Zay rose from the chair in the control room with a slow, deliberate movement, his body weighed down by exhaustion. His eyes, heavy with fatigue, nearly closed with each blink—but he forced them open, refusing the luxury of rest. He stepped away from the console and turned left, entering the adjoining room. The lights were dim here, flickering gently like half-formed thoughts. He descended the narrow staircase, the creaking steps echoing faintly in the hollow quiet of the ship.
The chamber below was lined with deep shelves, books stacked haphazardly alongside carved relics and sealed scrolls. A round, stone table stood in the center, its surface littered with notes, books, journals, and parchments. Zay sank into the seat at its edge and reached toward the shelves, pulling a few familiar tomes closer.
"Arbiter: Vault," he muttered aloud.
A translucent projection shimmered into existence in front of him, its letters glowing faintly in the dark.
[Vault: Whistle of Zya, Cult Book, Stone, Sand,
Ancient Key of The Forbidden Library (Second Cycle),
Recorder's Keepings (Tape 1) ]
His brow furrowed. 'When the hell did I get an Ancient Key?' he thought, a chill brushing along his spine.
He reached out and tapped the vault line labeled Cult Book. With a flash of violet light and a low hum, the massive tome appeared before him on the table and he reached out and grabbed the edge of the cover before flipping it.
Dust shimmered in the air as the heavy pages parted, he pulled a sheet of parchment toward him, uncorked his ink vial, and dipped a quill. The scratching sound of writing soon filled the room as Zay flipped through the pages—the ones neither he and Renzo had read—scribbling down everything that could matter: ritual components, rare incantations, diagrams, and strange alignments of stars.
"A Resonance Echo..." Zay muttered, his voice low and rough with fatigue. "It's like a skill—something pulled straight out of a game or one of those fantasy novels. There's only a few ways to get one."
He kept writing, the quill scratching across the page in rhythmic strokes as he repeated the knowledge to himself like a mantra.
"First, you might find a Resonance Scroll... usually hidden deep in the Second Sequence or anything beyond that. Second, someone could teach you. Third..." He paused, eyes narrowing at the ink beginning to thin. "You earn it. During a Shattered Sequence... if you survive long enough."
His fingers ached, and the candle beside him had long since burned halfway down. The ink dried up just as he reached the edge of the page—its final droplet dragged across the parchment in a streak.
He blinked once. Twice.
Then his body gave out.
His head dropped forward, landing with a soft thud against the massive book. Ink-smudged notes scattered across the table as sleep pulled him under like a tide—breath slow, muscles slack.
Darkness greeted him.
But it wasn't the comforting kind that came with sleep—it was heavier, thicker, like stepping into oil. For a moment, Zay floated in it, weightless, thoughtless. Then—sensation. Cold air brushing his cheeks. The scent of ash and old stone.
A faint whistle curled through the void, like wind moving through a cracked doorway.
Then came the footsteps.
Slow. Uneven. Bare against stone.
Zay tried to move, but his limbs wouldn't obey. His eyes opened to a world stitched together by shadows and stars, a hallway formed from shattered marble and endless arches, where time felt uncertain—sometimes moving too fast, sometimes standing still.
[Forsaken by Dwan has drawn the attention of a follower.]
There was a figure at the end of the corridor. No features, no face—just a silhouette wrapped in cloth that bled ink with every step it took.
It raised a hand.
In its palm, a scroll unfurled midair, floating toward him, spinning slowly. The words etched on its surface were in no language he understood, but somehow—he knew.
[Resonance Name - First Trait: Strength Increase]
His fingers twitched, reaching forward. The moment his hand closed around the scroll, the figure turned—its form unraveling into ink, dissolving into the air like smoke in water. The dream cracked.
The sky above fractured like glass struck by a hammer.
And then—he jolted awake.
Eyes wide, breath sharp, chest rising and falling like he'd surfaced from drowning.
'W-What time is it?' he thought.
"Arbiter Lens: Time."
A soft shimmer lit the air in front of him, words forming in neat, silver script.
[September 18th, 2:32 AM — Year 1 of the Draconic Calendar.]
Zay rubbed his eyes, half-laughing, half-exhausted. "Right... I forgot they just swapped it."
His voice was low, almost a murmur in the stillness of the room.
"Once every five hundred years, Akser resets to a new calendar. The last one was the Calendar of Butterflies... this one's the Draconic Calendar. Next up's... Calendar of Serpents, I think."
Zay blinked slowly, the haze of sleep still clinging to his thoughts. He sat up, glancing around the dim room until his eyes landed on the paper he'd been scribbling on—the ink dry, the letters crooked from exhaustion—and the massive cult book still open before him.
A long breath slipped from his lips.
"I swear... I had a dream?"
He pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to focus, to chase the remnants of whatever vision had gripped him. But the harder he tried, the further it slipped away—like mist curling between his fingers. Only a hollow sense of unease remained.
Zay pushed himself off the chair with a quiet grunt, rubbing the back of his neck as he stood. The pages he'd been writing on fluttered slightly from the movement, but he didn't spare them a glance. His footsteps echoed softly as he made his way up the narrow staircase, each step pulling against the weight of lingering exhaustion. The metallic scent of the ship's corridors filled his senses, the quiet hum of the True Wind's engine a low companion in the silence.
He returned to the control room and eased down into the chair, its frame creaking slightly beneath him. For a moment, he just sat there—letting his gaze settle on the panel in front of him.
But how long had it been? Minutes? Hours? Maybe days?
He leaned back, eyes drifting to the walls of the room, still plastered with maps—some old and fraying at the edges, others newer and marked with updated routes and regions. His eyes traced the ocean in front of him and they paused on something small. A blot of land, surrounded by soft rings of ash in the ocean, like a wound slowly healing.
He blinked, straightening.
"I know that place…" he muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing. He had seen it in previous resets, and passed it multiple times. But he'd never passed it before with Renzo in this life.
It meant he was close. Really close.
The edges of his vision blurred briefly, the haze of fatigue crawling back in. He leaned forward, resting his arms on the console.
"Around four days left. Maybe less," he mumbled, letting his eyes drift shut for just a moment. But the hum of the ship, and the quiet pull of home kept his mind teetering between awareness and exhaustion.
Ovaris wasn't far now—neither was the weight of everything waiting for him there. Zay didn't exactly look forward to explaining to his sisters and parents what had been happening over the past year. And truthfully, a part of him didn't want to return at all. But he had to. He needed to make sure they would move soon, just like he said.
Three days passed on the open sea.
Zay had only managed a few minutes of sleep each hour, slumped in the control room chair. The ocean had been quiet—eerily so—until now.
As the vague outline of the Ovaris Empire emerged on the horizon, heavy rain began to hammer down against the ship. The downpour jolted Zay awake. He rubbed his eyes, the familiar ache of exhaustion settling deep in his bones.
Through the rain-streaked windows, he saw the distant shape of the Ovaris port, the docks extending like fingers into the water. He yawned loudly, forcing himself to stand. His arms rested against the panels lined with switches and brass-trimmed buttons as the ship coasted closer. After a few more steady minutes, he docked.
Zay patted his pocket to make sure the ship's key was still secure, then stepped onto the deck. Instead of using the boarding planks like usual, he let out a tired breath and channeled violet aura into his legs. He leapt over the railing, landing hard on the stone-and-cobblestone mix of the pathway with a faint thud.
Rain crashed against his shoulders and soaked into his black tunic and trousers instantly. The wide brim of his straw hat shielded his face from the worst of it, but the chill still crept into his bones.
"…What the hell?"
Zay's hand instinctively clenched around the hilt of Evershade at his waist, his eyes narrowing.
"Lyra? The hell are you doing here?"
She sat on a worn wooden bench just beyond the dock's edge, her figure hunched beneath a rusted canopy riddled with holes. Rainwater poured through, soaking her hair to her skin. Her clothes clung to her like a second skin, utterly drenched.
Her bright blue eyes slowly lifted and met his amethyst gaze. For a moment, neither said anything. Just silence—just rain.
Zay approached, his boots splashing softly as he neared. She was curled into herself, arms wrapped around her legs, head tucked down. He sighed, then bent at the knees.
He slid one arm beneath her legs and the other behind her back, lifting her up with ease.
"Now tell me," he muttered, "why the hell you're here."
Lyra looked up weakly, her wet lashes trembling as she shook her head. She closed her eyes, shivering violently in his arms.
Zay clicked his tongue in frustration, glancing at the sky as thunder rolled overhead. Her golden-blonde hair whipped in the wind, clinging to her face.
"Dammit…"
Without another word, he activated [Predator's Hunting Grounds].
Glowing lines and shifting paths unraveled across the streets before him. One path stood out, pulsing faintly, leading him home in the most direct route.
He followed it without hesitation, holding Lyra close to his chest as the storm drenched them both.