Dimensional Nomad

The problem with being a ten-year-old genius with reality-bending powers is that you can't exactly talk about it. Not to your parents. Not to your teachers. Certainly not to Spider-Man, who had dropped me off safe and sound, cracked a joke, and swung back into the city like nothing had happened.

I'd spent the rest of that night lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. The memory of the rooftop lingered—the hum of my portal, the cool wind, the endless lights of New York stretching into the distance. For the first time, I hadn't just tested my powers. I'd used them. And it had been exhilarating… until I almost got stuck.

My rift hadn't responded on that rooftop. It should have opened effortlessly, like it always did. But something had gone wrong, and I still didn't know what. It scared me. Not enough to stop experimenting—nothing could stop me—but enough to make me more careful.

Over the next week, I came up with a plan.

The first step was understanding the limits of my powers. So far, I knew I could open rifts to other locations—places I could see or visualize. But where else could they go? Did they only connect to Earth? What about other dimensions? Other worlds?

To test this, I had to push things a little further. Not much. Just a little.

I waited until the house was empty. My parents had gone grocery shopping, leaving me alone for a precious two hours. I locked my bedroom door, dragged my desk chair to the center of the room, and sat down like a mad scientist about to unleash his greatest creation.

I cracked my knuckles. "Okay, here goes nothing."

Deep breath. Focus.

A rift shimmered into existence in front of me, floating like an oval mirror. This was easy. By now, I could open small rifts without breaking a sweat. The question was: what would happen if I didn't stop?

I pushed harder.

The edges of the rift rippled, distorting like the surface of a pond. The air buzzed with energy, and my ears filled with a low hum. I gritted my teeth, pressing my hands outward as if I were physically stretching the portal open. It expanded inch by inch until it was as tall as I was—a full doorway into the unknown.

The inside of the rift was pitch black. Not the absence-of-light black, but a hungry black. It looked like it wanted to swallow me whole.

"It's fine," I whispered to myself. "It's just a portal. It's my portal."

Still, my hands shook as I stood up and approached it. I reached out, fingers grazing the edges. It felt warm, like standing next to a running engine. My heart pounded in my chest.

What's on the other side?

I didn't know. I wanted to find out… but something stopped me. Maybe it was instinct, or maybe it was the way the portal seemed to pulse in time with my heartbeat. Either way, I pulled my hand back and let the rift collapse with a soft pop.

I sat down hard in my chair, breathing fast.

"Not ready for that yet," I muttered.

That was test number one: Bigger portals were possible. Dangerous, but possible. The next test was range.

Could I open a portal to somewhere I couldn't see? Like the other side of the house? The other side of the city?

For this, I needed a visual anchor. I grabbed an old travel magazine from my bookshelf and flipped through it until I found a picture of the Empire State Building. Perfect. I'd seen it in real life, and I knew roughly what it looked like at night. I focused on the image, picturing the building in my mind. The spire. The lights. The way it loomed over the city.

"Come on… show me New York," I whispered.

A portal formed in front of me, rippling outward like before. This one was smaller—no larger than a dinner plate. I leaned forward, peering inside… and there it was.

The Empire State Building. Not a photo. Not a projection. The actual building, lit up against the night sky. I could see the windows. The lights. I could even hear the faint hum of traffic below, like the sound was filtering through the rift.

I nearly fell out of my chair.

"I did it," I breathed. "I actually did it."

This changed everything. My powers weren't limited to what I could physically see. As long as I had a strong enough mental image, I could create a portal to anywhere I wanted.

That realization hit me like a truck.

I could go anywhere.

Over the next few days, I tested my range in small ways. I opened portals to places I knew well—my backyard, the school playground, the corner store down the street. I never stepped through them. Not yet. I wasn't ready to take that risk again, especially not after the Chrysler Building incident. But I learned enough to confirm my suspicions: distance didn't matter. The only limits were my focus and my confidence.

And that… was a problem.

Because the more I pushed my powers, the more I realized how unstable they were.

Sometimes, the rifts flickered, like they were struggling to hold their shape. Sometimes, I felt a pull—a tug on my chest—like the portals wanted to drag me in. And sometimes, when I tried to close them, they resisted.

It was subtle at first, but it was happening more and more often. The rifts were getting harder to control.

I didn't know why. Maybe it was because I was using them more. Maybe it was because I was growing stronger. Or maybe—and this was the thought that kept me up at night—maybe the rifts were alive. Not in a conscious way, but in the way fire is alive. It spreads. It consumes. It doesn't care who or what gets in its way.

I tried not to think about that too much.

The final test came a week later. I hadn't planned it. It just… happened.

I was in the backyard, tossing a baseball into the air and catching it. It was a clear, sunny day, and for once, I wasn't thinking about my powers. I was just a kid, goofing off, enjoying the weather.

And then I missed.

The ball sailed over my head and into the neighbor's yard. I groaned, jogging over to the fence and peering through the gaps. The ball had landed in their garden, halfway buried in a bed of flowers.

"Great," I muttered.

I could have climbed the fence. I could have knocked on their door and asked for it back like a normal person. But no. I was me, and normal was off the table.

"Okay, just a small one," I told myself.

I focused on the baseball, picturing it clearly in my mind. A portal shimmered open just above the flowers, perfectly positioned. I reached through, grabbed the ball… and that's when it happened.

The rift jerked.

I gasped as the portal expanded without warning, the edges pulsing like a heartbeat. My hand froze, still clutching the baseball. For a split second, I felt the pull again—stronger than ever. It wasn't just tugging at me. It was dragging me in.

"No!" I shouted, yanking my arm back.

The rift snapped shut with a sound like shattering glass. I stumbled backward, landing hard on the grass, the baseball still clutched in my hand.

My heart was pounding. My palms were sweaty. The spot where the rift had been was gone, but I could still feel it—like a lingering ache in the air.

I sat there for a long time, staring at the empty space where the portal had been.

Something was wrong with my powers.

And I had no idea how to fix it.