Slowly, painfully, Henry’s eyes fluttered as he drifted back to consciousness. He was on the floor of the living room, so it appeared like no time had passed at all. He never noticed the pebbling on the ceiling before.

More importantly, his mother was smacking him in the face.

That wasn’t entirely accurate. She was more tapping him rapidly on the cheek and lightly shaking him.

He supposed he couldn’t blame her. Her son did just pass out in front of her after spitting up blood.

Moaning, he reached up and gently moved Marilynn away. The relief in her red-rimmed eyes was noticeable even to his slightly blurry vision. Her face was streaked with tears. Internally he sighed. God damn it, he thought.

The simple act of standing up came with it’s own complications. The largest of these was his mother. She seemed dead-set on keeping him on the floor. The carpet was comfortable enough, he agreed, but he was no invalid.

“Honey, please, your Dad’s gone to get the first aid kit,” she said. There was an edge to her voice he’d almost classify as frantic.

The best thing to do here was to downplay it.

“Like I said,” he waved dismissively, “Very small.” He didn’t know if she believed him.

Despite her continued protests Henry managed to push himself up to a standing position. He even only swayed once. A roll of the shoulders, a long groan, and he was almost back to normal. Sure, the longer he left an injury without resting it the longer he’d need to recover, but that was a common situation for a cultivator. Fighting to the death meant working past small nagging issues.

The muffled sounds of shouting rapidly came into the radius of his hearing, then the sound of the kitchen door being forcefully swung open.

“-ven HAVING a first aid kit if it’s in the shed?!” The muffled voice revealed itself to be his yelling sister. There were two sets of footsteps, which explained why he was alone in the living room with his mother. Didn’t Mother say something like that earlier? He thought.

Liz came thudding around the corner, their father close behind. Seeing Henry standing threw her off, so she tried to stop. Unfortunately for that plan Roger, who Henry estimated was over a foot taller than her and at least sixty pounds heavier, wasn’t able to come to a stop quite so quickly.

Henry watched in dull amazement as his sister nearly took a tumble worse than he had. The only thing that stopped her was the quick reaction speed of their father, whose outstretched hand grabbed the back of her shirt and lifted her fully off of the ground, planting her back on her feet.

“What are you planning to do with that?” the time traveler said, gesturing to the dusty red box in Liz’s hand. She popped open the latch and began rummaging around, letting bandages fall to the floor.

“I don’t know!” she exclaimed without looking up. “Something in here should help!”

Henry’s father walked over to him. It almost looked like he was going to put a comforting hand on his son’s shoulder but decided not to at the last minute, hand awkwardly hovering in midair a second too long.

“Are you alright?” his father asked in a calmer voice than the rest of the family had managed since Henry woke up.

The concern felt legitimate. Henry put on a semi-real crooked smile.

“Rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated,” he quoted.

Henry seemed to have a talent for raising his father’s ire. Roger put his hands on his hips, concern mixing with annoyance.

Teaching his father was going to be more amusing than he originally considered, Henry thought.

“You coughed up blood,” Roger gently reminded his son.

Henry nodded. “My current body’s unused to the energy, hasn’t trained with it,” he explained, “Some internal stuff ruptured.”

Marilynn blanched when he said that. Henry supposed he could have not shared that news, but since they were going to probably cough up blood a few times in the next few months letting them know ahead of time would be best.

“Once I get some rest and start training I’ll be right as rain.”

The time traveler got to see something he never saw in his previous life. His father sighed deeply. Roger Stroeder was not a man who showed exasperation easily. Even-keeled is what Leo would’ve called him. A steady person.

“Is this normal?” he asked in a defeated voice.

Henry grinned wider.

“Yes. Does asking that mean you believe me?”

Liz looked up at that. She shook herself slightly and scrunched her face like she was trying to drive away an unpleasant memory.

“I’ll believe whatever you want,” she said in a slightly shaky voice. The killing intent had affected her the worst of the three of them. “If you never do that...thing again.”

Their parents nodded in agreement. It seemed like weaponizing his killing intent was the right call. Henry was glad that all it took to convince people who were supposed to believe him in the first place was something that could ostensibly have killed them. Cool it, he reminded himself, They’re your family.

Henry suddenly clapped his hands, startling Liz and Marilynn. “Great!” he exclaimed, “Once we start training you won’t regret it.” He already had several plans for things he needed to do. There were hundreds of acres of forest all around the property, perhaps he could find some useful materials there. His mental list of items he’d need for their cultivation was getting longer. He’d also need to translate some manuals and write them out in English. That was going to be a chore.

It was his mother who pulled him out of his train of thought. She put a hand on his shoulder. The warmth in the simple gesture made Henry uncomfortable for a reason he couldn’t rationalize. He wanted to twist away from the touch. In fact, he was about to do just that before he realized what that would mean and suppressed the urge as best he could. Instead, he twitched violently enough that she noticed and pulled her hand back. Work on that, he noted.

“Henry,” her voice was clear and even, a positive sign that she’d emotionally recovered from his minor health issue. “When are the portals going to open?”

“Second month of my second year of high school,” he responded quickly, “How old am I now?” Henry had a ballpark idea of his current age, but he needed specifics.

“You just got out of eighth grade like three weeks ago and you start high school after this summer,” Liz said, “Shouldn’t you remember this stuff?”

Henry dismissed the question. “It’s been quite a while since all of this happened. I’m running on very old memories here. So we’ve got about a year and a half…,” he trailed off as he looked around.

The looks his family were giving him reminded the cultivator that he was still covered in a not-insignificant quantity of his own blood. He was still haunted by an echo of the pain that accompanied his inhabitation of this body and now a deep weariness was starting to settle on his shoulders. It was time to get some rest and continue conversations later.

“I’m going to take a shower and get some sleep,” he said with a yawn, “We can finish this up later. After dinner sound good?”

He pulled off his shirt and moved past his family to the stairs.

“When did you get buff?” Liz asked with surprise. Henry realized this was the first time any of them had seen him shirtless since the...upgrade.

“Benefit of magic powers,” he called without looking back.

“Just wait, what’s coming is better.”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

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Three sets of eyes watched Henry trudge up the stairs. They kept up the silent vigil until the sounds of the running shower emanated from the top of the stairs.

It was Marilynn who broke the tense standoff first, collapsing to the couch and burying her face in her hands. She took a shaky breath while Roger walked into the kitchen. Liz collapsed to her knees and wrapped her arms around herself. Her father walked back in with two bottles of beer, handing one to his wife which she gratefully accepted.

“What,” Marilynn began, grasping for the words, “What the...what was that?!”

Roger settled on the couch next to her, slouched forward on his elbows.

“I don’t know,” he said sounding like he’d just finished exercising, “I don’t know,” he repeated, then took a short swig from his bottle, “It’s real, whatever it is.”

“Real?” she asked back at him, “You want me to believe my son has been taken over by a future version of him to save the world?!”

Roger shook his head.

“I don’t know how much we can believe the story,” he responded, “But that ‘killing intent’…” he trailed off without finishing.

Liz stood up and moved over to the recliner, pushing herself down into the leather.

“I’ve never felt anything like that,” she said in a weak voice, “When he walked over, I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t even move.” There were tears in her eyes.

Marilynn took a long drink from her beer and sat it on a side table as she stood. She moved over to her daughter and hugged her tightly.

“I was so scared,” Liz said in a shaky voice.

It around ten minutes for the family to compose themselves once again. More than one hug was exchanged. They shifted around the room as if a slight change in visual perspective was enough to counteract the perspective shattering they’d experienced not too far prior.

For the most part they sat in silence until one of them decided to speak.

“I think,” Liz began, now sitting on the armrest of the couch and nursing a glass of ice water, “I want to learn the magic powers.”

Her parents looked at her, then each other.

“If,” Roger began, “What future Henry’s saying is true, we’re all going to have to learn them.”

“You still don’t think he’s telling the truth?” Marilynn questioned. There was a hint of defensiveness in her voice.

“Not exactly,” Roger countered with a shake of his head, “I think what’s he’s saying happened, but he’s clearly keeping a lot from us. That explanation glossed over a great deal.”

The father started counting off on his fingers, “He didn’t talk about what happened to him. He didn’t talk about where or how he learned his cultivation. Who these other people he teamed up with were. We don’t even know how old he is.”

Roger stopped counting and looked up at his wife and child.

“We can’t even ask him to prove any of it with memories because he’s already established that he’s working with things he barely remembers from a long time ago.”

“He acts completely different,” Marilynn looked at her husband with a combination of guilt and concern, “I don’t like his smile. I don’t like it when my own son smiles.”

“Well,” Roger said, “Don’t let him know that. You saw how he reacted to being touched.”

Marilynn looked down at her hand, which Henry had visibly shuddered from contact with.

“I think,” she began, “That he’s been through a lot. I think what he was glossing over were some terrible things.”

“So what do we do?” Liz asked quietly. “Call the cops?”

Her query caused Marilynn to chuckle softly. She looked at her daughter warmly and put on a reassuring smile.

“No, honey,” she responded, “Whatever we think, he’s still Henry. If even half of what he said was true, he’s come through time to save the Earth. I think we owe him the benefit of the doubt.”

“So, then…we get to learn the magic powers?” Liz observed.

Both parents laughed at this. Roger walked over and patted her on the head.

“Yes, babygirl,” he said, smiling, “We get to learn the magic powers.”

With the mood considerably lightened, Marilynn stood up and snapped her fingers.

“I think this is a serious enough situation to warrant pizza,” she stated with mock severity.

Roger walked over to his wife and wrapped her up in an embrace, giving her a quick kiss.

“I agree, beautiful,” he smirked, “I’ll make the call.”

The three of them spent the next few minutes discussing toppings, putting what happened earlier out of their minds.

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Henry’s second shower had a decidedly different mood than the first.

The cultivator angrily scrubbed himself with the bar of soap. He was running the entire conversation through his head over and over.

You should have handled that better, he chastised.

And he could have. He could see it now. He could have been more accommodating. Maybe not have dropped this whole thing on them right after they got back from shopping.

He could have eased them into it, waited until after he’d begun cultivating so he could show them something less terrifying. Maybe his little fire technique. That one was always a winner with mortals.

Stop calling them that, he sneered to himself, They’re your family. The people you care about the most. You’re supposed to care about them more than anyone else you fucking psychopath.

Henry adjusted the knob to heat up the water a few additional degrees.

His early failures could be made up for in training. There was less ambiguity there, after all. A better ability to show them he meant well.

He’d teach them secret techniques, the best stuff he knew that wouldn’t drive them insane. There would be elixirs. He could whip up some simple pills. He could even set up a qi gathering formation. Plans went through his mind, being adjusted as grand images of his family standing at the pillar of Earth’s might tantalized him.

He tilted his head back and gasped in a deep breath, the vision dissipating.

I can’t do this. I’m going to fuck this up. I’m not this person.

He could feel his heart pounding. The furious scrubbing stopped as he looked at the ceiling. His eyes burned in a way unrelated to the heat of the shower.

What do I do, Mags? What can I possibly do? He plead silently to the heavens.

Even before asking he knew the answer. He could do what he used to do in the old days. He could abandon the past. The future. The part that hadn’t happened yet, would now never happen. He could slip into the sorts of habits that had gotten him to where he’d been before he met her.

It was always there, alluringly close. Sitting on the edge of his mind.

A new image conjured itself. In this one he stood alone on a stone platform. Below him, in the positions of lieutenants, were his family. They wore black and red robes similar to his. All of them looked out at a massive drill field where thousands performed the same motions in sync. Decorated stone walls, stories high, enclosed the trainees.

The decorations were something he was intimately familiar with. Bones, yellowed from the sun, still wearing the tattered remains of the uniforms of the factions who opposed him.

He could be a different kind of savior. The world would be safe from the invaders, the portals and the other world’s inhabitants bent to his will. He knew where the largest permanent portals would appear. A surgical strike here, a mountain tossed there. The proper actions carried out with the proper audience.

The praise put on his shoulders would be endless.

Earth would be a power in the Endless Realms, acting with a single voice in all matters.

His voice.

Henry laughed mirthlessly. There was always a part of that thought he couldn’t change, no matter how hard he tried. The one thing that kept him from just throwing the last few decades away and starting again.

No one smiled in those dreams. Not him. Not his family. Not the meaningless hordes cheering his name when his ego truly tried to stretch itself. He knew better. They cheered from obligation and fear.

Because he knew the truth, no matter how much his own mind tried to deny it.

Until he’d fought her no one around him had smiled for half a century. Even after it still took a while.

He ran his hands through his hair and sighed.

“Just do your fucking job.”

He turned off the shower, dried himself off, staggered to bed, and collapsed on the bare mattress.

He did not dream.

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The rays of the sun filtering through the windows as that burning orb sat just above the treeline on it’s slow descent part the horizon woke Henry. If the clock on the side table was to be believed he’d only been asleep a few hours.

A self-assessment came back positive. He was back to a functional state of physical health. Not one hundred percent, but without the iron-scented decorative splatters in the near future.

Mentally?

Numb. Like his feelings were covered in a thick blanket. Not unusual after a day like the last had shaped up to have been, but not good.

He couldn’t imagine what his family were thinking at the present time.

Speaking of them, he could smell something that tickled at the back of his mind. A familiar scent of food. It was recognizable enough that it pulled him out of the bed to dress himself once again. This time it was pajama pants and a black t-shirt, this one thankfully free of logos.

A vision was playing out for him, once he reached the bottom of the stairs. It was all he could do to simply stand and stare.

His family, gathered around a table.

His mother was handing out plates.

His father was pouring soda into glasses.

His sister was opening pizza boxes, artfully lined up on the table so each family member could go by and grab a slice of what they wanted.

They were smiling and laughing about something, all of them framed by the setting sun from beyond the dining room windows.

There was something wet on Henry’s face. He reached up and wiped his cheek. He looked at his hand in wonder. There were tears on it. When did he start crying?

He looked up to them again to see that the whole family had stopped and were looking at him. There was a heavy expectation in the air.

Marilynn put down her plates and rushed over to her son.

“God damn it,” he said as he leaned into her embrace, wracked with sobs.

Henry Stroeder wept in front of his family.

His living, wonderful family.

He couldn’t screw this up.