Palermo, 1282. Shepherds drank Voto Nero—the Black Oath—and rang the bells for the Sicilian Vespers.

The elixir was strictly outlawed soon after. Too late.

Years later, the exile returns to Havana with a cigar once drowned in the ninety-mile crossing in 1994. He lights it for a love stolen by the sea. 

Salt-crusted, it catches fire once more.

The dungeon gate stood unguarded. Paws caked in mud and wildflowers, Little Jodie unlatched the dragon’s chains—

Unintentionally, or maybe not. No one ever knew why.

In his console, the boy coded a glitch called Rocco—a dragon breathing 8-bit fire. It crushed every pixel god.

The console died. The boy grew up. He became the glitch.