The convention center loomed like a castle from a dream, bathed in the golden light of the late afternoon. Flags bearing emblems of forgotten realms fluttered in the breeze. The air hummed with excitement—a symphony of cheers, laughter, and the occasional clink of plastic swords against metal shields. Towering cosplay props sparkled, capes swirled dramatically, and a faint scent of caramel popcorn drifted through the crowd of eager fans. It was Day Two of the LunarCon, the biggest fantasy convention on the East Coast.
Devon stood at the edge of the plaza, clutching the straps of his backpack, his palms coated with the damp sheen of anxiety. In his other hand, he held a simple white mask, matte with black etchings that mimicked the cracked porcelain face of Calyx, the disgraced sorcerer from his favorite comics. Despite the rush around him, he felt entirely still, a moment frozen in time.
“Maybe this was a dumb idea,” Devon muttered to himself, glancing at his reflection in a nearby glass door. He’d felt confident when he’d finished assembling his costume just two nights ago. The flowing black robe he wore cinched at the waist, trimmed with glowing red thread he’d painstakingly stitched himself. A cascade of fake scars crossed one half of his face, faintly glimmering under the otherworldly blue contact lenses he had nervously inserted that morning. But here, standing among cosplayers dressed as far more elaborate versions of knights, dragons, and sci-fi royalty, he felt out of place. Small, even. His lean build only added to the sense that he wasn’t imposing enough to embody his bold character.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, interrupting his self-doubt. He fished it out, recognizing his best friend Clara’s name on the screen.
Clara: Are you here yet?? There’s a Calyx cosplayer meetup near the fountain at 1!!! You’ve got this, dude. Seriously. Look dramatic.
Devon smiled faintly. Clara always knew how to bolster his confidence, even if she was states away watching from Instagram. He typed back quickly.
Devon: I think I’m gonna head back to the car. Everyone here looks amazing. I’m a 6/10 at best.
A reply came almost instantly.
Clara: Shut up. You’ll regret it forever if you don’t even TRY. Also, Calyx is all about being out of his depth and owning it. Plus, you MADE your costume. Most of these people bought theirs. Go.
Devon hesitated, his thumb hovering over the keyboard, but he didn’t reply. Something about Clara’s words stuck with him. Calyx is all about being out of his depth and owning it. He had poured hours into this costume—not just for himself, but for the idea that someone, somewhere, would see him and understand his love for the character. That effort deserved more than the inside of his Honda Civic.
Taking a deep breath, Devon slipped the white mask over his face, the world tilting slightly as his vision adjusted to the narrow eye slits. The mask fit snugly, transforming his features into something otherworldly, sinister even. He turned toward the main plaza, where the fountain arena shimmered ahead like hallowed ground. Crowds swirled around him, but Devon didn’t stop. Every stiletto-thighed warrior and staff-wielding sage seemed like a tidal wave he was determined to wade through. The sunlight gleamed off his robes as their fringes swayed with his purposeful strides.
When he reached the fountain, a group of cosplayers clustered around its edge. The centerpiece was a dramatic statue of a woman holding a sphere aloft, framed by jets of water that arched into the air like liquid ribbons. And surrounding it were the Calyxs—three of them so far. One wore an elaborate armored version of the sorcerer’s attire, their bracers etched with glowing runes. Another opted for Calyx’s famous pre-corruption apprentice outfit, humble and threadbare. And lastly, a petite, masked Calyx with glowing LED accents held a custom magic staff that rivaled anything Devon had ever seen.
At first, no one noticed him approach. Devon hovered at the edge of the group, unsure whether to leap in or retreat. But before he could decide, the armored Calyx turned toward him and let out an audible gasp.
“Whoa,” they exclaimed. “Did you hand-stitch that gradient? My guy, that is insane!”
Their eyes, visible through their mask’s glass lens, blinked with genuine admiration. The LED Calyx stepped in next, inspecting the cracks on Devon’s mask. “This texture is amazing,” she said. “Is it foam or wood filler?”
A hesitant laugh bubbled from Devon’s chest. “Wood filler,” he admitted. “Then like five coats of matte spray paint.”
“And it paid off,” she replied, smiling warmly beneath her own porcelain façade.
For the first time that day, Devon didn’t feel invisible. Instead, he felt like what he was—a creator among other creators, brought together by their shared love for a world that didn’t even exist. The Calyx group welcomed him into their fold without hesitation, and within minutes, strangers were laughing, comparing costume hacks, and taking photos near the fountain.
Hours later, as the golden light faded into deep purples and blues, Devon sat cross-legged on the grass near the plaza, the mask resting on his knee. Sweat had dampened his hair, and his robe was crinkled from a dozen fast poses for group shots. But he didn’t care. He scrolled through the cascade of likes and comments already flooding his first cosplay post.
Clara sent one final text for the night.
Clara: See?? Told you. You’re NEVER too old to cosplay.
Devon smiled to himself, resting his phone on the grass. The fountain sparkled behind him, alive with laughter, camera flashes, and the warmth of shared passion. The cracked mask glinted faintly in the twilight, no longer a symbol of hesitation but of daring to step into the unknown.
The Source…check out the article that inspired this amazing short story: Is 25 too old to cosplay?
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