"O-Okay…" she said through heavy breaths. "I'll tell you… everything you want to know. Just… stop."
Zay and Renzo looked at each other. Renzo, catching sight of how bloodied her body had become, turned away, jaw clenched.
After a few minutes of silence while she caught her breath, she finally spoke again.
"M-My real name is Malica Ventich. I'm nineteen. From… I don't know where. I wasn't told anything."
She closed her eyes, pain swelling inside her as she lowered her head.
"I was a slave… for... for pleasure. From age nine to seventeen. There was a group—came to wherever I was being sold. They told me I could become stronger… if I walked the Threads of Fate with them. I was… pissed. Broken. Everything I'd ever known—every bit of 'good' I ever gave in my life—was for the pleasure of bastards with too much damn money."
She paused, breathing raggedly as her eyes trailed down to her thighs, her wounded hand, her bleeding stomach. She began to cry.
"They gave me a knife… told me to kill the current master of the house that owned me. If I did, I could join them. Train. Become stronger. I wanted out of that life—begged for it. Every damn day. To every god and goddess I'd ever heard of. But I never got anything—until they showed up. They pulled me out of the nightmare I was trapped in."
Her voice cracked as she went on, words trembling.
"I hated the killing they made me do. The number of lives I've taken with my own hands… it's too many to count. But... I had no damn choice!"
She looked up at Zay, eyes filled with tears, blood streaking down her cheeks.
"Please… let me live. I've told you… everything I know."
Zay looked down at her. His expression didn't change—not even slightly. Cold and unreadable, he reached forward and placed the gag back into her mouth.
Her eyes widened. She tried to scream, to struggle, to live. But the gag muffled everything.
Renzo turned his head and caught the scene—her panicked eyes, the trembling, the blood—and bolted over, grabbing Zay's arm before it could move any further.
"W-what the hell, man?" he asked, voice sharp with disbelief.
"We got what we asked for. Let her live…" Renzo said, locking eyes with his brother.
Zay held his gaze for a moment before nodding and slowly set the dagger down.
"You're right…"
Without another word, Renzo walked to the door, moved the box aside, and stepped out, leaving them alone.
Zay stood still, staring at the closed door for a moment… then slowly turned back to Malica.
He looked at her—bloodied, broken, barely breathing.
And he just stared.
A long minute passed in silence as he stood there, the weight of a choice hanging in the air. He was contemplating on whether to let her live… or end her life.
Zay exhaled slowly as she looked up at him. He could see it in her eyes—she was pleading for her life.
"You work for something you don't even understand," he said quietly. "You've killed many. You gave up everything you 'knew' about this thing you serve. And still… you want to live? Tell me why."
He removed the gag and stared down at her.
"…I have things I want to do," she whispered through trembling breaths. "I want to get married… to stop doing this. To live like a normal human being. I have dreams I want to chase. I have desires of my own. I-I know I've done wrong… but… please. Please, let me live."
Zay stared at her for a long moment, then a faint smile crossed his lips.
"Dreams, huh? Desires…"
He couldn't help but see a reflection of himself in her. She had dreams and desires, just like he did. The only difference was that he had lived for lifetimes chasing the one thing he wanted most. Malica? She only had one chance to reach hers.
He inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled. Without saying a word, he walked over to the door and shut it.
'It's only a matter of time before we're pulled out of this sequence… now that the task is complete.'
He walked back over, sat down on the ground beside her, and leaned against the bed in silence.
Zay sat in silence for a long while, the soft creak of the ship and Malica's labored breathing the only sounds between them. Then, finally, he spoke—his voice low, calm, and laced with a distant weight.
"You ever hear of the Tenfold Thread? It's an old saying from a dead continent. Said that each soul walks ten threads in life—dreams, goals, people, moments... Each one tied to something we want. But no one ever reaches the end of all ten. The threads snap, the wind changes and we're left alone to stumble ourselves through life."
He paused, fingers loosely folding around the hilt of the dagger, but not with intent—just remembering.
"There was a time I wanted to be a healer. Not a killer, nor a monster. Just… someone who made things better. That was Thread One."
A faint smile tugged at his lips, but it never reached his eyes.
"Thread Two was love. Real love. The kind that makes you forget all the blood, all the weight you carry. I chased that thread so many damn times, thinking maybe this life… or the next one… or the one after that… might finally let me hold it."
His voice grew quieter, almost thoughtful.
"Thread Three? Peace. Not world peace—just the kind where I could close my eyes and not hear eternal screams ringing in my ears when I sleep." He glanced over at Malica, her face still tear-streaked, her body trembling from the pain. But she was listening.
"I lost Thread Four when my sister was taken for the first time. Never found it again."
He leaned his head back against the bed frame, eyes half-closed now.
"I've walked through kingdoms built on bones, watched the same stars rise and fall across different skies… and every time, I told myself, 'Maybe this life will be different.' But it never is. Not really."
Silence settled again, but this time it felt heavier—denser with truth.
"You say you have dreams. That you want a life beyond this," he murmured. "Maybe you're lucky. Maybe your threads haven't snapped yet. Not completely, at least."
Zay turned his head, looking at her with eyes that seemed older than time.
"Don't waste that." Zay's fingers tapped idly against the floorboards, the rhythm, faint and uneven. His voice came again, soft as breath.
"Thread Five… was revenge. Not for honor. Not for pride. Just… to hurt the ones who hurt us. I thought if I could settle the score, maybe I'd feel whole again."
He shook his head. "But revenge is a liar. It promises closure, but all it does is burn the ground beneath you. And when the fire dies, there's nothing left."
His eyes unfocused, as if watching ghosts walk across the room.
"Thread Six was knowledge. I wanted to understand everything—the Seals, the cycles, the truth behind why people suffer, why... I alone reset, why we lose the ones we love. I thought if I could just learn enough, I could stop the hurt."
A tired smile passed over his face. "But the deeper I dug, the more the answers hollowed me out."
He looked to the ceiling then, almost as if asking it something.
"Thread Seven was freedom. The kind where no god, no law, not even fate could chain me down. I fought wars for that thread. Betrayed people. Let others die. And by the time I could breathe on my own terms…"
He exhaled. "I didn't even know what to do with it... by the time I achieved it... I had so much blood on my hands."
"Thread Eight... was forgiveness. Of myself. For the things I did to survive. For the lives I've taken. For the boy I used to be… who thought he'd make the world better."
He turned his head slightly toward Malica. "I still haven't found that thread, not even once. Might never."
Zay leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
"Thread Nine was... silence."
He let that hang in the air.
"Not quiet, I mean pure silence; a place where I didn't have to fight, didn't have to lead or lose or kill. Just silence. I thought maybe if I sat still long enough, the world would forget about me, and I could finally rest. But people like me… we don't get silence. Just moments like this, between storms."
He stared at the blade again, then set it down beside him with finality.
"And Thread Ten?"
He looked at her, truly looked at her.
"I never found it. I think… that last thread isn't meant to be found. It's something we chase our whole lives. Maybe it's meaning. Maybe it's peace. Or maybe it's just someone who sees us for who we are and doesn't look away."
He leaned his head back once more, a deep breath rising in his chest and leaving slower than before.
"I've lived too many lives, Malica. And most days, I feel like I've already died in this one as well. But you… you still have threads left to walk."
He reached up and gently removed the restraints from her wrist.
"So walk them. Or waste them. That's up to you. But don't ask me for mercy. I can't be the one who gives it."
"In my fifth reset, I met a man. He was not a warrior, nor was he a noble. He wasn't a king either. Just… a simple mentor who spent his days carving symbols into stone and giving free bread to the poor."
He smiled faintly, the memory glowing dim behind his gaze like an old ember.
"I asked him once… why he bothered helping people who had nothing to offer him. Said they'd forget him the second they got what they wanted."
Zay exhaled slowly, letting the words drift in with the air.
"He told me, 'Kindness is not a contract. It's a rebellion against a world that forgot how to feel.'"
He paused there, staring down at his open palms.
"I didn't get it at the time. I thought he was a fool. But after I watched him die—stabbed by a man he gave shelter to, no less—I remembered those words."
He looked at Malica now, gaze colder, deeper than before.
"I've killed entire bloodlines since then. Burned cities to ash. Stood atop piles of corpses that used to have names, families and dreams. But his words… they followed me. Through every reset. Every time I woke up... starting where I first awoke, I'd hear them again. Like a whisper under my skin."
His voice dropped further, almost a confession.
"Sometimes I think It was a curse. Remembering him. Remembering his kindness in a world like this."
Zay's jaw clenched as he stared forward, into the dark of the chamber, where the candlelight couldn't quite reach.
"You want mercy from someone like me? You're asking a ghost stitched together by failure and memories that are all tangled together. I don't know how to give that anymore. I've tried to keep morals… principles... a lot of them. I think I've done a good job at it, too. But it's hard."
Then, softer, almost to himself: "But maybe... maybe I keep remembering him because a part of me still wants to. A part of my soul that requires those words to keep moving."
He looked up at her. "I tried to kill you... just a few moments ago, because I said I would forsake my morals... in this reset... yet there's a part of me that still fights against it. To keep them... to not kill you. I... find it hard to understand the reason why."
He reached out, reluctantly, and began cutting the ropes binding her. His movements were slow, as if each strand of rope held a burden he wasn't sure he was ready to let go of.
Malica flinched at first, expecting more pain, but her eyes widened as she realized what he was doing.
Once the final rope fell away, Zay sat back, his gaze distant but sharp, as if looking through her and somewhere far beyond.
"Go," he said. "Live, survive, run, or die. Whatever it is you want to do—just make sure you choose it. Don't let anyone else mold your path again. No gods, no demons, no nobles, no secret groups promising power."
"Make decisions you'll be proud of. Or at the very least... ones you can live with."
He stood and turned toward the door, he paused at the doorway, not looking back.
"And if you ever find yourself in chains again... rather it is mental, physical, or otherwise—break them. Burn the world if you have to. Don't ever hand over your will."
Then he opened the door and walked out, leaving a stunned, trembling Malica behind with tears slipping silently down her face—not from pain, but from something she hadn't felt in years.
Hope. It was a strange hope to her. But, it was hope.
Zay had only taken a few steps down the hallway when he heard the uneven thump of footsteps behind him—light, limping, but determined. He turned just as Malica threw herself forward and wrapped her arms around him.
The embrace wasn't tight—it was trembling. Fragile. But it held more weight than anything he could remember in years, even when compared to his own family.
He didn't move.
"…I don't understand that whole 'reset' or 'lives' thing," she whispered, her cheek pressed to his back, stained with dried tears and blood. "But I listened. Really listened."
She paused, her breath hitching.
"You said there was this man... the one who told you something that stuck with you through every reset. I kept thinking about it. Kindness is not a contract. It's a rebellion against a world that forgot how to feel."
Zay closed his eyes slowly, his throat tightening more than he'd admit.
Malica looks up at him, her eyes were red, tears trailing down her cheeks, but they were open.
"I don't know who he was. But he must've mattered. Because I felt those words when you spoke them. And I realized… maybe forgiving you is my own rebellion. My own way of saying the world doesn't get to shape me anymore."
She looked down at her shaking hands, the ones still stained from what she'd been through.
"I hated you, Zay. In those moments, I hated you more than anyone I'd ever known. But then you stopped. You listened to something inside you that still remembered what mercy was. That matters."
She looked up at him again, tears running freely now.
"I forgive you. Not because I'm weak. And not because you deserve it. But because I want to be strong enough to feel again. To be kind. Even if it hurts."
She moved forward and hugged him again—gentler this time, less desperate. Like it wasn't about needing protection or salvation.
"…I want to live," she whispered. "Not just survive. So thank you… for letting me choose."
Zay placed his hand on her back, staring off ahead. His voice was quiet, almost reverent.
"…He told me those words on the fifth reset. A man with a broken leg and a sharper mind than anyone I'd ever met. He died for someone he barely knew. Said if he let the world make him numb, he'd lose the only part of himself worth saving... you remind me of him, a little."
As she let go of him, there was a softness in her eyes that hadn't been there before. Not trust, not entirely—but something close. Something lighter.
Malica turned and walked slowly back into the room, her steps heavy, her body still aching, but her heart steadier. She didn't say another word. She didn't have to.
Zay stood there for a moment, watching the door gently click shut behind her.
Then he walked. The hallway was long and quiet, the shadows broken only by small streaks of moonlight slipping in through broken panels in the ship's hull. His footsteps were slow—almost hesitant. He didn't know where he was going. Not really.
Zay stopped walking.
He stared down the empty corridor, lost in the sea of memories he'd kept buried, and let the tide carry him.
'That old man… he'd said more than just that.' Things Zay had ignored at the time, brushed off as foolish wisdom.
But now? Now, they burned.
"You want power? Fine. But don't forget that even power is just a tool. It's not who you are. What you choose to do with it—especially when no one's watching—that's what shapes your soul."
Zay chuckled under his breath, almost bitter.
He continued walking, making his way to the deck, and for the first time in a long while... Zay didn't feel like a god burdened with knowledge of the future. He didn't feel like a monster destined to kill everything in his path just to force the outcome he desired. He felt… human. Just like he had. Even if only for a fleeting second. He hesitated, that old hunger for strength still tugging at him, whispering promises. But for now, it was quiet.