The Architect sandbox [The Archiverse series]

(Oliver Woods—First-Person Person view)

(Storytime began)

I looked down at the letter again. The words were still there, no matter how many times I blinked. "Final Decision: Failed."

Fifteen years old and already felt like the world had decided I wasn't worth the effort. School was supposed to be the gateway, right? That place where you prove yourself, get your ticket to the economy, to real life. But I flunked it. Not just a single test—everything. Personality test, work aptitude, math, direction... all red-marked like a warning light in my brain. I guess I was never cut out for the system anyway.

I sat on the couch, cyan shirt rumpled, hair messier than usual. The silence in the house buzzed louder than any words could. I looked smaller in photos, people always told me. Five-five maybe five-seven in person, but in pictures I looked like some twelve-year-old pretending to be a teenager. That didn't help either.

But then, as I sunk deeper into the cushions, the screen across the room flickered to the calming hum of StarLink. The music played—soft, distant, like wind through wires and stars. Travelers walked through silver forests, crafted strange buildings, tamed creatures with glowing eyes. I used to watch those videos just to escape. I thought they were fake. A fantasy. A dream built by people who had everything.

But maybe they were onto something.

I stared at the scene a bit longer. A Traveler on the screen crouched beside a lake, scooping up glowing water—Vita, they called it. Pure energy from another world. He looked so calm. So free. No exams. No economy. Just him, the world, and the road ahead.

Maybe this isn't bad. Maybe I should be a Traveler.

I stood up, stretched, and for the first time in weeks, I felt like there was air in my lungs. If the system said I failed, maybe that just meant I was meant to walk outside it. Maybe I didn't need their approval to do something real.

I'm done waiting.

If I can't live in their world—

I'll build my own.

------

(Third-Person Narrative)

The soft hum of morning filtered through the window blinds as sunlight spilled across the modest bedroom walls. Birds chirped lazily in the trees outside, and the breeze carried that warm, earthy scent that only early May could bring.

Oliver stirred under the covers, brown messy hair poking out in all directions like he had fought a windstorm in his sleep. His alarm hadn't gone off—he'd turned it off the night before. Today wasn't the kind of day you needed an alarm for.

He sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, glancing over at the clean, folded white shirt and green jacket lying on the chair. It felt surreal. Sixteen. Not just by number, but by weight. This was the age you were allowed to leave the system. And for someone like him, who had already fallen through the cracks, that meant only one thing now—Traveler's Road.

Downstairs, Liam, his father, was already waiting, leaning near the door with that usual blend of impatience and pride.

"Come on, Oliver. You're gonna miss the shuttle."

His voice was gruff, but his eyes betrayed something else—a quiet support, the kind of encouragement Liam didn't know how to say out loud.

Oliver dressed quickly, buttoning up the shirt and throwing on the green jacket like armor. It wasn't flashy, but it was his. Worn around the edges and a bit short in the sleeves, but familiar. It smelled faintly like pinewood and soap.

On the small desk beside his bed, a neatly folded note waited. He knew who it was from before even opening it.

"Don't forget to eat on time. And please, don't get lost on purpose. I know how your 'directions' are.

— Lyra"

A small smile tugged at Oliver's lips. Lyra had left for college two months ago, already halfway into her path. She'd always been the overachiever, the smart one. But she had left him this, handwritten in her usual meticulous scrawl. It meant something. It reminded him that, even if he failed the system, he hadn't failed everyone.

The house was quieter than usual, maybe out of respect. Or maybe because there wasn't anything left to say.

Oliver stepped out the door with his worn boots tapping lightly against the floorboards. It had been a slow winter. He hadn't done much through Elyspring either—just watched, thought, and waited. He'd stayed in place while the world moved forward. But now? The world was about to move with him.

The sun was already climbing higher, and the warmth kissed the side of his face as he stepped onto the front walk.

Hopefully, he thought as he adjusted the straps of his small travel bag, summer isn't going to be too hot.

And with that, Oliver took his first step down the road—not the one paved by schools or tests, but the one filled with glowing forests, forgotten ruins, tamed beasts, and floating lights in the sky. The road of a Traveler.

The world was finally open.

-----

(Getting ready, Third-Person Narrative)

Oliver slid into the passenger seat of the dusty old truck, the door groaning slightly as it closed. The seatbelt clicked into place just as Liam turned the key, the engine sputtering to life with a familiar rumble. The dashboard was cracked, the air vents rattled, and the whole cab smelled faintly of coffee and motor oil—but to Oliver, it felt... safe.

Liam tapped the steering wheel, waiting a moment before backing out of the driveway. "So," he said with a sideways glance, "you really gonna do it, huh? Become a Traveler."

Oliver nodded, staring out the window as the neighborhood slipped by. "Yeah."

A beat passed, then Liam gave a low chuckle. "Honestly? Not a bad idea."

Oliver looked over, slightly surprised. "You think so?"

"Kid," Liam smirked, shifting gears, "why work some overrated 6-to-11 shift, cleaning machines and dealing with broken lights and corporate radio music, when you can go out and blow up a cavern with a stick of TNT and call it 'resource gathering'?"

Oliver blinked. "…You blew up a cavern?"

"Oh yeah," Liam grinned proudly, the truck bouncing a bit as they hit a small pothole. "Back in my day, I was real deep into the western cliffs. Found this whole ancient vein network, and instead of mining it slow—I just lit it up. Made a boom so big the rocks practically sang."

"You're kidding."

"Not even close. And after that? Spent three days building these tiny little houses out of glass and riverstone. Right on the ledge. Sunlight hit 'em just right in the morning. Looked like floating crystals."

Oliver couldn't help but smile. It was rare to hear Liam talk like this—not about work or taxes or repairs, but about adventure. A younger version of him, full of recklessness and wild imagination.

"So what happened?" Oliver asked. "Why'd you stop?"

Liam went quiet for a moment, eyes on the road. "Life, mostly. Had to settle down, had you and your sister. Time just kinda... slipped away."

Then he glanced at Oliver again, one brow raised. "But you? You've got time. Don't waste it trying to fit where you don't belong. Go see the floating gardens. Find some weird beast with six tails and give it a stupid name. Build something. Break something. Just—live."

Oliver sat with that for a moment. The windows were down now, warm wind rushing in, the world wide and buzzing with life beyond the glass.

"Thanks, Dad," he said quietly.

Liam didn't answer at first. He just kept driving, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Just don't use TNT near villages," he muttered. "Learned that one the hard way."

(Third Person View- the arrival)

The truck came to a slow, steady stop on the side of an old dirt road—the kind of road that didn't even show up on most maps anymore. No other vehicles in sight. Just a crooked stop sign leaning sideways in the breeze, rust crawling up its pole like ivy. Ahead stretched miles of open grassland, wild and unshaped, with the road lazily winding into the horizon.

There were no buildings. No houses. No fences.

Just sky, wind, and the hum of summer insects waking up early.

Oliver pushed the door open and stepped out, boots crunching dry gravel beneath him. The wind ruffled his green jacket as he looked around. The world out here felt… huge. Not in a terrifying way. Just quiet. Like it had been waiting for him.

Liam remained in the truck for a moment, one arm resting on the open window, squinting at the road ahead like he was peering back through time.

"This is it," he said. "The beginning."

Oliver turned to face him.

"Your journey starts here," Liam continued. "No signs telling you what to do. No checkpoints. No right answers. Just that long stretch of road and whatever you decide to do with it."

Oliver glanced down the road again. There were faint trails barely visible in the grass, weaving away from the main path—some curved toward the mountains, others dipped into valleys where strange trees gathered in tight clusters. If he looked hard enough, he could even see a glint of something far in the distance—metal or crystal maybe. Or a Traveler camp.

"Wherever you walk," Liam said, "there's a route waiting. You just gotta choose it. You might take a wrong turn. You will get lost. But every path leads somewhere. And if you don't like that path…"

He nodded toward the horizon.

"...Make a new one."

Oliver took a deep breath, the air warm and full of grass and soil and sunlight. He nodded slowly. His fingers tightened slightly around the straps of his travel bag.

Liam leaned back in his seat, starting the engine again. "No turning back now, kid."

"I'm not planning to."

The truck gave a small grumble as it pulled away, dust kicking up behind it. Liam didn't look back. He didn't need to.

And Oliver stood alone now, standing at the edge of everything he used to only watch through a screen.

No buildings. No walls.

Just the open world, and whatever route he was ready to make his own.

(Oliver final—First-Person Narrative)

I watched the dust trail behind Dad's truck disappear into the distance until there was nothing left but the sound of wind brushing over tall grass.

I was alone.

Completely, absolutely alone.

I turned in place, slowly, taking in the scenery. The middle of nowhere didn't even begin to describe it. One leaning stop sign behind me. Faint tire tracks fading into the dirt. The road ahead like a ribbon laid down by someone who never expected to see it used.

Grasslands rolled in every direction, swaying with the breeze. No signs. No markers. No "Start Here" etched in stone.

Just... space.

I exhaled and scratched the back of my neck, the weight of my bag suddenly feeling heavier than it did in the truck.

"Well... what do I do now?"

No answer. Of course.

Do I just walk? Pick a direction and hope I don't step into a sinkhole or wander into some weird Traveler-exclusive monster's territory?

My shoes shuffled the dirt. I turned my head toward a small hill in the distance. It wasn't far. A couple minutes' walk, maybe. Higher ground. That seemed like a reasonable first step.

Still…

"I have no idea what I'm doing," I muttered to myself.

The wind didn't care.

But somehow... that made it a little easier.

I adjusted my bag, took one step forward, then another. The road wasn't going to tell me where to go. No one was.

Maybe that's the point.