Nick arrived at Murphy's Bar fifteen minutes early, scanning the surprisingly crowded establishment before sliding into a booth with his back to the wall. He ordered a Coke on the rocks. Something felt…off.

  Instead of walking through the door, a man materialized across from him with the soft bing! of an elevator notification.

  "Mr. Valiente," said the silver-haired man, his smile containing a suspicious amount of starlight and sarcasm. "I'm Marcus Eidolon. And unfortunately, there’s no time to explain—"

  "Then don't?" Nick muttered.

  "Perfect," Marcus said, slapping a glowing disk onto Nick’s wrist. Reality folded like bad origami, and suddenly—

  They were in space. Actual space.

  A clear-paneled starship floated above Earth like the bougiest Uber in existence. It had mood lighting, a minibar, and inexplicably, lo-fi beats playing in the background.

  "Welcome to Orbital Platform Epsilon," Marcus said, casually sipping from a floating glass of kombucha. "You're taking this surprisingly well."

  "Honestly, this might not even crack my top five weirdest days," Nick replied. “I got poisoned yesterday.”

  Marcus flipped open a hologram. A fleet of angular death-ships in the shape of aggressive triangles appeared.

  “Void Dominion. Bad guys. They saw your mana signature and decided Earth’s buffet was open.”

  "And they want me... why?"

  "Because you're not just Nick Valiente,” Marcus said, handing him a gauntlet that looked suspiciously like it had Bluetooth. “You're Arlize Dentragon—grand magi, interdimensional heartthrob, and mystical cosmic key.”

  “Oh, of course. That explains everything," Nick deadpanned. “And this?”

  “It's basically a mana-powered space laser. Point, think angry thoughts, and boom.”

  Alarms blared. Ships incoming.

  "Ready for your first cosmic shootout?" Marcus grinned. “Try not to vaporize the moon.”

  The battle was chaotic, sparkly, and honestly? Weirdly beautiful—like a laser-tag game hosted by the Avengers and choreographed by Studio Ghibli.

  Nick discovered that in zero gravity, his mana had no chill. It flowed like glitter in a lava lamp, shooting in unpredictable swirls until he yelled, “Focus!” and it somehow obeyed. The gauntlet on his arm whirred to life with a bing and transformed his raw energy into mana lasers.

  Actual. Mana. Lasers.

  “Pew pew!” Nick shouted, because it helped his aim. Don’t ask why.

  He did a barrel roll. He did a backflip. He kicked off a floating satellite and accidentally backhanded an alien fighter into another alien fighter, yelling “SORRY, NOT SORRY!” as the pair exploded in glorious silence.

  Meanwhile, Marcus fought like space was his weekend hobby. He moved with the grace of someone who had fought exactly 6.8 wars and still had time to memorize a poetry collection. His green energy pulsed in elegant arcs, effortlessly covering Nick’s flailing side.

  Together, they were chaos and calm. Thunder and tact. Blue and green. Dumb luck and divine timing.

  When the last enemy ship exploded in a silent puff of glittery space confetti, Marcus clapped Nick on the shoulder with a grin.

  “Not bad for your first cosmic conflict,” he said, totally ignoring the fact that Nick had shouted “BANANA BLAST!” while delivering the finishing blow.

  Nick floated, upside down and breathless, staring at the distant retreating fleet.

  “This is insane,” he gasped. “I was taking a business quiz yesterday. Now I’m a space wizard.”

  “Correction,” Marcus said. “You’re a reincarnated royal space wizard ninja sorcerer with unresolved trauma and plot armor.”

  Nick blinked. “…That doesn’t help.”

  “It wasn’t supposed to.” Marcus pressed a holographic button shaped like a rubber duck. The ship began descending toward Earth.

  "Where are we going now?"

  “To meet the people who’ve been dying to see you again,” Marcus said with a wink. “And by ‘dying’ I mean—well. You’ll see.”

  They materialized in a luxurious penthouse that looked like Elon Musk and a Renaissance vampire had collaborated on the interior design. Gold trim. Marble floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing a suspiciously perfect sunset. A harp was playing itself in the corner. Obviously.

  And standing dramatically by those windows—

  “Mom? Dad?” Nick’s voice cracked, caught between disbelief and a brain reboot.

  Sienna and Marco Valiente turned slowly—too slowly, like they’d practiced this reveal in the mirror.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  His mother’s eyes sparkled with perfectly timed tears. His father gave a small, noble nod, like he was accepting an Oscar.

  “Nick,” his mother whispered, floating across the room in what Nick swore was a literal wind-blown gown. “You’ve grown. And somehow… got cheekbones.”

  She pulled him into a hug, and Nick could smell her familiar perfume—Sheabutter,Vanila + Vengeance. His father joined, clapping him on the back with all the warmth of a dad who 100% faked his death for plot reasons.

  When they finally separated, Nick just stared at them. “How? The accident—I identified your bodies. There was a closed casket. There were eulogies!”

  “A necessary deception,” his father said gravely, adjusting imaginary glasses. “We were targeted because of what we knew. And also because your mom may have angered a sentient AI cult in 2003.”

  “We had to disappear,” his mom added, still holding Nick’s face like he was a precious Netflix deal. “The bodies you saw were synthetic mana clones. Very lifelike. Biodegradable. FDA approved.”

  “We didn’t want to put you through the trauma,” his dad said, a single tear almost forming. “But to be fair, you were a little dramatic back then.”

  Nick blinked. “I was thirteen.”

  “Exactly,” his dad said solemnly. “Peak drama age.”

  Nick staggered back and pointed wildly between them. “So you’ve just been chilling in a space Airbnb waiting for me to level up like I’m some kind of tragic Pokémon?!”

  “Yes,” his mother said gently. “And you finally evolved into Arlizeachu.”

  Before Nick could emotionally collapse, Marcus cleared his throat. “Right. Family trauma unpacked. Time to pack new trauma. We’re visiting your grandparents. They’re royalty. And possibly part-dragon. I forget the details.”

  “Wait, what?” Nick said, feeling the edge of reality wobble again.

  “Trust me,” his mom said with a wink. “It’s not even the weirdest part of today.”

  The private jet that carried them to Colombia was clearly not street legal. Or even planet legal.

  It didn’t take off so much as phase into the sky with a shimmer of mana and a bing like someone had just microwaved the air. They crossed continents in under five minutes, flying at a speed best described as “physics said no.”

  Throughout the flight, Nick’s parents casually filled in the blanks.

  “We were researching the ancient mana-tech convergence points,” his mom said, sipping a drink that kept changing colors. “Then we accidentally discovered an interdimensional rift hidden beneath a Whole Foods.”

  “Classic mistake,” his dad agreed. “Also, the mangoes were on sale.”

  When they landed, it wasn’t Bogotá. Not exactly. It was somewhere above Bogotá—both in altitude and existential plane. A hidden mountain estate shimmered into view, its stone walls alternating between rustic hacienda and glowing citadel, depending on the angle you looked from… or how much caffeine you’d had.

  They were met at the gates by guards in ceremonial armor made of obsidian and moonlight. A llama bowed respectfully as Nick walked past. He was too emotionally drained to question it.

  On the terrace of the estate—because of course there was a terrace—his grandparents awaited them.

  Except they weren’t the cardigan-wearing retirees Nick remembered.

  No.

  His Abuelo stood tall in regal robes that rippled with mana threads, a golden crown floating an inch above his head like it was too dignified to touch hair. His cane was a sword. His sword was also a cane. It depended on how royal he was feeling.

  His Abuela, meanwhile, wore a layered gown of woven mana silk and scolded a phoenix that had caught fire again. Her earrings whispered prophecies. Her sangria stirred itself.

  “Nicolás,” his grandfather said, his voice echoing with enough gravitas to cause a minor weather event. “Welcome home.”

  Nick’s jaw dropped. “Y’all are… actual royalty?! From another dimension?!”

  His grandmother nodded serenely. “Technically, we’re exiled royalty. We ruled Aurilia before it was consumed by a rogue dimension made entirely of bureaucracy and bad fashion.”

  “You were sent here as babies?” Nick guessed.

  “Oh no,” his grandpa said cheerfully. “We fled here in our mid-300s after a duel with a corrupted god and a really nasty HOA dispute.”

  At dinner—which involved floating dishes, a serenading constellation, and a goat named Steve who had opinions—they explained the rest.

  “You are the last of the Dentragon line,” his grandmother said dramatically, “the only one who can channel both High Mana and Archaic Bureaucracy.”

  “Wait, what?” Nick blinked. “What’s that second one?”

  “You’ll see when you file your first interdimensional tax return,” his father muttered.

  As they spoke, the stars began to flicker. The moon let out a sound like a stressed whale. The ground trembled.

  His grandfather stood, crown flaring with blue fire. “It’s too soon. The convergence—someone’s forcing it open!”

  “What does that mean?!” Nick shouted.

  Marcus appeared out of literal nowhere, holding a taco. “It means buckle up, buttercup. You’re going multiversal.”

  Reality folded like a badly stacked burrito, and the world went white.

  They landed with a collective oomph on another Earth.

  But not their Earth.

  The skyline was wild. Skyscrapers built into trees. Wi-Fi signals projected via fireflies. Dragons working as rideshare apps. People in enchanted suits and spellbound sneakers. A Times Square billboard cast spells between advertisements.

  Nick sat up slowly. “Where… are we?”

  “Earth Prime,” Marcus said, licking salsa off his fingers. “The original convergence point. Where mana and tech fell in love, got married, and opened a co-op café.”

  “But why are we here?!”

  A nearby mountain exploded as a dungeon portal cracked open, releasing a torrent of shrieking monsters and enchanted espresso machines.

  His grandfather looked up, pale. “The barriers are failing. Dungeons… are breaking loose.”

  Nick turned to Marcus, mana pulsing blue-hot in his chest. “So what do we do?”

  Marcus grinned and extended his glowing hand. “We save the multiverse. Preferably in style.”

  Nick took it.

  Blue and green energy fused in a spiral of cosmic flair.

  Around Nick’s wrist, a glowing display appeared:

  ?? 【ARCΛDIΛN SYSTΞM INTERFΛCE】 ??

  [Initiating Dimensional Defender Protocol...] ...Fashionably late. As usual.

  April Fool's Poll: What was your favorite moment from Nick's cosmic fever dream?