Chapter 51: The Meaning of a Traveler
First Person – Oliver Woods
So I typed it in next.
> "Traveler."
Not the tourist kind. Not the soul-searching Earth kind that wears yoga pants and takes blurry sunrise selfies on Instagram.
No—this world's definition was different.
I hit enter.
The screen loaded slowly, like the netweb needed a moment to breathe before delivering its truth. What came up wasn't flashy. No videos. No polished thumbnails. No dramatic music. Just text. Paragraphs upon paragraphs, almost like encyclopedia entries or forum archives written by people who had lived it.
I read carefully.
> "A Traveler is someone who has left Regular society, permanently or indefinitely."
"This decision can be voluntary or circumstantial. Most commonly, Travelers leave due to financial collapse, job market failures, spiritual disconnection, forced eviction, or personal crisis."
"Some leave in search of purpose. Others leave because they feel they never belonged to begin with."
I leaned back, stunned for a second.
That sounded... familiar.
I kept reading.
> "Travelers settle or begin their journey in diverse biomes depending on availability and affinity with Vita. Common regions include: Forests, Taiga, Woodland Clusters, Rainforests, Desert Cracks, the Boreals, Arctic Isles, Crystal Canyons, and…"
> "—for the rare few, other planets."
Wait, what?
I double-checked.
Yep. Other planets. It wasn't clickbait. It was just calmly written in black-and-white, like hopping offworld was a Tuesday errand.
Wild.
I tried to search images, maps, anything visual—but nothing. Just empty thumbnail boxes and text blocks. The network seemed oddly stripped of media.
> Maybe Travelers didn't upload selfies.
Maybe when you leave society, you leave that part of it too.
Still… the whole concept?
It made my head spin.
Back on Earth, if you walked into a forest with nothing but the clothes on your back because society failed you?
> You'd probably die in a week.
Mauled by a bear.
Arrested for trespassing.
Or just starve, broke and alone.
Leaving society on Earth wasn't freedom.
It was a death sentence.
But here?
> Here, being a Traveler was a recognized path.
A lifestyle.
A system.
A different kind of existence.
Not easy—but possible.
You could make your own shelter, learn from druids, barter with dwarves, build from dirt and Vita and determination. You could earn Mysticoins with your hands and brain instead of rotting in a job queue.
It was scary.
But it also sounded… real.
And in this world?
> It might be the first time the idea of "leaving" didn't mean giving up.
It meant starting over.
And for someone like me?
That didn't sound bad at all.
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Third-Person Narrative:
Oliver was still hunched over the desk upstairs, the screen glowing softly in the dim room. He scrolled deeper into the main link of StarLink's Traveler forums—stories of survival, rare monster sightings, makeshift towns hidden in mountain valleys. Each post sparked something in him: wonder, curiosity, purpose. He imagined it—earning his first Mysticoin, building a little cabin in a peaceful glade, helping people like the green-haired woman with the Vita garden.
Then—
The door slammed open.
"Oliver!" Lyra barked, standing in the doorway with crossed arms and an unamused look on her face. "Get off that. Now."
Oliver turned in his chair, startled. "I was just looking—"
"I know what you were looking at," she snapped, stepping into the room, eyes narrowing at the screen behind him. "Traveler garbage. You're not doing that."
Oliver's mouth opened slightly, caught off guard. "Why not?"
Lyra scoffed, brushing a strand of her red hair from her face. "Because it's pointless. You think running around the world dodging monsters and sleeping in dirt huts is cool? Those people failed society, Oliver. They just blame the system because they couldn't keep up. School exists for a reason. You get good grades, go to a nice academy, and maybe—maybe—you'll do something real with your life."
She stepped forward and jabbed her finger at him. "You're supposed to be building blocks. Learning arithmetic. Not dreaming about wandering through cursed swamps with a stick and a backpack."
Oliver frowned, quietly turning the screen off.
He didn't agree. Not really. Sure, some Travelers might've quit on structure—but others? Others built something. They survived. They grew. They lived on their own terms. That mattered to him… even if he couldn't explain why.
Still, he didn't argue. Not this time.
He slipped off the chair, brushing past her with only a muttered "Okay," and padded down the stairs, the green cloak Liam gave him still clinging to his shoulders.
Lyra stood behind, arms crossed, watching him go.
And Oliver?
He didn't say it out loud... but he wasn't going to forget the feeling he had when he saw that garden in the forest.
No test score could ever make him feel that way.
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Chapter 52: What Is School Worth?
Third Person – Reflective Narrative
Oliver walked away from Lyra, her sharp voice still echoing in the back of his head like an annoying ringtone you can't turn off.
> "You have to take school seriously, dummy! You'll never amount to anything if you skip lessons!"
The hallway dimmed slightly as he turned the corner, the soft hum of magical lanterns lining the walls pulsing like quiet heartbeats. His small feet padded across the polished wooden floor, and for a moment, he stopped—thinking.
Lyra's words echoed again. But this time, they struck something deeper.
Oliver shook his head slowly.
> He'd heard that speech before.
Back on Earth, people said it all the time.
Work hard.
Go to school.
Get a degree.
Get a job.
Live the dream.
He believed it once. Followed it like gospel.
But what did it actually lead to?
He went to school.
Took college courses.
Did what he was told.
And yet—
> He lost his job,
Got laid off, thanks to those damn aluminum and steel tariffs that spiraled the manufacturing industry into chaos.
Had to move back in with his parents, humiliated and exhausted at age 28.
He couldn't even look in the mirror without guilt gnawing at him.
So now, hearing Lyra—a ten-year-old firecracker with water powers and freckles—preach the same thing in a world of magic, coins, and Travelers?
It felt… strange. Like déjà vu twisted into parody.
But then again… maybe this wasn't Earth.
Maybe school in Elorian didn't mean test scores and resumes and bureaucratic hoops.
> Maybe it meant learning how to use Vita.
How to survive. How to shape nature. How to build a life instead of waiting for one.
What if school here didn't box you in—but equipped you?
Oliver glanced out the window.
Far beyond the trees, the sky shifted with soft gold and pink, like watercolor clouds spilling from the heavens. Somewhere out there were Travelers who lived by their own rules—creating, exploring, crafting, making their own paths.
> Was school the path to that?
Or was it just another system?
Oliver didn't have the answers yet. But he was starting to ask better questions.
And maybe—just maybe—this time, he wouldn't be lied to.
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Third-Person Narrative:
As Oliver descended the stairs, the tension from Lyra's words still clinging to him like static, he turned the corner into the kitchen—only to see Martha Woods, apron tied neatly around her waist, setting down a basket of folded laundry.
She looked up and smiled warmly. "Oh, there you are, sweetheart."
Oliver paused, unsure if she noticed the lingering frustration on his face. Before he could say anything, she casually added, "By the way, your school schedule just came in. You'll be starting next week."
His heart sank—just a little.
School... again? At six?
He stood frozen, lips parting slightly in disbelief. It wasn't like he hated learning, but the thought of going back to classroom life—elementary school life—after spending nearly three decades on Earth as an adult was jarring. Colorful backpacks, math songs, learning to read? Again?
But even as the nervousness coiled in his stomach, a second thought crept in—one of curiosity.
This is a different world, he reminded himself. Maybe school here isn't the same. Maybe they teach magic. Maybe Vita theory's part of the curriculum. Maybe it's not about sitting in rows and learning history from dusty books.
He glanced toward the window, light shining through the hanging herb plants in the kitchen. This place was different. Even the air felt alive. Who knew what kids learned at school here?
Still... being back in a tiny desk, surrounded by actual six-year-olds?
That was going to take some getting used to.
Oliver gave a soft sigh, then nodded.
"Okay," he said, voice low but even. "Next week."
Martha smiled and ruffled his hair gently. "You'll do great."
I hope so, he thought quietly.
Because in this world, school might be the first real test of who he could become.