Sped Run Childhood Montage

From four to seven, my life unfolded in a rhythm so precise, it could have been a divine composition.

Every morning, I'd slip from home, sandals in hand, before the sun had fully risen. The scent of salt, the soft whisper of waves, the sleepy hush of early dawn, it was all familiar now. But it wasn't where I belonged during daylight. I wasn't a girl meant to play house or practice sewing with the other children. I was reborn for more.

Lilith's house was nestled far and it took me less time to get there. The moment I crossed her doorstep, everything shifted. I'd sit cross-legged on the floor—always the same sun-warmed tiles—and fall into meditation. Lilith didn't even need to guide me anymore. I could enter stillness in seconds. The voices in my head? Silent. The fire in my chest? Contained.

After that came language drills.

English, still one of the tongues beyond the island, was essential. By age five, I could speak it better than some of the adults. By six, I could read entire books without stopping. But reading wasn't the highlight of my day.

Being her assistant was.

I became the hands Lilith didn't always have time to grow. I delivered medicine to her apothecary, (she was a doctor too), fetched herbs from the town borders, ran scrolls to the clerics of the southern bluff. Before long, everyone in town started calling me "the Oracle's apprentice." Some said it with awe. Some with suspicion. I didn't care either way.

Because truthfully? It suited me.

My body changed faster than my mind could keep up. One month I was huffing up the hill to Lilith's house, the next I was sprinting it in seconds. My legs didn't just run anymore. If I pushed too hard, people couldn't even see me move. My senses got sharper, too, like the world was turning up the volume. I could hear snails cracking open beneath the sand. I could feel people watching me from across the street. I could taste the rain hours before it came.

And the strength… gods, the strength.

One morning at the docks, I volunteered to help haul a fishing net. It was knotted, soaked, weighed down with a catch the size of a festival feast. Everyone laughed until I pulled the whole thing in by myself. The men went silent. A few clapped. One cursed under his breath. But I just handed them the rope and walked off. That was the day they started calling me "blessed."

Another time, I beat my father in an arm-wrestling match. Twice. And then three of his friends, back to back.

They tried to play it off like they were letting me win but the bruises on their forearms said otherwise. My dad laughed it off, tousled my hair, told me to "go easy next time." But I saw the flicker of fear in his eyes.

I wasn't normal and honestly? I didn't want to be.

The other kids didn't like me much. I wasn't invited to games. I didn't get little trinkets from the seasonal fairs. A few even whispered things when I walked by—freak, teacher's pet, or "not even human." But they were just noise.

I didn't come back to make friends.

I came back to fix everything.

So I let them talk. Let them throw their stones with words. Let them scowl in the shadows of my shadow. Because while they wasted breath on petty things, I was preparing.

Meditation. Study. Training. Chores. Missions.

Then surfing with my father when time allowed. The waves were wild but so was I. I took to it quickly. The balance, the timing, the thrill of dancing on something that could kill you in seconds. It felt right.

Those three years blurred into a slow-burning metamorphosis.

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Dinner that night felt… different.

Not just because the table was packed with more plates than usual, or because mother had cooked her three-hour seaweed curry recipe, or because father lit the good incense in the corners of the house. No, it was different because she was here.

Lilith was in our house.

I don't think anyone in the village could have imagined it. Having the Oracle over for dinner was like inviting a living myth into your kitchen.

She sat at the center of our table like it was a throne, sleeves rolled up, eyes glinting with casual divinity. My mother Bena kept glancing at her like she was afraid Lilith would just… vanish into mist mid-bite.

"You really don't want more rice?" She asked, gently pushing the bowl toward her for the third time.

"I'm good, truly," Lilith smiled, cradling her half-empty plate. "The Rune God doesn't like me bloated before rituals."

Rune God.

I bit the inside of my cheek to stop from laughing. What a name. The Islanders practically built a whole religion around it now, but according to Lilith, the truth was way less majestic.

The so-called Rune God was just someone who blessed her grandfather. An American tourist who, decades ago, got stuck on the island thanks to the island curse or blessing and made himself useful by giving out eerily accurate predictions and healing people with medicine. Same for her mother. They were doctors.

But nobody here knew that. They believed in the Rune God, this sacred celestial force that wove fate and chose only one mortal heir each generation to bear its burden.

Lilith let them believe it. And honestly? I would have too.

It kept her safe and protected from questions she couldn't answer. And maybe, in a way, it was true. Her Flux was given by a god, even if it had nothing to do with bloodlines.

"Still can't believe the Oracle is eating my food," my mother whispered to father across the table, barely suppressing her excitement. He just grinned, nudging the bowl of fish closer to Lilith like it was a peace offering to a storm goddess.

Leuven, who had just turned thirteen last week, had been mostly quiet the whole dinner. He stared at Lilith like he was trying to decide whether to ask her about the future of his future or the end of the world. Probably both. Typical.

And then there was baby Thea—our two-year-old whirlwind—who had climbed into Lilith's lap halfway through the meal and stubbornly refused to leave. She had no idea what an "Oracle" even meant. She just liked her.

Lilith didn't mind. She cradled Thea on one hip and talked to us like she wasn't carrying enough divine pressure to snap a normal person in half. That's how she always was though.

"So," dad said, clearing his throat and placing his cup down with too much ceremony, "Tomorrow is the ritual."

I stiffened a little, but nodded.

Lilith's gaze slid to me. "Yes. Tomorrow at sunrise."

"The whole village will be watching," mother whispered almost nervously. "They say the Oracle hasn't done this in years."

Which to be honest, was true. She used to do it before she met me but ever since then, she stopped doing it. When the villagers asked her why she stopped, it's because she said that the Rune God wasn't ready.

Which was an excuse saying that she didn't want more children to spend ten years going for a test they would fail at the end.

"They're right," Lilith replied, smoothing Thea's hair. "But this is a special one."

Leuven finally worked up the courage to speak. "Is she really gonna awaken her Flux tomorrow?"

Lilith smiled. "If the gods will it."

I rolled my eyes. "You say that, but you already know the answer."

Her lips quirked at the edge, but she didn't deny it.

She'd told me the truth, after all. I wasn't just a normal Fluxer.

I was God-touched.

Apparently, anyone who'd been influenced by a god's direct power—like Lilith being granted her Divination by the God of Time, or me being regressed by the same one—qualified as God-touched. And that meant my Flux wasn't some random power my body birthed by chance.

It was meant to happen.

Tomorrow I'd stand in front of the entire village with other children. And this time?

I am going to be powerful. I just hope that the god did not give me a weak Flux...