The Architect sandbox [The Archiverse series]

(First Person View — 13-Year-Old Oliver, Other Semester)

I'm not even gonna pretend.

This semester sucks.

Last year, things were simpler. I was pulling A's and B's—hell, even got praise from Mr. Swan during morning assembly once. "Olive's making progress!" he said, like I was some charity case. But this year? It's like the world decided to crank the difficulty slider without warning. I'm thirteen now, I guess, and school just decided to throw me into the deep end.

I don't know if it's the new mixed class or just me, but everything feels off.

See, now I'm not just with beastkin anymore—I'm in the human sector too. The fancy white-and-blue uniforms, the science kids who talk about interstellar carbon winds like it's playground talk, the ones who call basic Vita control "prehistoric" because they're already running simulations on particle matrices.

And here I am... struggling to keep up with math problems that might as well be riddles from another dimension. My Vita still flickers when I try to use it in front of others. I know how to make water, yeah, but in physics class that's not even impressive anymore. They want controlled discharge, flow velocity, structural support for hybrid-elemental matter.

The tiger girl behind me gets straight A's in battle strategy and spell chemistry. The monkey boy two seats away doesn't even study and still passes. Meanwhile, I got a D on the last alchemy test. And don't get me started on history of the Kingdoms—I can't remember which Empress declared the East Wall Treaty, let alone what year it was. There were four different calendars depending on what continent you were on.

I try. I do. I study at home. I ask questions. But sometimes it's like my brain just… gives out. Like I'm two steps behind every time.

Even Lyra doesn't yell about grades anymore. She just gives that quiet "you'll figure it out" nod before going back to her own assignments. She barely talks lately, anyway.

And I guess… that's what really gets me.

Last year, I was Olive, the weird human kid who knew a bit of Vita and got along with hyena girls and porcupine boys.

This year?

I'm just Oliver again.

Falling behind. Blending into the background like I used to back in (Deerfield Beach).

I haven't told anyone yet. But honestly?

I'm scared I won't catch up.

First Person View — Oliver's Back-Breaking Night Study

I'm not even sure what time it is anymore.

The only light in my room comes from the hovering Vita-lamp on my desk. It flickers sometimes—probably because I poured too much raw Vita into it earlier when I was half-asleep. There's a small stack of notebooks next to me. One for Magical Theory. One for Alchemy Formulas. Another for Civics. And the last one? Just blank pages I keep doodling on when my brain melts.

My back hurts.

Not in the old man creaky bones kind of way, but the I've been hunched over this table for five straight hours and forgot to stretch again kind of way. I probably look like one of those mythic goblins from the old scrolls… twisted spine, messy hair, and eyes glazed over like a cheap mana orb.

This is my fifth cup of Vita-leaf tea. I don't even like the taste anymore, but it keeps the fog in my head from settling in too deep.

I read the same paragraph about chromatic mana distribution in crystalline Vita structures four times and still couldn't tell you what it means. My eyes just sort of… pass over it now. Like they're reading glyphs from some lost language.

I know I'm falling behind.

Everyone else in class seems to grasp this stuff like it's instinct. Like they were born with magical circuit diagrams etched into their brains. Me? I still mess up the basic Vita spark—sometimes I ignite too hard and burn the page. I'm the only human in the class most days. And the beastkin and advanced humans? They're on another level.

It's like I'm running a marathon with weights strapped to my legs, and everyone else is already at the finish line, celebrating with starfruit and talking about astral convergence patterns.

And you know what?

Yeah, maybe I'm exhausted. Maybe my fingers are sore from writing too many revision notes. Maybe I'm behind. But I can't stop.

I won't stop.

Because if I stop now, I'll disappear again—like back in Deerfield Beach. That quiet kid who nobody remembered. Who sat in the corner drawing while everyone else lived.

I don't want to be that shadow anymore.

I want to matter.

Even if it breaks me. Even if I'm crawling out of this semester with bruises on my brain.

I'll finish these notes. I'll master this spell diagram. I'll burn through these formulas until something finally clicks.

Because I'm not just some misplaced kid anymore.

I'm Oliver.

No—Olive.

And I'm not giving up.

-----

First Person View – Oliver, Late Again

It's always the same.

I wake up to the sound of my alarm—buzzing like a dying beetle—and somehow, I manage to hit snooze without even remembering I did it. Then I blink, and suddenly it's thirty minutes past the time I was supposed to get out of bed.

Panic sets in like ice down my spine.

I jump out of bed, trip over yesterday's clothes, shove a Vita-charged brush through my hair (which only makes it more chaotic), and scramble to throw on my uniform. The cloak Liam gave me is wrinkled, the buttons are off, and I think I wore mismatched socks again.

I burst out the door with half a piece of warmbread in my mouth and my satchel slung on the wrong shoulder. My legs are pumping, heart racing, breath sharp in my throat, and still—

Still I know I'm not gonna make it.

Again.

I always try. Every night, I swear I'll sleep early. I set three alarms. I prep my bag. But morning hits and it's like my body betrays me. The world spins faster and I'm dragging behind.

When I finally reach the school gates, the bell is already ringing its second chime.

And all the other students—beastkin and humans alike—are already inside, their silhouettes disappearing into the halls like well-trained soldiers in formation.

Me? I'm the straggler. The outsider. The human always five minutes too late.

The hall monitor gives me that look again. The one that says, "Of course it's you."

I just nod silently, walk briskly like maybe if I act confident, it'll look like I meant to be late. Like I planned it.

I slip into class mid-roll call, trying not to draw attention, but everyone hears the door creak. A few kids chuckle. One of the wolf boys smirks.

The teacher doesn't even ask anymore. She just sighs and marks my name.

"Nice of you to join us, Olive."

Yeah. Real nice.

I sink into my seat, trying to disappear into my cloak.

Every day, I tell myself I'll be better tomorrow.

But tomorrow's always just another late start waiting to happen.