Night had fully fallen over the city of Puebla. The hospital lay silent, its corridors dimly lit by faint lights that flickered with a monotonous hum. In room 312, a mother's heart pounded—not from physical pain, but from the invisible shadow the father of her child had left behind when he departed.
Sofía gently stroked Roberto's cheek. He didn't cry. He simply stared at her with those still, intense eyes—almost unnatural for a newborn. They held an absurd depth that left her dizzy.
"How can you understand so much... so soon?" she wondered, smiling at him with gentle fragility.
A sigh escaped her lips. The weariness was settling in—not of the body, but of the soul. As if deep down, she already sensed that the path ahead with her son would not be a normal one.
Then, it happened.
A shiver, like a frozen wind from another dimension, swept through the room. The lights flickered once, then again. And then… they went out completely.
The room was engulfed in a bluish gloom, lit only by the full moon filtering through the curtains of the window.
Sofía looked up.
There, on the other side of the glass, he stood.
A tall, faceless figure, enveloped in thick, dark smoke. It seemed almost human—but it wasn't. Its silhouette remained rigid, motionless, as if unaffected by time. Two red glimmers—like eyes lit by the abyss—emerged from where its head would be. It had no mouth, no visible hands, but its presence spoke volumes: ancient, beyond life, beyond gods.
Sofía gasped for air.
She felt an invisible weight pressing on her chest, a force inside her threatening to crush her. Yet she didn't falter. She held her son tighter, as if that simple act could shield him from what hovered before them.
"What… what do you want?" she murmured, voice trembling yet fearless.
The being did not answer with words. Instead, a voice emerged in her mind. Not just a voice—a vibration, an ancestral echo resonating in the depths of her consciousness:
"The blood has been marked.The balance has been broken.The descendants of fire and eternity… will walk the earth once more.He… is the bridge. He is the beginning and the end."
Sofía felt her heart race; she almost fainted. But something inside her—older than her fear, stronger than her pain—awoke.
A softer voice, a hidden memory, rose within her chest. Perhaps it was her mother's voice, or her grandmother's—or maybe it was her own, speaking from another life:
"Do not fear the darkness when you walk with the light in your soul…"
Steadying her gaze, she looked at the figure.
"I do not care what you are. I do not care what you say. This child is mine, and I will stand with him. Even if I walk among monsters, even if the world burns… I will guide him."
For the first time, the being stepped back. Its red eyes flickered… with respect? with warning? Impossible to tell. Its body dissolved into a dark cloud that drifted away with the wind, as if it had never been there.
The lights returned with a soft hum.
The baby monitor emitted a gentle, steady beep.
Sofía breathed deeply, gathering herself. She looked at her son, who now yawned as if nothing had happened. A fragile smile curved her lips.
"You're going to have a hard life, you know, little one?" she said, her voice wavering. "Not only because of that man who denied you... but because of what you are. But you won't be alone. I'll be here. Always."
She rested a light kiss on his forehead.
"I may not give you luxuries… nor a last name worth gold… but I'll give you the only thing I have: love. And I'll teach you to wield that power within… not as a curse, but as a beacon. As a promise."
From some distant corner of the city, a crow cawed into the early morning. An ancient church bell tolled midnight.
The spiritual world had just opened its eyes.
And the child of a human and a god, with the blood of two worlds, had just begun his destiny.
Sofía remained seated, trembling in silence—not from the lingering fear in the air, but from a truth that pulsed within her, slowly awakening. Something had changed inside her. The encounter with that entity wasn't just a threat—it was a calling.
Her thoughts drifted back to childhood, to those nights when her grandmother whispered strange stories. Tales of invisible guardians, of women who spoke with trees, who knew when it would rain, when a child marked by the gods—or something worse—would be born.
"You are the last of the Daughters of the Threshold," her grandmother once said, protecting her with an amulet woven from red threads and dry leaves. "You were born with eyes open to the other side… but you're not ready yet."
At the time, Sofía thought they were just old women's tales—bedtime stories or ways to scare her.
But now…
Now she understood.
The shadow had not come only for her son, but also because she had brought him into the world. Her blood, her lineage, was not ordinary. The voice that emerged from deep within her chest—the one that held her together when everything shook—was no illusion. It was part of her. Part of something ancient, a legacy passed down through generations of strong women, forgotten by history, remembered by spirits.
"Why didn't you tell me everything, Grandma…?" she whispered with tears in her eyes, clutching the pendant around her neck—one she had worn all her life without giving it much thought.
The amulet began to glow softly.
It was neither gold nor silver, but smooth black stone, surrounded by barely visible symbols. In the center, an engraved spiral—the same symbol the figure at the window bore on its forehead.
A symbol of passage. Of connection. A bridge between worlds.
Sofía gripped it tightly, her mind swirling between memories and revelations.
She too was something more.
Perhaps not a goddess. Perhaps not a warrior. But a guide. A protector. A woman destined not only to raise the most powerful child between worlds—but to teach him how not to be lost in his own darkness.
The night breeze returned, rustling the curtains. The moon shone brighter than before.
Sofía leaned over her child and cradled him with tenderness and resolve.
"My mother once told me that the women of our blood are born with fire in their chests and shadow in their eyes. That we must learn to walk between the silence of the living… and the whispers of the dead."
She paused.
"You, my little one, will have to do the same. But you won't be alone. Because I too am a daughter of the Threshold… and I have awakened."
That night, after facing the impossible and vowing to protect her son at all costs, Sofía fell into a deep, inescapable sleep, as if the universe had gently pushed her into an ancient ritual.
It wasn't just a dream.
There was no bed, no hospital, no city.
Sofía awoke standing in the middle of an endless field shrouded in silver mist. The sky had no stars, yet everything glowed with a soft light that came from no sun. The air smelled of damp earth, incense, and something familiar… like the perfume her grandmother used to wear.
"Where am I…?" she murmured, barefoot on carved stone ground marked with symbols she didn't understand—but that filled her chest with a strange warmth.
Then, the mist parted before her like a curtain of silk. And she appeared.
A tall woman with skin dark as obsidian and braided hair adorned with moonstone beads. She wore a cloak woven with symbols of birds, serpents, and moons. Her gaze was firm yet gentle, like a storm that knew compassion. Her eyes shimmered gray, reflecting the memory of all time.
"You have awakened the echo of the bloodline," she said in a deep voice—not spoken from her mouth, but from the air itself. "And he has been seen too."
Sofía's knees nearly gave out. She couldn't speak—not yet.
"You're not insane, Daughter of the Threshold," the woman continued. "You didn't dream that shadow. It was real. And so was your response. The power you carry has slept in your blood for generations. And you are the key that has unlocked it."
"Who… are you?" Sofía finally managed, her voice shaking.
The figure stepped closer.
"I am Amaya, guardian of the lost bloodline. I was the first to walk between life and death without forgetting who I was. I was a mother, a guide, a protector… and like you, I rejected fear."
Sofía felt her amulet begin to warm against her chest, pulsing with her heartbeat.
"So it's true…? Our family…? Me…?" Her words came slowly.
"You are the continuation of a legacy that was hidden, hunted, and forgotten," Amaya replied. "Daughters of the Threshold are born once every three generations. They are the only ones capable of forming a true bond with the eternal. Not goddesses. Not humans. But bridges."
The woman lifted her hand and traced the air. Images emerged from the mist: ancient shadows battling beasts of smoke, women with glowing eyes healing with their hands, dancing beneath red moons, saving children marked by fate.
"Your son is not a curse, Sofía. He is the result of an ancestral promise. And you are the only one who can teach him how to cross the darkness without losing himself."
"But I don't know any of this… I don't know how to fight, or conjure, or guide someone so powerful… I'm just a broken woman."
Amaya stepped forward and gently touched her forehead to Sofía's. A flash of light surrounded them.
"You are not broken. You just forgot who you are."
Sofía then saw a fleeting vision: her grandmother standing before an altar of candles and water. Her mother in the hospital, whispering prayers into her baby ears. An invisible line connecting all the women of her blood—spanning centuries, wounds, and silences.
When the light faded, Amaya handed her a small obsidian bowl.
"Drink this when you wake. It is not liquid. It is memory. And it will show you the next step."
"When will I see you again?"
"When you no longer need to ask."
The mist returned, now warm. Amaya disappeared into soft feathers and wind.
Sofía opened her eyes abruptly.
She was back in the hospital. Roberto was sleeping beside her.
On the table, the obsidian bowl rested—as if it had always been there.
And the spiritual world… remained wide awake.
The soft light of dawn filtered through the window of Room 312. Sofía had been awake for hours, contemplating the small obsidian bowl on the table. Its polished black surface reflected the dim light like a dark mirror.
She was still trembling slightly, but there was a firm determination in her eyes.
Carefully, she took the bowl into her hands, feeling its unusual coldness—an energy pulsing in sync with her heartbeat.
She remembered Amaya's words from the dream: "It is not liquid. It is memory. And it will show you the next step."
Without knowing what to expect, she brought the bowl to her lips and drank.
There was no taste, no texture—only a growing warmth that spread from her throat to the center of her chest, as if a sleeping fire had been awakened inside her.
Suddenly, her vision darkened, and the hospital room vanished.
She found herself in an ancient forest, veiled in mist and whispers. The towering trees seemed to murmur her name, and the ground beneath her feet pulsed with an ancestral rhythm.
In front of her stood a stone altar, where sacred objects lay: black feathers, jade amulets, and an old book covered in symbols etched in gold.
A deep, wise female voice echoed within her mind:
"You are a daughter of the Threshold, Sofía. Your ancestors crossed the boundaries between worlds to protect the balance. Not all survived the darkness, but you carry the blood that does not break."
Fleeting images appeared before her eyes: women walking with shadows, speaking with spirits, protecting children marked by fate. She saw her family's history—etched with sacrifice and hidden power.
"Your son, Roberto, is the living promise of that legacy. In him, the fire of creation and the eternity of the soul converge. His destiny is to guide both worlds into a new dawn… but he will also be hunted by the darkness that fears his light."
Tears slid down Sofía's cheeks—not from sorrow, but from a mix of fear and pride.
"You are not alone," the voice continued. "The path you must walk will be difficult, but the spirits of your ancestors will walk beside you. Just remember: the brightest light casts the deepest shadow. Do not flee from it."
Then the vision faded, and Sofía opened her eyes once more.
The obsidian bowl sat empty on the table—but inside her, a new strength was awakening.
She looked at her sleeping son—her little warrior marked by destiny.
"I won't let you fall, Roberto. No matter how dark the night becomes."
Sofía knew that from that moment on, her life and her son's would be forever intertwined with ancient secrets and invisible battles.
And she was ready to face them.
Night had fallen again over Puebla, but this time, the darkness felt different—heavier, more… restless.
Sofía held the amulet she had inherited from her grandmother. It now glowed with a faint but steady light. Beside her, Roberto slept peacefully in his crib, unaware of the danger that approached.
She was alert—every fiber of her being prepared for what she knew was coming.
Then, the air grew cold, as if winter itself had seeped into the room. The shadows stretched and twisted, slowly forming a hunched, dark figure emerging from the far wall.
It had no defined shape, but its eyes were black pits that seemed to devour light.
"You won't take what's mine," the voice echoed in Sofía's mind—deep, guttural, like the echo of ancient abysses.
She took a deep breath and replied with a steady voice:
"This is my domain. And as long as I breathe, my son will be protected."
The shadow advanced—a whirlwind of mist and smoke devouring the air in its path.
Sofía closed her eyes and focused all her energy on the amulet. A blue flame burst from it, wrapping around her hands and expanding into a protective aura.
From the depths of her memory, ancient words surfaced—spoken in the forgotten tongue of her foremothers, a chant that shattered the silence and resonated in the unseen space:
"Threshold spirits, hear my call.Protect me and protect this child,bridge between worlds."
A burst of light filled the room. The shadow recoiled—but didn't vanish.
Its shape began to fragment, revealing a twisted face full of hatred and desperation within.
"You can't stop me forever," it growled. "He will be mine."
But Sofía, her chest filled with courage, raised her hand, intensifying the blue fire.
"My blood and my son's are a fortress. Your path ends here."
With a cry that was both a prayer and a command, a torrent of ancestral energy expelled the shadow through the window, where it vanished in a whirl of night wind.
The room fell silent again, broken only by the soft heartbeat monitor next to Roberto.
Sofía collapsed into a chair—exhausted, but undefeated.
She knew this was only the beginning of the battles to come.
But she also knew that with each fight, her power would grow.
For her son, for her lineage, for the promise she had made under the moon.
The shadow advanced swiftly—a dark mist that seemed to consume everything in its path. Its presence chilled the air and made Sofía's skin crawl.
"Do you think you can protect him?" the shadow's voice whispered in her mind, venomous and cold. "He belongs to me. He is the son of darkness and light, but in the abyss… there is only darkness."
Sofía clutched the amulet to her chest and replied firmly:
"He is my son. And the light I carry within is stronger than any abyss."
Suddenly, a whirlwind of black smoke lashed out toward her. Sofía reacted just in time, raising her hands as the amulet burst with an intense blue light, forming a barrier before her.
"No!" the shadow screamed in rage. "You can't stop me!"
Sofía felt the dark energy pressing against her shield, trying to break through.
Focusing, she began to chant in the ancestral tongue—a melody her grandmother had once whispered to her as a child:
"Spirits of the Threshold, hear my call.Protect this sacred life,shatter the chains of the past."
The blue light expanded, enveloping the entire room, dissipating the dark mist and forcing the shadow to retreat.
But the creature did not surrender.
With a guttural roar, it hurled a torrent of darkness at Sofía—writhing like venomous snakes.
She felt a sharp pain in her chest but cried out with all her strength:
"I will not give up! For Roberto, for my bloodline!"
The amulet exploded into a flare of pure light that pierced through the darkness and struck the shadow directly.
The figure staggered, let out a desperate wail, and slowly began to dissolve into the air.
Before vanishing, the shadow whispered:
"This is not over… he will return… and when he does, it will be you who pays the price."
The light faded, and Sofía collapsed to her knees—exhausted, but with her heart still pounding strong.
She looked at her son sleeping peacefully—still calm, still innocent.
"I won't let them touch you," she whispered. "No matter how many shadows come. I'll protect you with my life."
Silence returned to the room, broken only by the gentle beeping of the monitor and the sigh of a mother who had just discovered that her love… was also her greatest power.