In a small town nestled in the Norwegian fjords, there lived a man named Ephraim Novariel. In Bergen, where the sea seemed to merge with the sky, Ephraim had spent the first years of his life in the greatest simplicity. He was the son of a fisherman, a rough and dull profession, but essential for the inhabitants of this coastal city. Very young, he had learned to respect the sea and its whims, but it was not its waves that made his heart vibrate. No, Ephraim was fascinated by something much larger: stories.
In the only library in the city, he spent hours exploring the worlds contained in these pages yellowed by time. He read everything, from heroic tales to Nordic legends, from science fiction novels to melancholy poems. His parents, although loving, viewed this passion with a worried eye. The sea, they thought, offered a concrete future, but books provided neither bread nor shelter. Yet Ephraim could not turn away from these worlds. One day, while reading an old fantasy novel he had found at a flea market, he whispered to his mother:
"One day, I too will write stories like these."
His mother, a gentle and pragmatic woman, placed a hand on his shoulder. She smiled, a smile full of pride and resignation. "Dreams are beautiful, Ephraim. But don't forget that you also need bread on the table."
Those words, although full of wisdom, left a deep impression on him. Ephraim understood that day that he would have to prove to everyone, including himself, that dreams could also nourish the soul… and, perhaps, the body.
The years passed, and Ephraim, now a young man, left Bergen to pursue a degree in literature in Oslo. The beginnings were difficult. Between odd jobs to finance his studies and long hours devouring classics, he led a simple but happy life. Then, at the age of 25, something unexpected happened. When he wasn't working or revising, Ephraim amused himself by writing stories that he shared on online forums. That's where he discovered the world of webnovels.
His first book, Flames of a Lost World, was a classic fantasy story. There was nothing extraordinary about it, he thought. But within the first few chapters, he noticed something fascinating: people were reading, commenting, and eagerly awaiting the next chapter. "Your writing is incredible!" wrote one reader. "I can't wait for the next one!" or "Thank you for this story, it gave me the strength to keep going during a difficult time." These messages brought a warmth to him that he had never felt before.
For the first time, he understood that his words had an impact, that they could touch souls and change lives.
Every night, he would immerse himself in writing, his fingers running over the keyboard like a musician playing a melody. The story evolved, becoming more and more complex and fascinating.i Gradually, his audience grew. What began as a hobby became a consuming passion, and then a career. His stories, rich with fantastical worlds, thrilling plots, and memorable characters, captivated millions of readers around the world.
Over time, Ephraim became one of the most celebrated authors of his time. His webnovels were translated into dozens of languages, and several were adapted into comics, animated series, and even films. Each new chapter he published was eagerly awaited by a global audience. The income he generated allowed him to live comfortably. He bought a house by the sea, a spacious home where he could gaze at the horizon and let his imagination wander.
His personal life, too, was a success. Ephraim had always believed that true love was just a romantic concept he used in his novels, an ideal that was placed in stories to make readers dream. But everything changed when he met Elena, at a literary salon in Paris. She was standing in front of one of his works, a painting of a dreamlike landscape, mixing shades of blue, purple, and gold. The title, Echoes of a Dream, had immediately attracted him, but it was the depth of detail in the painting that had left him speechless.
"Do you like it?" a soft voice asked behind him.
He turned around, discovering a woman with an intense gaze, with hazel eyes that seemed to pierce his soul. Her brown hair fell in silky waves over her shoulders, and her smile, although sketched, was warm.
"It's beautiful," he answered, sincerely. Then, after a pause, he added, "It looks like a landscape that could belong in one of my novels."
Elena raised an eyebrow, amused. "Ah, you must be Ephraim Novariel, the author everyone here has been waiting for."
He was surprised when she recognized him, but she explained that she had read one of his books, Flames of a Lost World.
"Your writing is fascinating," she admitted. "Your descriptions are so vivid that one would think you were painting with words."
It was the beginning of a conversation that lasted the entire evening. Ephraim, who often had trouble connecting deeply with others, found himself strangely at ease with Elena. She was both cultured and humorous, but also humble, despite her own artistic talent that he believed was worthy of the greatest masters.
They met several times after that meeting, sharing endless discussions about art, literature, and life. Elena was everything Ephraim admired: passionate, free-spirited, and endowed with a rare sensitivity. By her side, he felt understood in a way he had never experienced before.
Their love blossomed quickly, as if it were obvious. Ephraim recalled one day thinking, as he watched Elena paint in her studio:
"If someone had written this love story, I would have found it too perfect to be credible."
A few years after they met, they married in an intimate ceremony on a Norwegian beach, where Ephraim had grown up. It was a simple but joyful day, surrounded by their families and close friends. For him, it was a magical moment, like a chapter in a novel he would never have dared to write.
Their happiness was further amplified by the birth of their three children. Their eldest, a girl named Sofia, was as bright as she was fearless, inheriting her parents' creativity. Their second child, a boy named Andreas, showed a talent for music at a very young age, composing melodies that made Ephraim and Elena smile. Finally, their youngest, Livia, was a whirlwind of energy and imagination, capable of transforming the most banal of days into a memorable adventure.
The house that Ephraim and Elena had built by the sea became a warm home, where every room breathed love and creativity. Ephraim remembered evenings spent telling stories to his children, sitting by the fireplace while Elena painted in the corner of the room. Sometimes, she would stop to listen, a dreamy smile on her lips, and add illustrations to his impromptu tales.
Despite his wealth and fame, Ephraim remained a humble man. He attributed his success not only to his hard work, but also to the unwavering support of his family.
"I'm just a storyteller," he often told his children. "It's the people I love, and my readers, who make these stories come alive."
Elena would sometimes tease him. "What about me? Am I just here to illustrate your worlds?"
He laughed, taking her in his arms. "You're so much more than that, Elena. If my stories are stars, you're the constellation that connects them." »
They were an inseparable team, two creative souls who complemented each other perfectly. Ephraim, who had spent much of his life immersed in his fictional worlds, found a precious anchor in his family. His children were his greatest pride, and Elena was his home base.
Over the years, their love never wavered. Despite the challenges and hazards of life, they remained close, sharing their dreams and ambitions. And even when age began to mark their faces and slow their steps, Ephraim thought that meeting Elena had been the greatest miracle of his life.
One day, as they were walking on the beach where they had gotten married, Ephraim took Elena's hand in his and whispered:
"If I had to rewrite my life, I wouldn't change a thing. But if there was one thing I could relive over and over again, it would be that day I met you. »
Elena looked at him tenderly, her eyes sparkling with love. "You know, Ephraim, sometimes I feel like we're already living in one of your novels. But this one is perfect just the way it is."
Ephraim smiled, his heart light. He knew that no matter what adventures he had imagined in his stories, nothing could ever surpass the richness and depth of the life he had built with Elena and their children.
Decades passed, and Ephraim continued to write. Even in his old age, his stories captivated the hearts of millions. But in the silence of the night, when he was alone in his study, a persistent thought haunted him. He would sometimes look out the window, where the starry sky seemed to stretch on forever, and whisper to himself:
"I have created a thousand worlds, but I have never explored a single one. Is that enough?"
This question had come up more and more often lately. Although he had lived a life rich in love, success, and creativity, Ephraim felt that something was missing. An indefinable void, a thirst for adventure that he had never been able to quench. He remembered a message a reader had sent him years ago:
"Your stories are so vivid, it's as if you've lived them."
At the time, he had laughed. But now he wondered: What if it were true? What if, somewhere, there was a way to live an adventure worthy of the stories he had imagined?
At 80, Ephraim felt his time on this Earth was coming to an end. That night, he picked up a notebook and wrote one last page, not for his readers, but for himself.
"I've had a wonderful life, full of joy, love, and success. But somewhere inside me, there's a void. A thirst for adventure, for wonder, that I've never been able to fill." If someday a higher power gave me the chance to live one of my own stories, I would accept it without hesitation. Perhaps death itself is the beginning of a new chapter."
He put down his pen, gazed at the sunset, and a soft sigh escaped his lips. These past few months had been trying for him. At the age of 79, he had been diagnosed with an incurable degenerative disease. The doctors had been honest: he had little time left.
Ephraim had accepted this news with surprising serenity. He had lived a full life, rich in memories and accomplishments. He had no regrets, except for the nagging feeling that he had not had the opportunity to live an adventure similar to those he had so often described in his stories.
The weeks passed, and his condition slowly deteriorated. His strength gradually left him, but his mind remained sharp. Even on his deathbed, he continued to dream, to think about plots, characters, worlds. His family was always by his side, watching over him with love. His children, now adults, and his wife, Elena, reminded him every day how much he had been loved.
One evening, while he was bedridden, his body too weak to move, Ephraim gazed at the night sky one last time through his bedroom window. The stars seemed brighter than ever, as if they were calling to him.
"Maybe death is not a bad ending in silk after all…", he murmured to himself, his voice weak but filled with a strange conviction.
It was his last night. Ephraim Novariel, the great storyteller, closed his eyes and passed away peacefully, surrounded by his family. His family mourned his loss, his readers around the world sent messages of tribute, and his works lived on, immortalizing his genius.
But for Ephraim, it was not the end.
In the total darkness that followed his last breath, a strange sensation enveloped him. It was neither painful nor frightening, but rather soothing. He felt himself floating, like a piece of paper carried by a gentle breeze. A light suddenly appeared before him, bright and warm, and a voice rang out in his mind.
"Ephraim Novariel… Are you ready to write the greatest chapter of your life?"