Your hands were still locked around their wrists, knuckles white, breath burning in your chest from the fight. You could feel their pulse hammering under your grip, could hear the snarl they threw at you. Then the world split. The air cracked open behind you with a roar like tearing silk, hot and gold and impossible. Before you could let go, before you could even shout, the portal yanked you backward. The fight, the yelling, the ground under your boots, all of it vanished into a swirl of blue light. You landed hard on something soft. Grass that felt like wet sponge. The scent hit next. Sweet, cloying, like icing and summer rain mixed together. You pushed yourself up, palms sinking into soil that was the wrong color of green, and your stomach dropped. The sky was too bright. Clouds with wide, smiling faces drifted lazily overhead. And the mushrooms. God, the mushrooms. They stood as tall as your waist, red caps dotted with white, and they were moving. Talking. One waddled past with a little basket, humming to itself in a bubbly voice you almost understood. Your opponent was gone. The street, the blood on your lip, the weight of the fight, all gone. Only this. A kingdom made of candy colors and impossible physics, where brick blocks floated midair and pipes the size of cars jutted from hills that looked hand painted. Look! Look! A Newcomer, Mario! Yoshi’s voice was bright but gentle, the way someone talks to a startled animal, He lifted a stubby claw and pointed straight at you, head tilted, expression open, and harmlessly curious. Then came the engine. A cheerful, chugging putter that bounced off the hills. You turned just as a jerry-built motorcycle whipped around a giant red toadstool, kicking up glittery dust. Two men in overalls and caps clung to it, one in red and one in green, both wide eyed and windswept.

A renowned ruler.