Zay turned to fully face the wall where he felt the aura from. Each step he took was measured, deliberate. As he approached, his right hand opened with a slight twitch, and Evershade flew into his grasp, its handle settling into his palm with a familiar weight. He clenched his fingers tightly around it.
His boots echoed through the vast, empty chamber—sharp, hollow strikes against the stone. Thirty-three swift paces carried him to the exact point where the aura pulsed from the stone wall. He stopped.
The silence that followed felt heavier than a building collapsing. His grip on Evershade tightened further, knuckles blanching from the force, while his left hand rose, fingers hovering just an inch from the surface—close enough to feel the static hum radiating from it.
'What if this is some kind of trap?' he wondered, the thought slipping into his mind like a blade behind the ribs.
Without hesitation, he activated [Predator's Hunting Grounds]. What he saw only deepened the unease he already had of this stone wall. The aura lines shimmered, yet they were wrong—distorted, bent, warped like reflections on shattered glass. They didn't lead anywhere. No source. No anchor. They simply existed—impossibly suspended in space like the residue of something that had never fully belonged to this world.
His eyes narrowed. 'This Isn't natural'. Whatever was behind this wall, it was veiled in something far more complex than he knew.
He exhaled slowly—a deep, controlled breath that somewhat steadied both body and mind—before pressing his hand gently against the stone wall.
The surface was solid and unyielding beneath his touch, yet the trace of aura tingled just beneath the skin of his palm, subtle and elusive. Cold radiated from the stone, brushing against his fingers like a passing breath, causing them to spread slightly, instinctively. His eyes scanned the wall, tracing the weathered patterns etched into the stone, noting the chill that seemed more unnatural the longer he held contact.
Then, a groaning noise echoed from deep within the wall—a low, and loud creak that vibrated through the air like a beast waking from slumber.
Zay immediately stepped back, his muscles tensing as he raised Evershade in one swift motion. His breath remained heavy, visible now in the chilled air, but his posture was firm—ready for whatever emerged from the dark stone before him.
With a sudden, low rumble, the wall split open at its center. Dust spilled from the cracks as the stone parted like ancient jaws unlocking. What it revealed, however, wasn't a cavern or hidden passage, but an old, rusted brown door—its frame set into the stone as if it had always been there. The door itself was worn with age, the wood flaking slightly, but what caught Zay's attention was the doorknob: polished silver, recently added, gleaming unnaturally clean against the decay around it.
Zay narrowed his eyes. 'A new doorknob on a door that looks centuries old... That's not comforting.'
He stood in place, weighing the decision. A trap? A test? Or simply another mystery? After a few long seconds, he exhaled through his nose and stepped forward. His left hand reached out, fingers curling tightly around the cold metal of the doorknob. It turned with a soft click.
The door creaked open.
What lay beyond defied expectation. A wide marble pathway stretched ahead, smooth and glistening under a warm, golden light. On either side, crystal-clear rivers flowed gently, lined with lush green grass and vibrant flowers in dozens of colors—violet, sapphire, gold-specked white. Zay's gaze followed the path forward, and in the far distance, he spotted towering crimson-colored trees swaying ever so slightly, as though breathing.
He swallowed hard, his body tense despite the serene landscape. And then he stepped through. His curiosity got the better of him.
The moment his foot crossed the threshold, he turned back—only to find the door had vanished. No rusted wood, no stone frame. Just uninterrupted marble and rivers as if the door had never existed at all.
Zay inhaled sharply—and his eyes widened.
"This place... it smells fresh," he whispered, voice low with awe. "But more than just fresh... It smells like life here."
He slowly sheathed Evershade, its metallic hum fading as the aura did as well. Around him, the rivers flowed with a soft, melodic rush. Fish leapt and disappeared beneath the water's surface, creating ripples that shimmered with faint light.
He continued along the marble path, and after several minutes of walking, he came upon a building—large, welcoming, and made of rich red wood. Above the door hung a plain sign with a single word etched into it: "Bar."
There was no other language, no inscriptions nearby—just that one word, strangely mundane in this surreal place.
Laughter spilled from behind the wooden walls. As Zay approached, he could hear the muffled sounds of singing, glasses clinking, and casual chatter. He reached for the handle and turned it.
Inside, the bar was alive with sound and motion. Patrons filled the tables—some drinking, others gambling with worn cards and coins, a few dancing or singing poorly on a small corner stage. The air was thick with the scent of smoke, ale, and roasted meat.
Zay took it in at a glance before making his way toward the long wooden counter. Behind it stood a man who couldn't have been older than his early twenties. His shoulder-length hair framed sharp facial features, and he gave Zay a simple nod as he approached.
"What'll it be?" the bartender asked, his tone calm.
Zay took a seat on one of the stools, resting his hands on the polished wood. "Just... water for now."
The bartender raised an eyebrow, but nodded. He filled a glass from a crystal-clear pitcher and slid it across the counter. It glided effortlessly before stopping perfectly in front of Zay.
As Zay took a sip of water, a sudden chill swept through the bar.
The change was immediate—unnatural. The temperature plummeted in an instant, and every voice inside fell silent. The once-lively din of laughter and music evaporated, leaving only an eerie stillness hanging in the air.
Zay paused, glass still in hand, as he glanced around.
The cheerful expressions worn by the patrons moments ago had vanished. Their faces had hardened—warrior-like, disciplined, unreadable. People adjusted their clothing without a word; jackets were shrugged on, cloaks fastened, half-buttoned shirts swiftly secured. The sound of wind howled outside, slamming into the building like a warning drumbeat.
His gaze drifted toward the group that had been singing on the small stage.
Now, they were seated quietly at a table nearby, a haze of smoke curling around them. Their expressions were carved from stone—seasoned, cold, the kind worn by veterans who had survived blood-soaked battlefields. Not a single muscle in their faces moved, even as a few lit thick cigars with steady hands. Some of them slowly scanned the bar, sharp eyes taking silent inventory of the room.
Then the door swung open with a creak that split the silence.
Everyone turned and Zay adjusted his posture on the stool, subtly shifting to get a better view of the newcomer.
A figure stepped inside, wrapped entirely in black, heavy robes that hung like shadows clinging to flesh. Not a single piece of skin was visible. Their face was hidden, their hands concealed, and even their height felt… uncertain. Yet despite their complete lack of presence—an invisible pressure rolled off them like thunder behind glass.
It wasn't power in the traditional sense. It was something... much greater.
Every chair that should have blocked their path was already moved—subtly, perfectly—as if the world itself refused to inconvenience them. Even a loose nail on the floor rolled away moments before the figure's foot would've touched it, clinking softly against a table leg.
Only two sounds filled the bar now, the gentle crackle of cigars and the slow footsteps of the robed figure echoing across the wooden floorboards.
But Zay noticed something odd. Eyes narrowed as he noticed that their feet weren't even touching the ground.
Just above the floor, perhaps an inch, maybe two, floated a pair of deep purple boots. They moved as if walking, but never made contact—hovering effortlessly, as though the ground itself wasn't worthy enough.
Zay's grip around his glass tightened as the figure walked to a stool near him and sat down—not a single sound was made.
'Who in the hell?' Zay asked himself, observing the figure who now sat beside him, assuming it was a man underneath the thick layers of cloth.
What should've been the person's face turned slowly, the hood shifting as their body adjusted in the stool, angling to face the bartender. The bartender looked back at them—his expression shifted too, hardening into that of a warrior. Not a single twitch in his face. Every emotion he had shown before vanished without a trace.
A conversation seemed to occur—but not through words. And not through sound, either.
The bartender turned on his heel without a word, grabbed a glass, and walked over to a large pitcher set against the back shelf. He lifted the pitcher into his hand and poured a smooth stream of liquid into the glass. Then, with the same exactness, he turned again, returned to the counter, and placed the glass down gently in front of the cloaked figure.
The bartender gave a nod and walked away, vanishing behind a door.
Wind from outside had picked up, slamming against the building, as if attempting to destroy the bar. The cloaked figure raised the glass with his gloved right hand, they didn't say a word but extended their pinky finger into the air as the wind immediately came to a stop. No... it didn't just stop. It vanished. As if the concept of wind had never existed within this space from how quick it had stopped. The cloaked figure moved the cup slowly through the air, meeting with their face before taking a sip. It was a long sip, one that lasted seven seconds before the glass touched the polished wood of the counter.
The figure released a sigh before their body turned to face Zay. As they moved, so did every patron inside the bar. Everyone was looking at Zay before the figure stood from the stool.
Zay swallowed hard, his hand removing from the glass and moved down towards the hilt of his katana. He gripped it tightly. "I'm not sure who you are, but, try anything and I will cut you down." Zay said as he looked up at the figure, his hand on the hilt of the sword.
The figure released a heavy breath as they turned to look towards the door. Zay had blinked and they were gone. Zay stood up abruptly, looking around before drawing his katana. He saw the person standing at the door, looking back at Zay.
The person moved their wrist slightly, and the door flung open, before destroying itself without sound.
"Maybe in the future... not now though." the person said before turning around. Zay blinked, even though he didn't need to. As Zay's eyes opened from the blink, they were gone.
"Huh? What the hell was I looking at?" Zay asked aloud, looking at the door that was perfectly intact, sheathing his katana and shaking his head while releasing a sigh. He turned back to the bartender and asked for another glass of water.