Night at the Museum 4 (2026) – Ben Stiller, Elle Fanning, Nicolas Cage

For years, the magic of a single golden tablet had kept history alive quietly in the dark.

By day, the museum was a sanctuary of glass cases and whispered footsteps. By night, it was something else entirely—a living archive where pharaohs argued with cowboys, Roman legions marched through marble halls, and ancient heroes relived glories long forgotten by the modern world.

And at the center of it all was Larry Daley.

Larry no longer wore a security uniform. He had left that life behind—or so he believed. The museum ran smoothly now under new management, with carefully controlled protocols and limited nocturnal activation of exhibits. History, it seemed, had finally learned to stay in its place.

Until the night it didn’t.

It began beneath the Louvre Museum in Paris.

Deep below its polished floors, in a sealed chamber older than any recorded restoration, something stirred. Archaeologists had believed the chamber empty—just another forgotten foundation buried beneath centuries of civilization. But when the last worker left and the lights dimmed, a low hum filled the air.

A second tablet opened its eyes.

Unlike the familiar Tablet of Ahkmenrah, this one was darker, etched with symbols that did not belong to any single culture. Egyptian hieroglyphs bled into Sumerian cuneiform, Norse runes twisted beside Mayan glyphs. It was not a relic of one empire—but of all of them.

And it was waking up.

That same night in New York, Larry was awakened by a phone call he had hoped never to receive.

“Larry,” came the familiar voice of Dr. McPhee, strained and urgent. “We have a problem. And this one… this one isn’t staying in the museum.”

Before Larry could ask another question, the lights in his apartment flickered. The air felt heavy, charged, like the moment before a storm. On his bookshelf, a souvenir helmet from the museum began to rattle—then slid off and hit the floor with a clang.

That was impossible.

The magic was supposed to be contained.

Back at the museum, chaos unfolded.

Exhibits were activating before sunset. Not just coming to life—but changing. A medieval knight suddenly spoke in Latin no one recognized. A Neanderthal wielded a weapon centuries ahead of his time. Historical boundaries blurred, eras bleeding into one another as if time itself were forgetting its rules.

Jedediah and Octavius noticed it first.

“This ain’t normal, partner,” Jedediah muttered as a Spartan shield appeared beside his miniature frontier fort.
Octavius stared wide-eyed. “The gods are displeased.”

From the shadows, Ahkmenrah stepped forward, his expression grim. He could feel it—the familiar warmth of the tablet was being drowned out by something colder, older, and far more powerful.

“There is another tablet,” he said softly. “One that was never meant to awaken.”

Larry arrived at the museum just as the sun dipped below the skyline. The moment he crossed the threshold, the truth hit him like a wave. The museum didn’t feel alive anymore.

It felt unstable.

Ahkmenrah approached him, eyes filled with fear and awe. “What was once a single secret night,” he said, “is becoming the world’s new reality.”

Larry looked around at the exhibits—his friends—watching time fracture around them.

“So,” he said quietly, forcing a familiar, nervous smile, “I’m guessing retirement’s officially over.”

Outside, thunder rolled over the city though the sky was clear.

When every era comes alive at the same time, history stops being a lesson—

And becomes a war.

The first sign that the world was changing came from outside the museum.

Sirens wailed across the city as reports flooded in—statues moving in public squares, medieval weapons appearing in subway tunnels, voices speaking dead languages echoing through modern streets. History was no longer confined to glass cases. It was walking free.

Larry stood in the museum’s central hall, staring at a digital map filled with red markers across the globe. Each one represented an anomaly—an era colliding violently with the present.

“This isn’t just our museum anymore,” Larry said. “This is everywhere.”

Ahkmenrah nodded grimly. “The second tablet does not preserve history. It awakens it all at once. It erases the boundaries between eras.”

And worse—it was growing stronger.

As night deepened, the exhibits began changing faster. A Viking warrior clashed swords with a samurai. A Roman centurion barked orders at soldiers wearing Napoleonic uniforms. Confusion turned into conflict as old rivalries resurfaced, stripped of context but fueled by instinct.

History had stopped being memory.

It had become instinctual war.

Larry tried to restore order the only way he knew how—talking, negotiating, reminding them who they were. But this time, words weren’t enough. The magic was overpowering identity itself.

Then the Louvre called.

Curators in Paris reported a sealed underground chamber tearing itself open. Ancient walls cracked. Statues from different civilizations emerged—some benevolent, others terrifying. At the center of the chaos floated the second tablet, pulsing like a living heart.

“It’s calling to the first tablet,” Ahkmenrah said. “And to me.”

Larry exhaled slowly. “So we go to Paris.”

The journey wasn’t simple.

The moment they removed the original tablet from its resting place, time inside the museum convulsed. Walls aged and restored themselves in seconds. Paintings shifted styles mid-frame. History was unraveling faster than anyone predicted.

As they prepared to leave, Jedediah climbed onto Larry’s shoulder.

“Guess you don’t really get to quit this job, do ya?”

Larry smiled faintly. “Some people retire. Some people babysit history.”

When they arrived at the Louvre, the city was already under siege—not by monsters, but by eras. A phalanx of Greek soldiers marched across a modern bridge. Renaissance inventors attempted to power ancient machines using modern electricity. The past was learning too fast.

Deep beneath the museum, Larry and the others found the chamber.

The second tablet hovered above a fractured pedestal, its symbols shifting constantly.

Ahkmenrah stepped forward—and froze.

“This tablet was created as a failsafe,” he whispered. “To release history if the world ever forgot it completely.”

Larry frowned. “Then why does it feel like it’s trying to destroy us?”

Ahkmenrah looked up, fear in his eyes.

“Because the world forgot how to let the past go.”

Time collapsed in layers.

One moment, Larry was running through a marble corridor. The next, he was standing on a battlefield where muskets roared beside bronze shields. Above him, ancient banners snapped in the wind—symbols of empires that should never have met.

The tablets had synchronized.

Every era was alive at the same time.

The second tablet no longer floated alone—it was pulling power from the first, amplifying its reach across continents. Museums worldwide erupted as exhibits broke free, rewriting cities into patchworks of history.

Larry fought—not with weapons, but with memory.

He reminded Attila the Hun of the cost of conquest. He pleaded with medieval kings who saw modern cities as ripe for domination. He watched friends fall, rise, and forget themselves again as the magic distorted their identities.

Ahkmenrah grew weaker with every passing hour.

“The tablets are tearing me apart,” he admitted. “I was meant to bridge history—not survive its release.”

That was when Larry realized the truth.

“This isn’t about stopping the magic,” Larry said quietly. “It’s about choosing what history we carry forward.”

The second tablet reacted violently, warping the battlefield around them. A towering composite figure formed—part pharaoh, part warlord, part conqueror. Not a villain, but a manifestation of unresolved history.

“This world lives because of us,” it boomed. “You do not get to forget.”

Larry stood his ground.

“No,” he said. “But we get to learn—and move on.”

He turned to Ahkmenrah. “You said the only way forward is to let part of the past go.”

Ahkmenrah nodded, tears in his eyes. “Then this is goodbye.”

Together, they shattered the connection between the tablets.

Light erupted across the battlefield. Eras peeled away, retreating into memory. The composite entity screamed—not in pain, but in loss.

History was closing its eyes again.

Morning came quietly.

Paris returned to itself. The Louvre stood whole. The world stabilized as exhibits across the globe froze once more, restored to their rightful places—silent, preserved, remembered.

The second tablet cracked down the center, its power finally spent.

Ahkmenrah faded with it.

“History will live on,” he said softly to Larry. “But not all of it needs to walk beside you.”

With that, he was gone.

Back in New York, the museum was quieter than ever. The magic remained—but gentler, restrained. The past no longer strained against the present.

Larry stood alone in the hall as the sun rose.

He had saved tomorrow by walking through every yesterday.

And by letting part of it go.

Jedediah and Octavius saluted him one last time before freezing in place. Familiar. Comforting.

Larry smiled.

History didn’t need a guardian every night.

Sometimes, it just needed someone brave enough to say goodbye.

As he left the museum for the final time, Larry glanced back—not with regret, but gratitude.

Some stories belong in the dark.

And some nights deserve to end.