Mis sueños Capítulo 1 — El llamado 💫 (Esp/Eng)

There are dreams that don't feel like dreams, because when I take allergy medication, I have long dreams, and this is one of them, so I decided to write it down in more detail.
They don't come as chaos that fades away when you wake up, but as a memory that settles in your chest and stays there, insisting, as if it wants to become a story.

This one began in a garden.

A huge, luxurious garden, silent, perfectly manicured, as if no one dared to break its harmony. There were no houses around, nothing modern or nearby. Only the deep green of the hedges and, in the background, an ancient castle of light stone, beautiful and imposing, watching over the landscape with a stillness that sent shivers down my spine. It was one of those places that seem to exist outside of time... or perhaps in a time that is not our own.

In front of the castle stretched a large maze, towering, neatly trimmed, so precise that it seemed designed to confuse even certainty. And in the center, under the golden light of sunset, was a circle of women.

They were neither court ladies nor peasant women. They were women with the presence of witches or shamans: natural fabrics, earth tones, ash marks on their skin, loose or braided hair, and a way of moving that did not seem like ordinary dance, but rather a ceremony. They sang softly, as if the wind were part of the choir. A soft, ancient, enveloping song.

On the ground, between their feet, there were symbols traced with petals and ash. It did not look macabre, but rather... intimate. As if the ritual did not seek to destroy, but to attract.

They did not seek wealth or power.
They sought a bond.

And then he appeared.

Elion walked toward the labyrinth as if he had no choice. He was dressed in simple white linen pajamas, almost like sleepwear... or like ceremonial clothing without intention. He was barefoot. His expression was calm but absent, as if he were hypnotized. He did not seem to be pursuing anything; he seemed to be responding to a call that already lived within him.

His steps were steady, firm.
They did not waver.
They did not stop.

It was as if someone had spoken his name inside his mind... and he obeyed, without question.

Among the women performing the ritual, one watched him differently.

Maeve.

She didn't look at him coldly or curiously. She looked at him as one looks at someone they have loved for a long time, even if that love has not yet been lived. As if she had been waiting for him for years, for lifetimes, for endless silences. Maeve didn't seem happy in the human sense, but she did seem sure. Sure that destiny was unfolding exactly as it should.

On one side of the circle, almost in shadow, another woman was watching him too, but without visible emotion. Her presence was discreet, watchful, as if she were there to observe the balance of the ritual rather than to enjoy it. Her name, I learned later, was Naraia. And although she did nothing that seemed important, the way she looked at him... made it clear to me that she understood things that the others did not.

The singing rose slightly when Elion entered the maze.

The hedges seemed to close behind him.
As if the path had accepted his entry.

Elion advanced through green corridors that stretched and twisted. Sunlight filtered in at oblique angles, and at times it seemed as if the maze was breathing. It was not just a garden: it was a test. A filter. A place that decides who arrives and who gets lost.

And then, at the end of the path, the stone arch appeared.

An ancient arch, covered in moss, with symbols carved into it that blended with the shadows of dusk. It was not a decoration. It was a threshold. Something that separated one thing from another. A border between realities.

Elion stopped in front of it.

For the first time, his trance seemed to falter, as if a part of his consciousness had awakened only to feel the weight of what he was about to do. He placed his hand on the stone... and the stone responded.

It wasn't a sound.
It was a pulse.

As if the archway were alive, as if it recognized him.

At that moment, Maeve's voice separated from the chorus. She didn't shout. She didn't command. She only whispered, but her whisper pierced through everything, even the air:

“Elion... cross over.”

It was the first time I had heard his name so clearly within the dream, and it was strange, because it sounded like something inevitable. Like a key in a lock.

Elion took a deep breath.

And took a step.

As he crossed the arch, the world broke.

Not like glass shattering, but like reality folding in on itself. The golden light of the garden distorted. The singing became a distant echo. And for a second, before everything disappeared, Elion turned his head as if he wanted to look back... as if something inside him knew that what came next would change him forever.

And then... darkness.

Like a cut in a movie.

As if someone had closed a door.

The last thing that lingered was a feeling: that this ritual was not just an invocation, but a story that was beginning. A story where love would not be simple, nor clean, nor comfortable... but inevitable. Because when a bond is created across worlds, it is no longer a question of “if” they fall in love, but how much they are willing to lose to stay together.

This is the beginning.

Elion does not yet know Emma.
Emma does not yet know that an apartment can be a threshold.
And Bran, the guardian, has not yet shown his true face.

But the garden has already spoken.

And when a place like this calls to you... it doesn't let you go so easily.