The coachman sighed in his seat, watching over the three unconscious figures lying in the beds. After a moment, he rose, his boots thudding softly against the floor. He took seven slow steps to the center of the room, then turned toward the lone mirror against the wall. Six more steps brought him before it.
He raised a hand, staring at his reflection through the glass. Then he shook his head and reached into the folds of his cloak, pulling out a cigar and a match. With a quick strike, he lit it and brought it to his lips.
A deep puff. Smoke rolled from his mouth as he exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting over his shoulder—landing squarely on Zay.
He sighed.
'The Wanderer of the Eight. Slayer of Gods. Dragon Slayer. Fourth Realm Destroyer.'
The words echoed silently in his mind as he took another puff, the smoke curling toward the ceiling before fading into nothing.
'He doesn't seem all that impressive… compared to then.'
The coachman turned on his heel and took six slow steps toward the center of the room. He stood there for a moment, still as stone, before turning back. Seven steps brought him to his chair, where he sank into the cushions and leaned back with a tired sigh.
Hours passed in silence. Then, with a sharp inhale, Rin jolted upright. His eyes darted around, wide and searching, until they landed on the coachman.
Smoke drifted from the coachman's lips.
"Where the hell are we?" Rin asked, his voice hoarse.
There was no answer right away. The coachman took another slow puff, filling his lungs with smoke before exhaling in a thin stream that curled upward and vanished.
"It's a False Threads hideout," he said finally. "A few centuries old. Don't worry… it's not active."
Rin glanced around, still tense. The room was dim, lit by soft, white lights embedded in the walls like quiet stars. Five beds lined the sides, each one dressed in blackwood frames and sheets of fine silver-threaded silk. In the corner sat a tall basin filled with water, and beside it—an old mirror whose surface seemed just a little too reflective.
A few ornate chairs stood scattered around the room, their design elegant but clearly not meant to belong here. The walls were deep crimson, the texture rich with the grain of ancient wood, and heavy dark beams crisscrossed the ceiling like the ribs of a sleeping beast.
Then there was the window—strikingly out of place. It began halfway up the wall and stretched all the way to the ceiling, taking up nearly half the wall's width. The glass was tinted a deep, oceanic blue, filtering the stormlight outside into something colder, more distant. Rain tapped gently against it, each drop a faint echo, and beyond the pane, the forest twisted in shadows. Lightning flickered, but even that sharp burst of light was dimmed, softened by the blue hue.
The shifting light bled across the floor and walls, painting soft blue streaks over the silver sheets and across the still figures of Zay and Jade.
The coachman took another puff, not looking at Rin.
There was a pause.
The low hum of the rain pressing against the tinted window filled the silence, shadows from the storm sliding down the wall like restless spirits. Rin's sapphire eyes turned slowly, locking with the coachman across the room.
His voice was low, strained.
"What even are the False Threads?"
The coachman flicked his cigar out with a practiced motion, a soft crackle as the embers dimmed and died. Sliding it back into his coat, he stood still for a moment, staring at nothing.
Then he exhaled—not smoke this time, just the weight of knowing too much.
"An organization," he said. "Older than most cities still standing. Older than some kingdoms. Hidden, but not gone."
He walked over to the chair and sat down again, fingers steepling beneath his chin as he leaned forward.
"They don't rely on brute strength like most Arbiters. The top ranks... they're different. They've learned ways to replace Seal techniques entirely—using incantations, rituals, and some say they possess divine essence. They can even layer those rituals with Seals. Makes them unpredictable. and extremely dangerous."
He leaned back again, the chair creaking under his weight.
"No one really knows how many members there are, and there aren't any reliable ways to identify them—except by touching their face. They wear masks enchanted with illusions by high-ranking members, allowing them to fully mimic someone's appearance. But if you touch their face… it feels off. Like a blend of fabric, leather, and silk. There's also the claw mark that will be visible... I'm not entirely sure on how true that is though."
Rin gave a slow nod, eyes still sharp, then asked, "Why did you and that other man save us?"
The coachman hummed at the question, rising from his chair with a quiet grunt. He shrugged off his weathered cloak, letting it fall neatly into the seat behind him before cracking his neck with a faint pop.
"What we expected," he said, rolling his shoulders, "was that Zay would show up alone."
He turned, looking at the sleeping figure of Zay.
"You two… were just unintentionally caught in the way."
Rin narrowed his eyes. "Then what did you want with Zay?"
The coachman stopped mid-step, shoulders tensing. He rolled his eyes slowly before turning just enough to glance back at Rin.
"That's none of your business," he said flatly, the calm in his tone now carrying a sharp edge. "It doesn't concern someone like you."
As Rin was about to speak, Zay shot up from the bed, his eyes scanning the room. His gaze landed first on Rin, a brief flicker of recognition passing before his attention shifted to Jade. His breath caught as he noticed that both Rin's and Jade's burns were gone. He looked down at his own body, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. The burns, the damage—they were all gone.
Without another thought, Zay swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, scanning the room. His eyes immediately found the coachman, then quickly shifted around for Evershade.
The coachman sighed, settling back into his chair with an air of tired amusement. "That little blade of yours is still in the carriage," he said, his voice dry. "Though, I won't be telling you where it is. Zay Yuso..."
Zay's eyes widened, his expression shifting to a mix of shock and unease. He stood straighter, his posture rigid as he glared at the coachman. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. "And how the fuck do you know my name?"
The coachman gave a slow shake of his head. "Don't worry about that for the time being," he said. "We're here to help. Me and the other man. Make no mistake—we're not friends. But we're not enemies either… for now."
He paused, letting the words sink in.
"The only reason we're even considering helping is because we know what you're capable of. That's it. That's the reason."
He looked toward the window, where the light was beginning to shift.
"There's not much time. Let's hurry and get started with training."
Zay's violet aura flared, swirling around him in a flash of defiance.
The coachman sighed.
In the next instant, his own aura surged—a heavy, ashen gray that spilled into the room like smoke under pressure. It coiled around Zay's aura and crushed it, suffocating it until the violet light faded completely.
"We don't have time for this, Zay," he said, voice calm but edged with power. "Let's go train. Now."
Zay swallowed hard, the pressure of the coachman's aura still lingering in his lungs. He nodded once. There was no point in fighting—especially not without Evershade. But as they stepped toward the door, he muttered through clenched teeth, "Fine. But you're going to tell me what the hell is happening."
The coachman pushed the door open and stepped into the dim hallway. Zay followed behind, casting one last glance back at Rin and Jade as she slept. The door shut behind him with a dull click.
"You probably don't remember me," the coachman said as they walked, boots echoing softly against the old wooden floors. "Name's Mike. During your last reset, you saved my village."
Zay glanced sideways, tense but silent.
Mike continued, "I turned out to be a scientist. Something happened... and I ended up back in the past. With all my memories still intact. I thought it was just me—but I reached out to everyone I knew, people from before… and none of them remembered anything. No one. Except for one other person."
He stopped at the end of the hall and turned to face Zay fully.
"We still don't know what happened. But we figured it had something to do with you. With how powerful you were. With… whatever you are. But now, looking at you like this—"
Mike's eyes narrowed slightly.
"You're weaker than I remember. And honestly? I'm starting to have doubts. You probably think I'm just some insane guy, huh?"
Zay didn't flinch. His face remained a blank slate, but his thoughts churned beneath the surface like a rising storm.
'What the hell happened?'
This… this wasn't right. In every reset, every single one, no one had ever remembered a thing. Not one soul. And now, suddenly, there were two?
Maybe more.
He exhaled slowly and looked at Mike, his voice level but laced with confusion. "The hell are you talking about? I've never seen or met you before."
His words came out sharp, confident—but behind them was a sliver of uncertainty he couldn't shake. 'Nothing's gone right in this reset', he admitted inwardly. 'And I still have no idea why.'
Mike studied him for a moment, eyes flickering as if trying to decide something. Then he simply nodded and kept walking.
"Figures," he muttered. "You wouldn't remember. But I do. That's enough—for now."