The room was dark except for the glow of a phone screen.
Zaraf sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on the anime playing before him.
On the screen, the heroine was dying.
Blood stained her clothes. Her trembling hand reached toward the sky. The music swelled, desperate and cruel.
"Don't… don't kill her…" Zaraf muttered.
His chest tightened.
It was stupid.
She wasn't real.
Just a character.
Just fiction.
…So why did it hurt?
His fingers tightened around the phone.
A familiar frustration rose inside him — the same helpless feeling he'd felt too many times in his own life.
Watching.
Unable to interfere.
Always too late.
"If I were there…" he whispered, jaw clenching.
"I would save you."
The moment the words left his mouth—
The screen flickered.
Not a glitch.
Something deeper.
The air in front of him split open.
A thin line of white light carved through space itself.
Zaraf froze.
"…What?"
The line widened.
The room grew colder.
The air twisted inward, spiraling into a circular distortion that hummed like something ancient had just awakened.
His heart began pounding.
"This isn't real…"
The walls trembled.
Wind roared through his bedroom as if the world had opened its lungs.
His phone slipped from his hand.
Before he could scream—
The floor vanished.
And he fell.
He hit the ground hard.
Grass.
Cold air.
The smell of smoke.
For a few seconds, he couldn't breathe.
Pain shot through his back.
This hurt.
Dreams don't hurt.
Slowly, he lifted his head.
Stone buildings.
Fire in the distance.
Screams carried by the wind.
And in front of him—
Her.
The same girl from the anime.
Bleeding.
Dying.
His mind refused to process it.
"No way…"
This was the exact scene.
The exact moment.
The enemy raised his blade.
Time felt slow.
Zaraf's thoughts raced — panic, disbelief, terror.
But beneath it all—
A strange calm surfaced.
A decision.
Without thinking—
He raised his hand.
"Stop."
The word didn't feel loud.
Yet it echoed.
The blade froze mid-air.
The world froze.
Silence swallowed everything.
Even the wind.
Zaraf stared at his hand.
"…What did I just do?"
Something moved inside him.
Not borrowed.
Not learned.
Not imagined.
Power.
Raw.
Absolute.
It didn't feel foreign.
It felt… natural.
That realization scared him more than the portal did.
He focused.
The enemy disintegrated into light.
The wounds on the girl vanished.
Time resumed.
She gasped.
Alive.
Zaraf staggered back, breath uneven.
"I… did that?"
The wind was cold against his skin.
The dirt beneath his fingers felt real.
Too real.
And deep inside—
Something had awakened.
Not just power.
Possibility.
And that frightened him.
A month passed.
Zaraf moved through this world like a silent presence.
When disaster struck, he appeared.
When death approached, he erased it.
People whispered about him.
Some called him a spirit.
Some called him a god.
He never corrected them.
But he never stayed either.
He didn't feel like a god.
He felt… detached.
As if this world was a page he could flip away from.
And that scared him more than the power itself.
When people asked who he was—
He only smiled faintly.
"A traveler. Just passing by."
But every night, one question lingered:
If I can come here…
Can I go back?
One night, under a sky filled with unfamiliar stars, he closed his eyes and focused on the memory of his room.
The longing.
The frustration.
The desire to return.
The air trembled.
A portal opened.
His breath caught.
"It worked…"
He stepped through.
He stumbled back into his bedroom.
Everything was the same.
The anime still playing.
The clock ticking.
Only three minutes had passed.
Zaraf began laughing.
Half relief.
Half disbelief.
"So I can move between worlds…"
Days later, unable to resist the pull of the unknown, he opened the portal again.
This time—
The energy felt different.
Quieter.
Deeper.
He stepped through.
He landed in a vast white space.
Endless.
Silent.
Neither sky nor ground—just infinity.
His heartbeat slowed.
Not from fear.
From anticipation.
He wasn't panicking.
He wasn't terrified.
He felt—
Awake.
Like he had stepped closer to something meant for him.
And someone was waiting.
A girl.
Small.
Long black hair flowing like ink in water.
Blue eyes glowing faintly.
Long, delicate ears.
She did not look surprised.
She looked… as if she had been expecting him.
"…Hello," she said calmly.
Her voice echoed without echo.
"You took your time, Creator."
Zaraf stiffened.
Creator?
Instead of fear—
A spark of excitement flickered in his chest.
"…Creator?"
She walked closer. No sound. No shadow.
"I am Bell, of the Fairy Realm."
Her gaze sharpened.
"And you have awakened."
A chill ran down his spine.
Not fear.
Recognition.
"This isn't another anime world… is it?"
Bell tilted her head slightly.
"This is the Imagery World. The space between realities. The place where chosen humans create worlds of their own."
Chosen.
The word echoed inside him.
Not accidental.
Not random.
Chosen.
"There are six creators currently active," she continued.
"Whether you become the seventh… depends on me."
Silence stretched between them.
Zaraf swallowed.
"…Depends on what?"
For the first time, Bell's expression hardened.
"On whether you pass."
The white space flickered.
Cracks formed beneath his feet.
"And if you fail," she said softly, "you will be erased from existence."
This time—
Fear arrived.
Cold.
Sharp.
Real.
The ground shattered.
Darkness swallowed him.
Bell's glowing eyes were the last thing he saw.
"Your test," she said,
"begins now."