Sunny was once again sent flying several steps backward. Saint intercepted the new blow, albeit barely. The only signal of an attack was the distortion in the owl's shadow and the faintest whistle in the air. Even that was nearly impossible to hear, drowned beneath the roar of combat.
Sunny rolled and jumped back onto his feet.
This battle was truly terrible. Not only was the bird already able to turn invisible, the fucker had to go and take more of Sunny's senses. The sound of its descent was a clear indication that it was moving, yet the right half of Sunny's hearing had been taken by its first blow. Moreover, he had no time to wash the blood out of his right eye with the Endless Spring.
"Dammit…"
This was bad. He had wished with all his being not to encounter any flying abominations. They were notoriously difficult to deal with. But it seemed that fate had other plans for him.
Sunny and Saint moved swiftly, Sunny straining to listen while Saint relied on whatever senses a statue could possess. With only one eye open, Sunny's gaze darted everywhere, searching for the faintest disturbance in the air.
Nothing.
The damn bird's unnatural ability was perfect for assassination. It could pick off enemies before they ever noticed its presence.
'What to do…'
Sunny forced himself to think calmly. The pain helped in this endeavor.
Thanks to Blood Weave, he wasn't bleeding out anymore, but every impact reopened his wounds and sent fresh blood spilling down his body. He needed a plan, and he needed one fast—
He crouched and dashed back as Saint suddenly shifted aside, narrowly avoiding another unseen strike. At least with her, who could sometimes sense an attack before it landed, he had a warning. Even if it meant dodging only when his Echo did.
He spat out a clot of blood. He had already sustained multiple wounds in his short clash with the silver-masked owl.
If this continued, he would be dead soon.
So he decided to use his surroundings.
His opponent was an Awakened Devil. It would not be easily tricked, but tricking it was not his goal.
Sunny sent a mental command to Saint. She stabbed her sword into the ground and raised her shield. Then, with a violent motion, she bashed the earth and tore the blade upward. The impact created a small shockwave.
That was not the point.
Dust and debris rose into the air, forming a thick smokescreen around them.
'By the gods, please work!'
Diving into the smoke, Sunny closed his eye completely and focused on his shadow sense. His vision was unreliable. His shadow sense, at least, offered something.
He and Saint stood back to back, circling slowly, blades ready.
For a moment, nothing happened. No disturbance touched the shadows around him.
'There.'
He thought it and sent the command to Saint at the same time.
To his left, the shadows shifted.
The shadow itself did not reveal exactly where the owl would strike, but it told him when.
The smokescreen served its purpose.
The owl could turn invisible, but it could not turn intangible. As it moved, the smoke parted in its path.
Sunny opened his eye despite the sting of dust. He saw the clearing trail racing toward them.
Using Saint as a platform, he leapt. She raised her shield above her head, allowing him to step onto it before pushing him upward. Sunny shot into the air just as the smoke split apart.
The owl reached Saint at that exact moment—only to meet Sunny midair.
He twisted and slashed.
The owl reacted with terrifying precision. Instead of flying into his blade, it pulled its body back and lashed out with its talons. Sunny's strike met hardened claws instead of wing or flesh.
The impact hit him in midair. Before he could fall, the talons seized him and hurled him downward in a spinning arc. Saint dropped her sword, caught him with one arm, and raised her shield with the other to block the owl's follow-up strike.
Sunny's head rang violently.
How had it seen that coming? Could it see through the dust? Or had it simply reacted in the same instant he attacked?
Either way, the plan had failed.
He spat out more blood. Through his one functioning eye, he watched the owl withdraw its wings and beat them downward. A violent gust tore through the battlefield, scattering the smoke and clearing the air.
They were back where they started.
And Sunny was accumulating injuries at an alarming rate. The amount of head trauma he had endured without losing consciousness was a testament to his vitality.
But even he had limits.
And he was nearing them.
As long as the battle continued like this, he would die.
He couldn't hit the owl directly. It was invisible and far too fast.
He couldn't reliably predict it. His shadow sense only caught fragments—
'…Why?'
Something didn't add up.
If it was truly invisible, Sunny wouldn't see its shadow at all. Yet he was picking up on the absence of it—on fragments.
The owl's shadow was distorted, not completely gone. The owl was invisible, yet he could see the movement of wind and distortions in the air.
Just what was its ability?
Sunny breathed heavily as he got back up. He couldn't hear it, but he knew the owl was circling above, preparing another fierce strike.
He stood still and breathed deeply.
"Hah…"
It was a strange feeling. To be on the brink of death and yet so calm.
This calmness felt foreign. So detached from his usual self, as though it did not belong to him.
Perhaps it didn't.
Either way, as Sunny looked up and saw the air ripple, as he felt the shadow distort, he smiled.
Why was he excited?
And why could he feel something distant in his mind beginning to swell like a rising tide?
The owl descended.
Sunny did not move.
At the last possible moment, he commanded Saint to rush forward while he stepped back and fell into the embrace of the shadows.
He could not kill it now.
But perhaps…
A change in numbers would suffice?
—
"Are you sure this is wise?"
Gemma's voice was calm, but a great gravity lent it weight. The echoes of battle still lingered beyond the stout stone walls of the Bright Castle. Another influx of Nightmare Creatures had been repelled, another wave of Fallen beasts crushed beneath steel and Aspect.
And yet the waves were growing, ceaseless.
More Fallen, and stronger ones at that. This time, Gunlang himself had stepped onto the battlefield once more.
The forces of the Bright Castle fought. And yet, only some returned.
Truly, survival was beginning to feel like a fading dream.
They stood in a secluded chamber, far removed from the clamor of the castle. For once, there were no guards, no kneeling soldiers, no golden helm reflecting the ambient torchlight.
Only two men who had stepped into the same solstice eight years prior.
"Wise?" Gunlang repeated quietly. "Gemma, my friend… the time for such delicate considerations has long since passed. You comprehend this as acutely as I. After all, we deciphered those murals together."
Gemma's expression darkened. He remembered those murals. The brittle, saline-scarred fragments, etched with dire warnings. Some, partial truths that spoke of the events leading to the Forgotten Shores' current desolation.
"Even so…"
Gunlang observed him, and in that moment, he wore no mask.
His long blond hair fell loosely over his shoulders. A short beard framed his jaw. He appeared younger than the immense weight he carried, no older than a man in his late twenties.
His eyes met Gemma's.
Tired — yet clear — unflinching.
He sighed.
"As I have said before, this is the end, Gemma. Our brief respite, ever since I slew the second Bright Lord, is concluded. We would know better than anyone. Not a single one of us is capable of felling a Corrupted Devil. And there are at least four of them. More than that, they are more dreadful than any mere Corrupted Devil; they possess peculiar origins, after all."
Gemma looked away. His jaw tightened, then loosened.
"…So be it then. You are correct. There is nothing to be done." He lingered before asking, his voice quieter, imbued with a strange resignation, "But if so, what remains for us?"
Gunlang smiled faintly. Not the radiant, commanding smile of the Bright Lord. But instead, a true human smile.
"Simply the only thing we can. Delay the inevitable."
Footsteps approached from the corridor beyond.
Gunlang reached for his helmet. The familiar golden shell flowed back into place, concealing his face, subsuming the man and leaving only the Bright Lord behind. Gold from head to toe. Once again untouchable and distant.
"We'll speak later," he said. "Just think of it this: regardless of the choices we make, things will change with alarming speed."
He moved toward the door.
Then, unexpectedly, he paused.
He looked at Gemma once more.
His voice lowered, a soft, almost wistful murmur.
"I have indeed reveled in the fruits of our labor, and you should as well. The eight years we have spent here, reigning within the Bright Castle. After all, you deserve some recompense for following this fool."
He took a step forward.
"We truly did endeavor. It was good while it lasted. But now, even someone as I cannot deny it. The moment even one Disaster descends upon us, we will confront our ultimate, grand end!"
The door began to close.
Before it shut completely, Gemma heard one final murmur.
"For all those who step upon these Forgotten Shores… bear the sins of their forebearers."
The door sealed.
Gemma remained alone in the quiet chamber.
Gunlaug would be tending to the people of the castle now. To his guards. To Changing Star and her Cohort.
Gemma exhaled slowly and pushed the door open again.
He would follow Gunlaug until either he himself, or Gunlaug, fell in battle. Sleepers feared death, yes. But after years of contending with creatures born from nightmare, fear dulled into something distant and academic.
If death was approaching, so be it.
As he walked through the corridor, a distant phrase from the ancient murals surfaced in his thoughts, a faint echo of the past, of those who once lived and died on this land. '...to walk as echoes in the field of dawn…' He shook his head, the unsettling clarity of a hard-won cynicism settling upon him. What good did their ancient wisdom afford them, in the end? They had all perished, long before.
—
Sunny burst through the window in a rain of splinters and powder.
His boots struck the outer wall of the adjacent building. For a moment he clung there, body horizontal to the ground, shadow coiled tight around his limbs. Then the wall behind him exploded.
The Owl crashed through in a shriek of shattered masonry, a blur of twisting silver and broken bricks. The entire structure bucked from the impact.
Sunny pushed off.
He flipped backward, landed on a narrow ledge, rolled, then dove just as the wall he had used as footing was pulverized into dust. Chunks of ancient architecture tumbled into the street below like the bones of a collapsing titan.
He ran. For twenty minutes he had been running.
He hadn't called Saint yet, so he had no shadow to use as a shield at his side. She rested within his soul sea, mending the fractures in her stone body, drawing strength from the dark flames that smoldered in its depths. This fight, for now, was his alone.
His shadow's augmentation was doing wonders for his survival. He hurled himself through archways and over collapsed colonnades, using the Prowling Thorn to swing between beams. The thin string snapped taut again and again, each arc barely outracing the shriek of displaced air behind him.
His tachi bit into stone to arrest his deadly falls. Sparks scattered as he ripped it free and kept moving.
Why run?
Because he would die if he stayed.
Until he understood the Owl's ability, closing the distance meant nothing. Steel could not cut what the eye failed to grasp.
But as he fled, his mind worked overtime.
The creature could not glide effortlessly through buildings. It had to tear through them, and therefore, the walls slowed it. Pillars resisted its assaults—so much so that sometimes it hesitated above rooftops, waiting for an opening so it could perform a clean strike.
Though when it lost its patience, it simply smashed through.
That impatience was a flaw. And thus could be used against it.
Every time it barreled through a confined space, its shadow returned.
Completely clear and visible to Sunny's shadow sense.
He noticed it first in a collapsed hall painted in faded murals. The Owl burst through a wall and for the briefest instant its silhouette stretched across crimson plaster.
The shadow was whole and tangible. But… why?
Simple. Because there was less to blend into.
The second revelation came when debris showered around him in many colors. Blue tile—faded gold leaf—moss-dark stone. As the Owl dove between them, its feathers shifted. Sunny had thought he was seeing things the first time, but by the third time it was undeniable.
The hue of its wings rippled like water reflecting the sky.
Camouflage.
It did not vanish, no. It adapted to its environment.
It bent light and color around itself. Even its shadow shifted with it, dissolving into the surrounding gloom. That was why shadow sense had faltered in its usage. He had been searching for absence when he should have been searching for the fluctuations of its surroundings.
Now he knew. Shadow sense was not useless—it was merely confused.
He only needed the right stage.
He cut left, sprinting through a collapsed manor. The Owl whistled behind him and tore through three pillars in rapid succession, bringing down the ceiling. Dust filled the air.
The creature was growing agitated, more and more by the second.
'Good, you vile thing.'
He leapt through another window, thorn line whipping forward to catch a distant gargoyle. He swung wide over an open courtyard—
And the Owl burst free of the facade behind him, twisting midair with predatory precision.
It was too fast.
Sunny brought the Midnight Shard down with both hands, once again meeting its talon midair. The impact exploded through his arms, causing the very world to spin.
He was airborne with nothing to catch him.
The Owl's strike flung him sideways like a discarded doll. He slammed into a wall hard enough to crater stone, ricocheted off it, hit another, then dropped.
The ground greeted him with merciless force.
Something… something definitely cracked.
Pain bloomed white across his vision. His leg screamed in agony—his ribs protested against his lungs. His forehead split against cracked stones.
He tasted iron.
For a moment, he could not move.
Blood Weave flowed desperately, threads of living crimson stitching torn flesh and sealing ruptured vessels. It slowed the bleeding, dulling the worst of it.
It was not enough.
The building he had just escaped began to collapse fully. Sunny summoned Saint with the last coherent fragment of will he possessed.
She manifested above him as the Owl descended from the starless sky.
Silver flashed! Saint's shield met the strike. The sound rang like a cathedral bell struck by thunder.
They began to fight, moving and flowing into a series of strikes.
Sunny lay on broken stone while his Echo endured the battle.
Saint guarded him with everything she could muster, intercepting diving blows and slashing upward whenever the Owl's outline flickered too clearly. She absorbed the brunt of it that would have ended him instantly. Chips formed along her armor. Cracks spidered across her shield.
She did not falter.
Sunny tried to rise, but his body was not in agreement.
His nerves were firing incoherently. Limbs trembled without obeying his brain signals.
His thoughts broke.
…So this is how it ends?
A quiet laugh bubbled in his throat, turning into a wet, bloody cough.
'No.'
He had achieved his objective.
Somewhere nearby, beneath collapsed corridors, waited his final insurance.
The Immortal Skeletons.
The pale things that refused to stay down. The mindless troops that had followed his voice with dog-like stupidity when he lured them.
He had left them waiting.
Waiting for a call.
The Ordinary Rock had been dropped during the impact. And well… the Owl never had the chance to notice.
"COME KILL ME, YOU VILE THINGS!" the rock shrieked from where it clung invisibly to silver plumage.
The effect was immediate.
From beneath rubble and from cracked mausoleum doors, skeletal forms stirred. Pale shapes rose in droves. Dozens. Scores.
They had come.
The Owl faltered midair, confusion rippling through its movements. It ascended abruptly, wings beating in agitation as an army of white silhouettes flooded the courtyard below.
Saint seized the moment.
She lifted Sunny in one arm and retreated, shield smashing aside grasping skeletal hands. The skeletons swarmed toward the source of the insult, clustering beneath the Owl in a churning sea of bone.
The creature hovered higher, wary.
Its intelligence worked against it.
It could not gauge rank in that chaos. Dormant or Awakened or Fallen meant little to something that preferred surgical strikes. It would not willingly dive into a writhing mass.
For now, there was distance between predator and prey.
It would not last long, though.
The Ordinary Rock continued its relentless taunt. Sooner or later the Owl would sense the foreign object clinging to its feathers. It would tear it free.
Saint looked down at Sunny.
He hung limp in her grasp, blood streaking his face and soaking into the fractured stone beneath them.
He tried again to command his limbs.
Nothing.
His breathing was ragged.
'…This is going to hurt.'
He sent Saint a mental command. One that was most definitely going to ache for the next couple of days.
A light strike to his back.
If his body refused to respond, then he would shock it into compliance. Blood Weave, at the current moment, needed a stimulus. Pain was a good one. As a Sleeper, essence leaked from him freely during battle, spilling uncontrolled. Perhaps a violent jolt would force it to surge.
Saint hesitated only a fraction.
Then her armored palm struck him square between the shoulders.
The impact detonated through his spine.
For an instant, the world vanished into blinding agony.
And then—
"ARGH!"
Saint's armored palm struck the center of his back.
Sunny felt as though lightning was pouring into his veins. His body seized, then snapped awake like a corpse yanked by cruel puppet strings. Agony was everywhere at once. He hit the ground face-first, rolled to his side, and writhed.
For a moment, the world was nothing but pain. But this was a good thing.
He drew in a ragged breath and forced himself up. One knee, then the other. He summoned the Midnight Shard into his palm and wrapped a cloth around the hilt with shaking fingers when his left hand felt numb.
His arm felt like splintered wood, and his many bones were on the brink of breaking.
He stood anyway—he had no choice.
Above, the Owl hovered, finally piecing together the clever farce. The skeletons clawed at nothing, their empty skulls tilted toward the invisible insult clinging to silver feathers.
The Owl was learning.
Sunny summoned the Endless Spring and overturned it over his head. The cool water cascaded down his face, washing away blood, dust, and the sticky veil over his right eye. He rolled his neck slowly and blinked until the world sharpened.
A clean chunk of his right ear was missing. Blood Weave had not repaired it, so naturally, he wasn't going to get it back.
It did not matter. He could see.
That would be enough to continue the battle.
From the Owl's vantage point, the prey it had nearly broken now stood tall, washed clean and holding a steady blade.
Illusion was a weapon too.
Saint stood at his side, chipped and dented, shield cracked at multiple edges. She was silent as ever.
She had taken the punishment of its strikes without complaint, and she would take many more.
Sunny glanced at her and gave a faint nod.
'Soon…'
The Owl descended.
—
Sunny grabbed his crooked forearm and snapped the bone back into place. In doing so, he screamed in agony, but it sharpened his focus further.
"Go."
Saint dashed left at his command, boots crushing stone as she charged toward the mountain of rubble the Owl had made. Sunny sprinted forward at the same time.
He did not wrap himself in shadow.
That alone was enough to make the creature hesitate.
Saint drove her sword into the ground and smashed her shield against it with all her might.
Stone shattered. Dust exploded outward in a choking bloom.
A gray curtain swallowed the courtyard.
Sunny leapt.
He planted a foot on a skeleton's skull, used its shoulder as a step, vaulted higher, and flung the Prowling Thorn. The cord bit into the neck of a street lamp that only pretended to be metal. He swung in a tight arc.
The Owl beat its wings. The smoke evaporated under a gale.
Only for it to see nothing but white silhouettes a second later.
It was… confused.
If it were human, it would have frowned.
Where?
Not ahead.
Not left.
Right.
Sunny came in low and fast, the Thorn's string slicing through the air. He hurled the kunai at the Owl's neck and let momentum carry him forward, trying to drag the beast down with gravity's quiet authority.
It was like trying to topple a cathedral with a rope.
The Owl twisted its neck effortlessly, spinning him around like a toy. His ribs screamed as centrifugal force tore at his injuries. His blood was flowing outward once again.
But the kunai was already buried deep. No twist would free it.
Sunny locked his grip and refused to let the line slacken.
The Owl whipped him around again.
…It never saw Saint.
She had climbed the rubble it had created, each step deliberate. Silent and waiting for her moment.
Sunny met the Owl's gaze mid-spin and smiled.
'Too late.'
He flung the end of the cord, and Saint caught it.
The Owl surged upward instinctively.
The cord went taut.
Saint leaned back with all her weight, armored heels carving furrows into stone. The Awakened rank string held.
And so the Owl's ascent was cut short.
Saint wrapped the cord around its right wing and stepped off the rubble.
And well, gravity seemed to have chosen its side.
The Owl slammed into the skeletons below like a fallen star, scattering bones in a relentless tide.
Sunny released the Thorn and dropped with it, shadow finally unfurling around the Midnight Shard like a living cloak.
He was empowered once more. Or rather, his blade was.
The Owl staggered up, one wing tangled, its feathers broken.
Sunny drove the Midnight Shard through its left wing with everything he had left. Blade met flesh—resistance—then surrender.
He roared with everything he had as the steel finally pierced through.
Black blood sprayed everywhere like rain.
Saint abandoned her shield and descended in a single perfect motion, blade raised high.
The strike was… clean.
Terrible.
And so very beautiful.
The Owl's left wing parted from its body. Its shriek clawed at the sky.
For a moment, victory tasted sharp and metallic.
Then the immortal skeletons returned. Taking the chance, they swarmed both the predator and cunning shadow alike.
Sunny was buried in clattering bones, fingers clawing at his armor. Saint carved a path through them with brutality, scooping him up before he vanished beneath their grasping hands.
They leapt away.
Behind them, the Owl struggled to rise on one ruined wing, skeletons clinging to it like pale barnacles.
Flight was no longer an option.
'Serves you right, damned thing...'
Sunny sagged against Saint's shoulder. The world was beginning to swim, and he couldn't focus any longer.
He was very tired.
Very, very tired.
Through his fading vision, he pushed one last command into Saint's mind.
The cleared X on the map.
She remembered the path. After all, she had followed him through them quite recently.
Saint ran, crushing bone underfoot. The Owl's shrieks faded behind them, swallowed by the hungry chorus of skeletons.
Sunny's thoughts faded softly at the edges.
He rested his forehead against cold armor.
And let the dark take him.
—
"There's a hero within everyone's heart. With the flow of time, we carve ourselves stroke by stroke, until the hero becomes real. Until they become our greatest creation."
"Do not… bow your head… to THEM."
"It's… okay… don't… cry"
"Run… Sunny…"
"Is this fate…?"
Are you really going to keep going? Regardless of the eventuality?
"Run dammit…!"
"See you on the other side!"
"…It's all over."
"For Changing Star!!"
"When… will you… l-learn?"
"There are no happy endings…"
"A shame. We never stood a chance, in the end."
"…!"
At least tell me this, Sunless. If you regress, will you live your life to the fullest?
"If you want my bones, I shall give them to you. If you want my heart, then I will gladly hand it over. However, you will have to risk the entirety of yourself, as well, ■■■■■■■."
"There are many ways to survive the ■■■■■■■■■■■. I've forgotten some of them. But one thing is uncertain. If you are not hearing my voice, epigone, you will die."
Was it not her wish for you to be happy?
"I did not ask you to suffer. You merely chose it for yourself."
"Because we are their flaw."
"I… I love you to, I love you so much, Neph..."
"…Please don't leave me."
"Kai—!"
"DAMN YOU, ASTERION!"
"I have not seen you return. I have never witnessed you suffer. How could I know what awaits you if you choose to go back? You will not repeat your pain. You will not be caught again. And if there is a grasp, it is not meant for you."
"How beautiful you are, Sunless. Have you come to visit?"
"How odd... you are already dead. Your existence is fading. How are you here?"
"…You wanted to be free of Fate, so you had it taken from you."
This is a very cruel request for help, indeed.
"You are not alone."
"You saved me once. Now I'm going to save you."
"Again, Sunless. Next time we meet... no. Instead, you should never see me again. I destroyed everything you held dear, after all."
"All shall bid farewell to you, and you alone will witness the miracle."
"That's not a wish, Sunless. It is your hope. And with me, It shall be your desire."
"Even If its choice has already been made, if fate is set in stone… I… will still never yield to it…"
"Remember. You must invoke it's name."
No… I am in error. You have this righ—■—■—■—■
■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■
■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—?—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■
■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—?—■—■—■—■—!—■—■—■—■—■—?—■—■—■—■—■—■—!—■—■—■—■—■—■—■—■
■—■—■—■—?—■—■—■—!—■—■—?—■—■—■—!—■—■—■—?—■—■—■—!—■—■—?—■—■—■
■—■—?—■—!—■—?—■—■—!—?—■—■—?—!—■—?—■—!—■—■—?—!—■—?—
■—?—!—■—?—!—■—!—?—■—?—!—■—?—!—?—■—!—?—!—■—?—
?—!—■—?—!—?—!—■—!—?—!—?—!—■—!—?—
?—!—?—!—?—!—?—!—?—!—?—!—?—!—
…
?
!
—
— — —-
— —
—…u!
…! —
…u!
…up!
get…
'…Huh?'
…up!
'Is that… my voice…?'
…You mustn't fail! Get up, you damn fool!
Sunny jolted awake.
His eyes fluttered, welcoming him to pure darkness. Naturally, he could see through it just fine.
For a fleeting moment, he did not remember the battle. He did not remember the owl, or the sound of tearing steel, or the sensation of falling. He only knew the suffocating gloom of a sealed ruin and the faint, terrible scent of blood having pooled nearby.
His eyes darted wildly.
Stone walls—cracked pillars. A broken ceiling caused by a battle he had started himself. He recognized the place slowly. One of his marked caches. The hidden spots where he stored the glittering spoils of countless hunts.
Then, finally, the pain flared.
It began in his ribs and spread outward. His breath caught, then a strained sound slipped from his throat.
He looked down.
Blood had dried across the Puppeteer's Shroud, and the memory itself was ragged. His cloth was torn, and beneath it the skin was bruised in grotesque shades of purple and black. His hands trembled when he tried to move them.
Finally, the memory returned.
The dive. The Silver Mask. The sky.
He… he had been fighting.
He had passed out.
Sunny inhaled sharply. He was sweating again, as though he had been dragged from the deep sea. That hollow, distant sensation lingered within him.
'I dreamed again.'
He was certain of it. Though this time he faintly remembered voices, stacked atop one another. A harsh cacophony of screams, promises, and… longing?
'Just… what was th—?'
Though before Sunny could focus on it, it vanished once more.
Not even a fragment remained.
CLANG!
Sunny's head snapped up as he heard steel ring against steel.
Reality snapped back into place. He had a battle to attend to.
"…No rest for the wicked," he muttered.
He summoned the Midnight Shard. The tachi manifested in his grasp, cold and familiar to this cruel world he found himself in. Using it as a crutch, he forced himself upright.
…His knees buckled, his vision swam.
How long had he been unconscious? From what he could tell, definitely less than an hour. Perhaps less than half.
His body was still a ruin.
And yet—
He blinked.
There was no fresh bleeding.
A faint shimmer of gold flickered like a distant flame along a half-closed wound on his side, vanishing the instant he focused on it. It had happened the moment his eyes opened. He was certain.
[Blood Weave].
Had it responded to the Dream? Or did it simply labor more fiercely when he drifted out of consciousness?
Sunny found himself leaning toward the first thought. Though there was no time to dwell on it. He could do so later, when he was out of this hell.
He rolled his shoulders, feeling something crack unpleasantly. He spat a thick clot of blood onto the stone, clearing his lungs.
Then he moved.
The street outside bore only fresh scars. The battle had not lasted long.
Saint stood amidst the wreckage, her form cutting through the gloom like a blade of moonlight. An Iron Spider lay in pieces beneath her shield, fragments of iron scattering across the stones. The Blood Fiend lunged toward her, its body twisting with acceleration.
Sunny stepped in.
His shadow wrapped around his blade. He slashed low as the final spider descended, severing its legs in a clean arc. The creature collapsed with a metallic shriek, only to be finished off by Saint the next second.
Together, they turned on the Blood Fiend. It did not last long.
The Spell's voice whispered through his mind.
[Your shadow grows stronger.]
Sunny wiped the sweat from his brow. "Yes, yes. How insightful."
His arm throbbed from those few movements alone. And his ribs burned with each breath.
He scanned his surroundings. Clearly, the ruins were not yet devastated. If the fight had dragged on—
The owl would have returned.
A chill passed through him. They had cut off its left wing, no?
He was sure they had grounded it. But regardless, it was a cunning abomination.
And swift as hell.
Even now, it must be searching for him.
And, as fate would have it, the moment the thought entered his mind, a soft impact echoed from above.
Sunny looked up through a jagged fracture in the wall.
'Ah.'
There it was, perched in the shadows. The silver mask gleamed faintly, catching what little light dared to linger. Sunny felt as though there was a hint of true anger beneath that mask.
It had just arrived. Based on the structure itself, it couldn't have been there long.
Then it dropped.
The owl descended like a falling blade, mask-first in an attempt to crush him into the earth. Sunny rolled forward as Saint intercepted the blow, her sword clashing against its mask.
"Tch! Damned bird!"
He summoned the Prowling Thorn in mere moments.
The owl twisted unnaturally, swinging its remaining wing in a brutal arc. Sunny braced himself, pressing his forearm against the flat of his blade. Saint stepped beside him to aid in the coming blow.
The impact struck—
…They held?
'Huh?'
Sunny had more than expected to get sent flying. Yet he had not.
They held—no—more than that, they pushed it back.
Finally, Sunny understood.
Its strength had always come from speed and gravity. Those two laws of nature—acceleration and descent.
Therefore, on the ground, it was diminished.
Saint charged forward and smashed her shield into the silver mask, causing the owl to stagger. Sunny took the opportunity to move low and carve his tachi into its talon. He felt the bone crack, and black blood sprayed out. He kicked off its torso and retreated.
'Well… I'll be damned.'
He was right. The Awakened Devil had relied on stealth and surprise, as well as its overwhelming momentum.
Now it had neither.
Its left wing lay severed.
Its right trembled with injuries.
It was cornered. And as if hearing his thoughts, the silver mask split. Two hollow white voids opened where the eyes should have been. And the next moment—
Sunny's world warped. From his perspective, space was bending sickeningly.
A mental assault?! It must have been a crude and desperate attempt to bring Sunny down. Unfortunately for it, the Puppeteer's Shroud excelled in resisting such a low level of hex.
So instead, teeth burst from the fracture of the mask, snapping toward the upper half of Sunny's torso.
Saint's blade pierced through its body before it could close its jaws. She abandoned her shield and gripped her sword with both hands. Using her complete output, she twisted the steel deeper into its flesh.
Sunny stepped forward. Now was the time.
"Now."
Saint pivoted and delivered a devastating horizontal arc. The owl's face split open, metal and bone parting as it screamed.
Its shriek turned wet. It writhed, one wing thrashing weakly.
Sunny breathed in, then lowered into a stance, blade angled toward the ground. Saint mirrored him with her sword raised high.
Their movements aligned, becoming one single attack. His shadow coiled along the black steel.
And they struck—this would be their final attack.
Sunny's blade tore upward through the broken mask.
Saint's descended like the judgment of a god.
The sound was final. The silver mask shattered into pieces. Black ichor cascaded onto the stones.
The silver-masked bird collapsed before them, its body convulsing once before falling still.
And finally, for once, Sunny had the chance to hear… nothing. Pure silence. The battle was truly over.
The Spell's sweet voice whispered into his ears. And truly, he had never been happier to hear it:
[You have slain an Awakened-Devil, Silvershade Harrow.]
Sunny swayed the next second. His legs nearly gave out, but Saint caught him by the arm.
His body was failing him now. One arm hung at an unnatural angle. After stacking the strain of attack after attack, the bone had surrendered. His throat was burning with every breath, and he could swear something sharp was pressed dangerously near his lung.
He could feel Blood Weave at its max output, stitching what it could.
It would not be enough. Though it was fair. He had gone beyond his limit.
Far beyond.
"H-High… ground…" he rasped.
Saint obeyed him, lifting him and moving toward the broken upper levels of the abandoned manor. She positioned him where he could lean against stone and still command the field.
The cathedral was too far—he would not reach it. Besides, his vision was already dimming.
But finally, after this terrible battle had ended, the guardian of the midpoint lay dead below.
That was enough. He could rest now. Whatever came next could wait.
His eyelids grew heavy. All sounds faded away.
Even the pain that had been excruciating fell away into something distant.
So much so that he did not hear the Spell's final whisper as darkness claimed him.
But make no mistake, it did speak.
[You have received an Echo: Silvershade Harrow.]
—
The sky above was a lightless vault, save for the violent intrusion of the Disaster of the West. A searing, blood-colored trail cut through the sky, marking the path of the ravenous creature as it sought the sustenance of souls.
Nephis observed the celestial disturbance, her pale eyes reflecting the crimson fire.
She was seated beside Cassie, the two of them occupying a quiet corner where they shared a meager ration of bread. The silence between them was not empty, but filled with the distant, rhythmic sounds of the Bright Castle's inhabitants — the muffled echo of voices and the heavy scrape of iron against stone as the guards shifted their positions. '
A lone, weary laugh echoed down the corridor, yet it provided no comfort; the presence of Nightingale and the others did little to excise the cold premonition coiling within her.
It had been only six hours since the ramparts were cleared of the last infestation. The cost had been steep: ninety-three individuals had been struck from the living, their experiences and titles rendered meaningless by the sudden onset of death.
Those hunters, men Gunlaug had lauded as veterans, were now nothing more than cooling meat, proof that the Shore recognized no such thing as seniority.
Nephis felt a familiar, frustrating inadequacy. Her internal world was a jagged terrain of secrets and obligations that she struggled to translate into speech. Even after her years under the tutelage of the Great Clan, the act of baring her mind felt like an impossible labor. She was no longer the silent girl who had first stepped onto this land, but the gap between her thoughts and her words remained a vast, treacherous territory.
Her mind inevitably drifted toward the void where Sunless should have been. The question of his survival was a constant, dull pain. He had not sought the safety of the castle, nor had he signaled his presence across the scorched landscape.
She contemplated the ease with which she could resolve the mystery. With the memories she carried — the gifts Ki Song had mandated she keep hidden — she possessed the means to navigate the Dark City and drag him back from whatever pit he inhabited.
She was, after all, more than the sum of her Immortal Flame heritage; a conduit of power from Ki Song resided in her as well.
A gentle pressure against her cheek interrupted her brooding. Cassie had reached out, her finger poking Nephis with a hesitant curiosity.
"Neph? Are you alright? You haven't said anything in a long while."
Nephis realized she had been staring at the sky, her mind submerged in the guilt of her own deceptions.
"Oh, sorry, Cassie. What did you say?"
Cassie exhaled softly.
"I asked if you were alright. I know all these new changes are hard on you."
Nephis allowed a long, slow breath to escape her.
"Well… I would be lying if I said I was alright. Not a single one of us is alright at all. We're on the precipice of something terrible, and I'm not sure what to do anymore. Not sure what I can do."
She turned her gaze back to the blood-streaked horizon, her voice losing its warmth.
"Perhaps I'm not as strong as I thought I was…"
Cassie tilted her head, her sightless eyes seeming to search the air for Nephis's heart.
"Well, I completely disagree with that—you're the strongest person I know! But… the future. You're worried about the future."
A mirthless, subtle curve appeared at the corner of Nephis's mouth.
"Yes, you could say that. I'm worried about our future. Everyone's future—if we'll even get to have one. And…"
The unspoken name of Sunny lingered on her lips.
"My thoughts on confronting the Disasters remain unchanged. Yet, I cannot disregard the collective opinion. The chasm between us and the Corrupted Devils, even in their weakened state, is vast. But it is not insurmountable."
Cassie remained as motionless as a statue.
"Well, I, for one, agree with you. What else will we have if they seize the Crimson Spire? One of them already attempted it, failing only because its strength was not at its peak. And there are three more of them."
"Then we will have to separate from Gunlaug, eventually. We will find the relics once we relocate, somehow."
The words caused a visible ripple of shock to pass through the blond girl.
"What?"
Nephis offered a subtle, indifferent shrug of her shoulders.
"Our situation isn't going to improve if we just ignore it. The longer we delay, the more dire it will become. Nothing on the Forgotten Shore can contend with those four abominations. Everything here is fuel to their fire, and that's something I cannot allow to continue indefinitely. The longer this goes, the worse it's going to get."
A heavy silence followed, lingering until Cassie slowly moved her head in a gesture of reluctant agreement.
"I… I guess you're right, Neph. But, I have seen nothing regarding the locations of those weapons. Nor have I…"
The blind girl's face was suddenly overtaken by a somber expression, a sad smile touching her lips as she recalled the gaps in her foresight. Nephis understood the reason for the hesitation.
"I've seen nothing more on Sunny. He can't be dead; I refuse to believe it, yet he is clearly not well. What will we do if we leave this place behind, and Sunny is not with us?"
Nephis did not hesitate. Her response was a hard, cold fact.
"We're not leaving without him."
"Neph… you need to be realistic."
Nephis sat frozen for a moment. To her, realism was not a vague concept, but something visible within the shimmering runes of her own status.
Name: Nephis.
True Name: Changing Star.
Rank: Dreamer.
Class: Monster.
Soul Cores: [2/7].
Soul Fragments: [1782/2000].
Memories: [Dream Blade], [Sanguine Verse], [Abandoned Life], [Moonlit Hunt], [Moonstring], [Lost Pale], [Lost Scarlet], [Bloodhunt's Pulse], [Flowing Malice], [Beastkin Seed], [Silent Crow], [Starlight Legion Armor], [Ashen Cleave], [Dark Wing]…
Attributes: [Dreamspawn], [Nephilim], [Flame of Divinity], [The Fire].
Whenever she looked upon these runes, she felt a piercing sensation of shame. During their time in the Dark Sea, she and Sunny had been hunted by an Awakened Demon of immense resilience. When Sunny had been rendered unconscious, Nephis had been forced to act. Alone and unobserved, she had summoned her Transcendent arsenal — the gifts Ki Song had bestowed upon her.
Now, she limited herself to the [Ashen Cleave], an Ascended blade of the 2nd Tier. She was wary of Seishan, the Song Princess whose presence she both anticipated, yet called for nervousness.
She still carried the Memories meant for her sister, yet the burden of her secrets made every interaction a tactical ordeal. She was surrounded by potential assassins, with Caster likely among them.
"Cassie. We are in the Dream Realm. To speak of 'realism' here…? That's cause for a laugh."
Cassie offered an affirming, quiet nod.
"You know what I mean."
Nephis exhaled, her eyes returning to the inscrutable night.
"Now that I think about it, I don't remember the last time I thought reasonably for anything. It's been years since then. And now, caught in this situation, I'm not sure if thinking reasonably would prove useful."
Cassie's smile was fragile, like porcelain.
"Well, maybe that is for the best. If it were otherwise, I would not be alive, would I?"
Nephis watched her friend. To be reasonable would have been to abandon a blind, helpless girl in the mud of the Shore. Nephis had rejected that thought with a violence that still defined her.
"You would not. And just like you, I will not abandon Sunny."
Nephis rose, her armor clinking softly. She offered her hand, and with a gentle motion, pulled Cassie to her feet.
"But how will you find him, Neph?"
"It's simple. I will scour the entirety of the Dark City before we depart, then drag him back by the neck!"
The blind girl's eyes widened before a soft laugh escaped her.
"If only I could see that. That would be something."
"You will hear it."
Their entry into the interior of the Bright Castle was greeted by the loud, energetic cadence of Effie's voice as she spoke with Nightingale. Caster's low, measured tones were interspersed with the voices of the castle guards. The air was a thick infusion of cooking meat, communal sweat, and the sour tang of exhaustion. Though they were guests, the alliance ensured they shared in the spoils.
Nephis suddenly halted, her head snapping toward the massive iron gates. Cassie felt the shift in her stance immediately.
"…Neph?"
The silver-haired girl stared into the darkness. A faint, disturbing sensation prickled the back of her neck. A metallic scent, sharp and sudden, brushed against her senses.
'This scent… is this… blood?'
She considered investigating, but the thought was smothered by a new aroma. It was sickeningly sweet and cloying, an overwhelming perfume that erased the stench of decay.
Nephis felt her cognitive edges dulling, her perception of the gate drifting away into a hazy fog.
Led by Cassie's gentle tug, Nephis followed the girl into the deeper halls. The memory of the blood vanished. She did not notice the crimson-soaked figure descending the stone steps, a ghost that the passing souls failed to register.
Laughter echoed through the hall as people accepted the possibility of their final meal. The march toward an unknown fate continued, reaching a crossroads they could not see.
Far to the south, a woman wept. Her cries rippled across the surface of the Dark Sea, painting the water with the light of the moon. She mourned a vanished king, her identity lost to time and longing.
The weeping woman rose from the depths, a hunger that had existed since the dawn of this curse.
As the Disaster of the South turned her gaze toward the castle, the countdown to the end began. Nephis remained unaware that her desire to see Sunny would soon become a ghost of an impossible hope.
This was a world that recognized only cruelty.
—
Somewhere deep within the body of the Bright Castle, far from the hall of feast and the wary murmur of survivors, a single room lay in silence.
Seishan stood alone.
The room was modest in size, yet every object within it had been arranged with precision. A low table of dark wood—a bronze mirror polished to a dull glow. Folded garments resting in perfect symmetry. Order was the language of her kind, and she spoke it fluently.
She looked like something of a dream.
The velvet of her dress flowed over her form in heavy, elegant lines. The fabric the color of deep red wine caught in candlelight. It clung where it needed to, softened where it should, turning her every movement into something composed.
The intricate silver necklace resting against her chest drew the eye to the graceful lines of her throat and the calm rise and fall of her breath. Two bracelets embraced her wrists, their faint chime the only sound that disturbed the silence when she moved.
Yet these were ornaments.
What commanded attention was her skin.
Grey like storm clouds gathering over a restless sea. Smooth as untouched silk. Flawless in a way that could be considered unnatural, as though this world itself had never dared to lay a finger on her.
Her lips parted slightly, revealing teeth that were perfectly even, impossibly white.
She was beautiful.
She was terrifying.
She was Seishan, leader of the handmaidens, the one who kept the interior of the Bright Castle running while their warriors played at glory. A hundred women moved at her command. They maintained the halls, tended to the needs of the host, preserved the crumbling illusion of order in a place that now teetered toward collapse.
Gunlang valued that order.
And hadn't Gunlang called for her, so many minutes ago?
She had not come, though.
For right now, a tidal wave had hit her.
Seishan staggered, her fingers pressing hard against the edge of the table as the world lurched sideways.
'What in—?'
The scent hit her a second time—her breath shuddered.
Blood.
So much… sweet… blood.
Overwhelmingly sweet.
It poured into her senses, so very intoxicating, flooding her veins with heat that made her knees weaken. Her heart began to pound, each beat too heavy. Her vision began to blur.
The room tilted. She lifted a hand to her head, digging her fingers into her temple as a tremor ran through her.
It felt like she was drunk. Was this what it was like?
No.
It felt worse. Her desires were magnified, and in the worst possible way.
She felt a raw, feral urge to move. To walk and find the source. To sink her teeth into that sweetness and drown in it.
Her breath came faster.
Her body leaned toward the door without her permission.
Seishan's eyes widened.
This was wrong. It was a lure—it had to be.
Beneath the intoxicating perfume of blood she sensed something else, something insidious, slipping through the cracks in her mind like pale mist. A distortion? No, a hallucinogenic touch meant to cloud one's judgment. Turn it into a leash.
Her lips curled slightly, revealing those perfect teeth in a silent snarl.
She was no fool.
She had survived too long in this castle to fall for mere compulsion.
S-She needed to warn the others…
Gunlang.
The hunters.
Nephis and her cohort.
The entire fragile structure that depended on her vigilance. She couldn't fail here.
She took a step—
Her body swayed.
The sweetness was too much for her. It crashed upon her, stronger this time, dragging at her thoughts. Her will was beginning to weaken.
Before she knew it, her hand was reaching for the door.
She froze.
No.
Her mind was slipping.
She could feel it, like slipping silk. If she walked out now, she would not stop. She would follow that scent like an obedient pet.
After such a long while of being on the Forgotten Shores, fear touched her heart once again.
Not the fear of death. The fear of losing control.
Her gaze sharpened.
Without hesitation, Seishan drew her arm back and struck herself at the side of the neck with brutal force, pouring all the strength she possessed into the blow.
She felt pain, and her world went white.
Her body crumpled instantly, the elegance stripped from it completely. She fell to the floor in a tangle of velvet and silver, her skin stark against the cold stone.
Still. Silent. Completely unconscious.
The room returned to perfect order, as if nothing had happened at all.
Outside, the castle continued its gathering, unaware that by small increments, more and more people were vanishing at a time. Voices rose and footsteps passed. Bitter laughter echoed down the castle's walls.
None of the hundred handmaidens came.
None of the warriors noticed.
And the leader of those who maintained the heart of the Bright Castle lay alone on the floor, the storm of her skin dim in the shadowed room, while the unseen tide crept closer.
By the time anyone realized she was missing, it would already be far too late.
—
High above the Bright Castle, where the stone peaks of its towers clawed at the dead sky, Gunlang stood at the edge of a wind-carved parapet and looked out over the Forgotten Shore.
The land below was a corpse.
The foundations were dead, the trees were dead, even the air was dead. And if one focused—if one truly looked—they could see it moving. Not the wind, though.
Nightmare Creatures.
They crawled between ruins, stalked the dunes, gathered in numbers that made the mind go under stress. A slow, patient tide of hunger.
Gunlang breathed in.
The air tasted of salt and rot.
Something was wrong.
He felt it the same way he felt the tremor before a siege—deep in his bones. A strange, hollow sensation. The echo within his soul shifted uneasily, liquid gold churning without command. His usual presence, that effortless charisma that bent men and women to his will, was… gone.
He didn't feel like Gunlang.
Most thought the castle stood because of strength. Because of order. Because of him.
They were wrong.
It was a farce.
The order. The discipline. The indulgence. Even the illusion of safety.
A stage play performed atop a grave.
He had known for a long time that this day would come. Death had greeted him once before, eight years ago, when he was dragged to this accursed shore as a boy of nineteen. Twenty-seven now. Eight years spent making a kingdom from ruin.
Nineteen.
Truly young. As young as the newcomers who had arrived this Winter Solstice, eyes bright with terror and foolish hope.
He had told Gemma recently: enjoy the spoils. Have fun with the handmaidens. Earn your reward.
It had been fun.
But none of it had been good.
He smirked beneath the golden helm, though there was no warmth in it. Changing Star still hated him. Of course she did. And perhaps she was right.
She could never have done better.
But he could have.
Humans were disgusting creatures. Cruel. Selfish. Capable of horrors far greater than any abomination that crawled below.
"The real monsters," he muttered softly, "are us."
Footsteps approached.
His echo surged instinctively, gold flooding his body like molten sunlight. He turned.
Sleeper Nightingale—Kai.
And beside him, Sleeper Athena—Effie.
They stopped a respectful distance away. Unlike most, they didn't bow to him.
"Gunlang," Kai said quietly.
Effie crossed her arms and scoffed. "Tyrant."
Gunlang tilted his head.
"Kai. Effie."
There was no thunder in his voice tonight. No theatrical grandeur. All he felt was… tired.
"…Is there something you wanted?"
Kai hesitated. He lingered, as if hoping the sky would help him speak. Then, finally:
"Gunlang… do we have an actual plan?"
Gunlang studied him for a long moment, then glanced at Effie. She didn't speak, but her eyes asked the same question—though far more bluntly.
Perhaps Nephis had sent them.
He turned back toward the dead horizon.
"In the coming days," he said evenly, "once we prepare a route, we are abandoning the castle."
Silence.
Kai's composure broke first. "Abandoning? But—how? We can't move that many people! There's no clear path. Nightmare Creatures replace their dead within hours. The Fallen Beasts alone—"
"Well!" Gunlang spread a hand lightly. "What to do…?"
He turned back with a faint, humorless laugh.
Kai did not laugh.
Gunlang's smile faded.
"Nightingale," he said, voice softening, "there is no safe path toward safety. In truth, there is no safety at all. It's over. Whether this is the will of the gods or my sins finally coming due, most of us are already dead. Did you think I prepared that feast for nothing?"
Kai went pale. "S-So—"
"Damn," Effie cut in, rubbing the back of her neck. "I really hoped you had something in mind, old tyrant."
Gunlang raised a brow beneath the helm.
'Old?'
"I'm twenty-seven," he muttered under his breath.
Then louder:
"That is something in mind, Effie. If Changing Star has a better idea, I'm listening. But the Bright Castle—no—this entire side of the region is finished. We're too close to the sea. If I'm being honest, the catacombs will soon be safer than this place."
Effie's expression darkened.
The catacombs were not a refuge. They were a nightmare layered deep underground.
Kai swallowed. "What about… everyone else?"
Gunlang blinked.
"What about them?"
Kai stared at him as though struck. "You're sending them to their deaths. Moving as one group will attract every Nightmare Creature for miles!"
Gunlang exhaled slowly.
"And staying here is a death sentence. I don't believe we have four days. Perhaps not even two. Today alone, I killed two Fallen Monsters and three Beasts by myself. Changing Star and I were forced to fight side by side to slay five more Fallen Beasts."
He let that settle.
"They're increasing. Every day."
Effie grimaced. "That makes no damn sense. Is every monster on the Shore suddenly hungry for our sorry butts?"
Gunlang gave a slight shrug.
"Perhaps. Or perhaps one of the Disasters is a Corrupted-Tyrant. Truly… who knows?"
Effie studied him.
"You're not acting like yourself, Gunlang. Where did your charisma go? Your casualness? What, life flashing before your eyes?"
He did not answer immediately.
Instead, he lifted his hand and looked at his palm, as though expecting to see blood there.
Time passed for a couple of seconds.
"Perhaps." he said quietly.
The word was spoken softly, catching the group off guard. The sound of more footsteps against the stone ground caused Gunlaug to lift his head.
Before him now stood Caster, Nephis, and Cassie. They were joined by the senior guard — Harus, Tessai, Gemma, and Kido. The Bright Lord observed the assembly with a look of genuine bewilderment, wondering if his entire command had taken to drink.
Gemma's eyes were glassy and distant; Kido's usual stoicism was frayed. Even Tessai looked strained, his jaw set in a hard line.
Nephis appeared as though she were holding her very soul together with a desperate, iron grip. Her calm was a fragile thing, likely to shatter at the slightest pressure. Cassie's skin was a sickly, translucent white, and Caster looked as though he had not slept in weeks.
Gunlaug slowly turned, surveying the faces of those who had gathered on the parapet.
"…Is this some sort of gathering? A council of top dogs? Important figures? I confess, I am rather lost."
The silence that followed was heavy, punctuated only by the howling wind. Nephis stepped forward, her movement steady despite her exhaustion. She fixed her pale gaze on him, her intention burning behind her eyes.
"Yes. We need to plan our route out of the Dark City."