As the sky dimmed into a charcoal shade, the final remnants of the storm retreated. The once-raging clouds softened into wisps, parting just enough to allow the silver moon to rise, casting its cold glow across the soaked rooftops of the Ovaris Empire. Hundreds of stars blinked into existence—sharp, glinting eyes in the sky. The winds had quieted, but the scent of petrichor and damp stone lingered, clinging to the breath of the streets.
Inside his room, Zay remained motionless on the carpet, legs crossed, spine straight, his body barely shifting with each quiet breath. For three long hours, he'd been lost in focused meditation, drawing aura inward, channeling it into calm clarity. Now, the violet shimmer that had once surrounded him faded into nothing, and his body stirred. He opened his eyes slowly as he exhaled through his nose.
The room was dimly lit, shadows cast long by the moonlight peeking through the slanted curtains. Rising to his feet, he stretched the tension from his shoulders, the crack of bones faint under the weight of silence. His gaze drifted toward the door. He walked over to it with just five quiet steps, his hand closing gently around the brass handle. It turned with a soft click.
The hallway greeted him with its faint creaks and familiar warmth. As he made his way forward, a gentle, savory aroma tugged at his attention—something thick and seasoned, with hints of root vegetables and slow-cooked herbs. Stew.
He passed through the living room, where the faint flicker of a light danced across the walls, casting warm golden light across the bookshelves. Stepping into the kitchen, he blinked at the soft clatter of bowls and wood. The table was already set—five places, each with a hand-carved spoon laid neatly beside them. Dale stood nearby, his broad back turned to Zay as he carefully stirred the final ladle of stew in a clay pot, steam rising and curling like mist.
Zay tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. "Now that I'm thinking about it… where's Maple? I haven't seen her since I got back home."
Dale turned, wiping his hands on a towel draped over his belt. His expression was relaxed, tinged with fatherly pride as he placed the last spoon on the table. "Your sister's been staying at the academy more often these days," he said with a quiet chuckle. "She made the decision to finish her studies. Said she wants to become a teacher there."
Zay's brow lifted, surprised. "A teacher?" Then a small, distant smile pulled at his lips. "Huh… I'm just happy she finally got out. Found something for herself."
Dale nodded, his voice softer now. "She's nervous, of course. But she said it's something she might love. That was enough for me."
Before the silence could settle too long, soft footsteps padded in from the living room.
Lyra entered, her long hair slightly tousled, eyes still holding the shimmer of recent thought. She slipped into her seat at the table and clasped her hands in front of her. "Thank you all for this meal!" she chimed warmly, flashing a grateful smile before picking up her spoon.
She took a bite, and her eyes widened with immediate delight. "Mmh!" she mumbled, barely able to speak through the flavor. Her lashes fluttered, and she leaned back slightly, visibly basking in the stew's richness. "Stars above, this is amazing."
Zay arched a brow, amused. He looked at Lily, who was already reaching for her bowl.
They took a bite almost in sync—and paused.
Their eyes widened simultaneously. "D-damn this is good," they said in unison, stunned by the burst of flavor. Zay blinked, as if not expecting something so simple to strike so deep.
Lyra looked up from her bowl, her spoon paused midair as she glanced between Zay and Lily. A soft giggle escaped her lips—light, musical, cutting through the thick warmth of the kitchen air.
"You two really are siblings," she said, a playful glint in her blue eyes. "Saying the exact same thing at the exact same time… and over food, no less."
Zay smirked faintly, tapping his spoon against the rim of his bowl with a soft clink. "Guess good taste runs in the blood," he said, voice low but carrying a thread of teasing.
Lily just shrugged, lifting another spoonful with a bright grin. "Can't argue with the truth."
The room eased into a soft, comfortable quiet after that. Only the occasional scrape of spoons against bowls and the muffled sound of the evening wind brushing against the windows broke the stillness. The scent of the stew, heavy and filling, wrapped around them like a familiar blanket.
But underneath the easy laughter and fleeting smiles, something unspoken stirred in Zay's chest. Like the feeling that this peace—this brief, golden moment—was something slipping through his fingers even as he sat there, spoon in hand.
As Zay took another bite and swallowed, his expression subtly shifted. Without a word, he lowered his spoon and closed his eyes for a heartbeat.
A soft hum rippled through his body as he activated [Predator's Hunting Grounds]—his aura condensing like a coiled beast, then stretching outward in an invisible line that swept across the surrounding land in a swaying motion. His pupils narrowed faintly. There. A flicker—familiar, raw, and unsteady. Someone bleeding, someone close.
He exhaled sharply, the warmth of the kitchen evaporating from his mind.
"Excuse me," Zay muttered quietly as he stood. His chair scraped lightly against the wood floor as he turned and walked out, footsteps steady and deliberate.
Crossing through the living room, he pushed open the front door. The night air rushed to greet him—cool and wet, tinged with petrichor and mist. The faint drizzle from earlier had left the cobblestone path slick with moisture, reflecting pale slivers of moonlight.
And then he saw him.
A figure stood, leaning heavily against a crooked part of wire. Torn clothes hung in strips from his frame, stained with mud, blood, and soot. A half-burned cigar hung from his lips, the embers flickering with each shallow breath. Blood trailed from a ragged wound on his chest, soaking through a shredded shirt, and another long gash dripped from his arm.
"…How the hell… are you here?" Zay's voice was low.
The man chuckled. "Zay…" he rasped, dragging a hand across his face, smearing ash and sweat. "You're a damn sight better than the thing I saw last."
Zay's eyes narrowed, scanning him closely. "What the hell happened, Mike?"
Mike exhaled smoke and pain, slumping further against the post. "Honestly? I got no clue, man. One second I'm in the mansion—next, I'm out cold. I started dreaming… or I thought I was. There was this thing, wrapped in cloth—like some mummy freak. Spoke in broken whispers, bled ink outta its entire body. Offered some cryptic shit I didn't understand."
Zay's jaw clenched. "You rejected it."
Mike nodded, the motion sluggish. "Damn right I did. Thing didn't like that. Went full psycho. I tried to fight back, but… next thing I know, I wake up in this place. Forests and hills. Looked like something outta an old storybook. I wandered until I saw lights. And then… this house. This gate. You. Like it led me to you or something."
"You're in the first realm," Zay said flatly. "Akser."
Mike blinked at him, sweat clinging to his brow. "…Akser?" he muttered, voice hoarse. "You're gonna have to run that one by me after I stop bleeding out."
Blood dripped down from his fingertips, dark and steady, leaving small red stains along the slick cobblestones.
"Can you help me, man?" he asked quietly.
Zay stepped forward, his silhouette outlined in the moonlight. "Yeah. I got you."
He slipped his arm around Mike's back, lifting the man's right arm over his shoulder. Mike groaned but said nothing, leaning into Zay's support. Together, they made their way to the house.
The front door creaked open as Zay guided Mike through. A low grunt echoed from the wounded man, catching the attention of everyone still seated at the table.
Lily was the first to turn her head, setting her spoon down. Lyra stood quickly, concern lighting up her eyes. Rosemary and Dale emerged from the kitchen with tense expressions as the sound of heavy footsteps approached.
Zay laid Mike gently down on the couch, pulling a blanket over him with care.
"Who the hell is that?" Rosemary asked sharply, eyes narrowing as she stepped closer.
Zay turned with the calmest smile he could muster. "Someone I met during my year away… working in the mines." His tone was disarming, easy, even a little amused—just enough to buy time.
Dale exchanged a glance with her. Rosemary didn't press further—at least, not yet.
Zay knelt beside the couch and pulled open the drawer under the coffee table, rummaging through for gauze, cloth, and an old vial of antiseptic. He worked quickly but carefully, cleaning the wounds, binding Mike's chest, and stitching the deeper gash across his arm as best as he could.
The silence around him felt thick. He could feel their eyes watching—but no one interrupted. Not yet.
Outside, the wind shifted. Somewhere far off in the hills, something howled.
And in Zay's mind, one thought pulsed through the noise:
'He shouldn't be here. I remember Mike from the last reset… he was someone born and raised in the Third Realm—before the Five Cycles of Destruction occurred. I have no idea how he ended up in the Shattered Sequence… but showing up here? In Akser? That shouldn't even be possible. And what the hell did he mean by something wrapped in cloth that bled ink?'