Zazm stepped out of the Marquee's estate with the air of someone who had just won a duel using only a feather and a good lie.
The butler, a lean, bow-tied man with the aura of someone trained in seven forms of etiquette warfare, followed him down the stairs like a loyal shadow.
"Please, Lord Arion," the butler insisted for the fifth time, his gloved hands wringing nervously. "It would be most improper for one of your stature to walk unguarded. I shall send the palace guards immediately—"
Zazm raised a hand, stopping him cold.
"No need. One born of Arion does not require protection. Our blood is blessed, our fate pre-written."
[ZAZM'S INNER MONOLOGUE:]
Please stop talking to me. If another noble hears this I will literally have to fake a coat of arms in the next ten minutes.
The butler placed a hand on his chest and bowed deeply, tears nearly forming at the corner of his eyes. "As expected of House Arion… noble and transcendent."
Zazm gave a final nod, spun around like a dramatic cape flourish, and walked out into the streets of the city, cape actually fluttering behind him despite no wind.
Beside him, Zephyra floated silently for a while, her expression as unreadable as ever.
Then she pointed to a food stall across the street, her voice entering his mind with a casual buzz.
[ZEPHYRA, TELEPATHICALLY:]
I want that.
Zazm turned toward the modest food cart, where steam rose in golden tendrils. Some kind of fried dumpling, glistening in oil, crisped at the corners.
He blinked at it. Then lowered his gaze.
"…You already know I can't taste food."
There was a pause.
Sad violin Music intensifies.
Zephyra tilted her head.
"You can now."
His eyes narrowed. "What do you mean I can now?"
She floated beside him, hands behind her back like she was about to drop world-shattering news casually.
"We share a consciousness, remember? A bridge between time-frozen and soul-bound. That bridge goes both ways.
You can taste now. Smell. Sleep, if you wanted to. Even if your body is stuck in temporal stasis, your awareness and mine… they're connected."
Zazm stopped walking. "You're serious."
Zephyra nodded once.
"Yeah and please I Wanna eat something too...."
"…I can eat?"
"Yes."
He looked down at his hands. Then at the steaming dish he couldn't figure out what it was. Then back at his hands.
"…Then we feast."
Without hesitation, he crossed the street and approached the stall. The girl at the counter blinked in confusion as he fished out some strange, heavy-looking coins from his coat pocket—given to him hastily by the butler on his way out.
"I-I can't," the girl said, eyebrows drawn. "You can have it for fre--"
"Please," Zazm said, voice soft. "Accept them. I insist."
She frowned. "But I can't—"
He placed them on the counter like offering sacred tribute. "They are yours now."
Without waiting for permission, he took the food carefully and disappeared into a nearby alley like a nobleman fleeing shame.
There, hidden between crumbling stone walls and the drifting scent of oil and spices, he handed one dumpling to Zephyra, who took it in silence.
Then, slowly, Zazm brought the other to his lips.
The first bite hit like a war drum.
Crunch.
Flavor.
Spice.
Umami.
Sweet heat exploded across his tongue. The dough, slightly chewy at the edges, gave way to a juicy, peppered filling that tasted like home, like heat, like rain, like—
He bit into the food and his eyes widened in surprise.
Then he laughed.
A broken, airy laugh.
Then another.
And then he was munching rapidly, eyes wide, heart pounding like he was 20 and human again, and everything was alive.
"It's so greasy," he said between bites, smiling like a madman. "It's so greasy and good. It's so good. It's real—Zephyra, it's real—!"
He turned to her.
She hadn't moved.
She held the dumpling in her hands.
And tears—no, not tears.
She was made of the tears now. Her form trembled softly, like a candle in a quiet storm, shimmering at the edges.
"…Zephyra?"
She didn't look at him.
"I'm fine."
Her voice, usually dry and uncaring, cracked like glass.
"I said I'm fine."
Then, suddenly, she bit into the dumpling and devoured it like a ghost possessed. One bite, then another, and another, like if she didn't eat fast enough it would disappear.
Zazm stared at her, heart caught between laughing and breaking.
She had never raised her voice before. Never shouted. Never even trembled.
But now, the girl who had wandered through eons in dead silence was sobbing through her first taste of anything.
He knew. He understood without needing words.
For him, it had been two years.
For her?
Two eternities or even more.
Two eternities without sensation, without hunger, without anything but silence.
Zazm sat down beside her, still chewing, still grinning like a child handed sunlight for the first time. His back rested against the stone.
He looked up at the night sky.
"Hey," he murmured aloud.
Zephyra kept eating, tears falling, nodding at him as she ate.
"I think we're gonna be okay."
The city evening draped itself in gold and violet as oil lanterns flickered to life across the stone paths. People passed by in small clusters—laughing, chatting, arms linked with loved ones or hauling bundles home.
Zazm walked alone.
Well, not really alone.
He sighed and adjusted the ridiculous outermost coat he'd been saddled with. First the stiff shirt, then the silk vestcoat, then the nobleman's coat, then the unnecessarily long... whatever this dramatic trailing back piece was.
And now this—some heavy wool-cape-coat hybrid like he was about to declare war on someone's duchy.
Zephyra floated beside him, her shimmering purple hair now braided elegantly, her dress glinting in the evening light. She hadn't said much since the food—only watched the people, the skies, the flickering lights, like everything was both foreign and familiar.
A few more steps passed before she broke the silence, her voice echoing softly in his mind.
"...Hey. Zazm."
He raised an eyebrow but didn't look at her. "Hmm?"
Thank you.
That made him turn.
She hovered beside him, arms folded, but her face wasn't bored or smug. It wasn't the face of a sarcastic ghost girl who constantly mocked his fashion sense and called his dimension-freezing power "melodramatic."
It was… soft.
Grateful.
Vulnerable, even.
"Thank me for what?" he asked, his voice quieter now, serious.
"For saving me."
Zazm blinked slowly. "You're not the sentimental type, Zephyra."
"I know."She shrugged lightly. "I just didn't realize how much I'd forgotten. That food… I can't even explain it. It hit me like—like a memory that wasn't mine but somehow was. Warmth. Taste. Texture. The sensation of being in the world. It was all just… gone before. Like I was watching life through glass."
Zazm let her words settle in his chest like dust on an untouched shelf.
"You know," he muttered, tugging at his third coat layer. "This stupid outfit makes me feel like I'm choking in three different time periods. But... it fits, in a way."
Zephyra tilted her head. What do you mean?
"I mean…" He took a breath, eyes drifting toward the horizon where the sunset bled purple behind spires and rooftops. "You and I—maybe we're the same. Caught between things. Between places. Stuck in a loop, half-frozen, half-dead, trying to remember what it was like to matter."
Zephyra's gaze didn't waver. She simply watched him, the light catching the edges of her spectral form.
"People have direction," Zazm continued. "Purpose. Some kind of grand design. Me? I'm some frozen anomaly thrown into this multiversal blender, pretending to be a noble just because I happened to name myself after a fake house."
He gave a dry chuckle. "And you? You've been drifting longer than the concept of Tuesdays."
"...True."
"I mean, what are we even doing? Really? Walking around in borrowed time, wearing too many coats, trying not to fall apart."
"You're being dramatic."
"I'm wearing five layers of inherited trauma. I think I earned it."
Zephyra actually laughed—a real one, for the first time like she just remembered how to laugh. And that sound alone made something ache in his chest.
They kept walking.
A quiet passed between them, but it wasn't empty.
Then, softly, Zephyra said, "Even if we are stuck in between voids… this moment still felt real."
Zazm nodded slowly. "Yeah. It did."
And if this is what 'pretending to matter' feels like... maybe it's not so bad.
A breeze carried the scent of roasted nuts and spices across the road. Laughter echoed faintly from a nearby tavern. Somewhere, a musician plucked out a melody on a stringed instrument.
Zazm looked towards the horizon, 'I never thought I would find a friend in hell.'
'But you did.'
'Stop hearing my thoughts please.'
Zazm waved a hand annoyed and Zephyra laughed slightly.
---
The estate was quiet. A rare kind of quiet. The kind that made even Jennie stop fiddling with illusions, made Kiyomasa stop bouncing fire off the wall, and made Miwa stop trying to levitate chairs upside down.
They were all in the drawing room now—an ornate space filled with velvet, golden drapes, and uncomfortable-looking chairs no one wanted to sit in.
Minos was watching his ring again. His eyes narrowed.
"It's glowing brighter now," he murmured.
Jennie leaned closer. "That means—"
"He's here," Jahanox said calmly, stepping in from the hallway like he had known it already.
Ai, who had been quietly reading at the corner, closed her book and looked up. "Zazm?"
The moment his name was spoken, Miwa's head snapped up.
"I'm reaching out," she said quickly, already closing her eyes and touching two fingers to her temple.
And then—
A small spark of telepathic warmth traveled through the link. A familiar mind. A familiar tone.
The telepathic conversation with Zazm ended up getting interrupted.
Miwa's eyes fluttered open mid-sentence.
"Hey, wai—"
And then she blinked and looked up sharply. "It cut."
"What?" Kiyomasa asked. "Why?"
Before she could answer—
The door creaked open.
A single elderly butler peeked in. He was dressed immaculately in charcoal gray with a gold-trimmed cravat. Behind him stood two uniformed guards, both incredibly tense, as though walking into a den of dragons.
The butler cleared his throat nervously. "Pardon the interruption, noble guests... but... the Count humbly requests your audience."
No one answered immediately.
The air in the room froze.
The guards shifted uncomfortably, clearly hesitant to press.
Jennie squinted. "Wait. The Count? Now?"
The butler bowed even lower. "Forgive the suddenness, but he insists it is of utmost importance. I understand if the request is inconvenient, but... he seemed quite determined."
Minos stepped forward, noticing their hesitation. "You seem nervous. Why?"
The butler looked down. "Forgive me. It is only that... you are all quite beyond what we're accustomed to. The Count is aware of your... unique origin. He says he will explain everything in due time."
Ai stood slowly. "We'll go. But allow us five minutes to prepare."
"Of course, Lady Arion," the butler said immediately. "We have prepared clothing befitting your station."
As a line of attendants entered—bowing and offering regal cloaks, silk-lined boots, and ceremonial brooches—Miwa whispered to Jahanox.
"Think the world's starting its plot?"
Jahanox gave a quiet nod. "It always does when Zazm arrives."
Jennie slipped on her illusion-threaded coat with a sigh. "He's on the other side of the planet, isn't he?"
---
The royal carriage rocked gently as it made its way through the polished cobblestone streets of Velsharia, the capital city of this strange narrative-bound world. Horses adorned in silver-plated armor pulled the carriage, their hooves clacking rhythmically in tune with the procession's regal grandeur. Velvet-lined curtains flitted with the occasional breeze, revealing brief glimpses of towering spires, enchanted lanterns, and watchful eyes of passersby who paused in reverent awe.
Inside the carriage, six figures sat, each dressed in the elaborate finery provided by the estate attendants. And though they looked the part of nobility, they wore their roles like masks—not quite fitting, not quite natural.
Ai Hoshino sat by the window, her posture impeccable, her gaze composed, yet her eyes scanned the passing scenery like a tactician.
Her gown was a deep midnight blue laced with silver embroidery, an off-shoulder design that revealed the elegance expected of a noble lady. A delicate chain circled her neck, bearing a crest she had memorized and made only an hour earlier.
Beside her sat Jahanox, donned in a dark crimson military-styled tunic trimmed with gold, matching breeches, and polished boots that looked too stiff to be practical.
His hair was slicked back, and though he seemed relaxed, his fingers tapped lightly against the seat—a subtle sign of mental preparation.
Jennie fidgeted with the emerald clasp on her collar, her illusion-woven dress shimmering in hues of forest green and light gold.
She looked stunning, radiant even, but the occasional sideways glance and half-breath sighs betrayed her discomfort.
Kiyomasa wore a simpler ensemble—a cream robe layered with silver-threaded armor pieces across the chest and shoulders, designed to resemble a court knight.
His expression was unreadable, but his fingers twitched occasionally, no doubt resisting the urge to summon a bit of flame just to feel grounded.
Minos sat stiffly, clearly uncomfortable in the princely garb that clung tightly around his collar and wrists. His attire was navy blue with silver sashes, the design hinting at the "young lord of science and order" title he had been given. He kept adjusting his cuffs, trying to ignore the slight glow of his ring.
And then there was Miwa—the youngest, the "little princess," as the role called for. Her dress was wildly ornate, a layered pink-and-gold gown with ribbons, jewels, and even a miniature circlet that sat askew on her head. She looked like a living doll. Her pout said it all.
"Do I really have to wear this crown thing? I look like I swallowed a bakery and exploded glitter," she muttered.
Jennie giggled quietly. "You do look adorable, though."
"That's not comforting."
"It should be," Kiyomasa added with a smirk.
"At least we're not getting arrested," Minos said under his breath.
"Yet," Ai replied, her tone sharp.
The carriage came to a slow stop before the grand palace gates. Guards clad in silver and violet opened the doors with synchronized bows, announcing:
"Welcome, esteemed House Arion. The Count awaits you in the Hall of Wyrms."
The group stepped out into the sunlight. Before them, the palace loomed, an ivory-and-gold fortress of spiraling towers and magical sigils that floated faintly in the air around its walls. It was majestic. Intimidating. Far too... perfect.
They walked in a line, servants flanking them like clockwork, until they reached the throne-like chamber where the Count resided.
Count Vaelros—the ruler of this region, the one who had summoned them—stood at the far end of the hall beneath a towering stained-glass window. He was dressed in sleek robes of violet and obsidian, his white hair falling in elegant waves to his shoulders. His eyes, an unnatural shade of pale gold, sparkled like he already knew the punchline to a joke no one else had heard.
He welcomed them with a smile.
"Ah. House Arion. It is a pleasure beyond measure to meet you all."
His voice was pleasant. Warm. The very model of courteous authority. But behind that smile was calculation. A blade behind silk.
They bowed, imitating the gestures they had practiced earlier.
"We are honored, Count Vaelros," Ai said with careful poise, stepping forward as the eldest. "Your hospitality has been... exquisite."
"I am glad. It's rare that nobles of such distant lineage make their way into our lands," the Count said, his eyes scanning each of them slowly. "And such a complete household. With children so... vibrant."
Miwa smiled too sweetly. Jennie gave a respectful nod. Minos adjusted his sash. Kiyomasa stood like a statue. Jahanox maintained eye contact, unflinching.
And Ai—Ai never once let her posture break.
"We were told we may be of assistance in stabilizing... recent disruptions in the realm," she said.
The Count's smile grew. "Ah, yes. The ever-increasing anomalies. Curious little things. Rifts in magic. Glitches in prophecy. Even moments where time stutters like a broken wheel. And then, coincidentally, your family appears."
He stepped closer, hands behind his back.
"Forgive me if I sound overly cautious, but I have ruled these lands for quite some time. I have seen many nobles, many heroes, many actors."
The word hung in the air like a challenge.
No one flinched outwardly, but internally, they felt the temperature drop.
"Tell me, Lord Arion," the Count continued, turning to Jahanox. "What do you think of our prophecy culture?"
Jahanox gave a practiced nod. "Fascinating. A realm bound by fate and destiny is... compelling."
"Indeed it is," Vaelros said, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.
The meeting continued with polite conversation. The Count asked about their travels, their estate, their lineage. Ai answered smoothly, deflecting cleverly when questions grew too specific.
Miwa exaggerated her voice like a child playing noble. Jennie filled silences with stories of garden parties. Kiyomasa said little. Minos, less. And Jahanox—he navigated with dignity, yet spoke only when he must.
But the Count noticed everything.
The small delays before they responded.
The slight inconsistencies in Jennie's timeline.
The way Kiyomasa avoided using names.
The faint shimmer of an illusion breaking around Miwa for half a second.
And the tiniest flicker of glowing light from Minos's ring.
He said nothing. Not yet. Not while the dance was still in motion.
As the audience ended, Count Vaelros offered them rooms within the palace. "Please stay for a while. Enjoy the court. There is much to see."
They all bowed again.
As the group walked back through the golden halls, Ai whispered under her breath to Jahanox:
"He's not fooled."
"I know," he replied.
Miwa pouted. "But I was so good at acting!"
"He's not reacting yet," Minos muttered. "That's the worrying part."
Jennie looked over her shoulder. The Count still stood in the chamber, watching them until the doors closed.
Ai exhaled slowly. "Then we have to play our parts perfectly until Zazm arrives."
From behind the stained-glass window, Count Vaelros stood in silence.
His smile was gone.
His eyes glowed faintly, like something ancient stirring.
"House Arion," he whispered to himself. "Now what story are you hiding?"
---
The soft clatter of wheels against cobblestone echoed in the air as the luxurious carriage moved down the road. Inside, the Catalysts sat in relative silence, the weight of their fabricated roles and upcoming meeting pressing heavily on them. Sunlight slanted through the windows, casting golden highlights on the intricate embroidery of their noble garments.
Miwa (Myeong-hwa), now finally ready after an hour-long internal battle with her gown's corset, hovered slightly above her seat, eyes closed, arms crossed, and fingers twitching subtly. A faint shimmer of psychic energy danced around her head as she activated a secure link.
"Zazm."
Her voice was calm but firm, echoing clearly across the consciousness web. "We're in the carriage now. We'll be arriving at the Count's manor in twenty minutes. What's your situation?"
A familiar voice, laced with equal parts sarcasm and fatigue, immediately responded in her and everyone else's minds.
"Well, for starters, I told you all to stay low. You know don't alert half the kingdom with your existence. And what do you geniuses do? You go and become royalty. Not just nobles heirs. That's damn cool."
Minos choked on a laugh, disguising it as a cough. Jennie covered her mouth. Jahanox raised a brow.
"It was the best course of action," Ai replied evenly, her voice measured and poised. "We arrived suddenly, with no cover story. Establishing influence quickly minimized suspicion and kept us from being treated like anomalies. Besides, being royalty gave us protection."
"She's right," Jahanox added with a slight sigh. "The people here follow narrative logic. You can't just 'exist' in the middle of nowhere without a backstory. The second we landed, the universe started forming one for us. So we leaned into it."
"Still," Jennie added quietly, "the Count definitely knows we're not real nobility. He's polite, but he's seen through it. He's just… watching."
A pause.
"Of course he has," Zazm said with a groan, his mental voice muffled as if rubbing his forehead. "You think a seasoned noble doesn't know who's who? You're lucky he hasn't started executing you for treason."
"We're cute," Miwa replied brightly in her usual chaotic tone. "Even if we're fake, who'd kill royalty with this much style?"
"The Inquisition," Ai deadpanned.
"Yes, them."
They all shared a collective silence before Jahanox brought the conversation back.
"What about your side?"
"I'm in the western province. Marquee Asterwyn found me after my hair color failed to hide my presence. I gambled on the same name as y'all thanks for telling me. Btw where is that name from?"
"…We just made that up," Ai said flatly.
"Yup. Ofcourse you did."
"…Narrative logic is terrifying."
"Anyway," Zazm continued, "I'm fine. Took a long bath. Got attacked by maids who tried undressing me in the name of 'service.' I barely escaped with my dignity intact."
"That sounds like a Zazm problem," Jahanox muttered.
"It was. Anyway—back on topic. I'll be there by tomorrow. I can't teleport right now."
"Why not?" Ai asked. "Is your power restricted again?"
Zazm's tone shifted—less sarcastic now, more grounded.
"It's because I haven't fully stabilized. I just woke up. The portal I used to get here spanned multiple layered universes—it shredded some of my threadwork. My powers are functional, but fragile. If I teleport again before I recover, it could rupture the local physics. Or myself. Or both."
Jennie frowned. "So you're stuck until your threads reset?"
"More like… waiting for the energy to settle. It's only my second time doing it manually. Give me a few more attempts, and I'll be able to do it casually. For now, I'll arrive the old-fashioned way: late, dramatic, and probably during a banquet."
Miwa smiled.
"You're still dramatic even in your mind."
"I try."
"Be careful, Zazm," Ai said, tone soft but commanding. "We've started to understand how this world works. It responds to narrative momentum. You arriving at the wrong time could cause a backlash. You're still technically 'missing' from this world's story."
"Exactly," Zazm replied. "So you all keep the story flowing. Don't do anything too wild until I show up. Try not to die or get adopted by a dragon or something."
"No promises," Miwa quipped.
"Yeah, I figured."
The line went silent after that. Their connection waned as the energy around them changed—likely due to the proximity of the Count's manor. The mental link would be harder to maintain in the presence of warded grounds.
Outside, the mansion loomed closer, a sprawling gothic estate built with high archways, veined marble, and silver accents that shimmered in the sun.
Inside the carriage, Ai opened her eyes, breaking the mental silence.
"We're almost there."
Jennie smoothed down the folds of her violet and silver gown, her expression composed but clearly tense.
Minos adjusted the white cuffs of his midnight-blue military-style coat, the faint shimmer of a runic ring glowing on his finger.
Jahanox looked outside with that unreadable gaze he always wore, though he flexed his fingers once, as if already preparing for contingencies.
Miwa was upside down again, floating slightly off the seat with her legs crossed above her. "You think the Count will offer snacks?"
"No," Ai and Kiyomasa said in unison.
They all straightened as the carriage slowed.
The game resumed.
And Zazm, far away, felt the weight of the narrative pulling him closer. One more day. Just one more.
The golden sun barely kissed the horizon, casting long amber streaks through the crystal-paned windows of Zazm's guest chamber. The silence of the room was only interrupted by the soft rustle of the morning breeze against velvet curtains and the low hum of dimensional threads vibrating faintly beneath reality.
Zazm sat up in bed, his black hair tousled, eyes half-lidded with the grogginess of someone who had just woken up in a universe not their own.
He exhaled slowly, staring blankly at the ornate ceiling.
"...I just woke up. And already this happens. What a world."
Across the room, perched in an elegant chair carved from ancient cloudwood, sat Zephyra—her hair tied neatly behind her, a porcelain teacup delicately balanced in one hand.
The steam rising from the tea swirled like spectral mist, faintly glowing with magical runes only visible to beings who could see beyond linear sight.
Zephyra sipped her tea without raising an eyebrow.
"It's alright," she said with mild amusement, setting the cup onto its saucer with a soft clink. "They're on the other side of the world. For them, it's night. For you, it's morning. Time's relative. Even you know that."
"Next?" he muttered aloud. "Probably… try not to get attacked by those maids again."
Zephyra opened her mouth, likely to issue a warning or a dry remark—but before she could utter a syllable, Zazm was already moving.
He strode to the balcony, flung open the high-arched window—and jumped.
"Zazm!!??"
She shot to the sky instantly, , she was airborne, descending in a blur of silvery blue light beside him. The wind howled past them as the ground approached. She was floating next to him.
Zazm grinned.
With a flick of his wrist, a faint pulse rippled from his core—and time froze.
Everything in a hundred-meter radius came to a halt. The wind stilled mid-whistle, the fluttering leaves paused in midair, and a bird that had taken flight from the roof hovered in place, wings suspended like a painting.
Zazm landed perfectly. His boots touched the grass with a soft rustle. The moment his foot made contact, time resumed in a graceful ripple outward, bending reality back into motion.
Zephyra landed beside him with a quiet glare.
"You have a door. You have three doors."
"I know," Zazm said without looking at her. "But the window has better vibes."
She sighed, brushing a strand of silvery hair behind her ear. "Where are you going?"
"To gather some information about this world," he replied casually, brushing off his coat.
Zephyra followed him as he began walking across the dew-covered garden paths, the trees whispering softly in the wind.
"I don't understand why did you had to come to a universe like this?" Zephyra asked floating next to Zazm.
Zazm waved a hand in dismiss, "You can just look inside my head."
Zephyra folded her hands behind her back and shook her head, "If I start seeing everything like that we won't have anything to talk about besides both of us still think differently and have different consioussness."
Zazm nodded, "Yeah well you're right so let's take your opinion."
"I need to be here to see how far the disruption has spread. The multiverse is layered like branches on an endlessly splitting tree. Some are closer to us. Some are further. If this world is stable if it's not disrupted then that tells me something."
Zephyra nodded slowly, catching on. "It tells you the problem likely didn't start here."
"Exactly." Zazm resumed walking. "Which means universes like this, ones on the outer edges—less tethered to our core thread—are still safe. The infection or collapse is coming from somewhere else. Somewhere closer to us. Or possibly—"
"—from an advanced universe," Zephyra finished. "Something either adjacent to our own or originating from a point where multiple branches converge."
Zazm nodded without breaking stride. "You're starting to sound like me."
"Well about that...."
He chuckled softly.
The two of them continued down the path, their shadows trailing behind as the sun began to rise in full. The world around them was vibrant, peaceful—even beautiful.
But both of them knew that behind the gentle skies and storybook kingdoms, something was fracturing.
And Zazm was here to find it.