[Here's the continuation as Chapter 4: "Parallel Streams and Pup Games", keeping the tone grounded and immersive, with balanced realism and fantasy elements. This chapter focuses on Oliver's deepening awareness of the world, subtle emotional growth, and playful interactions that bring him closer to the people around him—even if he still feels out of place.]
*(P.S don't necessarily need to read above)*
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Chapter 5: Parallel Streams and Pup Games
The late afternoon sun poured into Oliver's room, casting golden slants across the wooden floor. On his lap, a lightweight silver laptop hummed softly. Despite his small hands, Oliver typed with surprising precision, diving deep into the digital spine of this world.
Article after article displayed clean formatting, intelligent formatting, and a curious tone that reminded him of Earth... but more refined.
> "Environmental Vita Transfer and Agricultural Rejuvenation Techniques"
"The Shift from Chemical Fuel to Vita Mechanization"
"AI Integration into Vita Symbiotic Platforms"
Every website had a modern aesthetic—white, black, and charcoal-toned icons lined the edges. Social media looked familiar: timelines, reposts, short-form videos. But the UI was smoother, faster, more minimalistic. Oliver even found a creative AI generator platform where people uploaded simulated music or hybrid animal concepts.
> This really is Earth's cousin, Oliver mused. Different species. Same instincts.
He bookmarked a few video essays, leaned back, and tried to absorb it all. The world ran on Vita, but it wasn't some fantasy spell system—it was structured, elemental, often rooted in scientific principles. People treated it like electricity, chemistry, or even biology. That alone fascinated him.
Just as he started scanning an article titled "Green Vita Capacity and Neurological Growth in Children", the door creaked open—
"Come on," Lyra whined.
She stood in the doorway, red hair tied back in a loose ribbon, a blue dress streaked with pastel green. Her arms were crossed, eyes narrowed in big-sister judgment. Without asking, she grabbed Oliver's wrist and tugged hard enough to jolt him upright.
> "Wolves are social creatures," she said with a grin, pulling him down the hallway.
"And you're being boring."
Oliver didn't resist. On Earth, he would've hated this kind of interruption—being dragged from quiet into chaos—but here, something was different. The air hummed with Vita. The sunlight shimmered across white-painted walls like water.
Out back, the grass was bright green and glowing with early evening hues. The backyard garden had large lavender flowers, fat leaves, and a soft breeze brushing through the trees.
Tala and Shura were already there.
Tala, the darker-furred of the two, had her sleeves rolled up and was showing off, lifting a cluster of leaves with a spiraling wind current like a gentle cyclone.
Shura, covered in fluffy white fur with speckled paws, grinned wide—and in the next moment, she transformed.
With a soft pop and crackle of Vita, Shura shifted into a small white wolf pup, complete with twitching ears and a curled tail.
Oliver stared.
She padded up and nuzzled her snout against his ankle. Gently, almost hesitantly, Oliver crouched and reached out. His hand brushed her fur.
It was warm. Softer than velvet, almost like petting cloud-stuffed snow.
> I've never touched a real wolf before… he thought.
Shura licked his fingers.
The others laughed, and Lyra clapped her hands.
> "Playtime!"
Oliver sighed. Internally, he braced for a boring game of tag or made-up fairy nonsense. But Lyra surprised him.
She stepped forward, eyes gleaming, and drew water from the air with an effortless gesture. Her palms glowed faintly as she spun together tiny spheres of glistening water bubbles—they bounced, shimmered, and wobbled with cohesion and adhesion, sticking to leaves, arms, or the patio stones without popping.
> "Can you do this yet?" she asked smugly, floating a bubble over his head.
Oliver focused. He raised his palms. The blue metaphysical energy—faint and lucid—gathered in his hands, cool and responsive. A trickle of water followed, spiraling slowly into a thin stream.
Like a faucet turning on.
Tiny droplets formed, hovering in midair. Not flashy, but clean and real. A true product of effort.
Tala clapped. "Ooooh! A beginner fountain!"
Shura (now back in her Beastkin form) giggled, grabbing a waterball and tossing it gently at Tala's cheek. The game began instantly.
Splash.
Splat.
Laughter.
Soon, waterballs were flying across the grass, hitting bushes, hair, arms. Vita didn't just make things powerful—it made play magical. Bubbles floated and shimmered. Leaves danced. Grass twitched like it was part of the fun.
Oliver stood off to the side, hands dripping slightly, observing the others with a mix of mild awe and quiet amusement. He didn't join the chaos yet. He didn't need to. For now, watching was enough.
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Further back, on the smooth patio shaded by a vine-covered arch, Liam, Martha, and Vaeleth sat comfortably in rounded chairs, sipping herbal drinks from clay cups. A tray of bread and sliced starfruit rested on a wicker table between them.
Martha smiled gently. "He's opening up."
Liam leaned forward, proud. "He's smart. Quiet, but observant. He's learning things faster than I thought he would."
Vaeleth's golden eyes tracked Oliver. "I've seen wolves like that. The kind who don't bark, but bite with precision when they need to. He'll be stronger than most of us if he grows with that kind of control."
Martha raised a brow, amused. "He's six."
Vaeleth shrugged. "Six is old enough to have instincts."
The three watched as Lyra tackled Tala, bubbles flying, while Shura tripped into a bush mid-transformation and emerged half-wolf, half-hiccups.
Oliver laughed softly—almost imperceptibly—but they caught it.
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As the sun began to dip behind the horizon, the backyard shimmered in hues of amber and pink. The kids sprawled on the grass, tired and soaked. Lyra stretched dramatically. Shura laid curled like a dog next to Oliver. Tala tried to form a waterball and sneezed it apart.
And Oliver, sitting between it all, realized something strange:
He didn't feel like a guest anymore.
Not fully.
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[Here's the continuation of Oliver's story as Chapter 6: "Sleepless Dreams and Midnight Mischief]
*(P.S no need to read above)*
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Chapter 6: Sleepless Dreams and Midnight Mischief
9:02 PM.
The house was dim and quiet, save for occasional muffled giggles from down the hall. Oliver sat on his green-sheeted bed, eyes open, staring at the faint nightlight plugged into the outlet near the door. It hummed softly—a subtle, safe glow.
He curled under the covers.
Sleep wasn't usually this easy for him.
Back on Earth, he often stayed up till 1 or 2 a.m., scrolling aimlessly, watching clips, bingeing anything to escape the silence of his apartment. Sometimes, he'd stay up all night without even realizing it.
> But things are different now.
I guess I have to live differently too.
He turned to his side, blinking slowly. In the other room, Lyra, Tala, and Shura were having some sort of impromptu sleepover. Their laughter was distant, not loud, just ambient. Oliver didn't feel annoyed.
Just detached.
With a long breath, he closed his eyes.
And slipped into the dream.
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[Dreamworld]
He was back on Earth.
Older. Heavier. His original self again—just over 200 pounds, scruffy-faced, wearing a stretched-out hoodie and wrinkled jeans. The kitchen was narrow, beige walls lit by a cheap LED strip light.
He cracked open a cold can of Sprite, watching the fizz bubble over.
His dad walked in.
Sixty-something. Salt-and-pepper hair, a stained flannel shirt. Tired eyes that somehow still had hope in them.
> "Find a job yet?"
"Still searching," Oliver replied, forcing optimism. "I'm really close."
It was a lie. He was nowhere close. He hadn't even updated his resume.
The next thing he knew, he was walking outside, wobbling slightly on uneven pavement. For some reason, he'd been hired—at Target, of all places. No interview. Just a congratulations email and directions to show up.
He was shocked, grateful… maybe even too grateful?
> Did I really want this job? Or did I just want to stop feeling useless?
The dream skipped like a scratched CD.
He stood inside the fluorescent-bright aisles of Target, wearing a red-and-black apron. Voices blurred. Stocking shelves. Smiling awkwardly at customers. The sun outside was bright—but something felt off.
Like the light was too sterile.
Like it wasn't really sunlight.
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[Reality – 1:56 AM]
Oliver's eyes shot open.
The dream was over, fading already—but the unease lingered. He rubbed his forehead, groggy, staring up at the ceiling again. The room was exactly as it had been. The metaphysical tranquility of this new world pressed in gently around him.
Still…
> Why did that dream feel so… normal?
Unable to shake it, he slowly sat up, pushed the sheets away, and tiptoed toward the hallway.
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The house was mostly dark, except for the faint glow of a television screen playing something in the other room. The logo in the top-right corner was circular, blue with rainbow streaks—not Netflix, but clearly its spiritual cousin.
The voices were softer, aimed at an older youth crowd. Teen dramas, maybe? Oliver didn't care.
He was more distracted by the smell.
Something sweet. Something… cakey?
He drifted toward the kitchen, where an unexpected sight greeted him.
There they were—Lyra, Tala, and Shura, gathered in a cozy storm of chaos. Bags of flour, open egg cartons, measuring cups, and a large mixing bowl sat on the table. Lyra held a whisk with professional confidence. Tala, her dark furred ears twitching, was reading the instructions from both the cake box and her phone. Shura had frosting on her cheek and a spoon in her hand, licking it gleefully.
> They're actually baking.
At 2 in the morning.
Oliver stood there for a second, stunned by the surreal normalcy of it all.
Lyra noticed him first. "What are you doing here?"
"Just wanted some juice," Oliver muttered.
Shura ran over and grabbed his hand. "You wanna help us bake?"
Before Oliver could answer, Lyra yanked the fridge open and poured out a red juice into a cup. She handed it to him with a raised eyebrow.
"Nope. You're not helping. You'll mess it up."
Tala snorted. "He might actually be helpful."
Lyra waved her off. "He's tired. Aren't you tired?"
Oliver sipped the juice. Sweet. Like pomegranate and apple mixed together. Different from Earth, but oddly refreshing. He didn't argue. He just watched.
A part of him almost wanted to help.
Instead, he turned and walked quietly toward the front window. Outside, the moon floated like a white pearl in the sky—whiter than Earth's, almost glowing with an unnatural, clean light.
This place still felt strange.
But beautiful.
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[3:00 AM]
Back upstairs.
Oliver sat at his desk, the laptop open again. His eyelids were heavy, scrolling through more articles—this time about preschool Vita training, child development cycles, and early elemental affinity detection.
He read… and read…
…until he slumped over slightly, head resting on his arm, and fell asleep.
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[6:03 AM – Morning Light]
Sunlight pierced through the white curtains like a quiet alarm.
Oliver squinted as a gentle knock followed by a familiar voice stirred him awake.
"Oliver, time to get up."
Martha's voice was calm but firm.
Oliver sat up slowly, blinking at the daylight invading the room.
> "Time for what?" he asked, groggily.
"Preschool."
He paused.
> Preschool? Again?
He stared at his six-year-old hands and groaned.
If he had the energy, he would've begged for a time-skip button. But as he rolled out of bed and changed clothes, Oliver realized… maybe this wouldn't be so bad.
After all, he never really gave childhood a proper chance the first time, he goes up to dress himself and get ready for this.....'School' as he plays along.
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