The story behind the story

I didn’t write this story because of some great tragedy. I’ve had a good life — nothing dramatic, nothing broken. But sometimes the most meaningful things begin in the quiet.

It was around 1998. I was an exchange student, learning English far away from my hometown of Cuenca, Ecuador. Back then, my life was simple — weekends with friends, parties, the usual rhythm of being a teenager. But suddenly, everything slowed down. I found myself in a new place, surrounded by new people, and for the first time, I felt something unfamiliar: loneliness.

It wasn’t extreme. I was well taken care of. But stepping out of my comfort zone and into a new culture — especially as someone naturally shy — made things harder than I expected. My weekends became quiet. Too quiet. And when things get quiet, the mind starts to wander.

I’ve always loved stories — mostly the ones told on TV growing up. So in those still moments, I began to imagine something. A boy. Someone lonelier than I was. An orphan. Not the kind surrounded by others in a big house, but a truly isolated figure. What would that look like? What kind of life would he live? What kind of world would let that happen?

That’s where it started — a simple idea rooted in a quiet feeling. Over the years, the story kept growing. Fed by life moments, experiences of people around me, stories from movies, books, things I couldn’t forget. The orphan became real. The world around him — Ascalon — began to take shape, though I honestly can’t remember where the inspiration for that place came from. It’s been in my head for so long, it’s like it was always there.

The decision to finally write it all down came much later. I spent years working, building a career — one I was proud of at times, but one that also left me feeling distant. Bored. Uninspired. There was a certain emptiness in the routine: the commute, the meetings, the endless repetition without meaning. I missed that feeling of wonder. The spark of something new.

So I returned to the story.

At first, I wrote just a few pieces. Outlines. Scenes. But something clicked. This was it — the thing I didn’t know I was looking for. A creative challenge. A reason to feel curious again. And once I started, it all flowed.

Why this story, though? Why this boy, this world, this brutal city?

Because beneath the plot twists and the action, there’s something honest in it. Something human. It’s exaggerated, sure — but it’s rooted in a truth I believe deeply: we move through life as islands. Not always out of malice, but because we’re too busy trying to get ahead. We compete. We compare. We rarely stop to see each other.

There’s a saying: “Nobody wants to see you struggle, but nobody wants you to be better than them.” And it’s painfully true — now more than ever. That’s the emotional core of this book. Not good vs evil. Just people, trying to survive. Just people, trying to matter.

The City Without Saints is a story about power, identity, and the demons we carry. But it’s also about that orphan boy I first imagined all those years ago — and the loneliness that started it all.

And now, that story is finally ready to be told.