The morning sun slipped lazily through the curtains, filling the room with that warm, golden glow that usually makes people smile. Not me, though.
Inside our house, I, Valen, age seven, tragic main character of this story, was being smothered by my mom.
She fussed over my uniform, straightened my collar, and repeated rules for the fiftieth time like she was installing antivirus software in my brain.
"Sit properly, don't pick fights, smile politely, raise your hand before speaking-"
Yeah, yeah.
I tuned out halfway, staring at the floor and sulking like a pro.
Why? Because today was my first day of school.
Ugh. School. The eternal prison sentence every kid has to serve.
For the past four years, I'd been homeschooled, and honestly? Life was pretty great.
I blew Mom and Dad's minds with how smart I was, but come on, when you've got a whole past life rattling around in your head, it'd be more embarrassing if you didn't know your ABCs and a few laws of physics.
So why give up the homeschool life? Simple. Mom said I needed "social interaction." Translation: make some friends and stop being the weird kid who sings anime openings to himself all day.
And when I did go outside and "play with kids my age"… I may have broken them.
Wait! Before you call child services, hear me out. They were torturing this injured puppy, trying to snap its legs for fun. Who even does that? So I stepped in… and maybe... snapped their legs instead. Accidentally. Probably.
Look, it's not my fault I'm built like a mini Hulk, okay?
Although… it's kinda ironic, isn't it? Sending a kid who once beat other kids up into a school full of… well, more kids so that he becomes friends with them and expecting him not to beat them up. Weird plan, I know.
Kinda feels like giving a pyromaniac a box of matches and saying, "Now play nice." Like, Mom, what outcome are you expecting here?
But that's when I figured it out, I wasn't normal. Turns out, I've got powers.
Like actual mutant-level powers. First thing I did was search "X-Men" on Google. If I was gonna be Cyclops or Wolverine, I wanted to know. But nah, google is fuckin' useless.
Mom explained it instead, people like us were called Outcasts. Weird. Dangerous. Unwelcome and untrusted.
Which… yeah, fair. You wouldn't exactly invite a blood sucker to a sleepover, or hang out with a guy who howls' at the moon right?
And the family lore? Yeah, it gets better.
Mom? Mermaid.
Yep. Mermaid. Tail, scales, the whole package. No joke.
Okay, technically a Siren, but still, mermaid!
One summer, she casually jumped into the pool and boom, tail, fins, Disney-level transformation. Meanwhile, I was on the deckchair having an existential crisis.
Her explanation was super chill too. "I'm a Siren, Valen. That's just how it is."
So of course I had to ask: "Wait… does that make me a merman?"
Her answer? "Maybe."
Gee, thanks Mom.
Dad wasn't a Siren, though.
His bloodline came from shapeshifters, called Eidolons... though it's watered down now. He can only morph a few body parts, like claws, eyes, that kinda thing and it's definitely useful.
According to him, back in the glory days, our clan, the Veynar Draemonts, was feared like legends.
So yeah. Outcast royalty. No pressure.
My parents are basically DLC characters. And me? I'm still figuring out which overpowered skill tree I rolled into.
The kicker?
This isn't Earth. Well, technically it is, but not my Earth. Parallel reality? Alternate timeline? Multiverse bug? Who knows.
And this isn't just any world. It's Wednesday.
As in, The Addams Family Wednesday. The day I realized that, I almost logged out of life.
The more I learned, the crazier it got.
Mom turned out to be friends with Morticia Addams. Haven't met the Addams family yet, though. Oh, and Bianca? Technically my distant cousin.
Don't even get me started on how much I hate that bitch. I'll rant about her later. but that rant's for another day.
Anyway. Back to the main quest.
"Valen." Mom's soft voice pulled me back. She crouched down, tying my shoelaces like I was still three. Her hands lingered, her brows furrowed with worry.
Behind her, Dad leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed, smiling that small, steady smile that dads are apparently born knowing how to do.
I froze for a second. That look… it hit me. Did my parents in my old life look at me like that when they sent me to school? That thought cut deeper than expected. I'd accepted it already, that life was gone. My parents, my world, everything. But the regret never really left.
If they couldn't see me now, the least I could do was live in a way that would've made them proud.
"I love you," I blurted out.
Mom's eyes widened before softening. She pulled me into a hug. "I love you too."
Not to be outdone, Dad joined in, wrapping both of us up. "We're proud of you, son."
And ouch. That one word, proud, hit me like a truck. My throat tightened. My eyes burned. But nah, tears? Never heard of 'em.
Then Dad clapped his hands, breaking the mood. "Alright, let's roll out!"
I snorted. He said it exactly like Optimus Prime.
Outside, a sleek black car was waiting in the driveway. Some kind of luxury brand that, in my old life, I wouldn't even have been allowed to look at.
Rich kid perks, baby. Woohoo.