On an old wooden bench, surrounded by unhurriedly growing grass, sat a boy with hair black as night and eyes of dull gold, like suns that had long burned out. He held a cup of coffee in his cold hands as he looked up at the sky.
Up there... toward that immense rift with golden edges that split the blue sky like an ancient wound that never quite healed.
People walked past him without a second glance, as if the rift didn't exist, as if it no longer meant anything. And maybe it didn't... After all, it had always been there. How could you fear something that had become part of the landscape?
He lowered his gaze to his left wrist, where a cracked watch—relic of another time—marked 7:46 a.m. The moment he saw the time, a chill ran down his spine, and suddenly the world felt heavier.
"I'm so late!"
He had gotten lost staring at the rift, like so many times before. That wound in the sky seemed to have the power to absorb time itself, and like a fool, he had once again fallen under its spell. He had forgotten that today was the entrance exam for the Professional Academy.
In a desperate gesture, he tossed the coffee cup into the nearest trash bin, jumped to his feet, and sprinted through the city's narrow streets. He dodged faces and bodies like a ghost trying not to be touched.
As he ran, he nearly knocked over an older man's tray of coffee.
"Watch it!" shouted a firm voice.
It was Mr. Doss, with a thick gray beard and an imposing figure. He ran a coffee stall near Bill's home. As an old friend of his father's, he always greeted him with a kind smile and warm bread at a good price.
Bill turned his head back to look at him.
"Sorry, Mr. Doss! I'm late!"
"Good luck, Bill!" the man called out, raising an arm in farewell, his warm smile suddenly striking the boy as painfully familiar.
"Thanks!" Bill replied without stopping, flashing a half-smile soaked in guilt.
He ran as if he could outrun the anxiety, the fear of failure... and maybe something more.
Just before turning a corner, a small shadow stretched across the ground. He looked up—and a cat, with claws like blades, lunged straight at his face. He felt the sting of its swipes tearing into his skin and hair.
"Ow—ouch! Let go, you ugly damn cat!"
For a moment, the creature froze, staring at him with mocking calm, then attacked again with even more fury. Bill struggled to rip it off, left with scratches and a humiliation that was almost comical. He kept running, angry and wounded, muttering:
"Did I steal its kittens or something?"
With his face marked up, hair a mess, and body drenched in sweat, he finally arrived at the academy. He tried to catch his breath, but before he could, he heard his name.
"Bill Rusel," called the assistant, a man with round glasses and a formal suit.
"Here!" he responded, trying to look as presentable as possible.
He walked to his seat like an exhausted ghost, feeling eyes fixed on him—some surprised, some mocking, and others simply indifferent.
He sat down, shutting out everything but the paper in front of him. He took a deep breath. He had to focus. He couldn't fail—not after everything his mother had done to give him this chance.
"Come on, focus," he repeated to himself, desperate.
[What are the main cities and who are their respective rulers?]
"Heh… this one's easy," he thought, faking confidence.
"Daemon… Krorlan… and Sky… the city in the sky..."
…
When he left the classroom, his heart felt sunken, and his face showed a quiet defeat.
"Sometimes I wonder if this is really the right path. Everything at home feels heavier each day… and Mom's carrying it all by herself."
He walked home with slumped shoulders and a distant gaze.
…
When he saw the white door with vines curling along its frame, a small wave of relief washed over him. The walk from the academy, after a marathon of an exam, had left him nauseated and exhausted.
Sure, he could've taken the bus. But that was a luxury not meant for people like him.
With college fees, his siblings' schooling, and all the constant emergencies, saving every coin was a necessity.
The money his father left had lasted for a while, carefully managed… but in times of war, education took a back seat when there wasn't even a meal on the table.
Still, he crossed the threshold with a slight smile on his lips.
The smell of freshly cooked food enveloped him the moment he stepped in. He headed to the kitchen, and there she was—his mother, Liz.
A woman with a tired but peaceful face, black hair streaked subtly with white. Her porcelain skin was lined with the shadows of sleepless nights beneath her blue eyes.
She was plating up what looked like a piece of chicken and a generous serving of rice.
"How was your exam?" she asked without fully looking at him.
"Too easy," he replied, crossing his arms and lifting his chin, pretending to be confident.
She glanced at him, raising an eyebrow.
"You sure about that?"
Bill swallowed hard.
"Ah... you caught me," he said with a sigh, lowering his eyes.
"No... it started off fine, but it got harder near the end..."
She set the plates down for a moment and looked at him silently. Her eyes weren't just calm anymore—there was worry, but also strength.
"Mom, I... I did the best I could."
Liz approached and gently lifted his chin with two fingers, forcing him to meet her gaze. His pale face, covered in scratches and with chapped lips, met the quiet firmness in her eyes.
"I don't care if you didn't pass. If you gave it your all, then there's nothing more to do but try again. Just don't trip over the same stone twice. Keep going until you make it. Got it?"
Bill froze for a moment, not knowing what to say. Her voice wasn't harsh—but it left an imprint on his chest.
"Yes, Mom," he finally answered, soft but determined.
She smiled with the kind of peace only tired mothers can offer.
"And besides, it's not like you've failed yet. Sit down, the food's getting cold. Ana and Lucas will be home any minute."
He dropped into his chair, finally feeling his body start to relax—as if that single moment was enough to lift the weight of the day.
Just as he settled in, the front door creaked open.
Laughter and quick footsteps filled the space.
"We're home!" called a high-pitched voice from the entrance.
Ana burst into the kitchen with the unstoppable energy she always carried. She was thirteen, with big blue eyes and a contagious smile that made you forget your worries for a while.
Her reddish-brown hair bounced in a high ponytail with every step.
Behind her, a bit slower but just as eager, came Lucas, eleven years old. His black hair fell in messy strands over his forehead, and his golden eyes held a rare mix of sweetness and mischief. A fresh bruise colored his left cheek, but he smiled like it was nothing.
The two of them stormed into the kitchen like little hurricanes. As they caught the scent of food, their faces lit up even more.
"Smells amazing!" said Ana, practically drooling.
Lucas dove straight into his seat, while Bill watched them with a tired but sincere smile.
Ana gave him a playful look.
"So? How'd the exam go, big bro?"
He straightened up in his seat, trying to recover a bit of pride.
"Excellent, if I'm being honest," he said with a touch of arrogance and a crooked smile.
They both stared at him for a second, eyes narrowed with suspicion.
"Really!?" they asked in unison.
He sighed, remembering the talk with his mother, and looked down.
"...No."
Silence followed for a moment.
Then, laughter exploded around the table.
"We knew it!" Ana said, laughing.
"Your 'everything's fine' face always gives you away!" added Lucas, covering his mouth with his hand.
Bill joined in, laughing too, though with a hint of indignation.
But that moment, that brief burst of jokes and laughter, felt like a warm breath in the middle of their chaotic lives.
"And what about you two?" he asked, curious. "How'd the fight go?"
Ana and Lucas exchanged a look, that silent bond only younger siblings share, then grinned back at him.
Lucas nodded proudly, while Ana replied:
"Let's just say... that kid won't recognize himself in the mirror for a few days."
Laughter filled the room again. Liz, now serving food at the table, shot them a sharp glance.
"Oh, come on!" she exclaimed, giving each of them a light smack on the head. It didn't hurt—it was more of a symbolic warning. A loving one.
She raised an eyebrow.
"Now eat, before I regret cooking for you!"
They went quiet for a moment... then all burst into laughter once more as they served themselves.
In that moment, the world outside those walls felt very far away.
…
Late at night, after dinner, Bill lay down on his bed.
His room was dim, barely lit by the pale glow of the rift streaming through the window.
He closed his eyes, replaying the day:
The moment he got hypnotized by the rift, the incident with the coffee and Mr. Doss, the encounter with the ugly cat, the exam… and finally, dinner filled with laughter alongside Mom, Ana, and Lucas.
It had definitely been a strange day… but also a good one.
With that thought, he let sleep take him.
The hours of the dark night passed, and Bill seemed trapped in an endless nightmare. He twisted in his bed.
"Where… am I?
My body… feels strange."
It was as if his soul were slowly detaching from his body. He tried to open his eyes, move his arms…
but nothing responded.
His body was paralyzed.
He floated.
In a black space, with no floor or sky. Only emptiness.
The anguish grew inside him. He began writhing in the air, desperate to understand what was happening.
Until suddenly, he managed to open his eyes.
Gasping, sweating, his heart pounding against his chest like it wanted to escape, he looked around.
White clouds surrounded him and… beyond them, something he had only seen from the ground.
It was there.
The rift.
But this time, not high above in the sky.
It was right in front of him.
Only a few meters separated him from its golden edges, sparking like restrained lightning.
"What… what is this…?" he murmured, his voice shaky.
Without warning, a searing pain tore through his stomach.
"Bluaaahg."
He vomited blood and viscera. As if his insides were falling apart.
The pain flooded his body like a hurricane unleashed.
He curled in on himself, clutching his abdomen, still unsure if he was floating or standing on some invisible floor.
That's when he looked up and saw it.
A shadow.
Human-shaped. Tall. Sturdy. Standing right in the center of the rift.
Motionless. Watching him.
He crawled toward it. He didn't know why. Maybe seeking help, or maybe trying to cross the fissure, to escape the pain, the agonizing sensation of being there.
With every meter he advanced, the pain worsened.
Blood dripped from his mouth.
But he was so close…
Then came a tremor.
At first, faint, like a whisper.
Then another.
Stronger.
He stopped completely.
The world—if he was still in one—froze.
There was no more sound. Only the rumble of that invisible quake. The skies, the void—everything shook.
The silhouette was no longer a shadow. Nor did it seem human.
Cold sweat trickled down his back when he understood what he was seeing.
It wasn't a person. It was a colossal giant, over a hundred meters tall.
Gray skin, cracked, blistered as if it had been boiled in fire. Arms like tree trunks, legs that made the air tremble with each step. On its forehead, a single black eye. Deep as an abyss, staring at him with monstrous indifference. Beneath it, two eyes sewn shut with thread.
And in its hand, a massive club studded with metal spikes. Broken shackles hung from its wrists, as if it had escaped from some infernal prison.
He couldn't move.
He couldn't breathe.
He was paralyzed in that sky with no ground, reduced to an insect before an ancient and forgotten god.
The giant took a step.
Then another.
It was heading straight toward him.
Its gaze pierced through him. He could feel it reading every one of his thoughts.
Nothing was hidden now.
And then, it raised its left foot.
A titanic foot, descending… directly toward his head.
He closed his eyes, bracing for the end.
And then…
A voice spoke in his mind:
"[Congratulations! You have survived the… [error]]"
He froze.
"What…?" he whispered, confused.
The voice continued, unbothered:
"[Individual qualified for rift entry. Good luck!]"