The golden morning sun poured through the high-arched windows of the Marquess' estate, casting shimmering patterns onto the long mahogany dining table.
Crystal dishes, fine silverware, and still-steaming delicacies were arranged with noble precision. The smell of rich butter, smoked meats, and delicate herbs lingered in the air.
Zazm sat across from Marquess Aldren Valdair, a rotund, well-groomed man in his early fifties with a prominent mustache, glimmering rings, and the sort of puffed pride only a minor noble with old money could maintain. Zephyra, ethereal and still slightly transparent, stood a few steps behind Zazm, blending into the morning shadows.
Zazm sipped delicately from a goblet of fruit juice. His posture was calm, and elegant. But his mind was already running ahead.
'I was about to just leave the estate and head out... but I'd get caught the moment I step into the city. Even minor nobles here have surveillance magic. This entire estate is probably webbed in thread-detection barriers'
He glanced at the Marquess, who was mid-rant about the seasonal wine imports being late due to "those fool merchants who call themselves a guild."
Zazm gently set down his goblet, waited for a lull, and then smiled faintly.
"Marquess Valdair," he began, his voice smooth and warm like polished silk, "this breakfast was excellent. Your estate has been... a welcome haven."
The Marquess paused, pleased, dabbing at his lips with a gold-trimmed napkin. "Ah! You're too kind, Lord Arion. The honor was all mine. Hosting the heir of House Arion—it is no small privilege."
Zazm offered a modest nod, folding his hands neatly. "I do have a request though. One I must trust you with."
The Marquess leaned in slightly, intrigued. "Anything, my lord."
"I must resume my voyage," Zazm said, tone quiet but firm. "There are matters of the House I must attend to—delicate matters. I cannot linger long. My departure must be swift... and unseen."
The Marquess blinked. "Unseen?"
"Yes," Zazm said. "It is imperative my presence here remains... discreet. No public announcements. No letters. Not even whispers. Not until I give the word."
Marquess Valdair sat up straighter, visibly puffing with importance at the idea of being entrusted with a noble secret. "Of course, of course. My lips are sealed, my lord. Not a word shall leave these walls."
Zazm nodded in approval. "Good. And should you ever find yourself within the capital... mention your name at the gates of House Arion. I'll ensure my father hears of your courtesy. As the heir, I remember those who aid me."
That did it.
The Marquess' eyes gleamed like a child handed a personal favor from the Emperor himself. "Say no more, Lord Arion. I shall be your shadow in silence!"
Zazm bowed his head in thanks. "Then I shall require a robe. One that conceals my form—and most importantly, my hair. Something suitable for... travel among common eyes."
Without hesitation, the Marquess clapped twice. A servant entered instantly, and within minutes returned with a long, obsidian robe made from enchanted silk. It shimmered faintly under the morning light, lined with thread-masking glyphs along the hem.
Zazm stood and took the robe with grace. "This will do perfectly."
He turned to leave, but paused at the doorway. "May fortune favor you, Marquess Valdair. You've done a great service to House Arion."
As he and Zephyra disappeared down the corridor, the Marquess sat in his chair, spine straight, chest puffed, and heart dancing with pride.
He'd just hosted the heir to House Arion. He had a secret now. And in the nobility, secrets were more valuable than land.
Zazm walked in silence through the thicket of trees, his cloak brushing the dew-covered undergrowth. Sunlight filtered weakly through the dense canopy above, catching motes of dust that floated lazily in the air. His footsteps were light, nearly silent, and his eyes darted across the terrain as he scouted for a clearing—anywhere stable enough to open a long-range portal.
He exhaled deeply, preparing to extend his threads into the fabric of the multiverse when something tugged softly at the sleeve above his shoulder.
He turned, eyebrows furrowing slightly, only to find Zephyra hovering mid-air behind him—her hair drifting slowly like strands of light silk in water. She was holding something odd in her hands: a small, speckled fruit the size of a clenched fist. It was a strange mix of deep indigo and soft peach hues, with thin, glassy veins pulsing faintly beneath its skin.
"…What is that?" Zazm asked, eyes narrowing with mild suspicion.
Zephyra shrugged lazily and took another bite. "No idea."
Her voice was half-muffled by her chewing. "Tastes great though."
Zazm blinked. "…Seriously?"
Without saying anything more, she floated closer and offered him one. The fruit was still cool to the touch—likely freshly plucked. He turned it over in his hand, inspecting it with the curiosity of someone who had traveled across dimensions yet still found surprises.
"You sure this isn't poisonous?"
Zephyra kept chewing. "You're Zazm. You can erase time. Eat the damn fruit."
Zazm smirked slightly, took a bite, and—
His expression froze.
"…What the hell," he muttered after swallowing. "This is actually good."
The flavor was unlike anything from Earth or any known world he had visited—light and floral at first, then warm and sweet like spiced honey. The texture melted on his tongue like soft snow. He took another bite, more eagerly this time.
Zephyra raised an eyebrow as she lazily spun upside down in midair. "Told you."
Zazm chuckled softly. "Once we're done with all this multiverse crap, we're coming back. Just to eat. Try every fruit in this forest."
Zephyra, now nearly horizontal in the air and still eating her second fruit, gave a wordless nod. "Mhm."
The two stood in that odd serenity for a moment—two beings of immense power sharing fruit in the silence of an ancient forest, with no sound but birdsong and the wind rustling leaves.
But Zazm's smile soon faded as he finished the last bite. His gaze turned sharp again, precise. He lifted his hand and extended a small section of thread from his index finger. It shimmered faintly, like a silver hair catching sunlight.
He wove the thread outward, forming a precise grid in the air. With a sharp flick, he twisted it—and space cracked open like glass into a glowing blue rift. The portal rippled, humming softly.
"Time to go."
Without hesitation, he stepped through. Zephyra, still chewing, followed behind without a word.
---
Zazm landed silently on cobblestone just outside a wide manor framed with glowing lanterns.
Its windows were dark but majestic, framed with pale marble. The stars above were sharp and bright, and the night carried a cold breeze with the scent of damp grass and burnt oil.
Zephyra stepped beside him and glanced at the estate, raising an eyebrow. "They're being kept here?"
Zazm nodded slowly. "Looks like it. Huh... seems they're not exactly suffering."
He raised a hand to knock on the gate when Zephyra suddenly grabbed his arm.
"…What?" Zazm asked quietly.
She pointed upward, her face unreadable. "There's someone on the roof."
Zazm's eyes flicked up—fast, analytical. Silhouetted against the dark sky was a crouched figure, nearly blending into the shadows. But even the best shadow technique couldn't hide from someone like him.
He didn't blink.
A moment later, he vanished—warping space and reappearing directly behind the figure.
The assassin didn't even get a chance to register the threat.
Zazm didn't need sound, didn't need theatrics. He snapped his fingers silently, and the air around the man distorted.
In a single motion, Zazm wrapped the space around the assassin's body, folding it like fabric, until the man simply ceased to exist. No blood. No scream. Just gone—like a name erased from history.
From his new vantage point, Zazm scanned the rooftops.
Six.
There were six of them. Dressed in tight black suits reinforced with layered mana fiber, their weapons coated with spell-forged venom, they crept silently like shadows—each positioned strategically to strike the inhabitants of the manor.
"Assassins," Zephyra whispered next to him, floating with eerie calm. "Smart ones. They were waiting for everyone to fall asleep."
Zazm's gaze hardened.
He raised both hands slowly. Thin rings of gold and silver energy formed around his fingers. Then he curled them into fists—and twisted.
Reality shuddered.
The other five assassins, regardless of where they crouched, were instantly engulfed in a localized void.
One by one, they vanished from existence, removed so thoroughly that even the space they once occupied took a moment to seal shut.
Silence returned to the rooftop.
Zazm exhaled slowly. A heavy breath. Not of exhaustion—but of weariness.
He stepped forward and sat on the edge of the rooftop, letting his feet dangle as he looked out across the night.
"...There are jobs," he said softly, "that only a leader may do."
He didn't look at Zephyra, but he felt her presence hover beside him. He offered a quiet, sad smile.
"What do you think, Zeph? Was that the right thing?"
She floated a little closer, still eating her fruit, and didn't respond for a moment.
Then she placed a single finger gently against his forehead.
"You always ask questions that don't matter," she said. "But if you want my answer…"
Her eyes locked with his.
"I don't care if they die. If anything, I prefer it. But you… you don't. You still carry their weight."
Zazm's smile tightened, pain flickering beneath the surface.
Zephyra turned away mid-air, reclining again as she floated like a lazy feather. "But I get it. You see everything. All the threads. You have to care. That's your job."
"I see things too," she added after a pause. "Just… different things."
She took another bite, chewing lazily.
"That's why I'm here. I know things others dont."
Zazm stared at her for a long moment, then chuckled quietly.
"God, you're such a weirdo."
Zephyra waved her fruit like a lazy salute. "And you're a drama king."
Zazm raised his hand, preparing to knock on the grand doors of the manor. The wind rustled softly through the trees, and the quiet hum of nocturnal life lingered in the air.
Then—he paused.
A smirk curled at the corner of his lips. Not his usual lazy grin. No—this one had intent. A dangerous kind of mischief brewed behind his eyes like a storm waiting to crash through a calm sea.
Zephyra, still floating beside him, narrowed her eyes. She knew that look.
"…Oh no," she muttered. "Don't you dare."
Zazm didn't respond. His smirk only widened.
Zephyra sighed and slowly leaned back—midair, reclining as if on an invisible couch. "So how exactly are you going to traumatize them now?"
"They're all asleep," Zazm said, casually stretching his arms like someone about to perform a warm-up. "All snug in their beds, dreaming sweet dreams… Meanwhile, I had to deal with six assassins and eat mystery fruit in the woods."
Zephyra rolled her eyes. "Tragic."
Zazm ignored her tone completely. "So I think a little fun is justified."
Zephyra raised an eyebrow. "Your 'fun' usually includes at least one psychological crisis."
"Just some chaos," he said, stepping away from the front door and toward the side wall of the manor. "Nothing permanent."
Zephyra floated after him, her expression a mix of resigned amusement and vague concern. "Your definition of fun is like handing a toddler a flamethrower and calling it a party trick."
Zazm placed a hand gently against the cold stone of the manor. The ground beneath his feet began to shimmer faintly as time bent, warping space like ripples in water. He wasn't just entering the manor—he was slicing into its structure. The barrier between rooms became transparent to him, layers peeling back like sheets of paper.
He closed his eyes for a second, mapping out where everyone was sleeping.
"Perfect."
"Zazm…" Zephyra's voice lowered. "Please don't kill someone's dignity while they're in pajamas."
Too late.
The air shifted.
Unseen, unheard—unfelt at first. But it began in the walls. The hallways groaned softly, like stretching metal. One corridor became two. Two became four.
Rooms swelled, the ceilings distorting as if inhaling deeply. Walls melted away from each other, expanding into cathedral-sized chambers.
The structure of the house became impossible.
Rooms now had mile-wide diameters, beds hovering in the center like forgotten relics. Doorways stretched into infinite repeating patterns—each step down a hallway looping the Catalyst back to the same spot, the same flickering lamp, the same creaking floorboard.
Time remained frozen, a perfect bubble Zazm controlled down to the molecule.
Zephyra floated behind him, now inside the manor. She simply crossed her legs in the air, fruit core discarded, watching with half-lidded eyes. "…You expanded space in a sleepover house."
"No, no," Zazm said cheerfully. "That was just foreplay."
---
Step Two: Gravity Erasure
He wiped the concept of gravity from several chambers.
Not turned it off—not manipulated it—he erased it.
Suddenly, beds, pillows, desks, drawers, even curtains lifted in complete silence. They floated lazily like relics adrift in the void.
Miwa's body turned slightly in her sleep, her legs lifting off the mattress as her bedsheet coiled upward like a snake. Her arms remained limp, eyelids fluttering—but she didn't wake.
Kiyomasa snored mid-air, spinning slowly like a starfish. One sock drifted away from him into the air like a lost balloon.
Minos turned once, grumbling in confusion. "...why...up...?"
None of them fully processed it. Their minds were half-awake, drugged by sleep, their consciousness trapped in dreams while reality around them became a surrealist nightmare.
---
Step Three: A Lake in the Living Room
Zazm teleported.
Just a flash.
The air cracked—and he appeared at the edge of the nearby lake. Water glittered under the moonlight. He observed it a moment, breathed in the cool air, and then snapped his fingers.
Half the lake vanished.
The next moment—inside the manor—a massive flood of freezing, moonlit water slammed into the main hall like a silent tsunami. Not fast enough to injure—but sudden, heavy, and utterly disorienting.
It flooded staircases, trickled into bedrooms, and hovered upward in the gravity-less rooms. Giant bubbles of floating lake water now orbited furniture and beds, carrying with them schools of confused fish and half of a reed cluster.
Jennie woke up, barely conscious, eyes squinting against the sudden sensation of cold wetness and zero gravity.
She didn't scream.
She whispered, horrified:
"…Am I drowning in a dream…?"
---
Step Four: Nexus's Gaze
Zazm exhaled.
The world turned dark for a second—a cold ripple of focus spread from his body, reality condensing into clarity.
His irises glowed, a swirl of silver fractals forming the mark of the Nexus's Gaze.
Suddenly, all control of powers inside the mansion vanished.
Miwa's telekinesis, nullified.
Jennie's illusions, erased mid-surge.
Kiyomasa's elemental aura—snuffed out.
Even Minos, who was just beginning to instinctively activate his power to stabilize space, found himself powerless.
Nothing. Not even a spark. The threads inside them didn't respond.
Zazm had nullified the very laws that allowed powers to function within this microcosm.
And as time resumed inside the mansion, the chaos exploded simultaneously.
---
Every Room – Chaos Awakens
Jennie, now drifting upside down in a bubble of lake water, blinked rapidly as she rotated near her ceiling. "Wh—why is there water…? Why can't I feel my legs? Am I dead??"
Kiyomasa spun through the air, flailing. "WHY AM I FLOATING?! WHO TURNED THE HOUSE INTO A NIGHTMARE—IS THIS—IS THIS A BLACK HOLE—"
He grabbed at a doorknob only for the door to loop him back into the same hallway he came from.
Miwa slowly opened her eyes, saw herself suspended midair inside a rotating fish bubble, and promptly shut her eyes again. "…Nope. Not real. Gonna keep sleeping."
Minos—half-awake—sank to the bottom of his now cathedral-sized room, ankle-deep in floating lakewater, whispering: "I hate this. I hate this house. I hate magic."
Somewhere in the looped corridors, someone yelled, "A FISH IS FLOATING! WHY IS THERE A FISH FLOATING?!"
From the depths of the labyrinthian hallways, Jahanox's voice echoed. "…ZAZM."
And then—Zazm clapped once.
A thunderclap cracked through the air. Gravity returned.
Everyone dropped like rain.
BEDS hit floors. Pillows exploded. Water rushed downward into a tsunami-like puddle before gently flattening across the mansion.
Catalysts hit the ground with wet, sleepy thuds.
Silence.
And then—
The front doors opened with a dramatic creak, and Zazm walked in slowly, arms spread wide, his robe trailing behind, eyes glowing faintly gold.
He was bone dry.
"Ladies and gentlemen… good morning. I trust you enjoyed my hospitality?"
No one answered at first.
Then Ai stormed down the warped stairs, her hands clenched into fists.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!"
Zazm blinked, pretending to look surprised. "Oh, you're awake!"
Jahanox emerged next, arms crossed, water still dripping from his coat. He spoke with ice in his tone.
"This isn't leadership. This is a mental breakdown with cosmic consequences."
Zazm raised a hand to object—
"Don't. Just—don't."
Ai was fuming. "We could've drowned! We thought we were trapped in some warped nightmare! Jennie was crying!"
At that, Zazm paused.
He looked to the side.
Jennie stood quietly behind them, hugging her sleeves. She gave him a small, hurt glance.
"Why would you do this to us…?"
Zazm's grin widened slightly.
But he covered it up quickly. "Okay—okay! You're all being a little dramatic. I had to come so far away."
"SO YOU FLOODED OUR HOUSE?!"
Zazm threw his hands up. "You're all fine! See? Breathing, standing, mostly dry—"
But the moment he said that…
The powers returned.
Miwa's telekinesis crackled.
Minos's arms glowed with internal fire.
Ai cracked her knuckles, psychic pressure distorting the air.
Kiyomasa lit up both hands.
Jahanox narrowed his eyes.
Zazm looked around.
"…Oh no."
"GET HIM!"
Zazm turned and bolted, warping space behind him just fast enough to avoid Minos's punch, Miwa's barrage of psychic furniture, and Kiyomasa's mixed elemental blasts.
Water exploded into the air. Staircases unraveled. A chandelier spun off and shattered.
All the while, Zazm's falling here and there sounds echoed down the halls as he zigzagged between attacks.
Above the chaos, Zephyra floated, completely invisible, sipping the last bite of her strange fruit, reclining on folded space.
"His version of bonding," she said dryly, "is just causing trauma."
She smirked.
But she said nothing.
No one would know she was there.
Not now.
Not ever.
---
The room was a mess of shattered walls, distorted space, and drying puddles from a misplaced lake. A few chairs floated awkwardly in corners where gravity still hadn't returned to normal.
Minos was wringing water from his sleeves. Ai sat on a broken balcony railing, arms crossed, fuming.
Jahanox leaned against a wall that was probably sideways. Miwa hovered midair upside down, kicking at floating fruit she couldn't reach. Kiyomasa had a fish in his pocket and wasn't even acknowledging it anymore.
And in the center of it all — bruised, disheveled, and soaked — stood Zazm, holding both hands in the air like a street magician who had just escaped death.
"Alright, alright—first of all…"
His voice was raspy, but calm. "I'm sorry."
No one spoke.
Even Jennie didn't smile.
Zazm sighed and dusted off a piece of ceiling from his shoulder.
He looked up at all of them. "No really. I went too far."
Miwa raised a hand slowly, like a student in class. "Can I punch you one more time though?"
"No," he replied without missing a beat. "But… you can tell me what the hell's happened since I've been gone."
There was a long pause. Kiyomasa was the one who eventually muttered, "We'll catch you up. But don't expect a warm welcome."
Zazm nodded, stretching his back with a small groan. "Fair enough."
After some awkward settling, a few towels passed around, and Miwa finally giving up on the floating fruit, they gathered near the sitting area — or what was left of it.
Jennie made tea. The others filled Zazm in on their recent discoveries, their stay at the manor, the strange silence of the universe itself, and a few odd sightings no one had managed to confirm yet.
When they were done, Zazm stood.
His tone shifted.
"We rest tonight," he said. "Tomorrow morning, we leave this universe."
Jennie blinked. "That soon?"
Zazm's gaze stayed fixed on the far window, where distant moons shimmered in alien skies.
"We shouldn't exist in this universe any longer than necessary," he said.
"Every second we stay increases the risk of ruptures or uncertainties in its core design. Our presence distorts the local laws. The longer we linger, the higher the chances of long-term instability."
"So we're... a cosmic glitch?" Kiyomasa muttered.
Zazm glanced at him. "Yes. And a potentially dangerous one. We can't afford even a small tear. This universe is mostly stable. Let's keep it that way."
Jahanox folded his arms. "There's one problem."
Zazm turned to him.
Jahanox frowned. "The power to erase mass memory... still on cooldown. Even if we leave, I can't wipe this place clean."
That silenced the room.
Ai stood up sharply. "Then we can't just vanish," she said. "We've been seen. If they remember us, start asking questions… they'll try to find us.
You said it yourself—we distort things just by being here. What if they follow that distortion?"
Zazm remained still. Then, slowly, he walked to the window.
He pressed his hand lightly against the glass.
"It won't matter," he said quietly.
Ai stepped forward. "What do you mean it won't matter?"
He turned his head slightly toward her.
"Think about it," he said. "How many people really saw us? A few nobility. Guards. Staff. That's it. Most of the people we encounteredif they were normal folks who have already forgotten us."
He tapped the side of his head.
"Universal subconscious defense. The multiverse doesn't like contradictions. So it self-corrects. Minor exposure leads to fading memory."
"That's... convenient," Miwa muttered, not convinced.
Zazm continued.
"And if we disappear overnight, what happens? It becomes a mystery. One more tale in a world full of unanswered questions. 'The strange family in the floating estate.'"
"Our house has a fake name," he added, glancing at Jahanox. "You gave it that. Nobles assume we're some ancient bloodline, secretive and removed."
"Our disappearance only feeds that. No one will go digging. No one will be stupid enough to investigate a house that warped gravity."
Minos crossed his arms. "You sure about that?"
Zazm gave a faint smile. "If someone tries, then certainty will handle it. Curiosity dies quickly when it meets the impossible."
Ai didn't speak.
Neither did Jahanox. But their stances slowly relaxed.
Jennie looked at Zazm again. Her gaze was softer now.
"So tomorrow…" she whispered. "We just leave?"
Zazm nodded.
Just as everyone was about to scatter off to their rooms, Zazm raised a hand.
"Wait."
They all stopped, glancing back at him. His tone wasn't playful—it was calm, almost apologetic. A faint glow shimmered in his eyes as he activated Nexus's Gaze. In that instant, a ripple of space pulsed through the mansion.
The warped corridors, floating furniture, the soaked carpets from the lake water—all of it unraveled, reassembling itself. Gravity returned to normal. Water vanished. Clothes dried. Hair fluffed back to its original state. It was as if nothing had ever happened.
"The house is back to normal," Zazm said casually, dropping his hand. "I rewound time in this area. No need to worry about anything anymore."
A pause hung in the air. Then, quietly, the tension broke.
Miwa yawned dramatically. "Fine, but next time you prank us while we're asleep, I'm launching your bed into orbit."
Kiyomasa grunted. "If he ever sleeps in the first place."
Jahanox just shook his head with a heavy sigh and walked off. Minos mumbled something about still seeing fish in his dreams and trailed after him.
Jennie gave Zazm a small, sad smile. She didn't say anything—just gave him a nod before disappearing down the hallway.
Ai lingered a little longer near the door to one of the spare rooms. She pointed to it.
"You can take that one."
Zazm blinked. "You sure?"
"Don't make me change my mind," she muttered, clearly still annoyed—but no longer furious.
He gave a tiny smile, bowed his head, and walked toward the door. As he opened it, he paused and glanced once down the corridor. His gaze lingered for half a second longer than necessary.
Then, softly—just low enough that no one else would hear:
"Zephyra. You coming?"
Zephyra drifted silently through the door and floated beside him as he entered the room. It was simple, yet oddly cozy. A tall arched window stretched across one wall, letting in soft moonlight that brushed across polished wooden floors.
There was a desk pushed neatly to the side, an old-fashioned chair beside it, and a queen-sized bed that looked like it had been untouched for years—sheets crisp, pillows clean, but slightly out of place in the quiet stillness.
Zazm sat down on the edge of the bed, shoulders slightly slumped. Zephyra hovered nearby, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.
"You didn't have to go that far," she said flatly.
Zazm didn't smile. He simply leaned back on his elbows, gaze drifting toward the ceiling. "You already know the reason."
"I don't," she said as she floated above him, upside down, eyes inches from his.
He turned his head slightly toward her. "You could just look into my mind."
Zephyra shook her head immediately. "Obviously not. It's more fun to hear it from you."
A small, tired sigh escaped Zazm's lips. "There's no way you didn't notice," he murmured. "The shadows. They were moving."
Zephyra's gaze sharpened, and she gave a slow nod. "So… you did it as a message. To show them off?"
"Yeah," Zazm said simply. "During the chaos, I wiped them all out. It's that simple. No assassins are sneaking in here—not on my watch."
A very faint smile flickered on Zephyra's lips as she floated down and settled herself in the chair beside the desk.
Zazm sat upright again, glancing her way. "Let's play something."
She looked around, unimpressed. "We have nothing here."
He gave a helpless shrug. "You know I don't sleep. And you don't need to."
"Back at the Marquess mansion, at least we had board games," she muttered.
Then she snapped her fingers. "Let's play Monkey's Paw."
Zazm grinned. "A cursed wish game? That fits. Ladies first."
Zephyra tapped her chin, then said with a thoughtful look, "My wish is… that I can enjoy everything in the world."
Zazm's grin softened into something more distant. There was a quiet weight behind her wish—something sad, something sincere. His eyes held the faintest glimmer of understanding… and purpose.
But before he could say anything, Zephyra waved a hand in front of his face. "Where'd you go?"
He blinked back to the moment and gave her a small smile. "Nowhere. Wish granted. But…" He tilted his head. "You're stuck with me."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "I already am. That's the dumbest twist I've ever heard."
Zazm shrugged. "Hey, I'm running on time energy and zero creativity tonight."
Zephyra dryly shook her head. "Your turn."
Zazm leaned back, arms behind him. His voice turned quiet.
"My wish is… to be at peace. To go back to my normal, chaotic life. I want to forget everything. All the mistakes. All the regrets. I want to start over."
Zephyra's eyes flashed. "Wish granted. You've forgotten everyone. Every person you've met. Every face. Every bond. You don't even remember me. Or the others."
Zazm let out a dry laugh. "What a bullshit of a curse."
His eyes dropped to the floor, and for the first time in the night, he looked truly tired.
"This life… however painful it is, no matter how much I hate it sometimes…" He paused. "Being with all of them—it gives me meaning. I wouldn't leave that behind."
Zephyra didn't reply. She didn't have to.
Zephyra leaned back in the creaky wooden chair, arms folded behind her head. Her gaze rested calmly on Zazm.
"You know you can sleep now, right?"
Zazm raised an eyebrow, expression unreadable. "Yeah. Technically."
He glanced down at his hand, flexing it as if trying to remind himself it was real.
"Since I share all your senses now—taste, touch, everything—even though my own body's frozen in time… I guess that includes sleeping."
His voice lowered, more to himself than to her. "But I don't need it. And it's not like I can…"
Zephyra floated in front of him, eye-level now, her face firm but soft around the edges. "You think too much. Just go to sleep."
Zazm tilted his head, skeptical. "I can't, Zephy—"
She placed a finger on his head pushing him back and shut him up without a word.
"Go to sleep."
Zazm sighed and laid back on the bed, folding his arms behind his head. Slowly, he closed his eyes.
And then—
The blood returned.
Red. Thick. Endless.
The smell. The metallic sting in the air.
He was falling again—falling into that dark abyss where nothing and no one could reach him. Just like always. Alone.
He didn't open his eyes. Not yet. His hands trembled slightly against the sheets.
Zephyra placed her hand on his forehead, gentle, grounding.
But the abyss didn't care. It dragged him in deeper.
And then—he saw it again.
The corpses. The blood.
All that he had tried—failed—to forget.
Zazm was no longer himself. His body shrank. The face staring back at him in the pool of blood wasn't his current one.
It was a child's.
Ten years old. Fragile. Broken. Crying.
He looked down. His sleeves were soaked in blood. His hands—small, trembling—drenched and dripping. And then came the voices.
The blaming. The screaming.
"You killed us..."
"Why are you alive?"
"Die Die Die"
They rose from the blood—the dead, shambling and decayed, their mouths open in twisted screams, eyes wide with judgment.
Zazm fell to his knees, hands over his ears, shivering.
"STOP IT!" he cried out. "I didn't.....I didn't mean to I was just a kid !"
But the corpses advanced, their voices louder, crueler. His tears streamed down as he curled tighter into himself, trying to drown them out.
And then
A warm hand. On his forehead.
He flinched.
His trembling worsened, heart pounding in his small chest—but slowly, the voices started to fade. Muffled. Distant.
With cautious fear, he opened his tear-streaked eyes.
Zephyra was sitting in front of him.
Calm. Still. Real.
Her gaze held no judgment. Only a quiet understanding.
"…Why are you so afraid?" she asked gently.
The boy child Zazm lunged forward and clutched her desperately, burying his tear-soaked face into her shoulder.
"That's why I can't sleep," he sobbed. "They won't let me! Every time every damn time they come back !"
His breathing was fast, panicked. He clung to her like a lifeline.
Zephyra didn't say anything. She simply placed her hand on his head and gently ran her fingers through his tangled hair.
"Look around," she whispered.
Zazm sniffled, wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve, and slowly looked up.
The corpses were gone. The blood, the screaming—gone.
There was nothing. Just soft grass beneath him. A quiet breeze.
He turned to her, eyes wide and glimmering with confusion.
"Where… where did they go?" His voice cracked. "Where's all the blood? The corpses?"
"They aren't here," Zephyra said. "You're safe. So don't worry."
Child Zazm looked at her for a long moment—like he didn't quite believe her. Like he was still waiting for the blood to come rushing back.
But it didn't.
He lay down slowly, his small form exhausted and shaking. Zephyra kept patting his head, her motions calm and steady, like brushing away the storm.
And after what felt like two or three long, agonizing years—
he finally fell asleep.
For the first time in forever.
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