Chapter: New Name, New Home [official]
Third Person – Narrative View
Oliver blinked against soft white light as he appeared—no, was placed—inside a large, high-ceilinged bedroom.
The walls were painted a calm modern sky blue, trimmed with white. A plush navy carpet lined the floor. The massive bed behind him was perfectly made with soft covers tucked at the corners, and he sank into it slightly, his tiny legs dangling off the edge.
Everything felt so… quiet.
So light.
Like the weight—all of it—his body, his doubts, the hot pockets, the scrolling despair... had been lifted clean off his chest.
He looked down at his small arms again. So thin. So alien.
He wasn't used to this body. The strength was gone. The gravity was different. Even blinking felt strange, like there wasn't enough eyelid anymore.
Then—the door creaked open.
In stepped a man. Early 30s.
Brown hair, clean-cut, neatly dressed in a simple gray tunic with black accents—modern in design, slightly foreign in texture. No beard, clean skin, about 5'10", with calm, soft eyes and a careful smile.
He looked relieved. Familiar.
Behind him, a red-haired woman entered, her long curls tied up in a twist. She wore a red and white dress with ribboned details. She was soft-eyed, glowing, calm like a spring afternoon.
> "There he is!" the man said warmly, voice rich with joy. "There's our boy."
Before Oliver could react, he was scooped up.
Lifted like a feather.
His breath caught in surprise.
First Person – Oliver Reed
Liam Woods.
Apparently… my new adoptive father?
This world works fast.
I'm still me. My memories, my thoughts, everything—still inside. Still 28. Still jobless. Still half-traumatized from watching the Black Tortoise flood the garden with an ocean.
And now… I'm in a new house. A new family. A new life.
My chest felt tight for a second, not from pain—just confusion. Emotion. Guilt again. Sadness. Gratitude. All swirling into one overwhelming fog I didn't know how to clear.
But I didn't say a word.
I just looked at him.
Liam smiled like he'd waited for me for years.
And for a moment…
> I didn't want to ruin it.
So I said nothing.
I just watched.
Let them think I was their real son.
Maybe I am now.
---
Third Person – Narrative View
Martha came closer, gently brushing Oliver's hair with her hand. Her smile was gentle, but her eyes searched his face with motherly precision.
> "You must be tired, sweetheart," she said quietly.
Oliver only nodded.
Not because he was tired.
But because he didn't trust his voice to hold steady.
Something new was beginning.
And for the first time in a long time…
Oliver didn't feel completely lost.
-----
Chapter: Strange Steps
First Person – Oliver Reed
This is so surreal.
I mean—what the hell is even happening?
One moment I was a 28-year-old unemployed slob doomscrolling TikTok, microwaving rock-hard hot pockets. Then I touched some glowing cube, got flooded by a primordial ocean, and now I'm standing in a warm house with blue walls and… two strangers calling themselves my parents.
I still have all my memories.
Everything.
Every embarrassing moment. Every job rejection. Every time I promised to change and didn't. I'm still me.
But my body?
It's tiny.
Liam—my so-called "dad"—finally sets me down on the floor, and I wobble a little. My feet feel like they don't quite belong to me. My center of gravity is completely off. I'm like a bobblehead wearing gym shorts.
I try to walk.
Big mistake.
The first step feels like I'm on stilts. The second, like my knees are made of rubber. Third step? I nearly trip over my own feet.
I stop and glare at the floor like it betrayed me.
> Okay... so this is going to take getting used to.
My legs are too short. My arms feel like noodles. I glance at my hands again—so smooth and stubby. Even the way I blink is different. Everything is smaller. Lighter. Weaker.
And somehow…
> It doesn't feel bad.
Just… foreign.
Like wearing someone else's body that kinda fits but needs breaking in.
Liam watches me from across the room, amused but not judging.
Martha kneels beside him, her hand to her heart like I'm the most precious thing she's ever seen.
And me?
I just keep walking. Slowly. Awkwardly.
Because even if I don't know where I'm going yet…
> I know I can't go back.
---
Chapter: Sister Woods
First Person – Oliver Reed
I scanned the room carefully. My steps were still off, but my mind wasn't. That was the weirdest part—my brain was still 28, even if my legs barely cleared the carpet.
I spotted a wooden chair near the table. The kind adults assume kids don't bother with.
But I was not an average kid.
> Experience, baby.
I shuffled over, got a decent grip, and started dragging the chair across the floor with effort. It scraped loudly, legs creaking against the wood like I was committing some great domestic sin. My small hands clutched the top rail as I braced myself and began climbing—step by wobbly step.
All I wanted was to reach the doorknob.
And then—
> "Whoa there, bud."
Two strong arms scooped me up mid-heist. Liam.
Caught in the act. Great.
> "Already trying to sneak off?" he chuckled. "Guess you're more curious than I thought."
He held me like a parent would—not harsh, just firm. I didn't squirm. I just blinked at him, completely neutral.
What was I even supposed to say?
"Sorry, I used to be 290 pounds and had adult depression and now I'm stuck in a child body trying to reorient my life"?
Yeah. Didn't think so.
Liam turned and opened the door himself.
> "Time to meet your sister."
---
Third Person – Narrative View
Out in the hallway stood a girl.
Ten years old.
Arms crossed.
Red strands of hair tied in a high ponytail.
Sleeves rolled up. Freckles lightly dusted over her nose.
Her name was Lyra Woods.
And she was in the middle of practicing Vita shaping, her fingers tracing sloppy spirals in the air as little beads of water danced and fell apart before forming properly.
When she noticed Oliver—her expression flattened.
She slowly walked toward him, hips swinging with overconfidence.
> "So this is my little brother?" she muttered, squinting like he was a strange bug on a windowsill.
Oliver, small and silent, just stared at her—arms loose at his side, observing. His eyes were calm, sharp. He wasn't offended. He was studying her.
> "Tch," Lyra scoffed.
She leaned in, poked his soft cheek, and grinned smugly.
> "You're ugly."
Oliver still said nothing.
He didn't flinch.
Didn't pout.
Didn't cry like a kid would.
He just… watched.
Because inside his six-year-old skull was a grown man with entirely too much life experience.
He'd seen TikTok conspiracy theories, dodged tax forms, and sat through HR interviews with smiling liars.
A bratty ten-year-old?
> This wasn't new.
But what was new… was Vita—the real thing Lyra was bending with her fingers.
And that meant she could use it.
That… was worth paying attention to.