The Architect sandbox [The Archiverse series]

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Chapter 56 – "Castles and Creatures"

Third Person – Oliver Woods

Oliver continued shaping his small sandcastle, patting and pressing each side with careful hands. The once dry, crumbling mess had become something more solid and defined thanks to the damp sand he gathered from the cooler shaded area beneath the slide. It stuck like clay, holding shape in a way that actually made the building part fun.

He scooped more from the darker patches, his hands now dusty and gritty but oddly satisfied. Each turret, wall, and lopsided staircase added gave the castle more character. It wasn't pretty, not by Earth standards or whatever magical architecture existed in this world — but it was his. And for now, that meant something.

He leaned forward, digging a shallow trench beside one of the towers, thinking it could be a moat or maybe an underground tunnel—when something unexpected happened.

The sand shifted. A small rustling movement. And then, right into the little burrow he was making, a badger girl casually scooted in.

She was short and a bit scruffy, with shaggy striped fur and blunt claws better suited for digging than anything else. She didn't say a word, just sniffed around and shuffled into the small pit Oliver had unintentionally crafted. Her nose wrinkled. Her eyes darted from wall to wall, and then with a low grunt of disinterest, she backed out and walked off like none of it mattered.

Oliver blinked.

Well, that was… weird.

But something about it lit a spark in the back of his mind.

Wild Kratts.

He remembered that show. Used to binge it as background noise while scrolling through phone apps or half-paying attention. It was for kids, sure, but he'd watched enough episodes to absorb a ridiculous amount of animal facts—though sometimes the show played fast and loose with logic.

He chuckled quietly, brushing sand off his pants.

Like that one dhole episode, where Chris and Martin wore full-body dhole suits and casually chatted with a sloth bear. Completely ignoring that the sloth bear would've likely been startled by two lone dholes. Real sloth bears knew the strength of numbers. A group of dholes? Maybe. But just two? The sloth bear would've turned around and made them back off.

And then there was the episode on young cobras. "Their venom is more dangerous than adults because they can't control it!" Oliver muttered under his breath, quoting the voiceover. Maybe… but that was an oversimplification. Biology didn't really work like that. Venom was venom — potent no matter the age. Control might matter, but so did quantity. And people forgot young snakes didn't want to waste their venom.

And elephants.

That one always stuck with him.

The show often claimed Asian elephants were more pacifistic than African ones. But the truth? Elephants were just... elephants. Deep, intelligent, emotionally complex. They mourned their dead. They remembered kindness. And cruelty. Their behavior wasn't based on species so much as experience. They were thoughtful. Sensitive. Whimsical.

Just like people.

His thoughts circled back to that badger girl.

There'd been a Wild Kratts outro once, he remembered — Chris and Martin digging holes in the dirt and watching American badgers investigate each one. The badgers would crawl in, sit for a second, and either stay or leave depending on whether the spot "felt right."

That's exactly what the badger girl had done to his hole.

Oliver's lips quirked into a grin.

Guess some behaviors are universal.

He sat back and looked at his sandcastle again. Small towers. A little trench. A rejected badger burrow. It wasn't perfect, and honestly, the whole scene looked like something out of a dream. A lone human boy in a fantasy world playground, building sandcastles while beastkin children flew, pounced, and played in the distance.

But in its own strange way, it felt… peaceful.

Simple.

Maybe even real.

And for now, that was enough.

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Chapter 57 – "Where the Wild Things Learn"

Third Person – Oliver Woods

Recess continued to unfold like a moving painting — flashes of laughter, airborne leaves, glints of fur and feathers in the sunlight. Oliver sat beside his half-finished sandcastle, quietly observing the other beastkin children around him.

It was only his first week, but already, he was learning things — real things. Things the school wasn't formally teaching, but the world around him was showing, moment by moment.

He'd assumed all beastkin used Vita — that pure energy he'd only recently begun to grasp. But that wasn't the whole truth. As he watched, he noticed a rabbit girl puff her cheeks and blow soft glowing bubbles into the air — not with Vita, but with a flickering magic aura that shimmered like fairy dust.

It wasn't Vita at all. It was something else. Magic, maybe?

More kids joined in, floating the bubbles higher, guiding them like glowing balloons. It was playful, lighthearted — and very much beyond his current ability. Oliver only had faint command over Vita — and even that felt like trying to catch fog in his hands.

He stood up, brushing sand from his pants, and wandered a bit — cautious but curious.

He tried approaching a wolf girl near the edge of the field, her fur bristling subtly even though she hadn't said a word. She wasn't doing anything special, just watching others from afar — her silver eyes alert and unreadable.

Oliver opened his mouth to say hi but stopped when she stiffened.

A low, almost instinctual tension radiated off her.

He backed away without a word.

Right, he thought. Wolves don't like being surprised. Even on Earth, wolves were cautious animals. They didn't take kindly to strangers invading their space. And beastkin, despite their humanoid forms, were no exception to the instincts they carried.

He kept walking, making mental notes as he went.

Solitary types — bearkin, leopardkin, even a tall tiger boy lounging alone in the shade — all seemed to prefer being left to their own rhythm. Oliver saw a crocodile girl sprawled near the edge of a shallow fountain, half-asleep, arms behind her head. When a fox kid made the mistake of touching her thick, armored tail out of curiosity, she snapped awake with a snarl and bared her teeth.

The fox bolted. Oliver winced.

Never touch the tail.

He remembered someone saying alligatorkin had two forms — beast and human — but even in their humanoid state, those instincts ran deep. One wrong move, one unwanted touch, and it was game over.

A blur of movement distracted him. Monkeykin. A trio of them were darting between trees, swinging off the slide rails and leaving trails of half-eaten fruit. One of them — a girl with puffy cheeks and wild hair — gave Oliver a big grin and offered him a colorful jellybean.

He accepted it.

Big mistake.

The taste hit him like old gum mixed with pepper and something vaguely metallic. He gagged, to the monkey girl's roaring laughter as she scampered away.

Of course, he thought bitterly. Monkeykin are tricksters.

He wiped his tongue with his sleeve, hating how smart she probably thought she was.

Eventually, he wandered toward a group of hyenakin playing some kind of competitive tag game with magical circles flashing on the ground. The group was energetic, loud, and… oddly structured. At the center was a tall hyena girl, clearly in charge — barking orders and leading the chase. The males were faster than Oliver, stronger too, but they all deferred to her.

He remembered something again — not from a cartoon this time, but from actual wildlife documentaries. Hyena society was matriarchal. The females were dominant, higher ranked, even larger in some species.

He joined them for a bit, trying to keep up, but his human body lagged behind — weaker, slower, and still clumsy with the terrain.

He didn't belong in their hierarchy. And yet… they didn't chase him off. They let him play, even if the gap was obvious.

Even if he wasn't a hyena, or a beastkin, or anything close.

He had Vita, sure — but it wasn't magic. It wasn't flashy or powerful. It wasn't even easy to use yet.

But he was learning.

Piece by piece.

Observation by awkward experience.

In this world of fur, claws, magic, and instinct — Oliver Woods was beginning to understand the rules.

And more importantly… he was starting to write his own.

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Chapter 58 – "The Wild Lunch Hour"

Third Person – Oliver Woods

The bell rang with a soft chiming tone — not the sharp buzz Oliver was used to on Earth — and the students filtered out of class, some flying, some bounding, some just casually strolling with tails swaying.

Oliver followed the flow until he reached what was labeled the cafeteria.

He stepped inside… and then stopped.

If he could even call it a cafeteria.

It was massive — a vast, open-air pavilion with smooth stone flooring and large canopies overhead that shifted color to match the sky. The "cafeteria" bled right into the outdoors, revealing long winding paths, soft grass lawns, and at the far end… a lake. A wide, still body of water that sparkled in the sunlight, framed by tall trees and flowered reeds.

Wait… the school has a lake? Oliver thought, blinking.

He looked around, searching for any other humans — but again, none in sight. The entire cafeteria was filled with beastkin. Not one human face in the crowd. Was this some sort of assigned grouping? Separate dining schedules? He made a mental note to ask someone later.

Still, curiosity pulled him forward.

Rows of stone counters lined the edges, where all kinds of dishes were being served — bubbling pots, steaming platters, floating trays that moved on their own like enchanted serving drones.

Each food line catered to a specific preference. Oliver wandered through, absorbing every strange, fascinating detail.

The otterkin had their own station — full of glistening seaweed wraps, grilled river fish, and steamy bowls of shellfish stew. The air smelled briny and rich.

Nearby, a group of tiger boys growled in satisfaction as they tore into slabs of meat — grilled, spiced, raw — all kinds. Oliver expected a pang of guilt. But then he saw the signs overhead.

> "Stake Plant Harvest — Today's Cut: Tender Round & Flame-Burst."

Wait… what?

He walked over to inspect. Apparently, the school grew its meat from plants. Not plant-based meat like those veggie patties back on Earth — but actual meat grown from magically altered flora. The "stake plant" looked like a thick vine with pulsing red pods that were cut open and grilled on the spot.

It was… ethical. Sustainable. And completely bizarre.

The carnivorous beastkin loved it.

Rabbits and deerfolk hovered near the vegetarian section — bright greens, grains, fruits, flower salads, and even glowing nectar drinks. A soft, chirpy song played from hovering crystal speakers, which seemed to calm the crowd naturally.

Serving all of it — gracefully gliding between lines with a chef's poise — was a tall octopus lady. Her upper half was humanoid, dressed in a crisp apron, while her many tentacles handled plates, pans, utensils, and trays with dizzying efficiency.

Well, Oliver thought, amused. Multiple arms. More productivity.

He took a tray and stepped into the line marked "General Preference."

A few minutes later, he walked out with two perfectly fried steaks — sizzling, juicy, and apparently grown from the stake plant's heart cut. A side of steamed spiced tubers came with it. It smelled… incredible.

He found a seat near the lake, where stone benches curved naturally with the land. As he sat down, he kept observing the creatures around him.

A raccoon girl near the lake crouched with her plate, dipping each piece of her food into the water before taking a bite. Not once — several times. Like a little ritual.

Raccoons, he thought. They always dip their food in water. That's just what they do.

Not far from her, a cheetah girl tore into her raw steak like it was the last meal she'd ever eat — quick, powerful bites, her eyes alert even while chewing. She practically inhaled it.

And near the shaded grove, a massive polar bear girl — probably an exchange student — quietly worked through a tray loaded with fish, chilled fruit, and a block of frozen honey. Her fur rippled every time she moved, but her expression stayed stoic.

So much of it… tracks. Oliver realized. Even here, their animal instincts still shine through.

He took a bite of his fried steak.

Delicious. Somehow juicy and crisp, with a savory burst of flavor he didn't expect from a plant-born product. Magic must be doing most of the heavy lifting here.

As he ate, he kept watching.

The lake shimmered, the beastkin chatted and laughed, and somewhere in the distance, floating trays hummed along their preprogrammed paths.

He was in a world filled with magical creatures, stake plants, octopus lunch ladies, and raccoon girls dipping food in lakes.

And honestly?

This was the most peaceful lunch he'd had in his pervious past....