Liam's quiet reflection, his Traveler background, and the contrast with Oliver's distance.
---
[Later That Evening – Back at the House]
The living room was quiet. Faint warmth radiated from the hanging lanterns embedded with glowing Vita crystals, casting a golden hue over the wooden walls.
With Lyra upstairs showing off her perfect grade to anyone who would listen—and Oliver silently organizing books in the study—it was only Liam who remained seated at the table.
He stared at a worn-out, folded piece of parchment in his hands. The creases had faded lines of ink: names, ranks, and old Traveler emblems—the kind used two decades ago when Systematic Traveling was more than just survival.
It was purpose.
Liam exhaled and leaned back, one arm draped over the backrest of the chair. His calloused fingers brushed the rim of a chipped mug. The silence didn't feel peaceful—it was heavy. Familiar.
"Twenty years," he muttered to himself. His eyes scanned the list of names—his old team. Some were scratched out. Some simply lost to time. "We were nobodies… but damn, we mattered back then."
A flicker of a memory:
The crash of rain in the Wailing Marsh.
The sting of arrows through air.
Vaeleth's laugh as she leapt over a fallen tree, wolf ears twitching, her long braid trailing behind her like a banner of wild freedom.
Liam shut his eyes.
---
[Flashback – 20 Years Ago]
He was only fifteen when life in the cities spat him out. Debts. Rent collectors. Corporate chains tightening until all that was left was exhaustion and cold nights on tiled floors.
In Eloria, fifteen was the age of graduation—but for Liam, it was also the age of exile.
He fled into the wilderness, nearly starved before finding the Woodland Lake, stumbling into the territory of Vaeleth—a demi-human with white-furred ears and eyes like moonlight.
"Don't move, outsider," she had said, crouched above him with a hunting spear. "You're in our lands."
He remembered the fear. Then the hunger. Then the slow trust.
Vaeleth didn't just spare him. She tested him. Ran him through pack trials set by her clan: survive three nights alone in the forest, defend the cubs from a territorial serpent, and climb the Stone Fang Hill blindfolded using only sound and scent.
He passed. Barely.
But it was enough.
The Wolf Elder, a massive white-haired patriarch with deep, gravel-like speech, said, "He walks with respect. Let him stay."
Liam became one of the few humans accepted by the pack—not a guest, but kin. He built, hunted, learned, and lived. And alongside Vaeleth, he found something he never had before:
A place.
---
[Present – The House]
The memory passed, but the ache remained. Liam opened his eyes and looked toward the stairwell.
Lyra was laughing upstairs. Her joy was loud, proud, raw. Oliver's soft footsteps echoed distantly—orderly, careful, always a bit too far.
Liam's brows furrowed slightly.
Oliver.
He wasn't cold, exactly. Just... distant.
The boy never cried. Never screamed. Never even sulked. And when you looked into his eyes, sometimes it felt like you were talking to a grown man pretending to be a child.
That wasn't natural.
Even when Liam tried to connect—over stories, old photos, even a meal around the campfire—Oliver responded like a guest, not a son.
"You okay, kiddo?"
"Yes, thank you."
Polite. Reserved. Like he didn't belong, even when he was surrounded by love.
Liam had known that feeling.
---
[Upstairs – Oliver Alone]
In the study, Oliver stood quietly beside the bookshelf, brushing his fingers along the spines of novels. He overheard Lyra's voice down the hall, full of life.
He smiled faintly somewhat but didn't move to join her.
He knew Liam cared. He wasn't oblivious. But his mind—still twenty-seven in memory and maturity—was worlds away. The awkwardness of being a child again wasn't something he could simply pretend through forever.
He missed being able to talk without condescension.
He does miss his parents though, his hardworking father and his mother was as well back on Earth, it's only like a few months since he been in this world, the missing somewhat lingers, however he isn't sure at times, he loves his parents yes, even if he doesn't really admit it, but he can't feel if he was still on Earth there'll always be some problem between him and his family especially that job market apocalypse when all the applications he sent was rejected he's beyond thankful he doesn't have to deal with that nonsense, that resignation when you know you'll be broke for the rest of your life.
Still, he turned toward the doorway. Maybe one day he'd say something. Open up. Share.
Just not yet, he opens up his laptop it's researching time.
---
[Back to Liam]
Liam rubbed his temples, then rose from the chair and quietly placed the old parchment back into the drawer. The past didn't define today—but it never really left, either.
He looked toward the window, where moonlight filtered through soft curtains. Somewhere out there was a life he once survived, a pack he once called home.
But here—this house, this moment—this was the life he chose to protect now.
------------
>[Vaeleth and Liam's backstory, shifting between present-day chaos and the quiet danger of the past when they first met. This develops Vaeleth's character and sets up her connection with Liam in a deep, personal way.]
---
[Present – Woodland Lake Territory]
The sound of running paws, shouting, and snapping branches echoed through the mossy woodland.
"Tala—not the beehive!" Vaeleth shouted as her dark-furred daughter launched herself off a low tree branch, barreling toward her white-furred twin.
Shura, the "quiet" one (by a technicality), spun in a tight dodge, laughing. "You'll never catch me if you act like a dumb beast!"
"I am a beast!" Tala roared, baring tiny fangs and chasing her sister through the pack's sacred grove.
Vaeleth groaned and rubbed her forehead. "These are the future of our people," she muttered.
From nearby, perched against the base of a tree, her older sister Kaelin chuckled. "They'll grow up big and strong—just like their mother."
Vaeleth snorted sarcastically. "That's the problem."
Kaelin grinned. "Don't pretend. They've got your fire."
Vaeleth watched the twins tumble and roll in the leaves, wrestling with wild abandon. Her tail flicked. She couldn't deny it—they did remind her of someone.
---
[Flashback – Seventeen Years Ago]
Vaeleth was just a young she-wolf then. Mid-teens by wolfkin standards, barely through her rite of strength, still carrying the faint silver lining on her ears that marked adolescence.
She had been entrusted with a sacred role: Caretaker of the Pack Pups while the elder hunters tracked a migrating herd.
She took it seriously. Perched on a stone outcrop near the pup-den, eyes always sharp, spear across her lap.
Wolves were careful with territory. The world beyond the lake was dangerous—filled with wandering spirits, cursed travelers, and worse: desperate humans.
So when the wind shifted and brought a foreign scent, she knew instantly.
It wasn't bear. Not feline. Not fox.
Human. Male. Alone.
Vaeleth crouched instantly, lips curled, pupils narrow. She placed a calming hand on one of the younger pups who tried to approach her for a nap.
"Stay close to the den," she whispered.
She moved with silent steps, low and sharp through the brush, climbing to the high ridge overlooking the eastern clearing.
And that's when she saw him.
A brown-haired human boy—taller than her, lean, ragged clothes, bleeding slightly from the knee, and stumbling along the edge of the water.
He was clearly exhausted, muttering to himself, face pale with hunger and fatigue.
Vaeleth narrowed her eyes. Traveler.
She'd heard of them—humans cast out from their settlements. Society's refuse. Some were thieves. Others violent. Many just lost.
But they didn't belong in wolf territory.
Her grip on the spear tightened. She could take him. He wasn't a threat. Not in that state. But she watched him carefully, waiting, just in case.
Then she saw something strange.
He didn't take from the land. He bowed before the water. Washed his face in silence. He muttered something—a prayer?—and placed a single white stone on the shore.
Respect.
Vaeleth tilted her head.
He collapsed shortly after, barely able to keep his eyes open.
She stayed hidden for several minutes.
He didn't run. He didn't call. He didn't reach for a weapon.
He just… existed, weak but respectful. Waiting, maybe, for death. Or mercy.
Vaeleth stepped forward from the brush, the tip of her spear leveled low.
"Don't move, outsider," she warned, voice like a blade. "You're in our lands."
His eyes opened slowly, brown and full of exhaustion.
"I'm not here to steal," he croaked. "Just lost. Don't… don't hurt me."
He passed out.
Vaeleth stared at him for a long moment.
Then, against instinct, against the warnings of elders and the howls of her own logic, she lowered her weapon.
---
[Present – By the Lake]
Kaelin watched her younger sister quietly.
"You're thinking of him again," she said.
Vaeleth nodded, arms crossed, her eyes still on the lake.
"He looked like prey that day," she murmured, "but something about his eyes… He didn't want to live. But he didn't want to die either."
Kaelin chuckled. "You always had a soft spot for strays."
Vaeleth gave her a sharp smirk. "Only the ones who survive."
Behind them, the twins yelped again—this time louder.
Splash.
Both had launched themselves into the shallow lake, flailing and howling with laughter.
Vaeleth sighed. "Spirits help me."
Kaelin smirked. "You'll need more than that. They're only seven."
----------
>[Liam and Vaeleth, blending the serene mood of the present with an emotionally rich flashback to when Liam first met Martha. The scene conveys subtle tension, old memories, and the soft melancholy of paths diverging but never forgotten.]
---
[Chapter: When Trees Remember Us]
The sun filtered through the canopy of gentle amber leaves, and the breeze rustled softly, scattering petals and light pollen in the warm air.
The park was unusually quiet today—an open meadow stitched with walking paths and shaded benches. A few Elorian squirrels, with glowing blue tails and leafy ears, darted between the trees, chirping in playful chimes.
Liam stood at the edge of the dirt path, hands in his pockets.
Then he saw her.
Vaeleth, wolf ears relaxed, her long dark braid tied back behind a simple sleeveless vest and leather-bound trousers. Her boots were worn, but her step was still strong. Her tail twitched lazily as she approached.
They didn't say anything at first.
They didn't need to.
Liam motioned to the bench beneath the old sunroot tree. They both sat.
The silence was awkward, but not unfriendly. Just full of memory.
Vaeleth scratched her arm, eyes scanning the meadow. "How's Martha?" she asked eventually, tone casual but laced with genuine curiosity. "And your two pups?"
Liam chuckled lightly, brushing back his ever-messy brown hair. "They're fine. Loud. One's growing way too fast in the head, and the other's trying to drown her bedroom in water spells."
Vaeleth huffed a laugh through her nose.
Liam rested his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together. "They keep me busy."
Another moment of quiet.
"I guess we haven't talked in a while," Vaeleth said, ears shifting subtly. Her eyes were distant now, somewhere between the wind and the memories.
Liam nodded slowly. "Yeah. I… don't always know what to say."
Vaeleth didn't press. She just gave a faint shrug, letting the wind talk instead.
---
[Flashback – Years Ago]
Liam was still wild then. A fresh Adventurer, raised from Traveler status by raw grit, beastblood trials, and sleepless nights in the dark forests of Eloria.
He had just returned from a quest in the Deeproot marshes when he first laid eyes on her.
Martha.
She wasn't like Vaeleth or the other wild warriors. Martha was calm. Soft-spoken. But strong—the kind of strong that didn't come from swinging weapons, but from enduring with grace.
She was tending to the Rabbitfolk village, bandaging wounds, stirring herbal soup for the little ones. Her long red hair shone in the morning sun, and her freckles glowed like sunspots on porcelain.
Liam had approached her cautiously, still used to suspicion.
But she smiled.
"Need some water?" she asked.
They talked. First short sentences, then longer ones. Then entire evenings sitting beside lanterns while the village drifted to sleep.
He told her about the pack. About Vaeleth. About survival.
She told him about her parents, her belief in helping others, and her quiet dream of adventure.
Eventually, Martha joined him. Not as a burden, but as a healer and tactician. She was a natural in the field, calm under pressure, and warm even in battle.
Liam could still remember the way she looked when she told him:
"You're not as wild as you think. You just needed someone to see you."
The rest came fast.
Martha's parents adored him—especially after he stopped a bandit raid near their farmstead.
Vaeleth? She was... surprisingly alright with it.
"She's good," Vaeleth had said with a toothy grin. "Calms your barking."
But Liam noticed.
There was still something in Vaeleth's voice. Not romantic jealousy—no, she had her own mate back in the northern ridge.
But wolves… they crave attention. Loyalty. The presence of those they accept.
And Liam had been hers, even if only as pack.
---
[Present – The Park Again]
Vaeleth tilted her head at a passing squirrel, then looked back at Liam.
"You look older," she teased.
Liam raised a brow. "You've got gray fur on your tail."
She smirked. "Earned."
Liam looked at her more fully now. She still had that proud strength, the survivor's sharpness—but it was softened by motherhood, layered with years and twin daughters who probably hadn't let her sleep since they learned how to climb trees.
"I missed this," he admitted suddenly. "Being able to just sit. Talk."
Vaeleth's ears flicked back. "Me too."
They both smiled, a little sad, a little warm.
---
[Unspoken]
They didn't speak of the times in the forest.
Of the first hunt together.
Of sleeping under the stars while keeping watch for wild spirits.
Of laughter.
Of loss.
Because some things didn't need to be said.
They were still family.
Just… not the same kind.
-----------[Next page]
Liam and his adventuring team's grand journey through Averavahn, their encounters with the Celestials Azriel.
---
[Backstory Chapter – The Winds and the Storms]
Before he became a father… before he settled with Martha and watched Lyra and Oliver grow… Liam was something else.
A Traveler, yes. But also a leader, and against all odds, a legend in the making.
---
The Adventurer's Team – Before the Sky
Liam's party was a mixture of chaotic energy and perfect balance:
Martha, the red-haired healer with a heart full of stars. Quiet strength, gentle hands, fierce resolve.
Vaeleth, the wolfkin tracker and frontline fighter. Wild, loyal, and impossible to intimidate.
Kellon, a sarcastic flame-touched bard who carried both daggers and a lute, equally good at starting fights and talking out of them.
Niala, a water-user from the southern reefs, soft-spoken and pale-eyed, wielding currents like ribbon.
Somek, a towering demi-giant with a hearty personality gentle and massive shield.
And of course, Liam—clever, quiet, and cautious. A boy hardened by the forests of Eloria and the wisdom of the Wolf Pack.
They had weathered beasts, spirits, and crumbling ruins. But their next journey would lead them to something far greater than survival.
---
Averavahn – Nation of the Wind Lord
As the team passed through the Skyborne Nation, their eyes widened at its size and splendor. Averavahn floated like a myth—more sky than land, with marble-white towers, citrine lights, and skybridges that shimmered in the clouds.
The capital, Zephyrinth – Citadel of Windsong, was said to be built by Azriel himself—the Great Wind Lord, the Guardian of Vita Space, and one of the eldest Celestials.
When the group arrived, they expected… a god. A thunderous male voice, divine armor, wings that spanned the sky.
What they saw was…
A figure descending gracefully from a platform of wind, robes trailing with saffron-yellow threads, black hair bound in a flowing ponytail streaked with opal hues. His skin gleamed like glass, soft and ethereal. Eyes like space and oceans combined.
Someone whispered, "That's the princess of Zephyrinth?"
But then he spoke, voice soothing but clear.
> "Wrong. I'm not your princess. I'm Azriel, Guardian Lord of Wind, Water, and Space. And I'm very much a boy."
Mouths dropped. Vaeleth smirked. Martha blinked twice.
---
The Duel – Wind Meets Adventures
Liam, who rarely spoke more than needed, stepped forward. "I want to challenge you."
The group collectively froze.
"Liam, no," Martha said instantly. "You're not thinking straight. That's a god—"
"He's serious?" Kellon asked. "We're not even a tenth of his—"
Vaeleth clapped Liam on the back. "Let him. I like watching Liam get knocked on his ass."
Azriel tilted his head, amused. "I admire your spirit."
What followed was 20 minutes of complete humiliation.
Liam tried to dash forward—Azriel flicked his wrist, and a vacuum of wind pushed him flat on his back.
He swung upward with a dagger—Azriel side-stepped midair like a dancer, smile never leaving his lips.
Strike after strike—miss after miss.
On Liam's twentieth failed attack, Azriel finally exhaled a single puff of wind, so sharp it knocked Liam off his feet and sent him sliding across the platform into a neatly stacked pile of air cushions.
Azriel landed without sound.
> "You're bold," he said softly. "And brave. That alone earns respect."
As Azriel leads them as a tour across the nation, To fulfillment of this tour, Azriel erected massive libraries, citadels of wind, floating towers, and elemental temples. But soon, the task grew beyond one soul. Seeing echoes of his former self in others lost in the cracks of society, he extended a hand to them. People rejected by the world—wanderers, dreamers, misfits—found shelter under Azriel's guidance. Here, currency and struggle were replaced by learning, contribution, and balance.
What began as a haven grew into a thriving nation—a civilization rooted in wisdom, magic, and the winds of freedom. Although many now govern in his name, Azriel is still viewed by all—especially the Beastkin, who are numerous in his lands—as a guardian lord. He is not merely a ruler, but a savior, a protector, and a living myth.
---
Celestial Gifts – Contracts of the Sky
Azriel extended a glowing sigil, and from it unfurled six contract blessings, one to each team member:
Plant Control for Martha – to heal and entangle alike.
Dimensional Inventory for Kellon – to hold the unholdable.
Instant Healing for Niala – water that mended all wounds.
Protection Barrier for Somek – an ethereal shield of wind and force.
Fruit Summoning for Vaeleth – literal orbs of power, nourishment, and laughter.
Energy Vita Storage for Liam – an infinite bank of stamina, charge, and vitality.
"These are for your courage," Azriel said. "And for what's coming next."
---
Fulgora – The Storm Queen of the Neon Towers
Their journey next took them east to Fulgora's dominion—the city of Fulgora, a sprawling, electrified metropolis known for its cyberpunk skylines and arc-energy rails. Floating taxis zipped by over lit glass towers, and neon symbols flashed like stars fallen from heaven.
There, they met her—the Celestial of Progress, Lightning, and Evolution.
Fulgora, tall and fierce, with long violet hair that sparked at the ends, and a grin like a challenge waiting to happen.
She raised a crackling hand toward them.
> "So you're the ones Azriel spoiled. Think you're tough?"
Liam hesitated. Then again, he stepped forward. "I'll duel you."
Martha groaned. "Liam please stop doing this!"
Vaeleth howled. "DO IT!"
Fulgora's grin widened. "Fine. Let's play, meatboy."
The duel was brutal.
Lightning red, then lightning yellow, then blue. It came in arcs, bolts, webs. Liam dodged what he could, but he was fried, cooked, and stunned again and again.
Yet he never gave up.
He crawled through sparks, clenched teeth through surges, and forced his eyes open when they wanted to close.
Fulgora cackled with delight.
> "You've got grit," she said, lightning dancing over her nails. "I like that."
---
Second Gift – Contracts of the Storm
She raised her hand and granted a second round of contracts:
Voltage Control
Cyber Intuition
Magnetic Manipulation
Static Cloaking
Data Translation
And Storm Resilience – which went to Liam.
The team left changed, charged with energy, gifts from gods, and stories to last a thousand lifetimes.
---
Years Later…
Liam would sit at a quiet table, sipping tea while Lyra shouted about school rankings and Oliver played with a strange energy orb.
But in his heart, he remembered Zephyrinth's sky, Azriel's soft laugh, and the storm queen's eyes.
He had faced gods.
And though he lost every duel…
He gained everything.
---------------
Here's a continuation scene for your story, reflecting Lyra's growth as she inherits her mother's Plant Contract, and Oliver's slow, thoughtful uncovering of his mysterious connection to the Black Tortoise and the deeper, hidden mechanics of Contracts—especially as they relate to Travelers, not ordinary citizens.
---
[Chapter – Roots and Riddles]
The sun hung low over the yard, casting long golden streaks over the green.
Lyra, now eleven, knelt beside a wide garden bed with her sleeves rolled up. Her fingers danced just above the soil. The earth shifted subtly, like it was breathing with her. Vines curled and stretched. Buds sprouted. A sea of sun-crowned pumpkins, blooming herbs, and crimson blossoms slowly rose to greet the day.
A faint green sigil pulsed on the back of her hand—a stylized rose with a branching spiral. The Gardener's Pathway, gifted to her through her mother Martha's legacy.
Liam stood with his arms crossed, watching from the porch. Martha sat beside him with a cup of tea in hand.
> "She's really doing it," Martha said, pride in her voice.
Liam chuckled softly. "If there's a pumpkin contest this year, I pity the other kids. That thing's bigger than her head."
Martha smiled. "She's got the touch."
Lyra grinned as her largest pumpkin gave a squishy thump, ripening with a perfect sheen.
> "Beat that, stupid class rank," she muttered smugly.
---
[Back of the Yard – Oliver's Watchful Eyes]
Oliver sat quietly on a large, flat stone under the tree, watching his sister. He wasn't gardening. Wasn't even moving much. Just observing.
He was only seven, at least outwardly. But inside, he remembered more years than he could count.
And yet…
Contracts. He still didn't get it.
He had no Pathway mark. No glowing symbol on his palm. Nothing surged through him like it did for Lyra.
But there were messages. Quiet. Barely whispers.
> "Woodwills… that name has weight," said a voice once, in a dream made of stars.
> "Observe. Watch. Then you'll understand," whispered another, drifting like rain across a lake.
The name Woodwills.
His last name. But it wasn't Martha's or Liam's, there was Woods, Oliver last name was added as Woods[will], Will.
He tried searching online—nothing concrete. Traveler sites, tucked deep in encrypted forums, were the only ones who talked about contract glyphs, pathway leads, celestial attunement. Ordinary school kids didn't get this stuff.
> "Contracts aren't for society," one line read. "They're keys meant for those who leave it."
Oliver stared at the screen for hours.
And every now and then, when he looked at water, it listened.
A droplet danced once.
A puddle stayed still as if waiting.
---
[Cryptic Signs – The Black Tortoise]
That night, he woke up to a faint glow beside his bed.
A small black stone, shaped like a tortoise's shell, sat there.
No one put it there.
He reached out—and the moment his skin touched it, a voice filled his mind. Ancient, slow, like a thousand rivers speaking at once.
> "Observe. Don't rush. The seed of your Contract grows in stillness. The world's noise is not yours."
The glow faded.
Oliver held the stone tight to his chest, however he keeps his other world status a secret who'll believe him anyway? He definitely won't tell anyone this.
But deep inside, he knew—his path was different.
He wasn't born to inherit a contract, even as a outsider from Earth, Oliver had a huge amount of energy to store up and covert from Vita into several molecules compounds like water and plant and even a little wind from Oxygen and Nitrogen.
He was born to forge one, only time will tell.
---