He was back in his room, dressed in his ordinary clothes—it seemed as if everything that had happened had been just a dream. Looking around, Peter saw the book lying open on his bed. He grabbed it with extraordinary speed and began flipping through the pages. Where before there had been nothing written, now there was an image of Cotiella with all his fantastic companions, and page after page of writing. Curious, he began to read and saw that not only was there what he had experienced, but also the beginning of the story and what had happened after he had disappeared. “Knock, knock, knock. Peter, can I come in?” said a voice behind him. It was his mother, Imma, coming into the room. She sat down next to him and began to apologize for not being able to spend much time with him, but just as she was trying to explain, Peter threw himself into her arms and told her how happy he was to have a new little sibling. The years went by slowly. Peter grew up and gradually forgot his adventure in Middle-earth. The book never lit up again, he stopped reading it, and it gathered dust on a shelf. He must have been about fourteen when his parents told him that for the holidays they would go to a lost valley in the Aragonese Pyrenees, where there was a family camp with many other families; they kept telling him during the whole trip that he would have a great time. The truth is, the trip was very beautiful. Leaving the small and rather shabby town of Terrassa, they headed toward Lleida until they turned off toward Balaguer, following a road full of bumps. Then they arrived at a village with swimming pools called Alfarràs, and there they chose whether to go to the Val d’Aran or toward Aínsa, and they had to pick the latter. They passed a huge turquoise reservoir, entered a small medieval city, continued along a winding road until they reached a gorge, and then, once in a village called Bielsa, they turned upward and entered the Pineta Valley. The Casa de Colònies Jordi Turull was a huge disappointment, and so were the families they found there. Half the camp was people over sixty whose children had already left home, the other half were young thirty-somethings with kids the age of his little brother; there wasn’t a single kid his age or even close. The first days at the camp passed without much to remember—basically, it was as boring as could be (luckily the theme wasn’t to build a cathedral, imagine how bad that would be!). He woke up, showered, went to morning prayer, had breakfast with his parents, did chores, went on excursions or did silly activities, had lunch with his parents, took a nap or got bored, did workshops for five-year-olds, sat next to his parents to prepare parties meant for adults, went to mass, had dinner with his parents, listened to the bedtime story for toddlers, and went back to sleep. It seemed like the worst vacation of his life. One day, instead of taking a nap, he started rummaging through his suitcase looking for something to entertain himself but found nothing at all. Suddenly, he began to hear a familiar buzzing, and at the very bottom of the suitcase of games his mother had packed, he found his old, worn book! Yes, the same book he had found hidden in a chapel five years ago! But the most amazing thing was that it was glowing again and making that special sound! With a big smile on his face, remembering everything he had experienced as a child, he opened the book to the glowing page. Only one word was written: “Eldoria.” When he touched it, the whole room went dark, and he felt himself being sucked into another world.