Prologue: The Door
The calm sunset bathed the tall buildings, streets, and homes across the vast city, casting shadows that stretched like elongated silhouettes before the temporary disappearance of the sun's light. Shadows that would soon take over the entire expanse of the world. It was almost as if the ever-diligent day, always greeting each inhabitant with joy, finally found its rest—yielding to the silent, dark night. A night as ordinary as it was distant, one that writers despised when searching for inspiration.
—If that's all, then I'm heading out, guys…
Inside a large industrial park belonging to a company that specialized in automated gates, a small group of five people in white shirts bid each other farewell. They were engineers, tied together by a quiet camaraderie, finishing another workday and welcoming the weekend. It meant days without seeing one another, yet—whether out of courtesy or habit—the informal group always took time to say goodbye, unlike on other, more ordinary days.
Most of the group split up, leaving the industrial park painted in shades of orange, while two remained standing. One was a short young man with reddish-brown hair and dark eyes; the other, with pitch-black hair and deep brown eyes. They looked at one another and then walked toward the private transport station provided by the company.
Seated side by side on the bus, the dark-haired youth studied his friend.
—Don't you think Rubén and Sofía are acting strange? —asked the brown-eyed one.
—It's true. Sofía didn't tell you, but they got back together —answered the red-haired young man, his voice slightly weary.
For a moment, the brown-eyed youth showed genuine confusion before sighing heavily, though not entirely surprised.
—That guy is an idiot. Did she really go back to him? Sometimes I don't understand how Sofía can have so little self-respect…
Their discussion about someone else's love life was brief. Just as they were about to change the subject, the brown-eyed youth's pocket vibrated. He quickly pulled out his phone and gestured to his friend to be quiet.
A strange number flashed on the screen. He tried to hang up, but the device didn't respond, vibrating stubbornly and drawing the attention of other passengers.
"Damn it. I really need to replace this soon. The screen's been acting up," he thought, frustrated.
After several failed attempts, curiosity got the better of him, and he answered. If it was a prank, a nuisance caller, or even the bank trying to sell him a savings account, he could always shut the device off.
A sharp, piercing beep made him wince. It sounded like a microphone feeding back into a speaker. He was about to hang up when a voice broke through.
GET AWAY.
It was raspy, metallic—like steel being torn apart by a machine. Yet, despite its harshness, the grating tones seemed to form words.
GET AWAY… FROM HER.
"A threat?" he wondered, searching his memory for anyone he might have angered recently. But no one came to mind—at least not someone openly hostile. Extortion, maybe? Still, there was something in those words that planted a deeper doubt in his mind.
GET AWAY… THE DOOR.
The voice repeated, again and again, until it dissolved into unbearable screeches, like metal shards being crushed. Terrified, he yanked the phone away from his ear and shut it off by force. His heart pounded wildly.
Checking the call log, he was shocked to see no trace of the number that had just appeared.
—You okay? —asked his friend, noticing the sudden shift in his demeanor.
—Yeah… —he replied, trying to convince himself as much as anyone else. He stared at the screen for a moment, then decided to push the incident to the back of his mind.
When his stop arrived, he got off the bus, just as the night fully claimed the city. He walked at ease under the glow of streetlamps, which lit up in unison, marking a familiar path. For fifteen minutes, he wandered almost alone, until even the faint hum of passing cars disappeared. Lost in thought, he disconnected from the world around him.
Then the streetlights began to flicker erratically. And then—silence.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
On the fifth step, he froze. Before him, lit faintly by the moon, stood a heavy door in the middle of the street. It did not break through the asphalt, nor was it held by any frame—it simply stood there, swaying ever so slightly, creaking as if alive.
His pupils shrank as unease washed over him. The door, carved of dark wood, looked as if it had been ripped from an ancient house. Symbols covered its surface—symbols that seemed not only to defile the soul but also to strip bare the mind, as if revealing one's essence at a single glance.
THE DOOR.
THE DOOR.
THE DOOR.
A searing pain shot through his skull, like red-hot needles burrowing slowly and cruelly into his brain. Visions ignited in his mind, unleashing nausea, fear, shame, and rage all at once. Amid the torment, three images etched themselves deep into him:
Eyes formed from concentric rings, with strange markings written in a language he instinctively understood.
Chaos and Order.
Triangles, each holding shifting curves that bent into watchful eyes fixed upon him.
EYES. EYES. EYES.
A story engraved around the frame of the door, narrating times before creation, collisions of eras, the gathering of all things. Three words—impossible to recall or pronounce—shattered every defense in his mind.
His consciousness collapsed, consumed by the visions.
THE LOCK OF ETERNITY.
The door opened slowly. Inside, a single white eye gazed out.
THE GREAT THRONE.
A violent force pulled him toward it. The ground cracked as if the earth itself were breaking, dragging him helplessly into the void.
Before being swallowed whole, one last whisper echoed in his mind:
DO NOT OPEN THE DOOR.
From the darkness, faint flashes of violet, green, red, blue, and yellow pierced through, returning a flicker of awareness to him.
Through a window beside his bed, he could just barely make out shimmering lights outside. Fever raged through his body. As his consciousness slipped again, a distant voice reached him:
—Hold on, Master Beltrán…
And then, Beltrán surrendered to the darkness.