Chapter 24: Sunlight & Scrolls
Third Person – Narrative View
The next morning, Oliver was awake before he realized it.
His body stirred beneath the heap of wrinkled sheets on the floor mattress, surrounded by empty bottles of soda, half-folded laundry, and a fan humming pointlessly in the corner.
Sunlight bled through the blinds like an overexposed camera flash.
Too bright. Too hot.
Florida summer was a full-time job in suffering.
Oliver groaned and reached for his phone under a crushed pillow.
---
First Person – Oliver Reed
Why do I check my phone first thing?
It's not like I'm expecting good news.
Scroll.
Some TikTok was yelling about a "Fantasy Class System" like it was a TED Talk for people who only read D&D starter kits once:
"Knights! Druids! Paladins! Clerics! Rogues! Artificers! Warlocks! Wizards! Mages! Monks! Sorcerers! Bards! Fighters! Barbarians!!"
God. Half those overlap.
They just slap glitter on the same five roles and call it world-building.
Fantasy used to feel magical to me.
Now it feels…
Mass-produced.
Another video: Solo Leveling fan edit.
Sung Jin-Woo doing the stare-into-the-soul pose.
Yeah, Solo Leveling was the last RPG-style thing that actually grabbed my attention. The anime looked slick—global phenomenon. Even the TikTok cosplayers were pretty decent.
But I remember reading somewhere Japan didn't like it that much.
Jeju Island Arc.
Yeah. The Japanese hunters got shafted hard. Weak. Arrogant. Dead.
Some people online say that was the reason Japan didn't embrace it.
Others say it just didn't vibe with their pacing and character styles.
Manhwa ain't manga. South Korea isn't Japan.
Guess I don't care as much anymore.
I used to love anime.
Used to rush home to catch Shippuden episodes, memorize every Z-Fighter transformation, draw fanart of Tower of God.
Now?
I closed the app.
Put the phone on the floor.
Third Person – Narrative View
Oliver stared up at the ceiling, sweat collecting behind his neck.
Somewhere in the corner of his mind, he remembered a Chinese title he'd heard floating around:
"Lord of the Mysteries."
Supposed to be the next big thing. High-concept magic. Gothic horror. Urban steampunk. Cults. Gods.
Dongwa.
China's answer to the manhwa wave.
Maybe he'd check it out.
Or maybe he wouldn't.
The fan kept spinning.
And Oliver kept lying still.
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Chapter 25: Improvisation
Third Person – Narrative View
The laundry basket was overflowing.
Socks rolled into balls of dust and static. Shirts stained with dried sweat and crumbs. Pants that hadn't seen a hanger in weeks. The scent was... industrial. Like a gym locker married a microwave burrito.
Oliver stared at it all with a deadpan expression.
This was not heroic.
This was not some underdog training arc.
This was damage control.
With a grunt, he scooped up the mound and shuffled toward the washer tucked in the side hall near the kitchen. His mom was out grocery shopping. His dad, still asleep on the couch, softly snoring to the buzz of the TV showing static.
Oliver opened the washer door and dumped the pile in like a battlefield sacrifice.
Then he looked up.
The shelf where the Downy laundry liquid usually sat?
Empty.
No blue bottle. No backup. No pods.
He checked the cabinet. A bottle of fabric softener that might as well be air. Some old powdered bleach. Nothing helpful.
Except…
A green bottle.
Dawn Dish Soap.
Classic. Thick. Meant to cut through grease on pans, not funk on fabric.
Oliver picked it up. Read the label briefly.
"Removes tough, baked-on grease."
He shrugged.
First Person – Oliver Reed
Tough, baked-on grease.
Tough, baked-on life.
Same thing.
I unscrewed the cap and gave it a squeeze.
A neon stream of green oozed into the washing machine. I may have used too much. The smell hit instantly—lemongrass and chemicals. Whatever. At least it's clean-ish.
I closed the lid. Pressed the button.
The machine clicked and whirred, starting the cycle. I watched the water fill up with bubbles. Like some kind of witch potion.
---
Third Person – Narrative View
As the washer sloshed and churned, Oliver stood back, arms crossed.
There was a part of him that felt weirdly satisfied. Not proud—just... resourceful.
Sure, maybe the clothes would come out foamy or overly fragrant, but they'd be clean.
And that, in this mess of a world, felt like a small win.
Even if it smelled like dish soap.
---------
Chapter 26: The Weather Shift
Third Person – Narrative View
The washing machine clicked to a stop, followed by a low beep.
Oliver stood up from the kitchen chair he'd been sitting in while watching the cycle finish—half-asleep, thumb idly scrolling through muted YouTube videos about conspiracy theories, broken economies, and someone ranting about how Lord of the Mysteries would "destroy modern fiction."
He opened the washer. A cloud of fake lemony-green aroma burst out.
His clothes looked... sudsy. Not soaked in soap, thankfully, but there was a weird slick to the cotton. Still, they were technically clean. Success.
Oliver dumped everything into a large blue plastic bin—the kind usually used for Christmas decorations or garage storage.
First Person – Oliver Reed
I figured I'd be smart today. Save on the dryer, get some sun.
Old-school air dry, like my mom used to do when she was trying to "cut the energy bill" back in 2012.
I heaved the bin up, opened the sliding back door, and stepped outside—
And froze.
The sky that had been obnoxiously bright less than half an hour ago had turned into gray soup.
Heavy clouds. Low and angry. The kind that said, "Hope you weren't planning anything."
The Florida air had shifted—cooler now. Damp. The wind whispered through the backyard like a warning.
Third Person – Narrative View
Oliver stood there with the bin in his hands. He looked up at the sky. A single, fat raindrop hit his shoulder. Then another. Then five.
He sighed.
No music played. No dramatic thunder. Just a tired man with clean, lemon-scented clothes and nowhere to dry them.
He turned around.
Back inside.
The air was stale and warm. His mom's old drying rack was missing a leg, but the plastic chairs would do. He scattered shirts, socks, and pants across the living room furniture like makeshift drying lines.
---
First Person – Oliver Reed
Of course it rained.
I don't even get to win at laundry without something interfering.
Still… I guess it could be worse. At least the house didn't lose power.
Yet.
Maybe I'll take a nap.
Or maybe just sit and watch water drip off a T-shirt.
Kind of like this year. Slow. Damp. And unpredictable.
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Chapter 27: The Orange Cube
Third Person – Narrative View
Clank.
The sound sliced through the quiet like a blade of glass.
Oliver flinched so hard he nearly knocked over a chair still covered in half-dried clothes. His heart kicked into a sprint. That wasn't the sound of thunder or rain. That was something close. Something real.
He turned around quickly—eyes scanning.
Near the sliding glass door, just inches from the laundry bin—
It sat there.
A cube.
Orange. Glowing faintly, like the last ember of a dying flame. The base was solid, but encased in a glass-like casing—transparent, crystalline, and pulsing faintly with inner light. The glow flickered softly, as if it were breathing.
It hadn't been there a minute ago.
And nothing in Oliver's house looked like that.
---
First Person – Oliver Reed
What... the hell?
I stared at it. The way it shimmered… like some kind of artifact from a sci-fi game. Or a weird power-up.
Did it fall from the ceiling? But there's nothing above it.
Was it dropped?
But who—?
I reached for the broom. The black one we never use unless something sketchy appears. Like a roach. Or now… mysterious orange glass cubes glowing on the floor.
I poked it.
Nothing.
I gave it a little jab.
Still nothing. No heat. No vibration. My finger didn't melt off.
I crouched lower, eyes narrowed.
What even was this?
A prank?
A hallucination?
A new TikTok trend where people throw glowing cubes into random homes?
---
Third Person – Narrative View
Oliver stared.
The cube just sat there.
Glowing. Waiting. Like it wanted to be touched.
The air in the room felt subtly different now. Not cold. Not hot. Just... charged.
Outside, the rain had fully started, tapping lightly against the window in a rhythmic stutter.
And inside, the world had tilted slightly off-axis—just enough that Oliver knew:
Something was about to change.
---------
Chapter 28: Containment Protocol
Third Person – Narrative View
Oliver stood motionless, breath shallow, eyes locked on the glowing cube.
The orange light inside the crystal casing pulsed slowly—like a heartbeat. Not fast. Not dangerous. But not idle either.
It felt aware.
Like it knew he was watching.
Oliver's throat tightened. Sweat formed on his brow, not just from nerves—but from heat. The cube was radiating warmth, subtle, but growing.
He blinked, snapped back into survival mode.
---
First Person – Oliver Reed
Okay, okay… stay calm.
This isn't a game. This isn't Minecraft. You can't just toss this thing in your inventory and walk away.
What if it's alien tech? What if it's radioactive? What if it's government?
Nope. No chances.
I grabbed the largest glass bowl from the kitchen. The kind you'd use for mixing 3 gallons of potato salad or whatever. Slowly—so slowly—I crouched over the cube, held the bowl like a bell, and…
Clink.
I trapped it.
Didn't move. Didn't vanish. Didn't explode.
Good enough.
I bolted for the door.
---
Third Person – Narrative View
Oliver burst into the backyard, the rain instantly soaking his hair, shirt, everything. The Florida storm had settled in—hot rain, slapping sideways from the humidity.
He fumbled with the keys—hands trembling—until the shed creaked open.
Inside: old tools, rusted nails, his dad's neglected weed whacker. But more importantly—
Safety gear.
He grabbed the old yellow rubber gloves—the ones from the failed beekeeping hobby. Then a dusty pair of work goggles, covered in cobwebs. He didn't care.
Slamming the shed shut, he dashed back toward the house, squinting through the rain as lightning flickered faintly in the distance.
---
First Person – Oliver Reed
I don't know what I'm doing.
But if this thing turns into some horror sci-fi infection crystal, at least I'll have PPE on.
I've seen enough movies.
Gloves on. Goggles tight.
Let's see what this cube is made of.
And if it... wants something.
---
Third Person – Narrative View
Inside, the bowl over the cube now softly glowed from beneath—orange light illuminating the counter like a candle in a church.
Oliver stood before it—soaked, trembling slightly, but protected.
The storm raged outside.
And in this suburban Florida kitchen, reality quietly, permanently tilted off-center.
The cube had arrived.
And Oliver Reed was the one who found it.
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Chapter 29: Searching for Meaning
Third Person – Narrative View
Oliver sat at the kitchen table, still in soaked clothes, the cube still trapped under the giant glass bowl a few feet away—glowing softly like it was waiting for its turn to speak.
He opened his old laptop, greasy keys clicking as he typed:
> "Glowing orange glass cube"
Search Results:
Etsy listings for "hand-blown orange glass decor cubes"
Pinterest boards titled "Modern Warm-Tone Interior Aesthetics"
A Reddit thread from 2022 about someone finding a similar cube… turned out to be a 3D-printed LED lamp
Several AI-generated images titled "Artifact of Sol"
A few clickbait YouTube thumbnails: "I Found THIS in My Backyard??"
Oliver frowned.
Too normal. Too curated.
He refined the search:
> "Glowing orange cube artifact real"
> "Cube that appears randomly in house"
> "Cube in glass container glowing breathing"
Still, mostly garbage. A few creepypastas. Some people saying it's a prop from a failed indie ARG. Others claiming it's an NFT sculpture or viral marketing.
But nothing… solid. Nothing real.
He typed again:
> "Cube glowing glass unknown origin"
> "Orange light object home sudden appear"
Still the same images. Same weird listings. Same patterns.
First Person – Oliver Reed
There's no way it's a coincidence.
This is either:
Something too new to be on the internet
Something so old it got forgotten
Or something that shouldn't be here
I stare at it under the bowl. That pulse… it's like it's breathing. Waiting. Like it's not just light… it's alive.
---
Third Person – Narrative View
Oliver stood up slowly, every movement deliberate.
Goggles on. Gloves tight. Socks still damp.
He moved to the bowl.
One breath.
Two.
And then—he lifts the glass bowl off.
The glow deepens instantly. A flicker runs through the cube's core. For the first time since its arrival… the air hums.
Not loud. Not electric.
But subtle. Like the quiet vibration of something turning on.
Oliver's hand reaches forward—gloved fingers trembling slightly—as they make contact with the orange cube.
It's warm. Like a heated stone left out in the sun. Not hot enough to burn. But enough to feel… awake.
Oliver holds it now.
And the cube pulses once—sharper this time.
A flicker.
Then silence.
The house is quiet again.
But everything has changed.
Even if he doesn't know how yet.
-------
Chapter 30: The Northern Celestial Palace
Third Person – Narrative View
Oliver's heart thudded like a war drum in his chest. His hands—slick with sweat, gloves damp, feet itching in soaked socks—gripped the cube tighter than ever.
His thoughts spiraled.
> What if it's just a dead prop?
> What if it explodes?
> What if this is alien tech and I'm about to be abducted or disintegrated or—
> Why is my left foot sweating more than my right?
He moved slowly, cautiously lowering the cube back into the orange-glass container—its supposed "resting chamber." As soon as it clicked into place, a low chime echoed—
Not through the air…
Through reality.
And then—
[Space and Time bent.]
The kitchen floor folded inward like paper being sucked into a black hole. Colors twisted. Geometry failed. The glass windows stretched and curved into impossible spirals.
Oliver's scream was lost in the collapse of perception.
---
Third Person – Fall Through Light
He was falling. Not through darkness—
But through light.
Pure, radiant light. White streaked with threads of gold, humming like ancient music.
His limbs were weightless. His body blurred. His senses overwhelmed.
The cube? Gone from his hands.
His thoughts? Fragmented.
Then—
WHAM.
He landed hard, face-first into smooth white marble.
"OOF—agh—!"
Pain shot through his arm as he rolled over, gasping, blinking wildly.
---
First Person – Oliver Reed
Where... the hell...?
The sky. It's white and gold. Not like sunlight. More like… the concept of illumination itself.
I can't even tell where the light's coming from. No sun. No shadows. Just endless radiance.
I sit up. My elbow hurts. I probably bruised it. But I'm alive.
The floor is marble—glossy, warm. Not cold. Somehow… alive too?
And the plants… giant blue lilies… spiraled trees… vines hanging in the air like they're frozen mid-swing.
And then I see it—
Tortoises.
Dozens of them.
Not just walking.
Some are carrying watering cans.
Watering plants.
One even has tiny golden glasses on and is reading a scroll.
---
Third Person – Narrative View
Oliver gawked.
A garden that stretched on in impossible directions—part forest, part palace, part dream. Hanging lanterns floated above without strings. A crystalline river twisted through the flowers and disappeared into thin air.
The tortoises moved slowly—but with purpose. Their shells gleamed with constellations, some carved, others glowing.
And then, on a sign above an archway sculpted from glowing stone:
> 北天宫
Northern Celestial Palace
The cube had been a key.
To another world.
To another realm entirely.
And somehow—Oliver Reed, unemployed, exhausted, unmotivated—was here.
And everything…
was just beginning.
-------
Chapter 31: The Black Tortoise's Offer
Third Person – Narrative View
Oliver stood frozen. His socks were still damp, his heart still racing, and his mind—completely wrecked. Around him, the strange garden breathed with an ambient stillness, like it had waited centuries for his arrival.
Then came the light.
A soft, glowing orb, no bigger than a baseball, descended slowly from the white-gold sky. Oliver instinctively stepped back, arms slightly raised, chest tight. He didn't know if it was going to explode, scan him, or talk.
Instead, the light pulsed once—then shimmered, and from within its radiant center, a form manifested.
A black tortoise no more than four feet tall stood at the heart of it. But this was no ordinary creature.
Its ancient shell gleamed with stardust. Carved into its back was the constellation of the north, and wrapped elegantly around it—a glowing yellow serpent, eyes narrow and unblinking, tongue flicking like it knew everything.
The tortoise stood on hind legs, hunched like an old monk, leaning on a jade-green staff etched with celestial glyphs. His voice, when it came, was low, ancient, and oddly gentle.
> "You came from another universe, lad..."
Oliver's breath caught.
The tortoise's eyes were deep—centuries deep—and his words pierced the silence like truth itself.
> "A universe without the Celestial. A world without power. A world where I am a forgotten myth... tucked away in dusty eastern folklore of a continent you call Asia... yet you, you are from the Western Southern lands... a place you called Earth."
Oliver gave a slow, nervous nod.
His forehead glistened with sweat. His lips parted—but no words came out.
How was he supposed to react to a talking cosmic tortoise with a snake on its back?
> "But don't be foolish," the Black Tortoise continued, turning slowly, robes dragging over the grass. "Don't think the world chose you. You chose it."
> "You opened the gate. You touched the cube. You entered the breach."
The staff tapped the marble gently with a hollow tok.
> "This world... Eloria to some, Caelus to others... is not like your broken Earth. It is vast. Powerful. Divine. And dangerous."
He turned his head again to meet Oliver's gaze directly.
> "You have a choice, Oliver Reed.
You may return—forget this world and its celestial breath. Or…"
"You may choose your path here. Explore the lands. Learn its truths. See its war. Its wonder. Its weight."
> "But know this..."
The snake slithered slightly, tightening around the shell.
> "...if you choose to stay—
you do not remain who you were."
---
First Person – Oliver Reed
I stood there.
Soaking wet. Shirt sticking to my gut. Chest rising and falling like I just sprinted through three job interviews and a panic attack.
A magical turtle—no, tortoise—just offered me the biggest choice of my life.
And it felt real.
Not a dream. Not a hallucination. Not Minecraft creative mode.
This was realer than Earth.
And maybe…
Just maybe…
I didn't want to go back.
------
Chapter 32: The Truth of Eloria — The Age of Vita
Third Person – Narrative View
Oliver's mouth was dry.
His mind raced faster than any thought could form.
So many questions—so much he didn't understand.
He turned to the Black Tortoise, still standing calmly by the marble garden path, yellow serpent resting lazily around his shell like it was basking in the tension.
> "Is this… a medieval world?" Oliver finally blurted, his voice cracking slightly. "Like swords, horses, and castles?"
The Black Tortoise's eyes narrowed—wise, gentle, and slow.
> "The Elorian world… has many different types of customs and cultures," he said, voice smooth as worn stone. "Just like your Earth. Some wear robes and chant with bells. Others ride sleek metal vehicles and build towers of glass and steel."
> "This world is... modern."
Oliver blinked. "Wait, what? So... like cars? Phones?"
> "Yes. Vehicles. Technology. Industry. There are airports, subways, even virtual interfaces. But all of it... shaped by a different root force."
Oliver tilted his head. "What about magic? Superpowers? RPG classes?"
The Black Tortoise chuckled, a slow, rumbling laugh that echoed like thunder through a canyon.
> "Humans no longer use what you'd call magic—at least, not in your fictional sense."
"They use Vita."
Oliver frowned. "Vita?"
The tortoise raised his staff.
> "Vita is the source. The fundamental energy of this universe. Call it the breath of existence. The weave of reality. It is natural, but not mundane. Everything you know—your atoms, your elements, your blood, your sky—is Vita."
> "It holds the periodic table... and more."
> "It is the bond of hydrogen... the force behind gravity... the shimmer in light... the pulse in a storm... the decay in radiation... the glow in your stars."
> "It made the galaxies. The stars. The moons. The soil. The sea. It is the skin of the cosmos and the breath of the gods. It is everything."
Then, as if on cue, the Black Tortoise lifted his staff—high into the misty air.
A hum rippled across the garden.
Tiny sparkles—almost like dust made of starlight—began to gather from the air itself. Water vapor thickened as if obeying an ancient command. In seconds, the tortoise conjured a spiraling sphere of liquid in the air—a perfect orb of churning water floating just above his staff.
> "This is Vita in motion," he said.
The orb looked simple at first… until Oliver noticed the impossible inside it:
Within that tiny water ball swirled depth—vast, ocean-like depth—as if the entire sea had folded into itself a thousand times to fit inside a shape no bigger than a basketball.
And then—
The tortoise gently released the orb.
With a woosh, it detonated into a massive, thunderous wave, roaring forward like a miniature tsunami—yet stopped inches from Oliver, breaking harmlessly into mist.
> "Vita can do this. But only when shaped by will and knowledge," the tortoise said calmly. "Few in this age still practice the shaping. Fewer still are chosen by it."
Oliver stepped back, breath caught in his throat.
He didn't need a class.
He didn't need magic scrolls.
Vita was real.
Vita was everything.
And he was standing in a world built by it.
His old life—TikToks, hot pockets, broken job interviews—felt like a dream from another universe.
Because it was.