Darkness clung to the room, thin and quiet, broken only by the pale glow of a phone screen.
Zaraf sat at the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, eyes unmoving as the scene played out before him. Light flickered across his face, painting it in shifting colors—red, then white, then shadow.
On the screen, the heroine was dying.
Blood soaked into her clothes, spreading slowly, mercilessly. Her trembling hand reached toward the sky as if it might still answer her. The music swelled—desperate, cruel, refusing to let the moment end.
"Don't…" Zaraf murmured, his voice barely more than breath. "Don't kill her…"
His chest tightened.
It was stupid.
She wasn't real.
Just a character.
Just fiction.
…So why did it hurt?
His fingers curled tighter around the phone, knuckles paling as something familiar stirred within him—something bitter. That same helpless frustration he had known too many times before.
Watching.
Unable to act.
Always too late.
"If I were there…" he whispered, jaw tightening.
"I would save you."
The words had barely left his lips when—
The screen flickered.
Not like a glitch.
Something deeper.
The air in front of him split open.
A thin line of white light carved itself into existence, sharp and unnatural, as if reality had been cut by something unseen. Zaraf froze, his breath catching in his throat.
"…What?"
The line widened.
The room grew colder.
The air twisted inward, spiraling into a circular distortion that hummed—low and ancient, like something long asleep had just opened its eyes.
His heart began to pound.
"This isn't real…"
The walls trembled.
Wind roared through his bedroom as if the world itself had taken a breath—and exhaled everything at once.
His phone slipped from his hand.
Before he could react—
The floor vanished.
And he fell.
—
Impact came hard.
Air rushed from his lungs as his body struck the ground. For a moment, he couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Pain spread across his back, sharp and immediate.
Grass brushed against his fingers.
Cold air filled his lungs.
Smoke stung his nose.
Slowly, he lifted his head.
Stone buildings stood fractured around him, some burning, some already reduced to ruin. Flames flickered in the distance, and screams echoed through the wind—raw, desperate, real.
And in front of him—
Her.
The same girl from the screen.
Bleeding.
Dying.
Zaraf's thoughts stalled.
"No way…"
This was the scene.
The exact moment.
The enemy stood over her, blade raised, ready to fall.
Time slowed.
His heart pounded louder, faster, drowning everything else. Panic surged, disbelief clawed at his mind—
—but beneath it all, something else emerged.
A strange, quiet calm.
A decision.
Without thinking, he raised his hand.
"Stop."
The word wasn't loud.
Yet it echoed.
The blade froze mid-air.
The world followed.
Sound vanished.
Wind stilled.
Even the flames seemed to pause, caught between moments.
Zaraf stared at his hand, breath unsteady.
"…What did I just do?"
Something stirred inside him.
Not borrowed.
Not learned.
Not imagined.
Power.
Raw.
Absolute.
And the most terrifying part—
It didn't feel foreign.
It felt natural.
His gaze sharpened.
The enemy dissolved into fragments of light, scattering into nothing. The girl's wounds closed, blood fading as if it had never been spilled.
Time resumed.
She gasped—alive.
Zaraf staggered back, his breath uneven.
"I… did that?"
The wind brushed against his skin. The ground beneath him felt solid, undeniable.
Too real.
And deep within him—
something had awakened.
Not just power.
Possibility.
And that frightened him.
—
A month passed.
Zaraf moved through the world like something unseen.
When disaster came, he appeared.
When death reached out, he erased it.
People began to whisper.
Some called him a spirit.
Others, a god.
He never corrected them.
But he never stayed long enough for them to believe it either.
Because he didn't feel like a god.
He felt… detached.
As if the world itself was nothing more than a page—something he could turn, rewrite, or leave behind entirely.
And that thought unsettled him more than anything else.
When asked who he was, he would only offer a faint smile.
"A traveler," he'd say. "Just passing by."
But at night, when silence returned and there was nothing left to distract him, a single question lingered.
If I can come here…
Can I go back?
—
Under a sky filled with unfamiliar stars, he closed his eyes and focused.
His room.
The dim light.
The quiet hum of normalcy.
The longing.
The frustration.
The need to return.
The air trembled.
A portal opened.
His breath caught.
"…It worked."
He stepped through.
The world shifted.
And then—
He was back.
His room.
Unchanged.
The anime still playing, its sound faint and distant now. The clock ticking softly on the wall.
He glanced at it.
Three minutes.
Only three minutes had passed.
A quiet laugh escaped him—half relief, half disbelief.
"So I can move between worlds…"
—
Days later, the pull became impossible to ignore.
The unknown called to him.
This time, when he opened the portal, the energy felt different.
Quieter.
Deeper.
As if it wasn't just a doorway—but an invitation.
He stepped through.
—
White.
Endless white.
No sky.
No ground.
No horizon.
Just infinity.
Zaraf stood still, his heartbeat slowing—not from fear, but from something else.
Anticipation.
He wasn't panicking.
He wasn't afraid.
He felt… awake.
As if he had stepped closer to something that had always been waiting for him.
And within that endless space—
someone stood.
A girl.
Small, almost fragile in appearance. Long black hair drifted behind her like ink in still water. Her blue eyes glowed faintly, steady and unwavering. Long, delicate ears marked her as something not entirely human.
She did not look surprised.
She looked as though she had been waiting.
"…Hello," she said calmly.
Her voice carried, yet left no echo.
"You took your time, Creator."
Zaraf stiffened.
Creator?
But instead of fear—
something else sparked within him.
"…Creator?"
She stepped closer.
No sound.
No shadow.
"I am Bell, of the Fairy Realm."
Her gaze sharpened slightly.
"And you have awakened."
A chill ran down his spine.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Zaraf exhaled slowly, glancing around the endless white.
"This isn't another anime world… is it?"
Bell tilted her head.
"This is the Imagery World," she said. "The space between realities. The place where chosen humans create worlds of their own."
Chosen.
The word settled deep.
Not random.
Not accidental.
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 trembled.
Cracks spread beneath his feet, thin at first, then widening.
"And if you fail," she said softly, "you will be erased from existence."
This time—
fear came.
Cold.
Sharp.
Real.
The ground shattered beneath him.
Darkness swallowed everything.
Bell's glowing eyes were the last thing he saw.
"Your test," she said,
"begins now."