Mr Wherefrom (The Mammoth Head Who Arrived Without Arrival)

No one saw him enter Comic Con ZANABIA. There was no announcement. No registration badge drama. No confused volunteer chasing paperwork. One moment the plaza was loud with feathers, capes, and existential costumes—and the next moment, he was simply there. A Mammoth Head. Perfectly Zanabian. Impossibly calm. He wore a dazzling suspender suit—tailored so well it looked like it had been waiting centuries for him. The fabric shimmered politely. The suspenders held secrets. On his head rested a small crown, not heavy, not arrogant—just… factual. Like a punctuation mark. People stopped walking. Then they stopped talking. Then they forgot what they were doing. Mr Wherefrom did not pose. He did not wave. He stood, smiled gently, and somehow the entire Comic Con rearranged itself around him. Photographs happened accidentally. Applause broke out in unrelated corners. Someone fainted emotionally and blamed the weather. Blenchy, clipboard in hand, noticed immediately. He circled. He checked lists. He asked polite questions. “Excuse me, are you registered?” Mr Wherefrom nodded. “Where from?” Mr Wherefrom smiled wider. That was it. No one knew his origin. No one remembered seeing him before. And yet—everyone felt like Zanabia had always been missing him. By evening, he was gone. No exit. No farewell. Just a faint smell of dignity and wool. Comic Con ended with one shared question echoing softly through the streets: “Was he real?” Blenchy wrote one note on his clipboard that night: “If he returns, let him in.” Zanabia, quietly, agreed. 🦣👑✨