Chapter 2: Ghosts of Ruin and Return

Because of me, she had nowhere to turn. She ended up slamming her head into the fireplace in Dad’s study.

The memory haunted me. The way her hands shook. The silent tears she wiped away when she thought no one was looking. I never forgave myself for what happened next.

It was a disaster. Suicide in the family—a huge scandal.

Word spread through town like wildfire. The church ladies whispered behind their hymnals. The neighbors avoided our eyes at the market. The Whitaker name, once spoken with respect, was suddenly a punchline.

Dad was furious. With Elliot whispering poison in his ear, he stripped me of my inheritance. Banned me from ever setting foot in the house again.

He called me into his study, voice cold as ice. "You’re no son of mine," he said. The words hit harder than any slap. Elliot stood by the window, arms folded, not even trying to hide his smirk.

I was heartbroken. Then Elliot came to me in secret. He wanted me to work for him—to hand over my soap formula for free.

He found me behind the old barn, shivering in the rain. "Jackson, you’re smart. Help me out and I’ll make sure you’re taken care of," he promised. But I saw right through him.

Me: [Yeah, keep dreaming.]

I laughed in his face, bitterness burning in my throat. "You’ll have to pry it from my cold, dead hands," I thought. Out loud, I kept it polite. No sense giving him more ammunition.

No surprise, we split on bad terms. We were never the same kind of people. Not even close.

He stormed off, muttering under his breath. I watched him go, the distance between us growing wider with every step. Brothers in name only. That’s all we were.

Within three days, I died alone on the street. Became a wandering soul.

The world faded out around me—just the sound of my own footsteps echoing down empty alleys. I thought that was the end. Turns out, I had one more act left in me.

But I didn’t fade away. I watched the rise and fall of Liberty America—like a ghost floating above it all.

It was like being trapped in a silent movie. Unable to touch or speak. Just watching the reels turn. I saw the world change—and not for the better.

I saw smugglers from Albion sneaking Black Crow—some kind of powerful drug—into the country. My heart pounded.

They moved through the shadows, passing little black packets from hand to hand. I wanted to scream, to warn someone—but all I could do was watch as the poison spread.

No way. Not possible.

I refused to believe it at first. How could things get so bad, so fast? It didn’t seem real.

But then things got even worse. Much worse.

The headlines in the ghostly newspapers grew darker. Every year, the world seemed to tilt further off its axis. Like there was no way back.

In 1842, Albion forced the Liberty government to sign the New Jersey Treaty. The country lost its territory. Started down the path to becoming a semi-colony, ruled by outsiders.

I hovered over the signing room, watching the ink dry on a document that would change everything. The men in suits looked defeated. Their shoulders slumped under the weight of history.

Between 1856 and 1860, Albion and the French pressed for more—launching the Second Black Crow War against Liberty America. The Germans and Russians piled on. Four nations forced Liberty to sign away even more land and power. Treaties in Trenton, Boston, and beyond.

Maps were redrawn, lines shifting like sand. I saw families forced from their homes. Soldiers marching through streets that used to be safe. It was a slow-motion disaster, and I couldn’t do a thing to stop it.

Years of war left the country in ruins. Families scattered. Land lost.

Everywhere I looked, there were boarded-up houses. Empty fields. People clutching faded photographs. The laughter had gone out of the world, replaced by the sound of boots and gunfire.

Then, in 1931, the Empire of the Rising Sun launched a sneak attack—Pearl Harbor-style—on our shores. A new war of invasion.

The sky lit up with fire, sirens wailing through the night. I watched ships burning in the harbor. Planes swooping low over rooftops. People ran for cover, clutching their children, praying for a miracle.

Countless people stepped forward. They knew it was a death sentence, but never backed down.

I saw young men and women, faces set with determination, lining up at recruitment offices. They knew what was coming, but they stood tall anyway. Bravery and heartbreak, all tangled together.

Women brutalized. Children killed. More patriots died, never even buried.

The stories broke me. I saw mothers searching for sons who’d never come home. Graves marked only by a scrap of cloth. The cruelty of it all was almost too much to bear.

My eyes burned, but I could only float above. Helpless as tragedy unfolded below.

I reached out, desperate to touch, to comfort, but my hands passed through everything like smoke. The ache of powerlessness was worse than any wound.

With bombs falling everywhere, I finally shut my eyes. Couldn’t watch any longer. Even as a soul, I wept.

The world went dark, the roar of explosions fading to a dull hum. I let myself drift. Hoping maybe, just maybe, I’d wake up somewhere better.

When I opened my eyes again, the thunder of artillery was gone. Silence.

Instead, there was only the tick of the old mantle clock. The faint smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen. I blinked, hardly daring to believe it.

And I… was back. Back on the day Dad stripped me of my inheritance.

The same heavy air. The same accusing glares. But this time, I knew what was coming—and maybe, just maybe, I could change it.

[In this life, Mom didn’t die at the fireplace. I must’ve changed something, right? Please let that be true.]

My heart thudded with hope and fear. Could the smallest choices really rewrite fate?

[Who would’ve thought the fate of Liberty America would mirror the collapse of China in my previous, previous life! History really does repeat itself.]

The irony stung. Different names, same tragedies. History has a way of repeating itself, no matter where you land.

The memory of bombs and brave faces still burned in my mind. Clear as day.

I could see their eyes, hear their voices. I owed them more than just a second chance. I owed them everything.

My eyes went red again. Couldn’t help it.

Tears threatened, but I blinked them back. No time for weakness now.

[Those invaders are ruthless. This time, no matter what, I have to protect our land and our people.]

I clenched my fists, the promise burning in my chest. No more running. No more hiding. Not this time.

I knelt there for ages, but Dad still didn’t say a word. The silence stretched on.

The silence stretched on, broken only by the creak of the old house settling. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me. Waiting for a verdict.

Instead, Elliot spoke up. “Dad, I don’t think my little brother would ever betray the country. There must be a reason for those letters with the enemy.”

His voice was syrupy sweet, dripping with false concern. He glanced my way, eyebrows raised—like he expected applause for his performance.

[Damn.]

My blood boiled. [You fake. Wasn’t this all your plan? Break me, cut me out, then steal what’s in my head. When I’m desperate, you’ll throw me a bone. Some brother.]

I bit the inside of my cheek, fighting the urge to call him out right then and there. If only Dad could see through him. Just once.

“Enough! That’s enough!” Dad’s voice cracked like a whip, silencing the room. Even the old dog by the fireplace flinched.

The room went dead quiet. Dad’s face turned even darker as he shouted.

He slammed his fist on the desk, papers scattering. "I won’t hear another word!" The authority in his tone made even Elliot shrink back a little.

[Why does Dad seem so off? Something’s not right.]

I studied his face, searching for a clue. Something was different. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

[Could he have come back too? Or maybe he’s from another world? Am I not the only one?]

My mind raced through possibilities, each wilder than the last. What if we weren’t the only ones with secrets?

My imagination ran wild. Outwardly, I stayed respectful. Inside, I kept grumbling.

I kept my head bowed, hands folded, but my thoughts were a whirlwind. If Dad really knew what was going on, would he finally take my side?

Dad’s gaze suddenly sharpened. He swept his eyes around and barked again, “All of you, shut up!”