Tyler sat in his grandfather's oak chair, counting the bricks that made up his fireplace, in the background he could hear them arguing. His parents.
Ever since his grandfather's funeral his parents were arguing over the furniture his mother would inherit. Personally, Tyler didn't care.
He missed his grandfather, the way he'd talk of his tales. The ones his father said were just tales to keep Tyler's overimaginative five-year-old brain occupied.
Of spacemen with wings made of steam, pirates that overthrew a king from Austria. Tyler let out a small sigh, his lids growing heavy.
Tyler woke to the sound of waves crashing, his body swaying and rolling. He opened a blue orb to discover the soaked wood beneath him, was he dreaming? He stood, holding himself firmly in place.
"Yaargh!Get up young one!And arm ye self!" A bearded man handed him a sword and a shield.
Tyler narrowed his eyes and smiled. "Yessir."
He was home.