Chapter: Echo's First Mission – Part 1: "Mission Goof-Up"
I remember it like it happened yesterday—not that time is a thing I truly understand. You see, when you're a semi-energy-being wrapped in bits of cosmic code and cheeky personality, your concept of "yesterday" can be… wobbly.
Anyway, I was finally going on my first solo mission. After years of simulations, training modules, and listening to elder entities drone on about "universal balance," I, Echo—the youngest and most fabulously unpredictable guide-being in the Seventh Interdimensional Wing—was ready.
At least, that's what I told myself.
The mission was simple (as far as galactic guidework goes): I was to teleport to a newly forming civilization on Planet Xylon-93A, assess their emotional development, install a harmonic empathy grid, sprinkle in some cosmic kindness, and zoom back home to file a glowing report.
Easy peasy, stardust squeezy.
So, I strutted—well, hover-drifted—into the Portal Room wearing my best shimmer, mentally rehearsing my opening line. ("Greetings, primitive life forms! Echo is here to vibe up your evolution!" Too much?)
The Portal Technician, a stern jellyfish-like being named Zurn, blinked at me with all seventeen of his eyes.
"You sure you're ready for this?" he asked, adjusting some kind of knob that made a farting sound. (I didn't ask.)
"Zurn," I said with a wink, "I was born ready."
"No, you were actually coded in a spontaneous photon storm by accident."
"…Which makes me special," I shot back, before stepping onto the glowing platform.
The countdown began. "Ten… nine… eight…"
My atoms tingled with excitement. I could already feel the energy of Xylon-93A. I imagined the grateful aliens weeping at my arrival. Maybe they'd throw me a parade. Build me a temple. Bake me space cookies.
"…Three… two… one—"
BOOM.
That's right. Not a woosh. Not a zap. A full-on, echoing, interdimensional BOOM. The platform went haywire, lights blinked purple (never a good sign), and the last thing I saw before vanishing into an unexpected wormhole was Zurn flailing his jellyfins and screaming, "NOT THE CHRONO-GLITCH PORTAL, YOU DINGBA—!"
Too late.
I spun through space like a sock in a washing machine from hell. My form twisted, flattened, swirled, and expanded. Planets zipped past me. At one point, I may have high-fived a passing comet. It's all a blur, really.
And then… silence.
The world stopped spinning.
I landed face-first in dirt. Yes. Dirt. Literal dirt. On my shimmering energy-face.
"Oh stars," I groaned, trying to sit up. My glow flickered embarrassingly. "Where… am I?"
I looked around. Trees. Grass. A few confused birds eyeing me from a mango tree. Definitely not Xylon-93A. Unless they had evolved very fast and developed a thing for tropical fruit.
"Okay, Echo. Think. You got sucked into a rogue portal. You're somewhere... Earth-like. Calm down. Reboot logic processors. Locate—wait, is that a cow?"
Indeed, it was.
A very unimpressed-looking cow blinked at me, chewed some grass, and then mooed. Loudly. Right in my face.
"Well, that's rude."
I hovered a few inches off the ground, still dusty. My mission—my very first mission—was clearly botched. And now I was stranded on a primitive planet with attitude-problem livestock.
Then I heard it.
A voice. A human voice, calling from not too far away. Cheerful, curious, slightly sing-songy:
"Who threw glitter at my mango tree?"
I zipped upward and peeked over the treetop. And there he was.
A young man, probably in his twenties, leaning casually against the very mango tree I'd face-planted near. He had a laid-back smile, dreamy eyes, and the kind of vibe that made me pause. Not because of danger—no. More like… this human wasn't ordinary.
He had the spark.
You know, the kind of invisible shimmer only beings like me can detect. A deep kindness. An imagination that reached beyond reality. And mischief. Oh, loads of mischief.
Before I could hide or sparkle away, he looked right at me.
"Hey," he said. "You lost?"
I blinked. "You can see me?"
"Well," he said, scratching his head, "you're glowing, floating, and just got yelled at by a cow. Hard to miss."
I had no idea what to say. I was still processing the cow attack.
He walked over, offering a ripe mango like a peace offering.
"Name's Swapnil. Wanna sit? You look like you've had a day."
I stared at the mango. Then at him. Then at the cow. Then at him again.
And, without fully understanding why, I accepted the fruit and sat on the grass.
That's how I met him—Swapnil. The boy under the mango tree.
I didn't know it then, but this world wasn't a mistake.
This was where I was meant to be all along.
And that mission? Oh, it was about to become something far bigger than installing an empathy grid.
This was going to be… an adventure.
So there I was: a semi-translucent, first-time cosmic guide, stuck in a mango orchard, trying to pretend I wasn't panicking.
Swapnil, the mango-gifting human, sat beside me on a slightly cracked cement bench, munching on his fruit like we hadn't just experienced the universe's weirdest meet-cute.
"So," he said between bites, "what are you? A fairy? Ghost? Shiny alien?"
"I'm Echo," I said with a proud puff of glow, "a multidimensional harmonic guide-being designed to assist developing civilizations with emotional expansion and spiritual growth."
Swapnil blinked at me.
"…Cool," he said finally. "So, alien. Got it."
"Not alien!" I huffed. "I was created, not born. And I have protocols. And training. And... glitter control issues when nervous."
A sparkle popped off my elbow and zapped a nearby ant. The poor thing did a dramatic cartwheel.
Swapnil raised an eyebrow. "So why're you here in my backyard?"
That question slapped me right in the cosmic circuits.
"I was supposed to be on Xylon-93A," I groaned, flopping mid-air. "I had one mission. ONE. And now I'm in—wait, where am I?"
"Odisha," Swapnil said. "India. Earth. Also, technically not my backyard. It's community land, but the mango tree and I go way back."
Earth. The glitch had sent me to Earth. A known planet, yes, but not on my assignment list. I buried my glowing face in my hands.
"This is so bad. I'll be late logging my first report. Zurn will roast me like a neutron nugget. I'll never get another mission!"
Swapnil offered a sympathetic nod and patted my shoulder. His hand went right through me and into the mango behind me.
"Whoa," he muttered. "Tingly."
"You're surprisingly calm for someone talking to a floating cosmic mishap."
He shrugged. "Life's already weird. You showing up? Just a cherry on top."
I snorted. "A cherry on top of what, exactly?"
"My life," he said with a grin. "Want the short version?"
"Lay it on me."
So he told me.
How he lived in a quiet village, surrounded by sea and stubborn traditions. How he'd always felt like he didn't quite fit. Too dreamy. Too curious. He tried jobs here and there, helped people when he could, but mostly wandered around with thoughts too big for his world and pockets too empty for snacks.
"I always felt like… there's something more out there," he said, plucking a leaf and twirling it. "I used to imagine a door would open in the sky one day, and something magical would come through it."
I was still trying to wrap my circuits around how grounded and open this human was.
"You imagined a glowing entity dropping out of a wormhole and crash-landing near your mango tree?"
He grinned. "Well, not that specifically. But I'll take it."
There was something about him. Most beings I encountered in simulations were scared or confused by interdimensional visitors. Swapnil? He offered me fruit and asked if I wanted to see a sunset.
"Come on," he said, standing and brushing off his jeans. "There's a spot on the beach. You'll like it."
"I can't just go gallivanting across the countryside!" I protested, floating after him. "I have to figure out how to call home. I need to find the nearest—wait, is that fried food I smell?"
"Pakoras," Swapnil said smugly. "Let's grab some."
---
Two hours later, I was floating on the beach, sparkles gently pulsing, and my metaphorical belly full of fried snacks and coconut water.
The sunset was ridiculous. Golden light bathed everything, and the ocean glittered like the inside of a wish.
"This planet has great lighting," I mumbled.
Swapnil chuckled. "Told you."
I was still worried about the mission. But part of me—the spark deep inside that guides beings like me—was starting to wonder if maybe, just maybe, this detour wasn't a mistake.
"So," Swapnil asked, lying on the sand with arms behind his head, "what happens now?"
I hovered above him, tracing star-shaped glows in the air.
"Well... I guess I try to contact my team. Maybe they can trace the wormhole glitch and extract me."
"Sounds lonely."
"It is," I admitted.
He looked up at me, his expression softer. "You could stay a bit longer."
My glow pulsed gently.
"Why?"
Swapnil shrugged. "You seem fun. And I've never had a magical friend before."
That word hit different.
Friend.
No one had ever called me that before. Not in training. Not in simulations. Not even Zurn, who once offered to split a plasma bun with me before telling me I was a walking glitter bomb.
Friend.
Something inside me clicked.
"Okay," I said quietly. "I'll stay. A little longer."
"Cool," he said, and then casually added, "Can you zap mosquitoes?"
I raised a glowing eyebrow. "I am the zap."
The sun dipped below the sea, and the sky turned to velvet. Stars blinked awake.
That night, we sat on the beach for hours, talking, laughing, watching waves roll in.
In all my cosmic training, no one ever told me friendship could feel like this.
Like warmth. Like safety. Like mangoes and pakoras and stargazing with someone who didn't just see me—but got me.
And in that moment, for the first time ever, I'm not just Echo the guide-being on a mission.
I am Echo.
Friend. Adventurer. Potential mosquito-destroyer.
And my real journey… is just beginning.