A thin layer of violet aura flickered to life over Zay's skin. He held Lyra close, one arm beneath her knees, the other wrapped around her back. Her soaked blonde hair clung to his chest, and her fingers were limp against his side.
He began to follow the line that was the quickest to home. He ran across the empire for a few moments and then in a single smooth motion, he leapt—boots hitting the edge of the stone and cobblestone roads with a splash before launching them both into the air. They landed on the sloped roof of a nearby warehouse, tiles slick with rain, and Zay's weight sent a spray of water splashing off the edge. He crouched low, steadying himself, then burst forward across the rain-slick shingles.
Lightning cracked above the empire, silhouetting towers in jagged white. Mist coiled along the rooftops, and the sound of distant waves echoed from the harbor behind. Rain pelted them both, relentless and cold. It streaked down his face, stinging his eyes, and pattered against Lyra's skin. Her eyes fluttered once, then closed again.
Zay kept moving—leaping from one roof to the next. Aura surged at his calves each time, cushioning his landings, giving him the explosive force to rise again. One jump landed hard—his boots struck the slanted tin of a vendor's shack, and he felt the metal bend beneath him. He adjusted instantly, and kicked off again.
Finally, he dropped onto the sloped roof of a smaller home, slid halfway down its side, then launched again—this time toward the ground.
He landed hard, his knees bending to absorb the shock, the earth splashing up muddy water around him. He sprinted up the narrow path toward the house—his family's house. Light leaked from the windows, casting faint golden glows against the rain-dark street.
He reached the door. Without hesitation, he lifted one knee and slammed it against the wood—once, twice, three times.
The door flew open.
Dale Yuso stood in the frame, blinking rapidly, hair tousled from sleep, shirt only half-buttoned. He stared for a second—just one—then his mouth fell open.
"Zay?" he breathed. "What the—ZAY?!"
He rushed forward, hands already moving as if to grab his son, to see if he was real. "We thought—we didn't know if—we thought you were—"
Before he could finish, Rosemary appeared behind him, her robe half-hung on her shoulders, eyes wide and glistening.
"Oh my god, Zay! You're soaked—you're freezing!" She darted forward, her hands brushing over his face, his arms, checking for injuries. "You didn't say where—you could've been anywhere, you could've been dead! What happened? Are you—"
Zay's breathing was calm, controlled—but water ran from his hair, his jawline, soaking into the ground beneath his feet.
"I'll explain," he said softly, eyes flicking toward Lyra. "I have to do something first. Just… give me a moment."
He stepped past them both.
He moved his feet against each other until he managed to pull off his drenched boots, one at a time. Mud and rain pooled around them as he placed them neatly beside the door, next to a line of other boots—Dale's sturdy work pair, Rosemary's soft leather ones, Maple's tiny black ones with silver stars and Lily's just being a plain black leather.
Then he walked forward, his steps muffled on the carpet floor. The warm scent of herbs drifted faintly from the kitchen. He moved through the quiet living room, past the new chair with the, past the fireplace with a few dim coals still glowing.
Down the hallway.
He passed Maple's room—painted soft green, the door covered in drawings. Then Lily's room, her name written in looping gold letters on a wooden plaque.
'How much has changed since I was last here?'
Then, the guest bedroom.
The door was slightly ajar.
He stepped inside.
The room was dim, moonlight filtering through the half-closed curtain. The bed stood against the far wall, draped in a deep violet quilt that shimmered faintly in the low light. The headboard was a work of art—carved dark wood with swirling patterns that looked almost alive, like the wind had once moved through the grain and left its story behind.
Zay walked to the edge of the bed. Slowly, carefully, he lowered Lyra onto it. She didn't stir. The rain still dripped from her hair, but her breathing was steady, quiet. The contrast of her skin against the deep purple quilt was stark—like fallen snow on midnight velvet.
He stood there for a second longer.
Then turned and walked back into the hallway.
He stopped at Lily's door. It was painted soft blue with silver accents. He raised a hand, paused—then knocked.
The door creaked open softly.
Lily stood there, blinking sleep from her eyes. Her long dark blue hair was tied messily to one side, and her sleeves were half-rolled up. The second she saw him, her expression froze—then broke into a wide-eyed smile before she lunged forward and wrapped her arms around him.
"Zay!" she gasped, her voice muffled against his shoulder. "You're actually here—I thought you were gone forever or something!"
Zay, caught off-guard, staggered half a step back.
"O–Okay, I get it!" he said, trying to wriggle free as she hugged him tighter. "Just—can you go in the guest room and change Lyra? Her clothes are soaked and I'm not doing that."
Lily let go reluctantly and stepped back, her arms crossing.
"She's… been coming home every day soaked for the past three or four days," she muttered, eyes lowering. "She uhm… it doesn't matter actually. Just… forget it. I didn't say anything."
Lily brushed past him and walked down the hallway. Her footsteps were soft against the wood, and she paused only briefly at the door to the guest room before stepping inside and gently closing it behind her with a click.
The hall fell quiet again, save for the soft patter of rain still hitting the roof. A gust of wind crept through the walls, carrying the smell of wet earth and distant thunder.
Zay stood still in the hallway, the air heavy with the scent of rain-soaked wood and moon daisies. His damp shirt clung to his skin, his breathing slow and steady as his thoughts churned.
'Didn't she hate Lyra?' The memory clawed at him, the first Sequence flickering behind his eyes—Lily's sharp words, the tension, and just everything about it.
His gaze drifted toward the closed door of the guest room. The violet quilt. The swirled headboard. The room Lyra had just been laid in. A room that felt like it belonged to her already.
'How the fuck is she here?'
His brows furrowed.
'And why does it seem like nobody is surprised at all that I brought her here? I'm so damn confused.'
He let out a long, exhausted sigh, rainwater still dripping from his hair and fingertips, a low tremor in his jaw as he shook his head and turned back toward the living room. The soft light reflected off the glass vases of moon daisies, the room dim and peaceful in a way that almost felt... artificial.
Zay walked slowly across the floor, each step quiet against the carpet. He passed the paintings Lyra had picked—art he hadn't remembered ever seeing—and that only deepened the weight pressing on his chest.
He dropped into the new chair with a soft whump, the grey silk cushions giving slightly under him. His eyes flicked toward the bookshelf, then to his parents sitting nearby. Dale had paused his page flipping. Rosemary looked up, hand halfway to her tea.
Zay didn't ease into it.
"Why the hell didn't either of you freak out when I suddenly showed up with a girl?! Are you really my parents?"
The silence lasted just long enough for the sound of the rain to seep back in.
Rosemary set her teacup down gently on the table. Her eyes were calm, but as if she had rehearsed this conversation in her head many times.
"Because she came here a year ago," she said softly. "Said she didn't have anywhere else to go. And... well, I'll let her tell you exactly what she said. But she brought us flowers. A painting. And a smile so warm I couldn't bring myself to turn her away."
Zay blinked. 'A year ago? The hell has been happening?'
Dale added, clearing his throat, "We didn't expect it, of course. But then we found out Lily already knew her. That made things more complicated."
Rosemary offered a faint, half-smile. "The first few months were hard. Lily didn't trust her. Constant questions, pushing her away. But eventually... Lyra didn't push back. Lily gave in. Now they're close—closer than I ever thought they'd be."
She leaned forward slightly, hands laced together. "We were waiting for you, you know. Hoping you'd come home. But... now that you're here, without more questions for us—" she glanced toward Dale, who nodded.
"Tell us where you've been."
Zay's hands gripped the arms of the chair lightly, the silk cool beneath his fingertips. He sat in silence, his expression unreadable.
He couldn't say he'd been trapped in a Sequence of unrelenting death trials, betrayal, and mental breakdowns. He couldn't say that Renzo had stabbed him in the back, or anything at all that has happened.
They hadn't asked about Renzo.
'Thank Nira they haven't asked about Renzo yet.'
He took a breath. Then another. He looked up and smiled, strained but not forced, the kind of smile you give when you're too tired to lie, but too trapped to tell the truth.
"I was…" he started slowly, "working with a group that travelled the ocean. Mining routes, mostly. We hit different continents. Stayed moving. That's why I couldn't send a letter."
He swallowed.
"We weren't allowed to send anything, actually. Some deal with... ownership. Contracts."
His voice was hoarse now, the exhaustion creeping back into his limbs like a slow poison. But he held the smile.
Dale nodded once, eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't push. Rosemary's eyes searched his face for something—guilt, pain, truth—but she didn't speak.
And Zay sat there, quietly unraveling inside, the silence of the living room wrapping around him like a weighted blanket, hiding the storm still raging in his mind.