The Architect sandbox [The Archiverse series]

Third-Person Narrative

Chapter: The Tooth, The Vita, and the Morning Rush.

The faucet continued to run as Oliver hunched over the sink, hand cupped over his mouth, crimson drops of blood splattering against the white porcelain. His small frame trembled slightly—not from pain exactly, but from the sheer shock of it. In his palm sat two molars, freshly dislodged, slick with red. His gums throbbed, each pulse echoing in his skull like a war drum.

He had definitely overdone it.

The toothbrush lay discarded on the counter like a weapon gone rogue, the bristles stained a light pink. The pain had come so suddenly, like biting down on a bolt of lightning. Oliver could hardly believe it—he hadn't lost teeth in years. Not since Earth. Not since his days as Oliver Reed, unemployed and overweight in his dim Florida apartment or his parents house, sinking into the cushions of an old couch with nothing but regret and reruns.

But now, here he was. A new world. A new name. A new body that still remembered how to bleed like a child.

Just as he reached for the hand towel with shaking fingers, the door burst open.

"Oliver!" Lyra's voice rang out, sharp and irritated. "What is taking so—?"

She froze in the doorway, one bare foot on the tile, the other still hovering mid-step. Her red hair was still wild, tangled from sleep, but her expression shifted instantly from annoyed to stunned. Then, rapidly, to something else entirely.

Worry.

"What the heck did you do to yourself!?" she barked, crossing the space in two strides.

Oliver flinched, his eyes wide behind his hand, blood slipping through his fingers. "I—it just—" he mumbled, voice muffled.

"Shhh." Lyra didn't yell this time. She moved quickly, decisively, placing her own hand gently over his mouth, silencing him. Her other hand reached for his cheek, warm and steady. Oliver stiffened, eyes darting up to meet hers.

"Don't scream," she said softly, but firmly. "Let me fix this."

Then, something happened.

A faint glow. Barely noticeable at first. Lyra's fingertips shimmered with a soft, green light—subtle and gentle, like dew catching morning sunlight. The warmth spread from her palm, into Oliver's skin, pulsing through the raw ache in his jaw.

He felt it.

Not just the warmth—but the knitting of tissue, the closing of wounds. It wasn't magic, not the kind with incantations or wands. No spark or flare. This was something deeper. Smoother. Vita.

The same energy used by Celestial Clerics. The lifeforce of the world. A force that healed—not by rewriting reality, but by accelerating the natural rhythm of the body, coaxing it back into harmony.

Oliver blinked. The pain was gone.

He opened his mouth slowly, hesitantly touching the spot where the molars had once been. Smooth skin. No blood. No wound. It was as if the injury had never happened.

He stared at Lyra, stunned. "That was… that was like magic."

Lyra rolled her eyes and pulled her hand away. "It wasn't magic. It was Vita. You're lucky I know how to use it," she muttered, clearly flustered, though the concern hadn't fully left her face.

Oliver watched her step back, biting his lip in awe. "I didn't know you could do that…"

She crossed her arms, eyes narrowing slightly. "Yeah, well, now you do. And if you yank out another tooth like an idiot again, I'm not healing it."

She grabbed a towel from the nearby rack and tossed it straight at his face. "Shower. Now. You've already wasted ten minutes, and Kaelin's gonna be here in forty-five."

Oliver caught the towel, nodding sheepishly. "Right. Right…"

Without another word, he turned toward the shower, still dazed. As the bathroom door clicked shut behind him and steam began to fill the air, Oliver leaned back against the wall for just a second, clutching the towel to his chest.

A lost molar. A bleeding mouth. A green glow. Healing in seconds.

This world—his new life—it was insane. Strange. Painful. Magical in ways he didn't fully understand.

But even as hot water began to pour from the faucet behind him, one thought echoed in his mind:

At least I'm not alone.

----

[First-Person Narrative]

The water poured over me, warm and comforting, washing away the last of the blood and tension. I let it hit my face, eyes closed, steam curling around my body like a thin veil. For a moment, it was just me and the sound of the shower—no magic, no bleeding gums, no pressure.

Then—

BANG! BANG! BANG!

I nearly slipped.

"OLIVER! HURRY UP! I SWEAR IF YOU FALL ASLEEP IN THERE—!"

I flinched hard, nearly dropping the soap. Her voice blasted through the door like an explosion, followed by three more sharp, impatient knocks. The kind that made the whole door rattle in its frame.

Jeez.

I pressed my back against the wall and let out a small breath. "I'm showering, not building a temple," I muttered under my breath, knowing full well she probably couldn't hear it—and probably better that way.

Why does she get so angry over everything?

It's like every little delay is a personal insult to her honor or something. I get it—Kaelin's coming, time matters, the sky's falling—but still. Couldn't she just knock normally?

I sighed again, rinsing the last bit of shampoo from my hair.

She probably didn't mean to sound that harsh. She had just healed my mouth a few minutes ago, after all. That had to count for something.

But still… sometimes, it feels like she's just too much.

Too loud. Too forceful. Too… Lyra.

I took a deep breath, steadied myself, and turned off the water. The steam lingered in the air like a fog, and I wrapped the towel around me tightly.

"Okay, okay," I called toward the door, voice echoing off the tile. "I'm coming out. Just don't break the door down next time."

-----

[Lyra's First-Person Narrative]

I stood outside the bathroom, fists clenched at my sides, trying so hard not to kick the door in.

I swear, this boy…!

"OLIVER! HURRY UP!" I banged on the door again, hard. "IF YOU'RE JUST STANDING THERE STARING AT THE SHAMPOO BOTTLES, I'M GONNA LOSE IT!"

No answer. Just the muffled sound of water and probably blinking or whatever he does in there. I groaned and pressed my forehead against the door.

It's like dealing with a slow-motion six-year-old. A really polite, dramatic, overthinking one.

We've got forty minutes before Kaelin shows up—forty—and he's in there like it's a spa retreat! This is serious! We don't have time for him to be humming to himself and making shampoo castles.

Does he not get how important this morning is?

I healed his mouth, didn't I? Fixed the blood, cleaned up the Vita mess—he could at least do his part and move. Just a little urgency! That's all I'm asking! But no, Oliver's in his own little floaty world half the time, like the rules of time only half-apply to him.

I took a deep breath through my nose.

He's not bad. He's just... slow. Way too slow for someone caught up in all this celestial stuff.

"Ten more seconds, I swear—" I muttered under my breath. "I'm turning this into a Vita training drill next time. Shower speed round. Let's see how long he takes when I throw a bucket at him."

-----

Chapter: Siblings and Steam: Third-Person Narrative

The bathroom door creaked open with a waft of steam rolling out, the scent of citrus soap clinging to the air. Oliver stepped out, toweling his damp hair, clad in the oversized robe that bunched around his small, regressed frame. The hallway light hit his eyes, and he squinted—just in time for Lyra's voice to hit him like a slap before the real one came.

"Finally! You take forever, Oliver! Do you even understand what a schedule is?"

She was standing arms crossed, foot tapping, red hair even more wild now than it was minutes ago. Her glare burned with frustration, as if his leisurely shower had singlehandedly offended the cosmic order. But Oliver had had enough.

"Maybe if you stopped yelling for five seconds, you'd realize not everything is a military emergency!" Oliver snapped back, wiping at his cheek. "It's a shower. I was bleeding, remember?"

Lyra's eyes widened with shock—for a heartbeat—and then came the real slap.

Her hand cracked against his damp cheek, not hard enough to bruise, but firm and fast enough to send his head tilting slightly. The hallway fell into a dead silence.

Oliver blinked, stunned, his skin stinging but his pride mostly intact.

He didn't cry. He was used to worse—used to the emotional weight of adulthood, of disappointment, of yelling. Even if his body was six years old again, his mind wasn't. He had thirty years of memories behind those childlike eyes.

"I could tell Martha," he said quietly, lips tight and voice steady. "Or Liam. I could tell Mom or Dad you just hit me."

Lyra stiffened. Her jaw clenched.

In one motion, she stormed forward and grabbed Oliver by the collar of his robe, dragging him closer so fast the fabric nearly choked him. His wide golden eyes met her fierce green ones, and for a moment, it felt like something ancient crackled between them—Vita, fury, guilt, family.

"I'm your older sister," Lyra hissed. "I healed your mouth. You were bleeding and I fixed it. You think you'd even be able to talk right now if it weren't for me?"

Oliver didn't flinch. He stared at her dead-on.

"You think I really care if you tattle?" she said, her voice low, intense. "Try it. You'll regret it, Oliver. I promise you."

There was silence again. Heavy. Breathless.

Oliver slowly peeled her hand from his collar and pulled back.

"I was bluffing," he said flatly. "I'm not a snitch. But that doesn't mean you're right."

And with that, he turned and walked down the hall, bare feet quiet on the wooden floor, leaving wet footprints behind him. He didn't run. He didn't stomp. He just left.

Lyra stood frozen in the hallway, still breathing heavily, her hand half-raised as if caught between two instincts—hit or hug. Her chest rose and fell once, twice, and then she finally let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

She looked at her hand.

It still glowed faintly with the remnants of Vita from earlier. The same hand that had healed his tooth… and slapped his face.

Her shoulders sagged.

Maybe she had gone too hard. Maybe she let her temper do what her words couldn't.

She was the older sister. She should have known better.

And now, Oliver was walking away from her—not with tears, but with something worse.

Disappointment.

-----

[Lyra First-Person View]

I leaned against the wall, staring at the floor like it could give me answers I didn't already know.

I have a temper. I know I do.

I've always had one. It flares up fast—sharp, hot, loud—and before I even realize it, I've already said something harsh, already slammed a door, already barked at someone like they were the problem when maybe it was just me. Always just snapping, like a cracked whip.

I thought I had gotten better. I hoped I had.

But then I see Oliver doing something slow, or spacing out, or taking his sweet time when everything matters, and it just... boils in me. The pressure. The urgency. The frustration. Like I'm stuck dragging the world forward and no one else even feels the weight of it.

And maybe I'm used to things not talking back.

I mean, dogs don't argue. Birds don't roll their eyes or sass you after a healing spell. Animals make sense. I work with them, I care for them, I train them. I tell them what to do, and they do it. They trust me because I give them structure. I never had to explain myself. Never had to feel wrong.

But Oliver's not a dog.

He's my little brother.

And I didn't spare him. I should have.

He's already small, already dealing with life and weird body changes and... being in beastkin class, losing teeth. He didn't need me slapping him on top of all that. That wasn't strength. That wasn't leadership. That was just me lashing out because I couldn't control the moment.

He called my bluff. Said he could tell Mom and Dad.

And I threatened him.

I threatened him.

Even if he was bluffing, even if he forgives me later… what I said wasn't okay. And the worst part? I could see it in his eyes—he didn't fear me. He didn't hate me. He was just... disappointed.

And somehow, that hurts more.

I crossed my arms, staring down the hallway where he disappeared. I didn't follow.

Not yet.

Because right now, I needed a second.

To breathe.

To cool down.

To admit to myself that this time, I was the one who needed to grow up.

....

I don't care what anyone says—Oliver's mine.

Not like a possession, not like some pet to train or a toy to yell at when it doesn't work right. He's my little brother. And yeah, he drives me crazy sometimes. Slow, stubborn, dreamy-eyed, always lost in thought when things are serious. But that doesn't matter.

Because if anyone else ever laid a hand on him—if anyone dared—I'd lose it. I'd break them. Without hesitation. Without regret.

That slap earlier… it keeps replaying in my head like a storm I can't quiet. I'm not proud of it. I know I crossed a line. I've been trying to justify it, to say he was being difficult, or that I was under pressure, but none of it holds up. The truth is simple: I let my temper win. I did something I would never let anyone else do to him.

I've always had this fierce thing in me—this fire that flares when people get too close to the people I care about. When we were younger, back in the early days of the Celestial Palace, I nearly tackled a boy twice my size for mocking Oliver's voice. He cried, and I saw red. The idea of someone else making him feel weak or unsafe? It lights something wild in me.

That's how I know how badly I messed up today.

Because I became the threat.

I became the thing I swore I'd protect him from.

It's a horrible feeling.

But underneath all the guilt and the frustration, the core of it hasn't changed—I'd never let anyone else hurt him. Not a stranger. Not a teacher. Not some arrogant celestial soldier. Not even Mom and Dad if they ever crossed the line.

I protect Oliver. That's my role. I don't always get it right, but I mean it.

So maybe I need to do better.

No—I will do better.

Because if I want to stand between him and the world, I can't be the one he's afraid of. I have to be the one he trusts. The one he runs to.

Not from.

-----

Chapter: The Visitor – Third Person View

The morning had settled into a quiet hum in the Woods household. The stew was simmering low on the stove, the house smelled faintly of mint tea and wood polish, and Liam Woods—usually laid-back, half-shirt untucked Liam—was now wearing his nice jacket. His hair was combed (mostly), and he kept glancing out the window with something between nervousness and excitement.

"Is she late?" Oliver asked, peeking from behind the couch like a wary meerkat.

"She's never late," Liam replied without looking back. "She arrives exactly when she means to."

Right on cue—three knocks at the door.

Liam inhaled and grinned. "There she is."

He strode across the floor, boots thudding against the wood, and opened the front door wide.

Standing just beyond the threshold was Kaelin.

A tall figure cloaked in a long gray travel coat, the hem dusted with dirt from the road. She stepped into the light like a moving statue of calm and confidence. Her wolf ears twitched slightly under a hood, and her sharp amber eyes scanned the room before softening ever so slightly.

She was tall. Easily over six feet, maybe taller. Definitely taller than Liam—and a giant compared to Oliver, who stood at a humble three feet, mouth slightly agape. She had a broad build, toned from years of survival and travel. Her fur—silver at the tips and dark at the roots—gave her a wild yet dignified appearance.

Behind her, clutching the edge of her coat, were two small wolf pups.

One was Tala, with dark gray fur and ears that dipped slightly as if always listening. She peeked from behind her mother's leg, her golden eyes wide but quiet, taking in the house with a mix of caution and curiosity. She held a woven cloth bag tight in her small paws.

Next to her was Shura, white-furred and bright-eyed, practically bouncing in place. Her tail wagged like she had springs in her legs.

"Is Lyra here?!" Shura chirped, her voice bubbling with excitement. "Is she up?! Can I go in?!"

"Tch—Shura, wait until we're inside," Kaelin murmured in her calm, gravel-smooth tone, placing a hand gently on her daughter's shoulder.

Liam's face lit up with joy.

"Kaelin," he said warmly, stepping forward. "You still scare me a little."

Kaelin gave him a small, rare smile. "Good."

The two exchanged a brief but sincere hug—one arm around the shoulder, a firm pat on the back.

Oliver watched, wide-eyed. He wasn't used to visitors. Especially ones this... impressive.

Kaelin glanced down at him then, her golden eyes meeting his. "And this is the boy?"

"Yep," Liam said proudly. "Oliver Woods. Newest member of the pack."

Kaelin gave a slight nod. Not unkind, but measuring.

"He's small," Shura whispered to Tala—not quietly enough.

Tala elbowed her. "Shhh! That's rude!"

Oliver blinked up at the two pups. He wasn't sure whether to wave, hide, or prepare to be tackled.

Shura wagged her tail again. "You look like you'd be easy to pick up."

"Oh stars…" Oliver muttered under his breath.

"Girls," Kaelin said with a sigh. "Shoes off before you trample through the rugs."

And just like that, the house felt fuller. Louder. Warmer.

The visitors had arrived.

And chaos, surely, was about to follow.

------

Third Person View – Silent Distance

The hallway still held the faint scent of lavender soap and wet towels. Morning light spilled in through the windows, brushing softly against the wooden floors where Oliver stood, arms crossed, his back turned.

He was still damp from his shower, hair flattened unevenly against his forehead. He didn't say anything—not a word, not even a glance toward Lyra, who stood nearby tightening her grip on the banister. There was a distance between them. Not measured in steps, but in silence.

Lyra's lips were pressed in a line. Her shoulders were tight with frustration and guilt, her foot tapping gently in place as if she couldn't decide whether to apologize or pretend nothing happened.

She knew she'd been harsh.

> "You've got visitors, Oliver! Hurry up or I'll slap the steam off you!"

Her voice had been sharp. Her palm had landed even sharper.

He hadn't spoken to her since.

Now, as he sulked quietly, his body small but his anger real, Lyra found herself… stuck. Apologizing never came easy. Not for someone who was always expected to act like the mature one. The responsible one. The older sibling.

So she turned away too, jaw tightening.

Then came the sound of pawsteps, quick and eager.

"Lyra!!"

A blur of white fur and pink eyes darted toward her like a snowball with legs.

Shura leapt forward, wrapping her arms around Lyra's waist before she could prepare. The energetic wolf pup wagged her tail fast enough to create a breeze, eyes gleaming with pure adoration.

"I missed you so much! Mom says I shouldn't climb the walls anymore but I almost did because I was too excited to see you again!"

Lyra blinked, her mood caught off-guard. She forced a smile—tight at first—but Shura's infectious joy began to soften the stiffness in her face.

"Hey, Shura," she said gently, resting a hand on the girl's head. "You haven't changed a bit."

Behind them, Tala lingered by the doorway, her darker fur tucked into a wooly hoodie, quietly observing.

And off to the side, Oliver remained silent, casting only a brief glance over his shoulder.

The hallway had filled with people.

But between Lyra and Oliver, there was still a heavy pause.

----

Third Person View – Eyes That Linger

In the gentle bustle of the living room, filled with the rustling of coats being hung and Shura's constant chatter, Oliver sat quietly on the edge of the armchair, pretending to focus on the strange notepad in his lap.

He wasn't writing.

He was thinking.

About her.

Across the room, Lyra stood by the hallway arch, talking halfheartedly to Shura. But even as she laughed at the pup's antics, her eyes drifted sideways—toward him.

Oliver felt it.

That slight peek she gave him, unsure and hesitant. Just a sliver of a look, no words, no apology.

But it held something.

Guilt.

Regret, even.

He looked away immediately.

He wasn't ready to forgive yet. Not because he hated her—he didn't—but because that tiny glance... made his chest feel strange. Tense. Heavy and soft at the same time.

> Why do I even feel like this?

She just slapped me for taking too long in the shower...

She always acts like I'm some slow little brother.

But then she gives me that look and it's like—

Ugh. Why do I feel bad?

He stared harder at the notepad, as if it might swallow the feelings away.

"Hi…?"

A small voice broke through the fog of his thoughts.

Tala.

The shy, dark-furred wolf pup stood just a few feet away, paws nervously fidgeting with the string of her hoodie. Her golden eyes studied him with honest curiosity, ears twitching gently.

"I've never seen you before," she said softly.

Oliver blinked and looked up, unsure what to say.

Before he could answer, a deeper voice entered the scene:

"That's Oliver."

Kaelin, tall and imposing, stood beside Liam now. Her gaze was focused on Oliver, calm but analyzing, like someone trying to read the fine print of a contract written in another language.

Liam smiled proudly, folding his arms. "My son. Brought her 6 months ago, sure, but doesn't matter. He's one of us now."

Kaelin arched a brow, then slowly leaned forward, her silver-streaked ears angling toward Oliver like radar.

> "...So you're the one with the quiet eyes," she said softly, yet clearly.

"Liam says you've taken an interest in Traveling."

Oliver nodded slowly, unsure how to act with her looming that close. Her presence was... large. Not loud, but full. She smelled faintly of frost and pine bark, and even though she didn't smile, her eyes weren't cruel.

"I guess so," Oliver replied, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "Still learning."

Kaelin nodded once, sharply. "Good. The world needs more eyes that observe first and speak later."

And with that, she stood straight again, her judgment complete.

Tala, still beside him, leaned closer.

"I think you seem... nice," she whispered.

Oliver let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Today was… a lot.

And it had only just begun.

-----

Third Person View – A Glance and a Window

The morning had fully bloomed into a crisp, golden light that spilled through the curtains like warm honey. Outside, the leaves danced gently in the breeze, and somewhere in the distance, a few neighborhood kids could be heard laughing, their footsteps scattering across the pavement.

Lyra was at the door, tugging on her boots, flanked by Shura and Tala, who were both already bouncing with energy—tails wagging, ears perked, voices filled with endless plans.

"We'll check the creek!" Shura shouted. "I swear I saw a frog with two heads last time!"

"Maybe we can build another fort?" Tala offered more quietly.

Lyra smiled faintly, adjusting her scarf. Her expression wasn't as sharp as it had been earlier. It wasn't playful either. It was… thoughtful.

Before she opened the door, she looked over her shoulder.

Her eyes fell on Oliver, who was standing near the base of the stairs, fingers curled into his sleeve, avoiding her gaze.

But that look she gave him—

It struck him deeper than he expected.

It wasn't teasing. It wasn't bossy.

It wasn't even about being right or wrong.

It was soft.

Maybe even… hopeful?

Oliver hesitated. His chest tightened. Was she trying to apologize? With just her eyes?

Lyra opened her mouth, as if to say something snarky—something to keep her pride—but instead, she quietly asked:

> "Hey... you wanna come play too?"

Her tone wasn't demanding. It wasn't layered with sarcasm or older-sibling edge.

It was just… sincere.

Oliver blinked, caught off-guard.

His instinct was to say no—to build distance.

But something inside shifted. And so, instead of snapping or shrugging, he just replied:

> "...No thanks. Not right now."

Lyra didn't push it.

She nodded once, short and respectful, and turned away.

She opened the sliding window just beside the dining room and gently called out, "Come on, boy," letting the family's tired golden dog trot lazily out onto the grass, his tail thumping like a half-charged motor.

And then the door closed behind her.

The house was quiet again. The kind of quiet Oliver liked.

He exhaled softly, then turned, climbing the stairs to the study room. The laptop sat where he left it—screen slightly dimmed from sleep.

With a few taps, he opened up StarLink.

The screen brightened, and immediately a new Traveler video popped up—title in bold:

> "Solo in the Pink Forest: Building a Hidden Treehouse from Nothing – 2 Million Views"

Oliver smiled just slightly.

Let the world play outside.

For now… this was his adventure.

-----

Third Person View – A Glance and a Window

The morning had fully bloomed into a crisp, golden light that spilled through the curtains like warm honey. Outside, the leaves danced gently in the breeze, and somewhere in the distance, a few neighborhood kids could be heard laughing, their footsteps scattering across the pavement.

Lyra was at the door, tugging on her boots, flanked by Shura and Tala, who were both already bouncing with energy—tails wagging, ears perked, voices filled with endless plans.

"We'll check the creek!" Shura shouted. "I swear I saw a frog with two heads last time!"

"Maybe we can build another fort?" Tala offered more quietly.

Lyra smiled faintly, adjusting her scarf. Her expression wasn't as sharp as it had been earlier. It wasn't playful either. It was… thoughtful.

Before she opened the door, she looked over her shoulder.

Her eyes fell on Oliver, who was standing near the base of the stairs, fingers curled into his sleeve, avoiding her gaze.

But that look she gave him—

It struck him deeper than he expected.

It wasn't teasing. It wasn't bossy.

It wasn't even about being right or wrong.

It was soft.

Maybe even… hopeful?

Oliver hesitated. His chest tightened. Was she trying to apologize? With just her eyes?

Lyra opened her mouth, as if to say something snarky—something to keep her pride—but instead, she quietly asked:

> "Hey... you wanna come play too?"

Her tone wasn't demanding. It wasn't layered with sarcasm or older-sibling edge.

It was just… sincere.

Oliver blinked, caught off-guard.

His instinct was to say no—to build distance.

But something inside shifted. And so, instead of snapping or shrugging, he just replied:

> "...No thanks. Not right now."

Lyra didn't push it.

She nodded once, short and respectful, and turned away.

She opened the sliding window just beside the dining room and gently called out, "Come on, boy," letting the family's tired golden dog trot lazily out onto the grass, his tail thumping like a half-charged motor.

And then the door closed behind her.

The house was quiet again. The kind of quiet Oliver liked.

He exhaled softly, then turned, climbing the stairs to the study room. The laptop sat where he left it—screen slightly dimmed from sleep.

With a few taps, he opened up StarLink.

The screen brightened, and immediately a new Traveler video popped up—title in bold:

> "Solo in the Pink Forest: Building a Hidden Treehouse from Nothing – 2 Million Views"

Oliver smiled just slightly.

Let the world play outside.

For now… this was his adventure.