The rains had been falling for three days straight. Heavy, relentless sheets of water hammered against the rusted tin roof of Hassan Mahamat's farmhouse, the sound drumming a steady rhythm against the silence that had settled over the land. Outside, the millet fields were soaked and muddy, water pooling between the rows like shallow rivers.
Hassan stood at the edge of his field, his weathered hands resting on the wooden handle of his hoe. The storm had cleared just moments ago, but the sky still hung heavy with low, gray clouds. The air was thick with the scent of wet earth and the faint tang of something else — something unfamiliar.
He frowned.
The birds had stopped their morning songs, and even the frogs were silent. A strange hush had settled across the farm, broken only by the soft rustling of soaked leaves.
His gaze drifted to the far corner of the field, where the earth seemed to ripple faintly — like a heat haze in the desert, but colder and shimmering with shifting colors: gold, violet, and green.
Curiosity pulled at him. Hassan took a few cautious steps forward, the mud sucking at his boots. The humming grew louder, a sound like a thousand tiny bells ringing in a breeze.
When he reached the spot, he stopped dead.
Before him hovered a strange portal — a swirling tear in the fabric of the world itself. It pulsed with light and shadows, revealing glimpses of places he could never have imagined: silver forests under twin moons, rivers of molten fire cutting through black mountains, and skies filled with winged creatures that looked like dragons from his childhood stories.
The air around the rift shimmered and crackled with energy, making his skin tingle.
His heart pounded.
From the depths of the portal, a figure began to step through. It was tall and robed in shifting colors, its eyes glowing like embers beneath a hood. In one hand it held a staff topped with a stone swirling with a storm.
"Hassan Mahamat," the figure's voice was deep, echoing like the wind through ancient caves. "Guardian of the Rift."
Hassan swallowed hard. "I'm just a farmer," he said quietly, gripping his hoe like a shield.
The figure tilted its head slightly. "Not anymore."
Lightning flashed overhead, illuminating shapes lurking just beyond the portal — wings beating silently, claws glinting in the dim light, eyes watching from the shadows.
The figure stepped fully into Hassan's world. "The Rift has chosen you. Your life and your farm are now tied to the fate of many realms. Will you protect it?"
Hassan looked back at his home — the simple walls, the fields his ancestors had tilled — and then at the swirling gateway.
He took a deep breath.
"I will."
The ground hummed beneath his feet, and the portal pulsed once more. The journey had begun.