Twilight is a thin, short-lived and almost imperceptible line, beyond which the day gives way to the world of night. At dusk, the dying light mixes with the thickening darkness, and the real gradually dissolves into the illusory. Contours blur, colors fade and merge together. Sight is replaced by hearing and imagination. Through the thin film of reality, phantoms seep into us from adjacent worlds. The work of most translators consists of routine: instructions for household appliances, contracts, charters and agreements. But other texts also need translation, patiently waiting for centuries for the person who decides to take them on. The knowledge they contain can be a blessing and a curse to the one who reveals it. One of these manuscripts, written down by an unknown conquistador from the words of one of the last Mayan priests, names the time allotted to the universe and describes its end. What if, having taken on a random task, a translator discovers in the world around him signs of its imminent collapse?