'Well, the reason why the king doesn't ask questions relating to the Cathedrals is due to their rich history—and several other reasons,' Zay thought as he got up from his chair.
"I'm done with my food," he said, placing his hand on the hilt of Evershade and cracking his neck as Monroe stood up from his chair. The two of them made their way out of The Iron Spoon and headed back to the train station.
Zay glanced around and spotted the same attendant again, helping several others load cargo onto the train.
'Is this some sort of fraud… or maybe an illegal trade?' Zay couldn't help but wonder, a quiet chuckle escaping his throat at the thought.
He tilted his head upward, letting his gaze rest on the moon—pale and unwavering in the night sky, its glow like a silver veil over the station. The clouds had parted just enough to reveal its full, rounded shape. For a few long seconds, he lost himself in its quiet presence… until a sharp, shrill whistle shattered the stillness.
Zay blinked and looked down, quickly finding the source. The attendant stood near the front of the platform, holding a brass whistle to his lips, his voice cutting through the murmuring crowd.
"Time to board! Next stop is Draxen—we'll be arriving in exactly two hours!" the man announced with crisp authority.
A new wave of passengers began moving toward the train. Some were familiar—faces Zay had seen during the earlier ride—but others were new. Most wore long trench coats or tailored suits in jet black. The subtle differences stood out only upon closer inspection: a glint of deep navy on a collar here, different boot styles there, or a strand of silver jewelry woven into someone's hair. Some had slicked-back hairstyles, others sported shaggy or braided looks, but there was a uniform professionalism about all of them—sharp eyes, straight postures, and practiced movements.
By the time Zay and Monroe made it onto the train, they found their way back to their previous seats. The car filled rapidly afterwards, a quiet press of bodies and motion. Soon, the aisles were packed—passengers standing shoulder to shoulder, the air dense with murmured conversations and the shuffle of paper.
Some stood calmly reading white documents stamped with markings, others scribbled notes into journals, and a few were buried in thick, rune-marked books. Amidst the organized chaos, Zay's eyes caught a familiar group—the four academy students from the restaurant.
They had taken a corner set of seats, still chatting, their youthful energy standing out in contrast to the more rigid atmosphere of the other travelers.
Zay exhaled deeply, his gaze drifting across the crowded cabin just as the train doors slid shut with a metallic thud. A sharp hiss of steam erupted from the floor vents, trailing along the steel rails like white serpents. The train jolted once, then smoothly accelerated, the rhythmic thrum of the engine intensifying as it gained speed. Within minutes, it settled into a steady glide, cutting through the countryside at a brisk 90 miles per hour.
Twenty minutes passed in quietness.
Zay's eyes caught a flicker of movement. Someone's hand reached forward into his view. He looked up and blinked—five bronze coins gleamed in the stranger's open palm.
"Here. Take it," the man said warmly, his smile gentle and almost too kind, like the glow of a hearth fire that didn't quite give off heat. There was no malice in his face, just a calm sincerity that felt... unnatural.
Before Zay could respond, a woman standing only two feet away scoffed. She rolled her eyes, then stepped forward with a sharp clink, holding out a palm stacked with seven silver coins.
"At least pretend you care about people," she muttered dryly, her voice laced with biting sarcasm.
Zay's eyes shifted sideways toward Monroe, who sat completely unfazed, sipping from a small flask and watching the clouds roll past the train window. '...Odd. Is this because of the Subtle Charm passive? I'll have to assume so. But then why isn't Monroe affected by it?' he wondered, brow tightening.
Without missing a beat, Zay calmly collected the coins from both the man and the woman and turned toward Monroe, offering the pile.
"This should cover everything I ordered... including the train pass, right?"
Monroe gave a low chuckle, reaching out with two fingers and plucking four of the bronze pieces from Zay's hand, leaving the rest untouched. "Just keep the rest. Not sure why they're throwing money at you, but... Cindra's a hellhole until you've got coin in your pocket. Probably for the best I don't rob you legally," he added with a crooked grin before turning back toward the window.
'I guess so…' Zay thought, his uncertainty growing deeper.
Three more passengers, each standing or sitting within seven feet approached silently and held out their offerings. Bronze and silver coins, placed in Zay's palm with glazed expressions and almost mechanical sincerity. He took them all with a soft "Thank you," his tone rehearsed, devoid of real emotion.
Then came something different.
A man who had been seated beside Monroe stood and looked down at Zay. He was tall, dressed in a pitch-black travel coat with deep emerald buttons. Without a word, he reached into his inner pocket and retrieved a slim, rectangular note.
Black velvet paper with gold edges. The embossed lettering across its face gleamed in elegant script: "30 Silver Cindrel"
The sigil of Cindra's Mint was stamped in the corner—two curved feathers crossing a circlet of light. It felt warm between Zay's fingers.
Zay tucked it smoothly into the pocket of his fitted black leggings, careful not to show too much reaction.
'A thirty silver Cindrel note before I've even stepped foot in Cindra... I didn't expect this passive to be this effective.'
With a quiet breath, he whispered beneath his breath, "Arbiter: Influence Bar."
A translucent overlay appeared in his vision. Floating above each person within a seven-foot radius, glowing horizontal bars shimmered into view—each marked with a numeric percentage.
Two of them pulsed at 100%, fully saturated with loyalty. Others hovered between 42% and 87%. But when Zay turned to look at Monroe and saw the bar was at 0%.
'He must have a Seal... or something tied to mental resistance. Maybe even a Resonance Echo that he's keeping active at all times.' Zay's thoughts tightened like a knot. 'If that's the case—and it's not just some passive defense—then… just how strong is Monroe, really?'
He couldn't ignore the question. Zay did realize in that moment, he knew next to nothing about the man. Monroe was a mystery. A stranger with a calm voice, a Ship Enforcement worker, and that's about all Zay knew.
And that unsettled him.
Zay had seen countless faces during his lifetimes across Gyro—traders, warriors, nobles, thieves. Most of them blurred together, yet some etched themselves into his memory through pain, survival, betrayal, or sacrifice. People he saved. People who saved him. Every face was tied to a moment that he could remember.
But not Monroe.
He was a blank slate. A ghost with no anchor in Zay's memories. Just like Lyra—someone he had never seen or even heard of until this life.
That fact alone narrowed his eyes.
Zay let his gaze linger on Monroe for a moment longer. The man sat relaxed, one hand resting near his coat pocket, eyes half-lidded as if lost in thought. Not once did he glance at Zay, yet it felt like he was aware of everything around him.
A shiver of suspicion slid down Zay's spine before he finally turned away and stared out the train window.
The pale moonlight stretched across the corridor, spilling silver light into the cabin in soft, broken lines. Shadows from passing trees flickered across the glass, blending with the fog that coiled along the edges of the countryside.
It was peaceful... only in appearance.