Esthirant, Parpaldian Republic

Zack Holloway eyed the steaming cup of kafa — Esthirant's liquid lifeline — and wondered if the locals had secretly cracked interdimensional travel long before Earth stumbled into this magical mess. How else could they nail the perfect brew while still thinking electricity was black magic?

He snorted at his own joke, earning a few sideways glances from nearby patrons. Six months in, and he still stood out like a smartphone at a Renaissance fair. Well, probably because he was in fact using a smartphone, and because Esthirant was a Renaissace-era city. Or was it Napoleonic? He could never get that right.

"Your morning repast, good sir," the waiter announced with a slight bow, setting down a plate that would give Gordon Ramsay an aneurysm. The "bread" looked like it had lost a fight with a beet, and the "cheese" was doing its best impression of sentient goo. Looks aside, it actually tasted pretty decent.

"Much obliged, Etrean," Zack said, trying not to think about the McGriddles haunting his dreams. "How’s the family?"

The waiter's professional mask cracked into a genuine smile. "They are in good health, I thank you. My daughter is most intrigued by the 'daguerreotypes' your people have introduced."

Zack grinned. "Wait 'til she sees TikTok. On second thought, maybe don't show her that."

As Etrean moved away with another bow, Zack tugged at his cravat, silently cursing GE's 'When in Rome' dress code. Did it have to be so scruffy? The tailcoat and waistcoat helped him blend in... somewhat. But the smartphone he'd just slipped into his pocket was a dead giveaway.

A commotion near the entrance drew his attention. A group of nobles — distinct in their embroidered frock coats and haughty expressions — clustered around the maître d', their voices rising with each passing second. He knew exactly what they were: Karens. At least, the Parpaldian version of them.

"—utterly preposterous!" one of them said, his face looking like steam might pop out at any moment. "First, they invade our streets with their iron carriages, and now they dare to infiltrate our dining establishments?"

Zack's fork paused halfway to his mouth. Great. Bacon and a side of xenophobia. Just how he liked to start his mornings. Now, he was a pretty progressive-thinking guy, but man did these Parpaldians make him want to rethink that. If anything, it was he who had justification for xenophobia. They were doing the Parpaldians a favor, uplifting their backwards society, and this is how they treated them?

He listened in to their conversation. The maître d', a petite woman with a stern expression, held her ground. "My lords, I must insist you lower your voices. You're disturbing our patrons."

"Disturbing the patrons?" another noble scoffed. "What of our disturbance at finding our traditions trampled upon?"

The maître d's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. Without a word, she turned and caught Etrean's eye, giving him a subtle nod. She murmured something to him as she passed, her words too low for Zack to catch. With a final glance at the nobles, she slipped out through a side door.

The nobles, oblivious to this exchange and satisfied with their perceived victory, began to scan the room. Of course, the noble who was blabbering earlier landed his eyes directly on him, narrowing them as recognition and distaste spread across his features. Oh boy.

"You there," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous timbre. "You're one of those American interlopers desecrating our hallowed quarter."

Zack set down his fork, weighing his options. Debate the merits of modernization? Make a run for it? Talk shit? Oh, he definitely felt like talking shit, but he was outnumbered, and it probably wouldn’t look good.

Instead, he plastered on his best 'dealing with difficult stakeholders' smile. "Good morrow, sir. Might there be some matter of concern?"

The noble's nostrils flared. "A matter of concern? You have the temerity to inquire thus?" He advanced, jabbing a finger in his direction. "Your contraptions tear asunder our thoroughfares, your 'grid' mars our skyline, and your very presence mocks centuries of tradition."

Zack's diplomatic smile was starting to hurt. "I understand your misgivings, sir. Perhaps we could discourse on this in a more fitting—"

"Discourse?" the noble spat. "The time for parley is long past. It is high time you understood the consequences of your actions."

The man raised his hands, a telltale glow forming at his fingertips. That wasn’t a good sign. Zack had a trusty Glock at his hip, but his positioning was off. Between the table and the chair to his right, he wouldn’t be able to get to it, flick off the safety, and aim it in time.

“Oh, fuck,” Zack muttered. Does his health plan cover ‘magical assault by disgruntled local’? Wait, scratch that. Will he even survive this to begin with?

The noble’s hand thrust forward, sending a fiery bolt straight towards Zack’s face.

Instinct took over. Zack kicked the ground and leaned against the headrest, hoping to launch his chair backward. In an instant, he realized it wouldn’t be enough. His arm shot up, a futile attempt to protect himself. He braced for the impact.

But it never came.

Instead of feeling any searing pain or seeing his body turned into a human s’more, Zack found himself staring at a shimmering, translucent barrier that had materialized from… nowhere? It couldn’t have been any of the surrounding patrons who just so happened to save him; no, it was directly connected to his arm. The firebolt collided with it, dissipating in a shower of harmless sparks.

The cafe fell silent. Zack gaped at his hand, then at the fading remnants of the shield, his brain refusing to process what had just happened.

“Holy shit…” Zack breathed, wondering if someone had spiked his kafa with LSD.

The noble gaped as well, equally – if not more – shocked. A fish out of water. “Impossible,” he sputtered, staggering back. “You… You’re just a barbarian savage! You can’t possibly…”

Before either of them could continue further, the cafe doors burst open. The maître d' rushed in, followed closely by a squad of uniformed constables with their wands raised.

"There!" the maître d' pointed, slightly out of breath. "That's where the disturbance is!"

"Halt!" the lead officer shouted. "What is the meaning of this commotion?"

What followed was a flurry of explanations and accusations, and a statement that sounded rather absurd for an American. Thankfully for Zack, the nearby patrons and staff stepped forward to back him up. Even more fortunately, it turned out the ‘noble’ was actually someone who had lost his status after the war. In the end, the man found himself in custody.

As the officers prepared to leave, their leader turned to Zack. “Are you alright, sir? Do you require healing?”

Zack shook his head, still dazed. “No, I’m… I’m fine. Thanks.”

The officer nodded. “Very well then. If you’ll excuse us.”

As the commotion died down, Zack slumped back into his chair, staring at his hand. “Well,” he muttered to himself, “so much for a quiet breakfast.”

He glanced at this watch and groaned. He was gonna be late for work. It was good that they’d seen enough microaggressions and straight up harassments that it became a valid excuse. Well, maybe not so good in general, but great for Zack in the moment.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

With a heavy sigh, Zack stood up, left some money on the table, and headed for the door. He stepped out of the cafe, his mind reeling. The historic district's charm — all cobblestone streets and ornate facades — felt like a backdrop to his personal Twilight Zone episode. He made his way to the General Electric project site, the transmission tower in the distance standing out just as he did in the cafe.

"Mr. Holloway!" Terence, his assistant, jogged up to him. "We were starting to worry. Is everything alright? There's this wild rumor—"

Zack held up a hand. "Let's gather the team, Terence. I'd rather explain this once."

As the crew gathered around, Zack felt a knot forming in his stomach. How do you even begin to explain something like this?

"So, uh," he began, rubbing the back of his neck, "something happened at breakfast. A noble tried to attack me, and I... I somehow produced a magical shield."

For a moment, no one spoke. Then:

Terence blinked rapidly, his mouth opening and closing without sound.

"You're... are you feeling okay, Mr. Holloway?" Sarah, one of the technicians, asked cautiously, taking a small step back.

A Parpaldian laborer crossed himself, muttering something under his breath.

"That's, uh... that's something," another American worker said, clearly at a loss for words.

"Wait, wait," Terence finally managed. "Like, actual magic? You're not messing with us?"

From the back of the group, someone snorted. "Yeah, right. Next, he'll tell us he's buddies with the tooth fairy."

"I don't... I mean, how does that even work?" Sarah asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

Zack raised his hands. "I know it sounds crazy. Hell, I'm still trying to wrap my head around it."

Rantius, one of the Parpaldian liaisons, stepped forward. His posture was rigid, but his eyes suggested excitement. "Mr. Holloway, if I may... this is most extraordinary. Might I inquire as to the nature of this... magical manifestation?"

"Honestly? I have no clue," Zack replied, shrugging helplessly. "One second I'm about to get barbecued, the next there's this shimmering barrier in front of me."

Rantius's eyebrows shot up. "Most peculiar indeed. Sir, with your permission, I should like to examine your hand."

Zack held out his arm, feeling uncomfortable under the scrutiny. This morning he was just a normal guy trying to do his job, and now...

"Fascinating," Rantius finally said. "There are indeed traces of mana, yet... it's similar to that of a child first learning to control the mana in his body."

"What does that mean?" Zack asked, pulling his hand back self-consciously.

Rantius straightened his already impeccable posture. "Magic, Mr. Holloway, is an inborn trait. All Elysians are blessed with natural conduits for mana—magical energy—from birth. Of course, some have natural talent. For others… It requires years of rigorous study to harness effectively." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "You, sir... it appears your body is adapting, creating these conduits anew."

The team erupted in a flurry of questions and exclamations, a mix of American colloquialisms and Parpaldian formality.

"Alright, alright," Zack called out, his head spinning. "I get it, this is huge. But unless I can magically install power lines, we've still got a grid to build. Let's get to work, and I promise we’ll figure this out later."

As the team dispersed, Terence hung back. "So, uh, sir... you okay? This is pretty wild stuff."

Zack let out a shaky laugh. "Honestly? I have no idea. But let's focus on the job for now. One impossible thing at a time, right?"

Throughout the day, Zack noticed his colleagues stealing glances. He caught himself checking his hand more than once, half-expecting something to happen. Sarah kept a noticeable distance, while the skeptic from earlier watched him like a hawk, clearly waiting for him to slip up and reveal it was all a joke. A part of him wished it was. The other part was stoked that he could potentially cast real magic like a wizard might.

During a break, Rantius approached him again. "Mr. Holloway, if I might have a word. I've been pondering your... situation."

"What's on your mind, Rantius?"

"It occurs to me, sir, that your prolonged exposure to our world might be the catalyst for this phenomenon. You've resided here for several months, partaking of our sustenance, respiring our air, interacting with beings of magical nature."

Zack blinked, processing the formal language. "So you're saying I'm... what? Evolving?"

Rantius inclined his head. "In a manner of speaking, perhaps. It's merely conjecture, you understand, but it seems the most rational explanation. Your physiology appears to be acclimating to the ambient mana of our realm, not unlike how one might adapt to a new climate or altitude."

It was an interesting thought experiment. Wait, could he even call it a thought experiment at this point? It was straight up real. He'd come to Esthirant to manage an infrastructure project, and now he was well on his way to going native.

Just another day in paradise, huh? He gripped his clipboard. Time to focus on the job at hand and worry about the rest later.

Much to his – surprising – disappointment, no more magic surfaced throughout the work day. Rather, he actually felt a bit tired. Apparently it was called mana exhaustion, according to Rantius.

"It's quite common for novice mages," Rantius explained, reaching into his satchel. He pulled out a small vial filled with a shimmering blue liquid. "Here, Mr. Holloway. A mana restorative potion. It should help alleviate your fatigue."

Zack eyed the vial skeptically. "Uh, thanks. Is it safe for... well, for someone like me?"

Rantius nodded reassuringly. "Perfectly safe, sir. It's a mild formulation, suitable even for those new to magic."

With a shrug, Zack downed the potion. It tasted like liquid peppermint with a hint of something he couldn't quite place. Almost immediately, he felt a cool wave of energy wash over him, easing the tiredness in his muscles.

"Wow," Zack breathed. "That's... something else."

Rantius smiled. "Indeed. Now, I suggest you head home and rest. Your body is still adjusting to these new... developments."

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of blueprints and progress reports, punctuated by curious glances from his coworkers. By quitting time, the potion's effects were wearing off, and Zack's head was starting to pound again. He waved off Terence's offer of a ride, opting instead for the long walk home. The cool evening air helped clear his head, but did little to ease the bone-deep weariness that had settled over him.

By the time Zack trudged up the stairs to his apartment in a more modernized, American-developed area near the port, he felt like he'd run a marathon. Maybe he should’ve taken Terence’s offer after all. His key fumbled in the lock, and he nearly tripped over the threshold as he entered.

"Zack?" A melodious voice called from the living room. "Is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me," he replied, kicking off his shoes. "Unless some other exhausted American has stolen my keys and decided to crash here."

He rounded the corner to find Lira perched on the edge of the couch, her pointed ears twitching with obvious excitement. Her emerald eyes were wide, fixed on the laptop balanced on her knees.

"By the Spirits, Zack!" Lira exclaimed, her formal Parpaldian accent contrasting with her enthusiasm. "You've manifested magical abilities! Why didn't you contact me immediately?"

Zack collapsed onto the couch beside her, the events of the day weighing heavily on him. "Honestly, babe? I'm still trying to wrap my head around it myself."

"But this is extraordinary!" Lira insisted, turning the laptop towards him. "Look, you're famous on YouTube! Someone had recorded the incident on their phone contraption!"

Zack groaned as he watched the shaky footage of himself producing a magical barrier. "Great. Just great. As if this day couldn't get any weirder."

"Oh, but there's more!" Lira said, clicking on another video. "This odd fellow with the shiny head has made an entire discourse about you!"

The familiar intro music of VSauce filled the room, followed by Michael Stevens' enthusiastic voice: "Hey, VSauce! Michael here. We all know at this point that magic is real. But what if I told you that… Americans – no, maybe even anyone from Earth – can also do it?"

Zack's eyes widened. "Is that... VSauce? How did he make a video so fast?"

The video cut to footage of Zack's magical moment, then back to Michael, who was joined by a serious-looking woman in a lab coat. "With me today is Dr. Elena Rossi from the newly formed US Magical Research Department. Dr. Rossi, what can you tell us about this extraordinary event?"

Dr. Rossi leaned forward. "What we're seeing here, Michael, is unprecedented. It appears that prolonged exposure to Elysia's magical environment is causing physiological changes in some Americans. It’s likely a form of epigenetic acclimatization. We're calling it 'mana adaptation syndrome'."

The video droned on about theories and implications, most of it similar to what Rantius had told him earlier. It was tiring to think about, and even more tiring to recognize that he was the center of all of it. He glanced at Lira, catching her watching him with those big green eyes of hers, looking like she couldn't decide whether to hug him or take notes.

Just then, his phone buzzed. He fished it out of his pocket, groaning when he saw the caller ID.

"It's work," he told Aelindra, then answered. "Hello?"

"Mr. Holloway?" It was his HR representative. "We're going to need you to come in to the embassy tomorrow for a debriefing. In light of recent... events."

Zack sighed. "Yeah, I figured as much. What time?"

As he jotted down the details, Aelindra mouthed "Everything okay?" He gave her a tired nod.

After hanging up, Zack leaned back into the couch, closing his eyes. "Just another day in paradise," he muttered.