Not long ago, in the United States, a name began to whisper its way through streets, alleys, and homes: Fantasy. It was neither a game nor a dream. It was a drug, a mysterious substance contained in small, shimmering vials. It was taken via injection, and its effect was devastating: those who used it fell asleep, never to wake up again.

What made it so famous wasn’t the death it caused but the rumor that followed it. People said Fantasy didn’t truly kill but transported its users to another world. Yet no one could confirm this claim: the journey was one of no return. No traces, no testimonies, only bodies left behind like empty shells. For some, it was a curse. For others, a promise.

Some called it the "gate to paradise," while others feared it as the entrance to hell. But the mystery made it irresistible. At first, it was a niche plague, confined to desperate and secretive circles. Then, like wildfire, it spread. But as with everything that burns too quickly, Fantasy seemed to fade out.

For years, no one spoke of the drug. People forgot it, filing it away as another deadly trend that had claimed too many lives. Until that day.

Rome. The sky darkened. Through the clouds, a knight clad in gleaming armor, riding an imposing dragon, appeared above the Eternal City. It was a vision straight out of a nightmare or an epic tale. The dragon soared high, scattering leaflets that floated through the air like snow.

The words on the papers, written in broken Italian, were few but clear: Fantasy works.

Authorities reacted immediately. The knight and his beast were brought down. The dragon, enormous and majestic, was studied, dissected, and eventually displayed in a museum as a trophy. But its sacrifice had already changed the world.

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That apparition triggered a wave of suicides. Everywhere, desperate people searched for Fantasy, willing to do anything to discover whether that "other world" truly existed. There was no escape. The drug, long forgotten, returned to claim victims, stronger and more unstoppable than ever.

Not long after, the myth of Fantasy had spread across the globe. A unique drug, said to transport those who took it to another world. No one could testify to it: everyone who made that injection died. Yet the legend fed on rumors, desperate hopes, and humanity's deep desire to escape reality.

Amid the chaos and confusion, many tried to replicate the drug. Clandestine labs, scientists, even governments—everyone sought to uncover Fantasy's secret. But every attempt ended in failure. No one could ever reproduce it. Every fake vial was nothing but a pathetic imitation, incapable of replicating the enigmatic power of the original substance.

It was then that a name emerged, carried on the wind of whispered rumors: Wizard.

Wizard was the sole creator of Fantasy. The one and only. There were no other producers, no hidden labs capable of approaching his genius. Every authentic vial came directly from him. But who was Wizard? No one knew. There was no face, no trace, no identity. Only his name, which seemed almost like a title, a declaration of power.

Authorities around the world launched an unprecedented manhunt. But Wizard moved like a shadow. Every time someone got close, he vanished into thin air as if by magic. He seemed to know everything in advance: police movements, secret government plans, even betrayals by the most trusted individuals. It was as if his nickname wasn’t just a whim but a literal description: Wizard, the mage.

It wasn’t just his ability to evade capture that made him unstoppable. It was the very nature of Fantasy. Every vial emanated something inexplicable, almost mystical. Not even the world’s best chemists could decipher its composition. The drug seemed to be more than just a substance: it was pure power, something beyond human understanding.

And as Wizard continued to elude capture, the world descended into chaos. Every new appearance of the drug sowed despair, obsession, and death. But behind it all was him—Wizard—a man, or perhaps something more, determined to bend the world’s fate to his will.