Zay continued eating, letting the molten cheese stew melt across his tongue, the bread bowl absorbing just enough to stay soft without falling apart. Each bite soothed the growing ache in his stomach, warming his chest in a way that reminded him of nights back home.
Monroe sat across from him, quietly enjoying his grain pie with slow, thoughtful bites. The crust crunched beneath his fork, steam drifting from the mixture of honeyed roots and smoked nuts inside. Occasionally, he'd take a sip from his ember tea, his eyes distant, as though running through some mental list of tasks or memories.
Around them, the restaurant hummed with low conversation, clinks of spoons against ceramic bowls, and the distant creak of the front door swinging open and closed. Lanternlight flickered on the walls, casting gentle shadows across the room.
Zay's ears perked up when a burst of laughter broke through from a group sitting two tables to the right. Four young men, each around his age—dressed in travel-worn cloaks and light academy garb—were huddled together around a table crowded with plates and mugs.
"All four of us. Can you believe it?" one of them exclaimed, slapping the table with a wide grin. "Cindra Academy, boys. We're in."
"History department, no less," another added, brushing crumbs from his tunic. "Didn't think they'd take me after that entrance essay, but guess they saw something they liked."
They all laughed again, clinking cups before returning to their meals.
One of them leaned back in his chair, grinning. "I don't care where I get placed after graduation. I just wanna write. Sift through old lore, lost eras—maybe even publish a few of my own theories one day. History Writer's been the dream since I was a kid."
"A History Writer, huh?" another said, raising a brow. "I thought about that path too, but I'm gunning for something weirder. Mirror Keeper."
The others blinked. One of them snorted. "What the hell is a Mirror Keeper?"
The aspiring Mirror Keeper smirked. "Exactly what it sounds like. It's a job in the Antiquities division. They're tasked with safeguarding enchanted, cursed, or ancient mirrors. Some of them date back to pre-continent wars—crafted with lost incantations, infused with memory locks or vision traps. A single wrong reflection, and you're stuck in a repeating day for a week. That sort of thing."
"Sounds made up."
"It's not. The Mirror Archives in eastern Cindra has hundreds of them. There's even talk of mirrors being tied to some kind of plane—like a separate space. They call it the Mirror Realm. They say certain mirrors, if enchanted or cursed the right way, act as a gate. But that part's probably just a myth."
"Still," another chimed in, "that's creepy as hell."
"Creepy or not, it's a real field. High risk, high pay. Some of the most powerful cursed objects get stored in mirrors because they can't be safely sealed any other way."
Zay listened, chewing slowly as their conversation drifted through the haze of warmth and spice in the restaurant. Mirror Realm… cursed reflections… Zay sighed, his chewing slowing as the rich flavors dulled beneath the weight of his thoughts. The laughter from the academy students still echoed faintly behind him, but his focus shifted when the server approached their table once more, a polite smile on her lips and a cloth tucked into her apron.
"Would you like anything else?" she asked.
Zay glanced at Monroe's cup, the steam curling from the amber-colored liquid in soft spirals. After a moment's pause, he gave a small nod. "I'll take an ember tea."
Monroe chuckled softly, already fishing a coin from one of his coat pockets. He slid it a bronze piece across the table to the server. With a grin tugging at the corner of his lips, he raised three fingers toward Zay.
"That's three now."
Zay exhaled through his nose, a reluctant smile breaking across his face. "I know…" he muttered, dragging out the words in mock defeat before resuming his meal.
The tea arrived shortly after, served in a small, carved ceramic cup. The amber liquid shimmered faintly, carrying the scent of smoked herbs and citrus zest. Zay lifted the cup slowly, his fingers warming from the heat radiating through the clay.
He took a sip—lightly bitter at first, but quickly chased by a soothing heat that spread through his chest, calming something restless inside of him. The taste lingered, earthy and grounding, pulling him further into the moment.
Zay took another sip of his ember tea, letting the warmth settle in his chest before placing the cup down gently on the table. He glanced at Monroe, who was finishing the last bite of his grain pie with a slow, satisfied chew. The older man looked relaxed, his shoulders slumped slightly, eyes half-lidded as he swirled the remnants of his tea.
'... I think it's for the better if I ask some questions.' Zay thought to himself.
He leaned forward a bit. "Hey… can I ask you something?"
Monroe raised a brow and looked up. "Sure. What's on your mind?"
"Kingdom Cindra. What's it actually like?" Zay asked. "Not just the Academy—I mean the kingdom. The people, the laws, jobs… all of it."
Monroe wiped his hands on a napkin, then sat back with a soft exhale. "Now there's a question I don't get often." He looked out the window for a second, as if organizing his thoughts. "Cindra's... complicated. Clean, polished on the surface—but there's always more hiding underneath."
Zay said nothing, letting him continue.
"For jobs—plenty. It's a central kingdom, rich in trade, technology, steam, and knowledge. Most people fall into the standard paths: merchants, engineers, artisans, or join guilds—hunter guilds, research guilds, or support crews for nobles. But if you're certified or trained, you can also work in what they call the 'Civic Rings.'"
"Civic Rings?" Zay echoed, curious.
"Yeah," Monroe said, nodding. "Think of them like job branches sanctioned by the kingdom. You've got Rings for everything—transport, defense, research, enforcement, and even lorekeeping. If you work under one of the Rings, you get better pay, housing stipends, and access to certain tools and aura training programs. But you also get watched. A lot."
Zay tilted his head. "Watched?"
"There's a law called the 'Measure of Conduct.' If you work under the kingdom's Crest, you're expected to follow behavioral standards. Slip up—even just once—and your entire Ring access can be revoked. You get flagged. Blacklisted, sometimes."
Zay frowned. "Strict."
"Very," Monroe said. "But that's how they keep the kingdom stable. You'd be surprised how much chaos one loose Arbiter can cause."
Zay tapped a finger along his cup. "What about laws? Anything I should know before stepping too deep into the city?"
Monroe chuckled, then leaned in. "Don't steal. Don't invoke aura without registration or cause. And whatever you do, don't interfere with the Ministry,"
Zay narrowed his eyes. "Ministry?"
Monroe's voice dropped a little lower. "The Ministry of Sanctioned Affairs. They monitor illegal artifacts, Aura tampering, unlicensed use of aura, and unregistered use of Seals. Cross them, and you vanish. No trials. No appeal. Just gone."
Zay's eyes lingered on his tea as he absorbed that.
"Other than that," Monroe said, lightening his tone with a grin, "if you keep your head down, work honest, and don't cause anything—you'll do just fine."
Monroe was halfway through another sip of ember tea when his eyes suddenly widened.
"Shit," he muttered under his breath, then set the cup down with a quiet thud.
Zay blinked. "What?"
Monroe turned his gaze to Zay, his casual demeanor replaced by something sharper—more alert.
"I almost forgot to warn you. It's important—really important. Have you heard of the Nine Cathedrals?"
Zay furrowed his brow slightly. "Cathedrals? We have two or three back home, but what about them?"
Monroe nodded slowly. "Yeah, well. In Gyro, the Nine Cathedrals aren't just places to pray or burn incense. They're entire institutions—each one holds enough influence to rival a kingdom. More than that, each Cathedral controls its own personal military force. Highly trained. Secretive. Fanatical in some cases."
Zay leaned forward slightly, his interest piqued.
"They each go by different names depending on the Cathedral," Monroe continued, voice dropping low as if the walls themselves might be listening. "But people refer to them collectively as the Sanctrix."
Zay raised an eyebrow. "Sanctrix?"
Monroe gave a grim nod. "It's a nickname—slang, really. Means you're one of them. Doesn't matter if you belong to the Flame Choir, the Grasped Veil, the Golden Eclipse, or whatever poetic nonsense they call themselves..."
Zay's expression hardened a bit. "... stay away from them?"
"Exactly," Monroe said, his tone serious now. "If you see someone with a Cathedral crest—especially if it's sewn in crimson or embossed into their robes—you walk the other way. Unless it's a Sunday."
Zay blinked, confused. "Sunday?"
"Yeah." Monroe rubbed the back of his neck. "It's the only day they hold services, ceremonies, and... diplomatic nonsense. If you have to talk to one of them—do it then. The rest of the week? You show up uninvited or get tangled in their affairs, and there's no telling what might happen. People disappear. Whole buildings had vanished. Nobody asks questions. Nobody wants to. Not even the king."
Zay looked down at his tea, quiet for a moment, then back up. "What kind of things do they even do?"
Monroe let out a breath. "No one knows for sure. Each Cathedral has its own creed—its own secrets. Some say they guard ancient truths; others say they conduct experiments. There are even rumors that one of the Nine Cathedrals controls moments of time. Not sure what that really means, but… yeah."
Zay didn't respond right away. The warm ember tea no longer comforted him as much.
Monroe gave him a crooked smile. "So yeah, if you're thinking of sightseeing once you arrive in Cindra… steer clear of any spires with bells and golden emblems, alright? Unless it's Sunday and you're going for worship. The Cathedrals have their own personalized laws since they're religious—to an extent. Though, maybe all of this are just rumors. Still… tread carefully."