The Architect sandbox [The Archiverse series]

Chapter – "Echoes and Water"

First-Person – Oliver

(Oliver Woods point of view-offical version)

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I walked through the hallway with my hands in my cloak pockets.

This place doesn't really smell like a school. Not like the ones back in Florida. No cheap air conditioning and old paper. No bleach-soaked tile floors or the distant noise of some kid getting yelled at for vaping in the boys' bathroom.

Here, it's different.

The walls shimmer faintly in the sunlight because they're made of white-root plaster and reflective bark. The windows are always open. The air smells like warm leaves and something faintly electric — Vita maybe, or magic. I can't always tell the difference anymore.

I passed a few students — a group of raccoonkin laughing over their lunchboxes, a panther boy with headphones in, a monkey girl doing a handstand for no reason in particular. None of them looked my way.

It's not like back in Deerfield Beach Middle.

Back then, I'd walk down the hall and disappear. Not by magic — by absence. Teachers forgot me. Students ignored me. I was that weird quiet kid who doodled dragons in the margins of his history tests and always ate lunch alone.

I don't really talk about it.

Not because it hurts.

Just because… it's like trying to talk about a dream you don't fully remember. Fuzzy edges. Soundless voices. A weightless floating version of yourself just existing.

Anyway.

I slipped into the bathroom, found the end stall, and closed the door behind me. Not because I needed privacy for anything weird — I just liked the quiet.

I put my hands under the sink, but instead of turning the faucet, I let myself feel it.

The Vita.

It hums now. Like a current beneath my skin, a constant warmth that pulses with life. Blue and silver in my mind's eye, dancing in spirals.

I raised my hand and concentrated. Just a little.

A thin stream of water curled into existence, hovering just above my palm — hydrogen and oxygen shaped by thought and pulled from the air itself.

Clean. Cold. Perfect.

I let it wash over my fingers, trickle down, then flicked it into the basin. My golden bracelet — the one he gave me — shimmered faintly under the bathroom lights.

Black Tortoise.

I haven't heard from him in a while.

Not directly, anyway.

Sometimes when I meditate, I feel something — a presence like deep ocean pressure and ancient stillness. Sometimes it feels like he's watching. Not in a creepy way. Just… waiting.

The bracelet stays warm. That's how I know the connection isn't broken.

I remember when he first appeared — like a storm wrapped in wisdom. Eyes like galaxies. Voice like falling rain. He chose me. Gave me this. Said I'd need it.

I'm still figuring out what that means.

I don't think I'm special.

Just someone who said "yes" when others stayed silent.

I looked in the mirror above the sink. I look a little older now. Face sharper. Hair longer. Ponytail not exactly neat, but it works. I don't look like the kid I was at Deerfield.

And I don't look like the kid most beastkin expect either.

I'm somewhere in between.

I like it that way.

After drying my hands with a bit of conjured wind, I pulled my cloak tighter and stepped back out into the hallway.

Time for class.

Time to be Oliver.

Or, as everyone else calls me — Olive.

…Yeah.

I'm used to it.