lunch can wait," she said, sitting down in a chair near the table.

Arturo hesitated for a moment, knowing 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 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 came back to him, 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 stardust."

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 fire burns softly," Arturo began, his low tone echoing in the silence of the room. "It is the only source of light in the gloom 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 fire materialized between them, as if she could feel the heat of the fire and hear the rustle of the wind through the trees.

Arturo continued, without opening his eyes.

"I am sitting on a fallen log, looking into the fire. The others murmur among themselves, but the tension in the air is palpable, almost tangible. To my left is Liora. His gaze is as sharp as the knife that plays between his fingers, sliding it in a rhythm that mesmerizes. 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 imagine everything 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," Arthur continued, "a wooden plank resting on stones. On it, a hand-drawn map of the Luminous Castle. Each line indicates paths, entrances, strategic positions. The Celebration of Separation is in three days."

"Celebration of Separation?" Eva asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Arturo 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 is not saving them. It is 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 is the only time of year when the kings make a public appearance," Arturo continued. "But they are surrounded by guards, and Liora says that 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?" he asked, his voice a thread that barely broke the silence.

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

"We don't need to confront them directly" he said, his voice gaining strength and clarity. "We will hit them where it hurts the most".

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

"Your daughter, heir to the throne".

Eva leaned forward, surprised.

"The princess?" she asked, her words full of disbelief.

"She is the most powerful symbol of separation" Arturo said, his voice now more intense. "The daughter of kings, raised to perpetuate what separates them. But if we can get to her... If we can get her to see the truth, to question what she has been taught, we could crumble everything from within".

Eva stared at him. Silence filled the room as Arturo stood still, 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 he 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've always wanted to know what the creative process of a renowned writer is like, as I'm sure you are."

Ignoring the casual compliment, Arturo motioned for 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 he 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 just 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. With each passing minute, her connection with him grows stronger, but so does her fear of the inevitable farewell".

"Okay, now visualize a crucial moment in their story. What does she do? How does she face her fears?"

Eva opened her eyes, looking into Arturo's, who, feeling the emotion and connection in the story, couldn't 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 isn't fiction, it's 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 had come 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 street lit by neon lights and you see a man in a café, looking at you from the window. What do you think?"

"I think that man should stop looking 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, though her lips maintained that mischievous smile. "But, as long as 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 moved closer 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, was overwhelmed by the mix of sensations and emotions. Each caress, each kiss, was a new revelation, a discovery of intimacy and physical connection that 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 curiously, looking at the antique key. It was simple, but there was something about 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 evening light filtering through the room's loosely closed curtains. His body was still warm, relaxed, as if time had stopped for a few hours.

He sat up in bed, dazed, as the memories of midday came back to him like a rush.

Eva.

Shaking his head to get rid of those thoughts, he got 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 mug.

"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 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 bother."

"Of course. Come on, eat them, they're going to get cold again."

Arturo was finishing the last bite of 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 he still had a piece of chorizo in his mouth.

"Hmmm... hello?" he murmured in a somewhat muffled voice, trying hard 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 like you have 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 and Pen. I haven't received it."

Arturo swallowed, trying to remain calm. "I'm sorry. I've been so immersed in something that it's 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 dedicate the mornings to my novel and the afternoons to Papel y Pluma."

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 close 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 Papel y Pluma.

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

"I cannot choose," he finally said, his voice barely a whisper. "They both mean too much to me."

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

"Then I will do it for you, Arturo. As someone who cares about you, I think it is 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 did not come out. He knew his boss was being sincere, but that did not 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. She 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 put 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 an opportunity to focus on what really matters."

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

Perhaps he was right. Perhaps 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.