The taste of metal lingered on my gums. Cold. Familiar.

  I had died. I knew that.

  But in this fragile body, I was reborn.

  Memories swam in the back of my mind, hazy but insistent. I wasn’t just Elias—I was someone else before. And even though my body was small, my thoughts were not.

  I needed to learn. To understand.

  To figure out why I was here.

  Waking up in my new life was an adjustment. The weight of my body was different—light, unsteady. Gone was the solid frame of a man who had spent years in the cockpit, replaced by the fragile limbs of a child still learning balance. That should have been terrifying, but it wasn’t. If anything, I felt... determined. This was a second chance, and I wasn’t going to waste it.

  Our home was modest but sturdy. Built from real stone, not the synthetic material that made up most buildings in the city. The furniture had weight—hand-carved, passed down. But the real proof that my father wasn’t just some commoner lay in the details. A dusty mantel clock, its gold inlays faint but still visible. The porcelain cups my mother still used for tea, delicate and impractical for everyday life. A coat of arms, half-buried under stacks of books in my father’s study, like a secret he wanted to forget.

  I didn’t care much about my father’s past. I had my own secret—the mind of a pilot trapped in a child’s body, relearning how to move, speak, and think without giving myself away.

  By the time I was three or four, I was already talking in full sentences. Sara, my mother, gushed about it constantly.

  "He’s so smart, Dom! He figured out the puzzle I got him right away!"

  I had to fight back laughter whenever she said things like that. It was hardly a challenge, but I let her have her moment.

  Sara was beautiful—long black hair, pale skin, a warmth about her that made people naturally at ease. My father, Dom, was the opposite—gruff, hardened, but fiercely loyal. Somehow, it worked.

  As soon as I could, I was running, climbing, pushing limits. Sara eventually gave up trying to keep me contained, only making sure I didn’t get into anything too dangerous.

  Except my father’s watch.

  It was old, its metal casing worn with time. Something about it felt... off. Almost familiar.

  One day, while fiddling with it, I noticed something strange. The time on the watch never matched the holo-clock on the wall—it was always a second ahead. Curious, I adjusted it back.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  The moment I did—

  The dust in the air froze mid-motion. The hum of a distant melody slowed to a deep, distorted crawl. The world itself seemed to lag, like a glitch in reality.

  Then—

  Blackness.

  When I woke up, I was in my mother’s arms, her voice sharp as she scolded my father.

  "That thing is dangerous, Dom!"

  "Sara, if he has the talent for Psy, we shouldn’t discourage him," my father argued. "Let him learn. He’ll be ahead of his peers."

  "Bullocks." She glared. "You just want to impress your squad mates. You want him to follow in your footsteps."

  "Would that be so bad?" Dom’s voice softened. "Our son has been blessed. Most people would jump at the idea—"

  "Because they don’t know what it costs."

  That edge in her tone sent a chill down my spine.

  "You left on your own terms, Dom. Not everyone gets that choice."

  For the first time, my father had no rebuttal.

  It was then I realized—my mother was afraid. Not of my abilities, but of something much bigger. Something I wasn’t ready to understand yet.

  The next few years were filled with quiet lessons. My father would bring home small relics—an old revolver, a lighter, a coin—placing them in front of me and watching carefully.

  "Focus," he’d say.

  At first, I didn’t know what he meant. But after a while, certain objects seemed... different. Like they carried a weight beyond the physical. When I concentrated, I swore I could feel something shifting.

  Dom never let me touch them. Just observe.

  "Find its true nature," he’d say.

  I had no idea what that meant.

  Then came the day I met Marcus and Vera.

  Dom brought Marcus home from work, and with him, a girl—his daughter. She was about my age, but where I was covered in grease from tinkering with a dismantled holograv, she was clean, composed, and radiated an air of nobility.

  She took one look at me and froze, horror spreading across her face as if I had committed some unspeakable crime.

  I wiped a hand across my face, realizing too late that I had just smeared oil across my cheek.

  Brilliant first impression.

  Behind her, Marcus smirked. "Dom, you sure this is your son? Looks more like an alley rat."

  Dom chuckled. "Yeah, but he’s a smart one."

  Vera, still staring at me like I was some kind of wild creature, wrinkled her nose. "You look like you crawled out of an engine."

  I grinned, shrugging. "I did. And I fixed it. Bet you’ve never even held a wrench."

  Her eyes narrowed. "Why would I? That’s what servants are for."

  I blinked. Then, to my own surprise, I laughed. "Guess that means I’m more useful than you."

  She huffed, crossing her arms. "We’ll see about that."

  Dom clapped Marcus on the back. "I think our kids will get along just fine."

  Marcus just sighed. "That or kill each other."