Footsteps echoed on the wet asphalt of the street. They were the footsteps of our protagonist, moving forward aimlessly, without a clear goal beyond continuing to walk. There was no hurry, no real urgency, just him and the constant noise of his own thoughts accompanying him through the night.
As he walked, he carefully observed everything around him. There was nothing out of the ordinary, but it was night, and the night always demanded caution. Staying alert wasn't paranoia; it was habit. At any moment, something could go wrong, and he knew that all too well.
"I'm Steven," "A high school student. Nothing special."
He worked during the day and studied at night at a technical school. He lived in Mexico, and that, for him, meant always being vigilant, sizing up every corner, every shadow, every sound that didn't quite fit. He didn't walk calmly; he walked prepared.
Suddenly, a sharp noise broke the silence. Steven turned his head slightly, glancing around. There was nothing there. He stood beside a half-abandoned construction site, with dark scaffolding and a crane silhouetted against the night sky. The lighting was poor, barely enough to make out shapes, but nothing seemed out of place... until he noticed it.
The shadow.
It wasn't moving as it should. It wasn't lengthening or distorting with the light. It was getting smaller.
"Small?" the thought crossed his mind in a moment of confusion.
His body reacted before his thoughts. Steven tried to run, but time wasn't on his side. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time was enough. A deafening crash fell from above, part of the crane collapsing without warning. It had all happened because of negligence, because of saving money, because of safety procedures ignored by someone who would never be there to pay the price.
The impact was brutal.
Steven didn't know what he felt. Anger? Maybe. The pain was overwhelming, so intense it mingled with fear. He thought, with bitter irony, that he had left home worried about being stabbed to death in a dark street, and in the end, it was a poorly constructed building that was crushing him to the ground.
He didn't know who to blame. The construction company, the engineer, fate. The seconds passed slowly, heavily, filled with a silent agony in which he couldn't even scream. His body stopped responding, and the world began to fade away little by little.
Then, simply, he felt nothing.
Everything was darkness. Or rather, it wasn't. There was no black, no shadows, no recognizable emptiness. It was like not seeing. I once tried looking out of my elbow, out of pure absurd curiosity, and discovered something obvious but unsettling: you don't see anything, but you can't say you're blind either. There's simply no vision. That's how it felt now. He had no eyes, no form, and yet he existed. It was feeling nothing and feeling everything at the same time.
That's how I am now.
Even so, I perceived something. I felt the air flow through what was left of me, passing through without resistance, as if my body were just a vague idea. There was no weight, no pain, only that constant sensation of movement.
"Did I die?"
That was the most logical thought I had.
I wasn't too worried. Come to think of it, there wasn't much to leave behind. A bankrupt student, no real family. The few I had only showed up when they needed me to tutor their kids. Nothing extraordinary. Nothing worth lamenting. My life had been simple, functional, almost invisible.
I tried to observe, but there was nothing to observe. Just me and something like a shapeless abyss. I couldn't revisit my mistakes or search for deep regrets. Did I have any? Not really. Thanks to my job, I'd been able to indulge in small pleasures, simple things that kept me going. Eating something I liked, buying something useless but comforting. It hadn't been a great life, but it had been mine.
Heaven and hell were ideas that always lingered in my mind, inherited concepts more than actual beliefs. But now, being here, I couldn't say I felt judgment, punishment, or reward. I didn't feel anything like that.
Then the wind shifted.
It grew stronger, more determined, as if I were no longer wandering aimlessly, but being pulled toward some specific place. I didn't know where I was going, but the feeling was clear: this wasn't random. Something was waiting for me, even if it had no form or name.
Suddenly, the wind moved away from me. The pressure disappeared, and I felt that I was no longer where I had been before. I couldn't see, I couldn't touch, only feel. But, honestly, it didn't matter.
After all, I was already dead.
I felt the place change. It wasn't a sudden movement, but a smooth transition, as if nothingness itself were rearranging itself. There was something different now, a denser, more conscious presence. Strong, but at the same time merciful, as if whatever was there knew exactly what to do with me.
"Steven."
The voice seemed to come from everywhere. It didn't come from above or below, it had no direction. It sounded masculine and feminine at the same time, mixed with countless different voices and languages, but the strangest thing was that the language didn't matter. I understood it. Not with my ears, but in a deeper way.
"Steven, do you like the color pink?"
The question caught me off guard. In life, colors had always been indifferent to me. I never gave them much importance. But hearing that, in this impossible place, made me really think about it.
Do I like pink?
I don't dislike it, actually.
So I answered, or at least I tried. I had no mouth, no voice, but the thought was enough.
"I don't dislike it."
The voices echoed again, as if they had smiled.
"And your name?"
That was easier.
"I like it."
I didn't have to think about it. It was mine. It always had been.
"It's decided."
The words fell heavily, like a verdict impossible to appeal.
"We'll give you a template we've chosen. You'll be someone new and old at the same time, and within our expectations, you'll change that world. A world that, unfortunately, will reach a point where only you can help. Steven, you were blessed to do it. After that, you can do whatever you want. Just promise us one thing."
The voices fell silent. They waited.
Leave here? It sounded better than continuing to float in nothingness. Help? I hadn't been particularly good at that, but if it meant a way out, I had no reason to refuse.
I accepted without a word.
The voices returned, firmer.
"Steven. Steven Universe. You will be the protector, the healer, the shield of that world. The union of two existences. Don't disappoint us."
Then I felt it. Hands. Many hands. It wasn't unsettling. There was no violence or pressure. They held me carefully, like someone lifting a wounded bird, with gentleness and respect. Little by little, they moved me to another place. I didn't know where, but for the first time, I felt no fear.
"Just give the template, my son."
"You will be humanity's shield."
The ground, or whatever it was that served that purpose, opened up beneath me. I fell, but it wasn't a terrifying fall. I couldn't see, but I felt there was no danger. The voices were still with me.
"You were blessed. You will have a new opportunity. You will help those you can, and you will be Steven. Steven Universe. Pink Diamond. Rose Quartz. Each name will mean something different, but they will all exist in one. You will be Steven Universe, the wielder of the Pink Diamond."
And then, without further warnings or final words, everything became clear.
"It's a boy," a voice called out above the rising noise.
"He looks healthy," another replied, their tone trying to cling to something positive.
"The mother," someone else said, this time urgently. "She's getting sick."
"Help her," came almost immediately, followed by several overlapping voices.
The place filled with chaotic sounds. Instruments clashed, footsteps frantically rushed, orders half-spoken, groans of pain, and a palpable panic seeped into the air. Everything happened too fast and, at the same time, too slowly.
Then, nothingness.
I lost consciousness.
"We couldn't do anything," the attending nurse said, his voice breaking, tears escaping unbidden.
"First time?" a nurse with fish-like features asked, watching him with a kind of sympathetic sadness.
"Yes," he replied. His cat-like ears drooped, as if even his body reflected the weight of the moment.
"We can't always save everyone, buddy," she said, patting him gently on the back, more to comfort him than to persuade him.
The doctor holding the baby remained silent. His eyes shifted to the woman lying on the gurney. Her pink hair fell to her back, her body slender yet possessing a natural softness that spoke of life. Embedded in her stomach, as if it had always belonged there, shone a diamond-shaped gem, a pale but unmistakable pink.
The doctor lowered his gaze to the newborn.
In the child's stomach was something similar. At first glance, it looked like quartz, but the X-rays had confirmed the impossible. It was the same gem as his mother's, though with a clear difference. The point was rounded, facing outward, as if it had been molded for him. It shouldn't cause him any physical problems, at least that's what the tests indicated, but the absence of a mother was something no machine could measure.
The doctor looked at the monitor one last time. Her vital signs read zero. They had spent almost an hour trying to resuscitate her, but it was as if her sole purpose had been to bring her son into the world. Once that was accomplished, her body had simply given up.
There were no final cries, no words of farewell.
Just a smile.
The mother's smile remained there, untouched, etched on her face even after death, as if seeing her son had been enough.
"I'll let the husband know," the doctor said as he handed the baby to a nurse.
"Good luck, Doc," came a few voices around him, though he paid them no mind.
He left the delivery room with several papers in his hand. Among them was the death certificate. The name written there caught his eye for a moment: Rose Quartz. An unusual name, he thought, but it wasn't his place to judge it. Typical American stuff, he supposed, as he arranged the documents.
Upon reaching the waiting room, he scanned the seated people one by one, until he thought he'd found the right person. Even so, he decided to confirm.
"Greg Universe?" he asked with professional calm.
"It's me," replied a man in his thirties. His features betrayed his American origin, and his posture immediately tensed.
"Come on, please," said the doctor as he began to walk, expecting Greg to follow him.
"Is there a problem, Doctor?" asked Greg, nervously adjusting his suit.
The doctor remained silent.
"Is my son okay?" Greg insisted, now with evident concern in his voice.
"The boy is perfectly fine," replied the doctor.
"That's good," said Greg, letting out a sigh he seemed to have been holding in for hours.
"What's not okay is your wife."
Greg froze. The world seemed to stop as the doctor stood before him, serious, direct.
"We did everything we could, Mr. Universe, but apparently nothing worked."
Greg said nothing. He just stared at the doctor, his eyes wide and incredulous, as if waiting for the words to correct themselves.
"But... everything was supposed to be fine, wasn't it?" he finally said, his voice cracking. "We went to so many appointments, and nothing indicated that something like this would happen."
"I know," the doctor replied, genuine confusion etched on his face. "We don't understand it either. It was like, when she gave birth, she just... smiled, and then her vital signs shut down."
Greg fell silent again.
The doctor looked down at the papers he was still holding.
"What I can't understand is what caused it," he added. "She clearly looked perfectly healthy."
Greg looked up at the ceiling, as if searching for answers somewhere unseen.
"Would you let me see her?" he asked earnestly, though tears were already streaming down his face.
"Of course," the doctor replied, gesturing for him to follow.
Greg walked slowly until he stood before what remained of his wife. Her body lay motionless, but her smile was still there, undiminished, as if not even death had been able to steal it. Seeing her, Greg could no longer contain himself. He wept. He wept bitterly, without shame, clinging to the hand of the woman who had been his home, the only one he had ever truly loved. He spent half an hour like that, pouring his heart out before that silent body, speaking to her, asking for her forgiveness, promising her things she could no longer answer.
"Sir, it's time. Do you want to see your son?"
Greg looked up at those words. A sad smile touched his face, fragile, weary.
"I hope I can be the father Steven deserves," he whispered, leaning toward his wife.
He placed one last kiss on her cheek and then turned away. He walked to the door without looking back, and when it closed, the place fell silent.
Rose's body remained there, motionless, but her gem lost its pink glow until it became white, opaque, like an empty stone.
"I know," Rose's voice said, soft, resigned. "I know you'll be whatever Steven needs. And I'm sorry... I'm sorry for putting you through this."
And so, Rose Quartz died.
Or perhaps she was never just Rose Quartz?
Greg walked toward a room where only cribs were lined up. A nurse stood there, the same one with fish-like features he had seen earlier.
"Do you know what name you'll give your child?" she asked in a professional tone.
Greg approached the crib and looked at the baby. It was impossible not to notice. The gem on its stomach was very similar to his wife's. It had inherited the best of both of them. Even at such a young age, small pink tips were already visible peeking through his hair, a clear blend of the two.
"Steven Quartz Universe," Greg said after a few seconds.
"No middle name?" the nurse asked, raising an eyebrow slightly.
"No middle name," he replied firmly. "That's what my wife and I decided."
"I understand," she said, nodding professionally.
"I'll leave you alone. No one else can come in for now. The signatures will be at information desk, and if you need anything, you can ask the available nurses in the secondary wing for help."
"I understand," Greg replied.
The nurse left, and Greg watched her back disappear before turning his attention back to the crib.
For a few seconds, he just stared at him. He was all he had left in this world.
"My son," he whispered. "Just like your mother said even before you were born, you'll be someone great. And I'll support you. I'll support you like no one else ever will, because I'm your father."
Baby Steven turned slightly, oblivious to the words that had just sealed his fate.
Greg smiled.
"I hope this works."
Then, he walked toward the medical wing, unaware of what the future held, all because of a child who didn't yet know it, but who was destined to become humanity's next shield.
End of Chapter 1.