After three days and a long visit to Doctor Garrick, Mike was finally looking better. Now, he and Zay sat alone in Zay's room, each occupying one of the two wooden chairs by the window. A thin mist clung to the glass outside, blurring the shape of the darkening world beyond.
"So… are Rin and Jade alive?" Zay asked, his voice low as he watched Mike carefully.
There was a long, heavy pause—three seconds stretched into what felt like minutes—before Mike let out a deep, exhausted sigh. "To tell the truth, I have no clue," he muttered. "I barely managed to escape from that creature... if you can even call it an escape. Honestly, I'm not sure what the hell is happening."
Zay swallowed hard, the weight of uncertainty settling on his chest. He stood from his chair and moved across the room, pulling out a worn, hand-drawn map from his drawer. He laid it across the small table between them.
The map detailed Akser in faded ink, its continents marked with names Zay had personally written in during his travels. Beyond the labeled lands, several blank spaces stretched out—places he hadn't been to in this life.
Mike leaned in, squinting at the map. His brow furrowed as confusion washed over his face."The hell is this?"
"It's the map of this realm," Zay said calmly. "I've been using it to mark the continents I've been to."
Mike glanced over the names, reading them aloud in a whisper: "Mivor, Caelondis, Quivarem, Pluvialis, Milo..."
He shook his head in disbelief. Not a single name sounded familiar. And now he was being told these were continents? In a different realm altogether? His mind reeled at the enormity of it.
"Wait… I'm still confused about the whole 'Akser Realm' thing or whatever you called this place," Mike said, leaning back in his chair.
Zay exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose before meeting Mike's gaze.
"There are eight realms in total," he began, his voice steady. "Akser is one of them. The first, to be exact. The realm you're from… was the Third Realm."
He stopped there.
Zay didn't want to say more. Didn't want to remember the nightmare that the Third Realm had become for him during his last reset. Some memories were better left buried, at least for now.
Mike simply nodded, his movements slow and deliberate as he rose from the chair. He wandered over to the window, his hand resting lightly against the frame. Outside, the rain began to pour down in heavy sheets, tapping against the glass with a rhythmic urgency. The gray world beyond was blurred into a canvas of shifting shadows and streaks of silver.
For several minutes, the only sound in the room was the breath of two souls carrying the weight of uncertainty. Mike stood still, his shoulders rising and falling slowly, lost in silent thought.Finally, he nodded to himself—a small, almost imperceptible motion. An acceptance.
Whatever was happening, no matter how strange, it wasn't exactly beyond his grasp.
He had learned of the Sequences, aura, the Errors, and the dangerous roads in between. Compared to those revelations, this new mystery felt… almost normal.
Mike turned his head slightly, glancing back at Zay.
"So... what do you want me to do?" he asked, his voice steady but carrying a hint of weariness. "I've never even heard of this place before, let alone lived in it."
Zay closed his eyes and scratched his head, trying to gather his thoughts. After a few seconds, he spoke.
"I'm going to do the Third Sequence whenever I get and complete my task," he said. "You could come with me, if you want."
Mike considered it. For a few long seconds, he mulled it over, the rain filling the space between them. Then he shook his head firmly.
"I already completed the Third Sequence before," Mike said with a faint, tired smile. "It wouldn't feel right helping someone with theirs. You need to do it yourself."
Zay sighed, part disappointment, part understanding. He gave a small nod in return, respecting Mike's decision.
"Well," Zay added after a moment, "the academy's always hiring teachers. With everything you know, you'd get a spot pretty easily. It's not glamorous, but it's steady work—and safe, at least compared to everything else."
Mike let out a soft chuckle, the sound more genuine than anything he'd managed since arriving. "Teaching, huh? Guess it beats bleeding out on cobblestones."
The rain outside continued to fall, steady and relentless, as a new path quietly formed between the two of them.
—
The next morning crept in with a muted gray light, and Zay stirred awake beneath the thin weight of his blanket. A quiet yawn slipped from his lips as he sat up, the cool air of the room brushing against his skin. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, standing with a slow stretch that made his joints pop softly.
The familiar patter of rain tapped against the window, a constant rhythm that never seemed to stop. He wandered over, pressing a hand lightly against the chilled glass, watching the way the rainwater carved rivulets down the pane—racing each other toward the sill.
'I wonder what the Third Sequence will be this time. I should start preparing.' His eyes narrowed slightly. 'Though, realistically... aside from Evershade, nothing else really matters.' He exhaled quietly through his nose, a calm certainty settling in him. 'Of course I'm bringing my weapon.'
Turning away from the window, Zay caught the faint, warm scent of bread drifting through the air—rich, yeasty, and comforting. It curled its way into his room like an invisible hand beckoning him. His gaze dropped to his hands as he walked to his door. For once, no gloves. His bare fingers flexed lightly, feeling oddly exposed yet free.
He reached out, his knuckles brushing the door before wrapping around the handle and giving it a quiet twist. The hinges creaked just faintly as he stepped out into the hallway, stretching his arms over his head with a muted groan.
Passing the living room, he spotted Mike sprawled across the couch, a thin blanket tangled around one leg, his mouth slightly open in sleep. The soft snoring filled the otherwise still house, adding to the feeling of an early, untouched morning.
Zay padded into the kitchen, where the table was half-set. His father, Dale, was slicing thick loaves of golden-brown bread while his mother, Rosemary, arranged plates and cups with the easy rhythm of someone who had done this a thousand times before.
From down the hall, the sound of a door creaking open echoed. Lily shuffled out of her room, her hair a wild mess atop her head. She gave a long, dramatic stretch—her arms flailing overhead—before she trudged toward the kitchen, rubbing at her sleepy eyes.
"I didn't sleep at all!" she whined, dragging out the words with a theatrical groan that ended in an exaggerated sigh. She collapsed into a chair, slumping against the backrest with a heavy, world-weary yawn.
A few moments later, the front door clicked open. Zay glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Lyra stepping out, blinking blearily at the world. Her hair was a chaotic halo around her head, and her loose white sleepwear hung off her slender frame. She scratched the side of her head, her movements sluggish and half-aware.
"It's so damn early..." she grumbled, her voice rough with sleep. "What time is it?"
Dale chuckled—the knife tapping lightly against the cutting board—as he glanced up at the kitchen clock. "Five in the morning," he announced with a grin.
Lyra stared at him blankly, her mind struggling to compute the information. 'Why the hell am I awake?' she thought miserably, dragging her feet toward the table. She slumped into a chair beside Lily, groaning under her breath—but as the warm smell of freshly baked bread wrapped around her senses, a small, reluctant smile tugged at her lips despite her exhaustion.
The house felt alive in its sleepy, rain-soaked way.
Dale stepped away from the counter, balancing a plate in one hand, one slice of toast set carefully for each of them—still warm, steam barely visible against the cool morning air. He placed the pieces in front of them with an easy, practiced motion before grabbing a large, battered metal container from the counter. He poured water into mismatched cups, the clear liquid splashing softly, the sound mingling with the steady hush of rain outside.
Zay looked up, catching his father's eye. "Thanks," he said, his voice low but genuine.
Dale gave a simple nod in return, the kind of wordless acknowledgment they had always understood between them. Zay lifted the glass, the coolness of it prickling against his fingertips, and took a sip. The water was cold, refreshing, tasting faintly of minerals. He set it down and picked up the piece of toast, the crust crisp under his fingers, and took a slow bite. The bread was still soft on the inside—earthy, rich, subtly sweet.
Without a word, Dale wiped his hands on a cloth and walked toward the living room. His heavy boots thudded lightly against the wooden floor as he turned toward the front door. Without looking back, he opened it and disappeared into the misty morning as the door closed behind him.
Zay blinked after him, swallowing his bite of bread. "Where's he going?" he asked, turning toward his mother.
Rosemary glanced up from her own slice of toast, brushing a crumb from the corner of her mouth. "He's heading to work," she said, her tone light but tired. "The trees have been growing faster than usual lately—he's got to get ahead of it before it overruns the forest."
Zay nodded slowly, feeling the quiet pull of responsibility settle over the kitchen.
Across the table, Lyra sat with her elbows on the wood, her chin nearly resting in her palms. She stared blankly at Lily, who mirrored her exhausted expression. In perfect, wordless agreement, the two girls sighed, a deep, soul-weary sound, wishing they were still wrapped in the warmth of their beds.
Lyra tore a small piece from her toast and brought it to her mouth, more out of obligation than hunger. The moment it touched her tongue, her body stilled. She chewed slowly, her eyes widening slightly as the warm, buttery flavor melted into her senses. A fragile smile bloomed across her face—something soft and genuine, almost childlike.
"T-this is so good..." she whispered, voice trembling with the force of her sudden emotion.
Before she could even register it, tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks, catching the faint light filtering in from the rain-drenched windows.
Rosemary, mid-sip of her water, lowered her glass and leaned forward, concern knitting her brow. "Are you alright, dear?" she asked gently.
Lyra wiped at her cheeks quickly, laughing breathlessly at herself. She nodded, her voice catching in her throat. "I'm fine," she managed, smiling wider through her tears. "It's just... I never knew bread could taste so... fresh."
The kitchen settled into a quiet stillness after that—the kind that wrapped around them like a soft blanket—broken only by the occasional clink of a glass being set down, and the steady, endless heartbeat of rain against the roof.