Chapter 36: 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.
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Chapter 37: 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."
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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.
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Chapter 38: Judged by a Ten-Year-Old
First Person – Oliver Reed
Ugh… why does she look like that?
Seriously—those freckles like someone went crazy with a cinnamon shaker, and that big smug face like she owns the world. Red hair tied so tight it looks like her brain's holding its breath. And she's calling me ugly?
> She should look in a mirror before throwing shade.
I didn't say it out loud, of course. I just stood there like a statue, letting her poke my cheek like I'm some helpless toddler. But inside?
> I'm roasting her.
This little preteen drama queen has no idea I used to drive myself to gas stations at 2 a.m. to buy off-brand Nyquil and debate if I was depressed or just lazy. She's still in her "elemental magic is cool" phase like it's a game.
No, Lyra. I'm not some cute baby brother you can push around.
I've seen real life.
I've seen job applications that vanished into the void.
I've seen rent due with $3.18 in my account.
I've watched season 2 of Tower of God fall off a cliff.
And now I'm here.
In a 6-year-old body.
Getting insulted by a water-wielding ten-year-old goblin girl.
> Great. Just great.
But I stay quiet.
Why?
Because I'm playing the long game.
Let her think I'm a mute little runt. Let her get cocky.
When I figure out how to use Vita—really use it—
she won't see it coming.
(Incoming character description)
Lyra Woods – Character Description:
Lyra Woods is the biological daughter of Liam and Martha Woods and the adoptive older sister of Oliver in his new life. She is 9 years old—three years older than Oliver's new form—and carries herself with a mix of youthful confidence and curiosity. Lyra has soft red strawberry hair that flows to her shoulders, often tied with ribbons that match her mood—bright colors on cheerful days, darker ones when she's feeling more reserved. Her eyes are a striking hazel, flecked with hints of gold that catch the light, giving her an almost otherworldly awareness.
She wears playful yet practical dresses, often in earthy tones—greens, creams, and browns—paired with boots she insists make her look like an adventurer. Lyra is spirited, clever, and observant beyond her years. She has a sharp sense of intuition, especially around Oliver, sensing that there's more to her "little brother" than meets the eye.
Though she's prone to teasing and showing off, Lyra has a protective streak, and once she grows attached, she's fiercely loyal. Whether as a guide in the new world or a challenge to Oliver's patience, Lyra is destined to become a key figure in his journey—one who may unknowingly shape his path as much as any spirit or divine force.
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Chapter 39: Lyra's House, Lyra's Rules
First Person – Oliver Reed
Okay, now she's touching my face?
Lyra grabbed me by the chin like some tiny drill sergeant trying to assert dominance over a confused toddler. I let her do it—only because jerking away would break my "silent observation" mode. But trust me, the urge to roll my eyes into the next dimension was strong.
> "Listen up," she said, like she was a queen addressing a servant.
"I made the rules in this house. I'm the older sibling, I'm the superior water user, and I don't have time to babysit crybabies. So don't mess with my stuff, don't talk too much, and stay out of my room."
I blinked.
Not because I was confused.
But because I was imagining a bucket of ice water "accidentally" falling on her later. From the ceiling. Twice.
She got closer and smirked—God, that smirk.
> "You probably don't even understand Vita. Let me educate you."
She raised one smug little finger like she was a genius giving a TED Talk for kids.
> "Two hydrogen," she said with dramatic flair, "plus one oxygen… equals water."
She looked at me like she just dropped the secrets of the universe.
Girl.
I passed 10th-grade chemistry in 2013 while eating nachos during a substitute lecture. I don't need this.
> Wow, thank you, Lyra. I totally didn't know the molecular structure of the one thing I used to drink while crying about college loans.
Still, I stayed quiet.
Just stared at her. Unmoving. Unimpressed.
Like I was watching a child pretending to be a CEO with a plastic briefcase.
Because that's what she was.
A loud, overconfident ten-year-old who thought her Vita tricks made her invincible. And maybe they did.
> For now.
But I've got something she doesn't.
Twenty-eight years of pent-up frustration, poor life decisions, and a fresh cosmic reset.
And I'm just getting started.
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Chapter 40: New World, New House, New Start
First Person – Oliver Reed
After Queen Lyra dismissed me like some peasant in her water kingdom, I took a breath, turned away, and started wandering the house a little.
Slow steps. Tiny legs.
But my eyes were sharp.
The place was... pretty nice, honestly.
Modern architecture with a twist of fantasy. Wood floors that had that fresh polish glow, but the grain shimmered faintly like it was grown from Vita-touched trees. The walls were light gray-blue, calming and spacious. Big windows let the sunlight in, filtered by flowing, semi-transparent blinds.
I passed a floating painting—some glowing coastal city with a sky full of stars. A staircase spiraled up, not with harsh corners, but curved like a ribbon, elegant and subtle.
> This wasn't what I expected from a world where turtles shoot oceans at you.
Then I saw Liam outside through the tall glass door, crouched down in the yard. And next to him?
A dog.
Big. Golden fur. Not yellow—actual gold fur, like sunlight weaved into its coat. It stood proudly next to him, tail flicking in slow rhythm. Calm. Powerful. Watching everything.
Liam gave it a pat and tossed something into the grass. The dog bounded forward—effortless, graceful.
> A Vita-touched breed? Or just a really cool dog?
I kept watching.
---
And then it hit me.
This is my life now.
Not in a simulation.
Not in a game.
Not in another dream I'll wake up from with chip crumbs on my chest.
This is real.
A peaceful home.
Parents who seem to care.
A golden dog in the yard.
Magic—real magic—flowing in the air.
> This wasn't supposed to happen to me.
I was supposed to waste away in a bedroom with a broken fan and existential dread on loop.
But now?
Now I had a second chance.
And for the first time in years, I didn't feel numb.
I felt... hopeful.
Confused, sure.
Nervous, definitely.
But under all that?
Hope.
> Maybe this new life isn't just a reset.
Maybe it's a rewrite.