VOID
It was happening again.
That soft pull, almost comforting—like the world gently letting go of him. Samuel felt the sensation wash over him, familiar now in its strangeness. The hum of the real world dulled, replaced by the warmth of sleep that wasn't really sleep. His body relaxed, heavy but unbothered, as the edges of his awareness slipped away. It wasn't like dying, not quite. It was more like leaving—stepping out of the noise of life and floating quietly into something deeper.
The nothingness welcomed him. Not cold, not empty, just still. And there it was, right on cue—the faint shimmer of gold against the dark. The wheel. Turning slowly, silently, like it had always been there. Waiting.
Samuel stared at the wheel as it spun lazily in the void, its spokes glinting with a soft, shifting light that made it look almost alive. No matter how many times he came back here, it always felt strange—like being in a place he wasn't supposed to remember, yet somehow always did. There was a pulse to this space, subtle but steady, like it existed just beneath the surface of reality. He couldn't touch the wheel, not with hands, anyway. Because in this place, he wasn't a boy anymore.
He was a soul.
Not weightless, not shapeless—but raw. Stripped down to the core of who he was without flesh to hide behind. There was no heartbeat, no breath, but there was still thought, memory, instinct. And with that came the same cocktail of emotions he felt every time: nervousness buzzing faintly, excitement humming deeper, and something quieter below it all—a sense of purpose he didn't fully understand. Whatever the wheel gave him this time, it wouldn't be random. Not really. Nothing here ever was.
But this time, something felt different.
As Samuel hovered in the space before the wheel, he became aware of tiny shifts within himself—like faint echoes or new threads woven into the fabric of his soul. He couldn't see them, not exactly, but he felt them. Small adjustments. Additions. Like patches gently sewn onto a worn cloak, or puzzle pieces clicking into place without sound. They weren't loud, and they didn't scream for attention, but he knew they hadn't been there before.
This didn't feel like the last time when he had entered the void, this was something else. Now, as he floated in front of the wheel, he could feel that parts of his soul had grown—expanded in subtle but undeniable ways. But not all of it felt familiar. Some of it felt… foreign. Not wrong, but not entirely his either. Like someone had stitched in extra threads he hadn't chosen.
Each spin didn't just gift him something—it rewrote him in pieces. Slowly, subtly, becoming someone new.
A thought crept in—quiet at first, then louder as it settled.
This time, though, the changes he felt within his soul weren't vague or unplaceable. They had a shape. A texture. He could sense traits rising to the surface—focus, patience, discipline. And most of all, a sharper edge in his awareness, like the instincts of a hunter narrowing in. They were the most Oliver Queen he had ever felt. It might've been because he'd been pushing his body more lately—running, training, testing limits. The physical edge of Oliver's gift had always been obvious, but now it was bleeding into something deeper, reshaping how his soul held itself. As if the wheel responded not just to the spin, but to what he did with what he'd already been given.
If the good spins added to him, reshaped him in small but lasting ways… then what about the bad ones?
The realization hit with a cold clarity that cut through the soft warmth of the void. This wasn't some game. It never was. If the wheel turned wrong—if it gave him something twisted, something broken—it wouldn't just be a nuisance or a temporary flaw. It would change him. It would settle into his soul the same way all the others had. Maybe a cruel instinct, or a thought that didn't feel like his own. Maybe a crack in the way he viewed the world.
He swallowed, or would have, if he had a throat here. The stakes were higher than he'd wanted to admit. This wasn't just power or progress. It was evolution. And he was spinning a wheel that could just as easily sharpen him… or fracture him.
And yet, even knowing all of that, he reached forward. Not with hands, but with will—his soul leaning into the motion. The wheel responded instantly, spinning faster as sparks of red, green, and violet burst from the rim, flashing like fireworks in the void. He had spun it before, many times. But never like this. Never with this much anxiety curling through him like smoke. For the first time, it felt less like fate and more like a gamble he wasn't sure he wanted to win.
Click…
Click…
Clickk…
Each sound echoed in the darkness, slower now. He could almost feel the weight of the wheel fighting to stop, to make its decision. The lights dimmed slightly, pulsing with each final tick, as if even the void itself was holding its breath.
And then it stopped.
Hovering above the center of the wheel was… a phone.
Just a phone.
No glowing runes, no strange energy pulsing off it, no ominous feeling crawling into his soul. It was sleek, modern—an iPhone, maybe a 14—but most importantly, it was ordinary. The moment that registered, relief hit him like a wave. All the tension drained from his body, and he let out a long, shaky breath.
"Ah. No traits."
All the anxiety that had wrapped itself around him vanished. This wasn't some deeply embedded instinct or twisted emotion that would sink into him forever. No added edge to his personality. No new lens to see the world through. Just… a phone. Something external. Something he could hold, not something that would change him.
And then, slowly, he felt his consciousness slipping again. The void began to dissolve at the edges, the comforting stillness replaced by something heavier—thicker. His senses stirred. The weight of a body returned. He could feel the ground beneath him, the air around him, the dull pressure of reality tightening like a blanket being pulled back over his mind.
SAMUEL BEDROOM
thud.
"Motherf—who punched me?!" Samuel yelled, jerking upright, hand flying to his face.
His eyes flared open, wild and disoriented—only to see the sleek black rectangle bounce off his chest and land beside him on the bed. He stared at it in disbelief, breath caught somewhere between pain and realization. A phone. The damn thing had followed him back and nailed him right between the eyes like it had a personal vendetta. He groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Figures. Even magical voids had no chill.
It was still two hours before school would start again. The room was quiet, morning light just beginning to peek through the curtains. He lay there for a moment, rubbing his face and blinking the fog of the void away. His heart had finally stopped racing. With a sigh, he picked up the phone from his chest and sat up in bed.
When he unlocked it, the screen came to life with a soft glow—and immediately, he could tell it wasn't his. The wallpaper was a moody photo of Ed Sheeran mid-performance, and the home screen was cluttered with music-related apps: mixers, vocal tuners, beat pads, something that looked like a lyrics archive. Spotify and Netflix sat in the corner like staples, both already logged in to someone else's account. At first, he thought it was just some random person's phone. But the deeper he looked, the more it clicked—this was Ed Sheeran's phone. The playlists, the unreleased tracks, the folder labeled "Setlist—Tokyo." He stared at it, stunned, then grinned. Okay… that was actually kind of awesome. He was always the one picking the music anyway. At least now it was from the source.
He tapped on Spotify, curiosity getting the better of him. The app opened instantly, and within seconds he was staring at a library that seemed to stretch forever. Thousands of songs. Playlists categorized by mood, by key, by venue. Live versions, acoustic cuts, demos he'd never heard of. This wasn't just a fan's collection—this was a musician's world, living in the palm of his hand. Ed Sheeran's world.
Samuel smiled to himself as the first track started playing through the phone's speakers, warm and clean. He leaned back against the pillows, letting the music wash over him. For once, a spin had given him something soft. Something personal. How long had it been since he'd had a proper phone anyway? One that wasn't maxed out after two apps and a blurry photo. This thing probably had more than 100 gb just for background vocals. He chuckled, feeling a little lighter than he had the night before. Yeah… this one was a win.
Micheal pov
Michael was already in the kitchen,cooking softly as he moved around the stove. He wasn't much of a cook, but today he'd gotten up early—just to surprise Samuel with a birthday breakfast. Usually it was the kid flipping pancakes or experimenting with whatever herbs he found in the pantry, and somehow making it taste like something out of a five-star kitchen.
He still remembered the first time Samuel cooked for him. He thought it was going to be a plate of soggy scrambled eggs and a proud smile. Instead, Samuel had stepped out with a full meal. Perfectly seasoned. Balanced. One of the best breakfasts he'd ever had.
That was the first moment Michael truly realized this kid wasn't just bright—he was different.
His brother had always bragged about how mature Samuel was. Said he never got into trouble, didn't act out. Michael chalked it up to typical parental pride. But once Samuel moved in, those doubts didn't last long. He picked up everything Michael taught him in no time. He'd planned to help him review some middle school basics… and Samuel absorbed them like they were beneath him. Out of curiosity, Michael even tried slipping in a high school topic during dinner once. Samuel answered without hesitation—without even realizing it was above his grade level.
Still, despite the brains, Samuel never really took to people. He always kept to himself, avoided Michael's coworkers whenever they visited. Michael had worried he'd never find his place—until he saw how Samuel reacted to those strange psychic guys. The ones Michael privately called the conman and his sidekick. And for the first time, Samuel had looked… interested.
Then Michael heard something new—singing?
Faint, but clear, coming from down the hall.
He paused, spatula hovering over the pan. Was that Samuel? Singing?
It wasn't anything he recognized, but it didn't sound bad. Actually, it sounded… good. Like someone singing for no one else but themselves.
Michael grinned, wiped his hands on a towel, and called out, "Happy birthday, Samuel! Finally twelve!"
There was a pause, then Samuel's voice echoed back a bit embarrassed but with a bright and genuine smile.
"Thanks! It already feels like a great birthday."
Michael chuckled to himself and turned back to the stove. "So—ready for school today?" he called out, keeping his tone casual but curious. It was a simple question, but he meant it. New town, new house, new school—he knew it was a lot.
Samuel scooped another bite of eggs as he answered, "Yeah. There are a lot of interesting people," he said between bites. "Even some cool project for history. It's actually not bad."
He poked at the last bit of eggs on his plate, then added with a slight shrug, "Today we have our first PE class too. We'll see how that goes." His tone was casual, but Michael could see a flicker of curiosity in his eyes—like he wasn't sure what to expect, but wasn't totally against it either.
Michael nodded along, then reached for his glass. "By the way, I'll be home late today," he said casually. "They're walking me through my gear today—getting me ready to start next week."
He leaned back slightly. "Apparently I'm supposed to join a batch of rookies for their first week, get a feel for the streets, the codes, how the team runs things. So I'll probably be home after dinner tonight."
"Sounds good," I said, finishing off the last bite. When we were done, I stood and grabbed my plate. "Thanks for breakfast," I added, flashing him a quick smile.
Outside
A few minutes later, I was out the door, hopping onto my bike with the morning sun warming the street. I hummed softly to myself—Northern Attitude playing in my head, clear as if I had headphones in. It still felt surreal. Songs like this didn't even exist here yet.
The thought made me smile wider. No more waiting years for a release date, no more hoping the artist wouldn't scrap the track or disappear. I had the songs now. All of them. A tiny gift from another timeline, and honestly… it made mornings like this feel almost perfect.
Then I slowed to a stop.
I wished I could take the phone with me. Walk around with it, listen to everything, carry that little piece of another life everywhere. But people would ask questions. Too many. So he carefully tucked the phone away in its hiding spot. Safe for now.
He gave the door one last glance before kicking off. It was a new day. A weird one already—but maybe not a bad one.