RYAN ANGELO POV
My name is Ryan Angelo, and I'm currently seven years old. I live in New York with my parents, Richard Angelo and Casey Angelo. My family is loving and warm; my parents, both brilliant bio-engineering researchers, are my whole world. I'm a healthy and cheerful kid, and I don't have any real problems in life.
Or at least, that's what I tell myself. The past two days have been tough, filled with a recurring nightmare of being trapped in an endless darkness. I wake up with a gasp, my heart pounding, and the feeling of that terrifying void stays with me all day, leaving me drained and unable to focus.
I have a secret, though—this is my second life. Because of my rebirth, I'm considered a genius, a medical prodigy in the making. I'm homeschooled for the most part, with my parents teaching me advanced medicine because of my interest and their own love for the field. But they insist I attend a recreational school to have some semblance of a social life with other kids.
Today was like any other day in class. We were learning about various musical instruments, and I was trying my best to stay focused despite the exhaustion. I was staring at the colorful posters on the wall when the boy sitting behind me casually put a hand on my shoulder. As I felt a tiny current travel through my body, a bolt of agonizing pain shot through my head. The room spun, the colors blurred, and the gentle sound of the music lesson faded into a deafening roar. My vision went black, and I fell unconscious.
----------------------------------------------------
Richard Angelo was deep in the intricate work of their project, his focus absolute, when his colleague's voice cut through the hum of the lab. "Richard, you have a phone call from your son's school. They said it's probably urgent."
The word "urgent" hit him like a physical blow. He and his wife, Casey, exchanged a single, panicked look, their research forgotten. They swiftly put down their tools, their hands fumbling, and hurried out of the lab. As Richard grabbed his phone from the security desk, his heart hammered against his ribs.
The teacher's voice was calm but laced with concern as she explained that their son had passed out during class and urged them to come immediately. He quickly informed Casey, who rushed to their lead scientist to explain their departure while he sprinted toward the parking lot.
They sped toward the school in a blur of motion, the silence in the car thick with unspoken fear. The image of their son lying unconscious filled their minds. When they finally found him in the infirmary, he looked pale and fragile, a sight that turned their blood to ice. Without a second thought, they carefully lifted him and took him to the nearest hospital.
In the hospital room, time seemed to stretch to an eternity. They held their breath, waiting for a diagnosis, a reason. Only when the doctor informed them that their son was fine and just appeared to be sleeping did they finally let go of their breath, the tension draining from their bodies but worry still clouded their mind. It was near midnight when they returned to the ward and found Ryan awoke that they finally had a breath of relief.
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RUDRA POV
As I opened my eyes, the harsh, fluorescent lights of the hospital room assaulted my vision. I woke up, and for a moment, I tried to remember where I was. I recalled being in a classroom, then a sudden electric shock and a blinding pain in my head.
But then, a wave of memories crashed over me—the death of my parents when I was ten and living in a monastery with my grandmother. My mind reeled. Something was horribly wrong. The memories were contradictory. One set told me I was seven years old, a child in a bright, happy world. The other told me I was almost fourteen and had lived a harsh, solitary life in the Marvel Universe.
I hurriedly sat up and looked around. The room, the sterile white walls, the calendar on the wall that read 2005—it all seemed to confirm one reality. Just then, the door opened, and my parents entered the room.
"Ryan, are you alright?" My mother, Casey, asked worriedly, rushing to my side.
"I am alright, Mom," I said, my voice sounding distant even to my own ears. 'At least physically.'
My father, Richard, interjected, his concern palpable. "So what happened? Your teacher said you passed out."
"I don't know," I lied, the words feeling foreign. "I was just slightly lacking sleep, maybe."
Richard didn't believe my reason, but he chose to let it be. "As long as you're fine."
A single, desperate question formed on my tongue, the only way to confirm the terrifying truth. "Dad?"
"Yes?"
"Do you know about Captain America?"
He raised an eyebrow, a bit confused by the out-of-place question. "Of course. He was the hero of America who fought against the Nazis and Hydra. If you want to know about him, we can visit the war museum sometime."
"Maybe some other day." My heart was in my throat. 'OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT. It's real. The memory is real. I am done for.'
A powerful wave of panic washed over me, but beneath it was an even stronger feeling—an immense, soul-deep relief. The memory was real, and it was a gift. It was a chance to save my parents from the horrific future I had foreseen.
But how? I couldn't just tell them they would die. They would think I was insane. I had to convince them to quit their jobs, to escape the path that would lead to their deaths, but I knew my words alone wouldn't be enough. My young, seven-year-old voice would have no sway. There was only one person who could do it. I shall ask for help from the one above all, the soothsayer, the wisest of them all, and the one whose decision decides everything: MY GRANDMOTHER.