Chapter 4

"Jason, dinner is almost ready!" came Uncle Steven's voice from somewhere down the hall.

Jason blinked, snapping out of his spiraling thoughts. He sat up from the couch, rubbing the back of his neck before slowly rising to his feet. His body moved on autopilot as he made his way toward the kitchen.

The moment he opened the door, the rich aroma of fried rice hit him like a tidal wave—garlic, soy sauce, the sizzle of onions still caramelizing. His stomach growled on reflex.

"God bless Ghanaian men who can cook," Jason muttered under his breath, eyes drifting longingly to the wok that sat on the stove, still steaming. He took a cautious step forward, eyes darting around.

Steven wasn't in the kitchen.

The back door was slightly ajar, swaying a little with the breeze.

Jason moved fast.

One hand reached out toward the wok—maybe just one bite. He wasn't even going to use a spoon. Straight from the pan. Just one—

Smack.

The sharp crack of wood meeting flesh echoed through the kitchen.

Jason staggered back, clutching the back of his hand.

Behind him stood Uncle Steven, a wooden spatula in hand and a disapproving glare on his face. At 6'2", he loomed like a well-dressed executioner over Jason's 5'7" frame.

"I dare you to touch that rice again," Steven said, voice calm but full of menace.

"I didn't even touch—"

"Don't lie, you were about to inhale the rice straight from the wok like a starved refugee."

Jason winced, rubbing his hand. "You hit hard for someone who's supposed to be my assistant."

"I'm your uncle too," Steven replied flatly. "And right now, I'm the enforcer of your mother's will."

Jason's heart dropped.

Crap. He didn't like where this was going

Steven crossed his arms. "Have you swept the hall?"

"Not yet but—"

"And the time is?"

Jason glanced at the clock.

"Six."

Steven raised an eyebrow. "And when is your mother getting home?"

Jason groaned. "Six."

"Good. So if I were you…" Steven leaned in, voice dropping just a bit, "I'd make like a broom and sweep your way into forgiveness before she opens that front door and sees dust."

Jason stared at him. "Did… did you really just say that?"

"I have more," Steven said with a perfectly straight face. "So many more."

Jason grumbled under his breath as he turned around and headed out of the kitchen.

"And use the blue broom!" Steven called after him. "Not that raggedy old thing you broke last week!"

Jason muttered louder this time, "He beats me, then sends me to do chores. In my own house. With my own powers sealed."

"What was that?" Steven asked sweetly.

"Nothing!" Jason shouted over his shoulder. "Just talking to the system!"

Jason trudged to the corner of the hall and yanked out the blue broom like it had personally offended him. He stared at it for a second.

"Champion of the multiverse," he muttered, gripping the handle. "Defeater of Cthulhu. Janitor of Ghana."

The broom bristled softly against the tile as he began sweeping, the rhythmic scrape oddly calming. The house was quiet again, save for the occasional distant clang of Steven back in the kitchen. The scent of fried rice still hung in the air, taunting him like a cartoon smoke trail trying to pull him back.

As the dust gathered in the corner, Jason sighed.

"System," he said quietly, just loud enough that Steven wouldn't hear.

A small flicker shimmered in the corner of his vision.

[Awaiting directive.]

"You really let me go from slaying gods to house chores without any kind of warning, huh?"

[You were warned. The letter was provided.]

Jason paused. "…You mean the one written under duress by a god whose wife forced him to say nice things?"

[Affirmative.]

He huffed out a laugh and shook his head, sweeping the last patch of dust toward the front door. "And you didn't think to mention that she'd also force me back into my old life with no time to adjust?"

[The God's wife insisted. It was deemed character-building.]

Jason stared at the air for a moment, broom in hand. "God's wife sounds like my mom."

As if summoned by the words, the distant sound of a key sliding into a lock echoed through the compound.

The door creaked open.

Jason froze, halfway through sweeping the last pile into a dustpan.

"Jason?" came her voice, warm, familiar, exactly as it had been before everything fell apart.

He turned around just as she stepped through the door, grocery bags in both hands. She paused, blinking at him in surprise.

"You're sweeping?" she asked, eyebrows raised.

Jason looked down at the broom in his hand, then back at her. "You told me to."

Her eyes narrowed. "No excuses this time?"

He shrugged. "Figured I'd give you a break."

She walked in, setting the bags down on the kitchen counter. "Hmm. I'm impressed."

Jason watched her move, half-expecting her to glitch out or vanish in a puff of smoke. But she didn't. She just looked tired from the market, maybe a little annoyed at the heat, but very much real.

His chest tightened in a way he didn't expect.

She looked back at him. "Food smells good. Is Steven cooking again?"

"Yeah," Jason said softly. "Fried rice."

She made a face. "Let me guess. With chicken gizzards?"

Jason smirked. "He claims it's a 'delicacy.'"

From the kitchen, Steven's voice rang out: "It is!"

Jason and his mom shared a short laugh before she grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and made her way to her room.

"Call me when dinner's ready," she said over her shoulder.

"Okay."

As she disappeared into the hallway, Jason leaned the broom against the wall and stood there for a second.

Still real.

Still home.

He felt the system hover again.

[Would you like to log today's tasks as a completed mission?]

He rolled his eyes.

"Mark it as: 'Saved reality. Cleaned floors. Didn't emotionally combust.'"

[Mission logged: Success.]

A small smile crept onto Jason's face as he made his way back to the kitchen, the smell of fried rice now less of a taunt and more of a comfort.

He grabbed at the plate on the countertop that was filled

"Thank you uncle Steven" he said to the older gentleman that was filling up a larger plate

He put his plate down on the table then grabbed a bottle of water before sitting down, leaving the food to cool a bit

He grabbed at the plate on the countertop that was filled—perfect mound of fried rice, bits of egg and vegetables stirred through, with two golden-brown pieces of fried plantain on the side.

"Thank you, Uncle Steven," Jason said, offering a small nod to the older gentleman, who was currently loading up a much larger plate like he hadn't eaten in days.

Steven didn't look up. "It's just rice, not a peace treaty. Go eat."

Jason smirked and carried his plate over to the dining table, placing it down carefully. He moved to the fridge and pulled out a cold bottle of water, condensation already forming on the sides, before slipping into a seat. The food still steamed slightly, so he let it sit and cool, cracking open the bottle with a quiet hiss.

The house was calm again. The fan overhead spun lazily, circulating the smell of dinner and cleaning products. Somewhere down the hall, a door clicked open.

"Hmm, is that plantain I smell?" his mother's voice called out.

Jason turned just as she appeared from her room, now in a looser house dress, hair wrapped up, looking less tired than when she came in. She gave him a curious glance as she approached.

"You didn't wait for me?" she teased.

Jason leaned back in his seat. "You were taking too long. Blame the hunger, not the child."

She chuckled. "I carried two full baskets at the market today. You could've given me five minutes."

"I'm fourteen, I have the patience of a squirrel." He paused. "And besides, I did sweep the whole house. That has to count for something."

Steven, who was now setting his oversized plate down across from Jason, let out a quiet snort but said nothing.

His mom smiled at the both of them and went to fix her own plate, scooping smaller portions with practiced speed.

"So how was the market?" Jason asked, trying his best to sound casual.

She gave a tired sigh as she lowered herself into the seat beside him. "Long. Hot. Prices keep going up. I swear onions have developed an ego these days."

"Sounds like the onions need to be humbled," Jason replied between sips of water.

"That's what your Uncle Steven said last time he bought groceries. Started haggling with a woman selling tomatoes until she chased him off."

Steven didn't even look up from his food. "Her prices were criminal."

Jason grinned. "I believe you. You have that haggler energy."

The three of them settled into the kind of silence only a shared meal could bring. Nothing heavy. Nothing cosmic. No monsters, no gods. Just rice, laughter, and the faint sound of the evening news playing from the living room TV.

Jason's gaze lingered on his mother for a moment—how she laughed when Steven made another comment about market prices, how she shifted her chair to sit cross-legged, how she absentmindedly wiped a speck of food from the edge of her plate.

She didn't know.

She had no idea he had aged a decade in the span of a blink, fought across galaxies, been shattered and reassembled a hundred times, seen horrors beyond words.

And he wouldn't tell her. Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

Steven caught his eye for a second, as if reading the weight behind his expression. But he said nothing.

Jason smiled faintly and picked up his spoon. "Uncle Steven?"

"Yes?"

"Tell me this rice didn't come from that one suspicious rice seller at Kejetia."

Steven looked up, feigning offense. "Her rice is always clean."

Jason gave him a pointed stare. "That's what you said last time, and I found a small pebble that nearly cracked my molar."

"That was extra seasoning," Steven said with a shrug.

His mother nearly choked from laughing.

And for a while, Jason let himself relax. He let the world fade back into normalcy, even if only for a moment. The war was over. This… this was peace.

But he also knew it wouldn't last.

Not forever.

Not with a conglomerate in his name, a system in his head, and a life that no longer fit into the neat little box it once did.

Still, for now, he ate his rice. For now, he was home.

So Steven, what time are we leaving for Accra tomorrow?" Jason's mom asked, just as she reached for a second helping of plantain.

Jason blinked. "Huh? You're going to Accra? For what?"

She gave him a look—equal parts tired and amused. "Don't tell me you've forgotten that I work in Accra?"

Jason opened his mouth, then slowly closed it.

Right. Of course she did. She worked for a government office that had her commuting sometimes. It used to be every couple of weeks—until a few months before he was abducted. Funny how, after ten years of cosmic horror and survival, the detail had completely slipped his mind.

Steven's face, as always, was unreadable. He just kept chewing like nothing had happened.

"Thought you were working remotely now," Jason muttered, taking another bite of rice.

"I do. Mostly. But they need me in the main office for some data verification," she said, pouring herself some water. "Just for a few days. We'll probably come back by Wednesday or Thursday."

Jason nodded, trying to act casual. But behind his eyes, wheels were turning fast.

This could work. It gave him a reason to go to Accra without raising suspicion. His mom would think he was just tagging along like usual—but he could use the opportunity to see the main branch of Orion Surveillance, maybe even get a deeper look into the conglomerate the god had left him.

"Can I come with you?" he asked suddenly.

She looked up. "You want to?"

"I'm on break," he shrugged. "I've got nothing to do around here, and besides… I've been stuck in the house since yesterday. A change of scenery might help."

Steven glanced at him out the corner of his eye but said nothing.

His mom gave him a warm smile. "Of course you can. It'll be nice to have you around."

Jason let the smile come to his face naturally. "Thanks."

He looked across the table and met Steven's gaze—silent understanding passing between them like electricity through a wire.

"I assume the usual arrangement?" Steven asked carefully, tone still light.

Jason gave the tiniest of nods. "Yeah. We'll talk logistics after."

"Understood."

His mom raised a brow but didn't press. She'd seen the two of them speak in half-sentences for years now. She probably just chalked it up to male weirdness.

Dinner carried on with less weight. Jason let himself enjoy the food again, let the warmth settle in his belly. But underneath it all, the awareness of what was to come lingered in the back of his mind.

Orion Surveillance's West African headquarters.

The place where it would all really start.

His true world—quietly hidden beneath the surface of this peaceful, normal one.

When the plates were cleared and his mom had gone off to her room to prep for the trip, Jason lingered a bit longer at the dining table, fingers drumming lightly on the wood.

Steven returned a few minutes later, drying his hands with a dish towel. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

"You planned to go anyway, didn't you?" Jason asked without looking up.

"I did," Steven said. "But now you have the perfect excuse."

Jason leaned back in the chair. "How big is it? The headquarters?"

"Massive. You'll see it soon enough. But be warned… even the regional managers don't know who you are. To them, I'm the top of the chain."

"And I want it to stay that way," Jason said firmly. "I want to see it all… but I don't want anyone finding out who I am until I say so."

Steven nodded, as if he'd expected nothing less. "Understood. You'll go in as my nephew. A kid on vacation."

Jason chuckled. "I am a kid on vacation."

"For now," Steven added, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Jason leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "When we get there… I want full access. No red tape. I need to know what we own, who's working for us, and what they're doing."

Steven nodded again. "I'll arrange it."

Jason stood up slowly, stretching his arms. "Good. Tomorrow, then."

Steven gave a mock salute. "Pack lightly. We'll leave early."

Jason grinned. "I've got ten years of experience traveling across dimensions with just a sword and a broken jacket. I think I can manage a three-day trip to Accra."

Steven muttered something in Twi that Jason didn't catch but it sounded like a prayer.

With that, Jason turned and headed for his room, footsteps quiet on the tiles.

The system pinged silently in his mind—dormant, waiting.

And for the first time in a long time, he felt something close to anticipation.

Tomorrow, he would begin the first steps into the world that was now his.

But for tonight, he was just a boy at home, belly full, hair still on his head, and a future that was finally, finally his to decide.

Jason pushed open the door to his room and quietly stepped inside, shutting it behind him with a soft click. The air was still faintly warm from earlier sunlight, and the ceiling fan hummed lazily above. He walked past his bed—still a little messy from when he'd thrown himself onto it earlier—and pulled open his wardrobe.

He stood there for a second, staring blankly at the clothes.

For ten years, packing meant weapons, runes, portable wards, potions, maps, mana stones, and backup weapons for the backup weapons. Now, it was just a duffel bag and some change of clothes.

Honestly, it felt weird.

He reached out and pulled a few shirts off the hangers, then paused, realizing half of them were ones he hadn't worn since before the abduction.

Somehow… they still fit.

How much has really changed, he thought, folding the shirts and placing them carefully in the bag. And how much have I changed instead?

A part of him wanted to laugh. This was normal, this was mundane—and yet, it felt more surreal than the time he'd watched a sun scream before imploding on itself in a dimension built entirely out of glass.

He grabbed some jeans next, socks, boxers. A hoodie—black, oversized, familiar.

"System," he said under his breath, glancing over his shoulder like someone might hear.

The dark blue screen flickered into existence silently in his peripheral vision. No alert sound. No fanfare. Just a simple, respectful presence.

[Awaiting input.]

Jason zipped his duffel bag halfway and slung it onto his bed, sitting down beside it.

"Can you link to the company systems?" he asked.

There was a slight pause.

[Currently limited to passive integration. Orion Surveillance's mainframe recognizes System-Linked credentials under Steven Amartey. However, full synchronization with conglomerate infrastructure requires explicit authorization.]

Jason raised an eyebrow. "So I'm recognized?"

[Yes. At root level. But masked.]

"Masked?"

[Current identity status: Phantom-Level Directive. Conglomerate systems are programmed to obey without acknowledging origin unless command trace is requested.]

He blinked slowly, taking that in. "So I'm the guy behind the curtain."

[Affirmative.]

Jason let out a low whistle and leaned back slightly, glancing up at the ceiling. "Smart bastard."

[You're welcome,] the system replied dryly.

He blinked, then laughed. "Wait—you have sarcasm protocols?"

[Only for you.]

Jason smirked and stood up, dragging his duffel to the side and grabbing his toothbrush and charger from the desk.

"Alright. Tomorrow I'll see the big picture for myself. Until then, standby. And keep monitoring any changes in the conglomerate infrastructure—flag anything unusual."

[Understood.]

The screen faded away again, quiet as a thought.

He finished packing in silence. Not because he had nothing to say—but because he was starting to understand just how much there was ahead of him.

His bag sat at the edge of his bed, zipped and ready. Across the room, the streetlight outside cast a faint orange hue through the window blinds. The hum of the fan and faint sounds of TV from the living room created a sense of calm.

Real calm. Not the kind bought with blood and survival instinct.

He toed off his slippers and collapsed backward into bed, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds before reaching for his phone. No missed calls, no messages. Just the default wallpaper and the cracked corner of the screen that had always annoyed him before—and now felt kind of comforting.

Tomorrow, he would step into a different kind of battlefield.

But for tonight, he was just Jason.

And that was enough.