The Architect sandbox [The Archiverse series]

Chapter – "Distance Between Us"

Third-Person View

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Oliver returned home as the sky glowed with late afternoon hues — soft lavender bleeding into orange, with wisps of clouds brushing like strokes of a quiet painting. The familiar gravel crunch beneath his boots echoed faintly as he stepped toward the front porch of the house nestled near the edge of the tallroot forest.

The door creaked open with a gentle push.

It smelled like cinnamon tea and old parchment inside — scents that always seemed to linger in the corners of their home now. Not unpleasant. Just... still.

He slipped off his cloak, folding it over the hook by the door. The house wasn't particularly large, but it had wide windows, quiet corners, and polished wooden floors that always felt cool against bare feet. It was home — even if it still didn't quite feel like Earth.

There, at the kitchen table near the window, sat Lyra.

She was 16 now.

Her long red hair draped like a curtain down her back, thick and untamed at the edges. She didn't bother tying it anymore unless she was outside. The soft midday light filtering through the window caught the strands, making them shimmer like fire in slow motion.

Books surrounded her — thick, arcane volumes with gilded symbols, hand-written spell diagrams, and enchanted notes that fluttered gently on their own. A glass of something green — probably vita-brew or focus tea — sat half-finished beside her, untouched for hours.

She didn't look up when Oliver entered.

Her eyes remained fixed on the pages in front of her. Her expression was unreadable. Calm, almost emotionless — but there was something faint behind it. Strain? Tiredness?

Oliver stood still for a moment, watching her.

She used to jump up when he came home. She used to smile and ruffle his hair. She used to drag him out to the lake and throw stones or boss him around while practicing Vita together.

Now, she barely noticed.

Not out of cruelty.

Just... distance.

Time had stretched something between them, like a thin rope fraying slowly at the ends.

Oliver walked quietly past, heading toward the stairwell, but paused.

"...Hey," he said softly.

Lyra blinked, just once, then looked up from her notes as if emerging from a deep tunnel. Her violet eyes settled on him — still sharp, still bright — but guarded.

"Oh. You're home," she said, voice low, a little hoarse. "School okay?"

Oliver nodded. "Yeah."

She looked at him a moment longer — as if searching for more to say — then glanced back down at her pages.

"…I have a test on spell sequencing and glyph stability tomorrow," she mumbled, mostly to herself.

"Okay," Oliver replied.

That was all.

No hug. No conversation. Just two people who used to be closer, now quietly orbiting each other.

He walked up the stairs to his room, the floor creaking faintly behind him. As he closed the door, he leaned against it for a second and exhaled.

Maybe she was just busy. Maybe she was tired. Maybe that's what growing up did.

Still, he missed the old Lyra.

The bossy one with dirt on her knees and bark in her hair.

Now, she sat in silence beneath a mountain of books — like a stranger carved from focus and stress.

Oliver didn't know how to fix it.

But he hoped one day she'd look up from those books and remember that she wasn't alone.

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Chapter – "What Happened to Lyra?"

Third-Person View

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That night, Oliver lay in bed beneath the woven canopy of his bedroom — soft moss-threads sewn into the ceiling by one of the local forest artisans, a gift from a previous winter festival. The air was cool. The window was cracked open. Crickets sang softly from somewhere near the tree-line.

But Oliver couldn't sleep.

He stared at the ceiling, arms folded behind his head, thoughts turning slow and heavy.

What happened to Lyra?

He remembered when she used to be a wildfire.

The Lyra from five years ago would stomp across the field in her patched leather boots, shout orders like she was a general, and scold Oliver when he didn't conjure water fast enough from the Vita flow. Her red hair was always messy, always in her face, and she never cared. That version of her had enough energy to wrestle with a wolfkin and still have the nerve to argue with the teachers about spell ethics.

She was loud. Fierce. Bossy.

The type of girl who threw pebbles at Oliver's head when he zoned out during Vita training.

Now?

She was quiet. Too quiet.

She didn't even look at him for long when he came home. Her voice had become soft, almost feathered — like she was afraid to speak too loud in case something fragile inside her might crack.

The only time she ever raised her voice now was over something dumb — like when he dragged the wooden kitchen chair too loud across the floor. And even that wasn't real anger. It was more like irritation with herself. Like she was trying to keep control of something.

It felt like... Lyra had outgrown being Lyra.

That thought stung more than Oliver wanted to admit.

He rolled onto his side and pulled the blanket over his shoulder, staring at the moonlight bleeding through the cracked window.

Had he changed that much too?

Maybe.

He didn't feel like the kid from Earth anymore. Not fully. Not like the one who once hid in the back corner of Deerfield Beach Elementary, drawing quietly and going unnoticed. But even as he made his place here — in this strange new world — the people around him kept shifting. Growing. Quietly leaving him behind.

He whispered into the darkness, voice almost inaudible.

"…Where'd you go, Lyra?"

There was no answer. Only the gentle wind through the trees.

And somewhere beyond that, the soft turning of a book page from Lyra's room.

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Oliver – First Person View

Age 12

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I won't lie.

I kinda miss when Lyra was… Lyra.

Back then she had this fire — fierce, tempered, bossy in the "older sister who yells at you but still makes you soup when you're sick" kinda way. She'd bark orders at me during training like she was leading a battalion. If I spaced out? Pebble to the head. Took too long to form a Vita stream? "Do it again, Olive!" she'd snap.

Yeah… she was a lot. But it was her.

Now? She barely says more than a few words a day.

She floats through the house like wind through tall grass — soft, distant, almost untouchable. Her hair's longer. Her eyes are heavier. She studies a lot now. Stays in her room more. She only yells when I drag the chair across the tile floor too loud.

It's weird.

There's this part of me that kinda wants her to throw another pebble at me. Or yell about how I'm doing Vita wrong. Or shove me aside so she can show me proper form again with that smug "see?" look on her face.

But... I guess we all change. I just didn't expect her to change so fast.

That said — there is a silver lining.

With her being less... well, intense, I actually have more freedom now. I can walk to the creek on my own, practice shaping water how I want, experiment with Vita flow without her hovering behind me like some grumpy red-haired hawk.

It's peaceful, kind of.

But sometimes… too quiet.

Sometimes, I wonder if she misses the old days too. Or if she's just grown past them — past me.

I don't know. Maybe this is what it's like to get older.

People soften. People shift.

And you're left standing there, wondering when exactly the fire started to fade.