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Chapter 2 – A Day With the Ones I Love.
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"A place where my new story begins."
That's what I said last night. Eyes closed, mind drifting, heart full of something I couldn't name yet.
It sounded dramatic, even heroic. But now that morning sunlight was slipping in through the window and warming my cheek, it didn't feel like the beginning of an epic. It just felt… right.
I opened my eyes slowly. The ceiling above me was wooden, dark brown with beams that creaked when it rained. A few dust motes floated in the slanted morning light. My blanket had fallen halfway off the bed. I kicked the rest of it away and sat up.
The room was still.
No beeping alarms. No phone buzzes. No engines outside.
Just birds. And a breeze through the herbs Mom had tied near the windowsill. Lavender, thyme, and something sharp I didn't know the name of.
It had been nearly two weeks since I remembered who I used to be — before Euphoria, before Theo, before everything here. Two weeks since I'd remembered dying.
The moment comes back sometimes, at random. The truck. The boy's small body in my arms. The sound right before impact. The pain, which wasn't as long as I thought it would be. And then… nothing. Just silence. Floating.
Until I woke here.
I rubbed my face with both hands, trying to shake it off. I didn't want to think about that today.
Because today, I wasn't the guy who got hit by a truck.
Today, I was Theo Roosevelt.
And it was my seventh birthday.
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I slid out of bed and walked toward the door. My feet hit the wood floor with soft little taps. The scent of warm bread hit me first. Then something spiced — cinnamon? No, cinnamon and… fried garlic?
My stomach growled loud enough to echo.
I grinned.
In the kitchen, Mom was humming.
I paused in the hallway for just a second to listen. Her voice was soft, not trained or fancy, but peaceful. The same little tune she always hummed when she cooked. It used to just sound like background noise to me, but now that I remembered everything... it felt different. It felt like home.
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"Morning, sleepyhead," Mom said before I even walked into the room.
She was already in full motion, moving between the stove and the table, flipping something in a pan with one hand and stirring a pot with the other. Her braid swayed behind her, and her sleeves were pushed up to the elbows.
"Morning," I said, rubbing my eyes just for effect.
Her name is Sera Roosevelt, and she used to be a healer in an adventurer group. I've never seen her in battle, but I've seen her fix three injuries at once with nothing but herbs, hot water, and sharp words. Now she mostly takes care of the villagers — and us.
And cooks like a goddess.
The table was already full. Stacks of soft rolls. A tray of honey-glazed chicken. Two kinds of soup — one clear, one creamy. Pickled vegetables. Roasted potatoes with rosemary. A pie cooling near the window. Everything glowed in the morning light like it had been blessed.
"You made so much," I said, wide-eyed.
"I have to," she replied calmly. "You're turning seven. And your little monsters are coming."
I smiled. "They're not that bad."
She turned and raised an eyebrow.
Okay, they kind of were.
I reached out, fingers aiming for a golden roll at the edge of the tray.
Her wooden spoon smacked my hand — lightly, but with precision.
"Not until the others get here."
I sighed dramatically and turned to leave, but I was smiling all the way out the door.
---
I didn't even get halfway to the yard before the front door slammed open behind me.
"Theo!!"
Kael came sprinting in, arms flailing, shirt already untucked, his wild brown hair sticking up in every direction. Right behind him was Noah, walking at a much more reasonable pace, sleeves rolled neatly to the elbows, shoes actually tied.
"You're late," I said, crossing my arms.
"You're early!" Kael shouted.
"You were definitely dreaming about cake," Noah added.
"I was not."
"Sure."
From the kitchen window, Mom's voice rang out. "If you're going to argue, do it outside where I can't hear you!"
We all laughed and ran out back.
---
The backyard wasn't big, but it felt endless. Grass tall enough to brush our ankles. Flat stones near the trees we used as pretend "training grounds." Kael immediately tried to jump between two and fell. Noah found a stick and started drawing "ancient runes" in the dirt.
I climbed the tree — something I hadn't done since before my memories came back. The bark scraped my palms a little, but I didn't stop. I sat on the branch and just… breathed.
Sunlight warmed my skin.
A breeze rustled the leaves above my head.
I could hear my friends below, laughing, being loud, being young.
I wasn't sure if I was pretending to be a kid anymore.
Or if I was just finally letting myself be one.
---
"Kids! The food is ready! Come in! I made everyone's favorite!"
Mom's voice echoed across the yard. We didn't even respond — we just sprinted inside.
"Aunt Sera, thank you! I love chicken!" Kael yelled as he practically flew past her.
"YEAH! Me too! Thank you, Aunt Sera!" Noah followed.
"Moooom! Where's my cake?!" I grinned, trailing behind.
She stood by the kitchen doorway, hands on her hips, a soft smile on her face.
"Right here," she said, stepping aside to reveal the table again — and there it was. My birthday cake. Frosted white with little berries on top and chocolate curls around the edges. Seven candles flickering like tiny flames from a spell.
"My lovely Theo is turning seven," she said. "You've gotten so big."
"I'm not that big," I mumbled, even though I stood a little taller without meaning to.
Then I heard another voice, smooth and warm.
"But you're growing fast."
I turned.
Dad was there.
Cedric Roosevelt.
Tall, clean-cut, and composed. His dark hair was pulled back loosely, just enough to stay neat, with a few strands framing his face. His clothes were simple — a pale linen shirt, rolled at the sleeves, and dark trousers tucked into travel-worn boots. His build was what you'd call aesthetic — lean, toned, balanced. Not bulky or brutish. Just right.
His presence filled the room, but not because he was loud. He didn't need to be.
When Dad walked in, people noticed. The way he carried himself — posture straight, movements quiet but exact — said everything.
He was a man used to giving orders... and being trusted to lead.
"Starting today," he said, "we begin your sword training."
My eyes widened. "Really?"
He nodded once. "No mana yet. Just form. Breath. Discipline. You build the body before the blade."
I couldn't stop myself from grinning. My heart thumped.
"You'll do fine," he said, reaching out and gently fixing the collar of my shirt. "I've seen the way you move."
---
"Alright," Mom said. "Birthday boy. Make a wish."
I stood before the cake.
Seven candles.
Seven years.
I wish… I can make them proud. I wish I can protect this.
I took a deep breath and blew.
---
Lunch was loud. Chaotic. Perfect.
Kael dropped a piece of bread in the soup and blamed the chair. Noah tried to stack slices of potato until they fell over. I ate two plates, then three. I lost count after the fourth.
Dad told a story about a time he got chased by a river wyvern for stealing its eggs. Mom called him a liar. He swore it was true. Kael believed every word. Noah asked too many questions. I just laughed until I couldn't breathe.
For the first time in two weeks, I forgot I wasn't really seven.
And maybe that was okay.
---
After we'd eaten more than any of us should have, Kael stood up and shouted, "Let's dance!"
We shoved the table aside and turned the kitchen into a mess. Kael tripped over the rug twice. Noah tried to spin and knocked over a chair. I nearly slipped on a roll someone dropped.
"Haha! Kael, you don't know how to dance!" Noah said, grinning.
"Don't make fun of him," I said.
Kael rolled on the floor and groaned, "I'm just too advanced for this world."
We laughed until our faces hurt.
---
Later, Mom clapped her hands. "Alright, fun time's over. It's getting late."
She leaned down next to Kael and Noah. "I already told your parents you're sleeping here tonight, so go wash up and behave. Or I'm feeding you potion stew for breakfast."
"Bleghhh!" Kael cried.
Noah saluted. "Yes, General Sera."
Mom kissed my forehead as she passed. "Sleep well, birthday boy."
Dad followed her down the hallway. As he walked past me, he placed a hand on my shoulder — just for a second.
"Tomorrow," he said, "you'll hold a sword."
---
The fire was low. Kael was snoring. Noah had stolen half my blanket.
I lay on my back, staring at the dark ceiling.
The day had been loud. Full. Perfect.
And I knew, deep down, not every day would be like this. Not in this world.
But that was okay.
Because now… I had something worth fighting for.
And tomorrow, I'd take the first step toward protecting it.
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