They did not enter the Castle immediately.
Instead, Nephis decided to split up. She had Sunny detach from them and explore one end of the Outer Settlement, while she and Cassie headed in the opposite direction. The objective was twofold: map the general layout and extract as much information as possible about the people living here. Nephis, unsurprisingly, took everything Giorlanio had said with a grain of salt. She would not be satisfied until she verified it herself, building her own conclusions from direct observation rather than secondhand explanations.
They agreed to regroup at the same spot in three hours and went their separate ways.
To be honest, Sunny had no idea how he was supposed to go about this. Walk up to the first person he saw and ask how life was treating them? Casually inquire whether they happened to know any dark secrets about Gunlaug, Sasrir, or this Adam character? Spying from the shadows with Gloomy was well within his comfort zone, but extracting information face to face was an entirely different matter. Still, he decided that the best approach was to act natural and not overthink it.
And so, Sunny found himself wandering through the Outer Settlement.
Dirty tents made from stitched hides and fraying cloth were pitched between larger, decaying stone structures that looked like they had once been proper buildings, long before neglect and desperation had gnawed them hollow. Some walls leaned at precarious angles, supported by scavenged beams or piles of rubble. Narrow paths had been worn into the ground by countless footsteps, winding between shelters like veins.
The place reminded Sunny of the Outskirts. Not in appearance exactly, but in spirit. The same air of quiet endurance, the same feeling that everyone here was merely surviving rather than living. To his own mild discomfort, he found it oddly comforting.
He decided to make a rough loop of his assigned sector before speaking to anyone, noting anything that stood out.
People were everywhere. Sitting on crates, mending clothes, sharpening weapons, cooking over small fires, hauling water, arguing in low voices. As Giorlanio had said, everyone looked young—late teens to late twenties—but exhaustion aged them beyond their years. Hollow cheeks, guarded eyes, scars both fresh and old. Some wore fur cloaks patched together from multiple beasts, others ragged clothing that had clearly been repaired dozens of times. A few sported Memories in the form of boots, gloves, or light armor, their designs too ornate to be mundane.
True to Giorlanio's word, Sunny spotted several more people wearing wooden crosses. Three in total during his walk so far. Only one wore a white robe similar to Giorlanio's; the others dressed like everyone else. He nodded at one of them—a woman with short black hair and a spear resting against her shoulder—when she glanced his way. She returned the nod without hesitation.
Friendly enough, by Sunny's standards.
He passed a small open area where a group of five people were sparring with blunted weapons. Their movements were clumsy but earnest, guided by a slightly taller man barking instructions with the authority of someone who had survived longer than most. Nearby, two girls sat on a broken stair, counting Soul Shards into a small pouch while whispering to each other nervously, as though afraid someone might overhear.
Further along, Sunny noticed a makeshift infirmary set up inside a roofless building. Strips of cloth fluttered in the breeze, stained dark with old blood. A young man with a bandaged arm leaned against the wall, grimacing as another Sleeper tightened the wrapping with practiced efficiency. There was no healer here—only people doing their best with limited knowledge and fewer resources.
The farther he walked, the more subtle divisions became apparent. Certain paths were busier, better maintained. Others were quieter, dirtier, avoided. He noticed that guards occasionally patrolled the perimeter of the settlement, never lingering long, always keeping their distance from the tents. Their presence was tolerated, not welcomed.
Sunny circled back toward his starting point, his mind quietly cataloging everything he had seen. No overt rebellion. No obvious worship ceremonies. Just a mass of young people trapped in a limbo between hope and resignation, clinging to routines because routines were all they had.
By the time he completed his loop, Sunny had a rough sense of the settlement's shape—and a growing certainty that whatever power ruled the Bright Castle, its shadow pressed heavily on those forced to live outside its walls.
Now, all that remained was to talk to someone.
"So you're saying this Sasrir guy is a demon?" Sunny raised an eyebrow, trying—and failing—to keep the skepticism out of his voice. His Flaw compelled him to voice exactly what he thought. "I think you've had too much to drink."
The man in front of him, who had only barely graduated from boyhood, glowered and hugged his bottle of cloudy moonshine to his chest like a treasure. "I'm tellin' ya!" he slurred, teetering somewhere between drunk and barely coherent. "That thing ain't no normal man! He dodgesh and ducksh, an' can turn inta pure darknahs! No Sleeper's got that many Aspects, I know it!"
"Uh huh." Sunny rubbed his forehead, suppressing a sigh.
This was the sixth person he had spoken to during his circuit of the Outer Settlement, and somehow—despite, or perhaps because of, his inebriation—this one had been the most informative. Gilligan, as he had introduced himself, possessed an endless supply of rumors and grotesque stories about the Bright Castle's inner figures. According to him, Aiko was merely dull and forgettable, Adam was a wolf in sheep's clothing, Seishan was a demoness who bathed in the blood of virgin men to preserve her youth, Harus was not even human but an Echo dredged up from the Dark Sea, and Sasrir was secretly a Fallen Terror that Adam had tamed by feeding it souls.
Utter nonsense, as far as Sunny was concerned.
But it was fascinating nonsense.
"And what about Adam himself?" Sunny pressed, curiosity overcoming his irritation. He wanted to see just how deep the man's imagination ran.
"Him?" Gilligan blanched and took a long, reckless swig of moonshine. "That blondy ain't no saint, let me tell ya. He plays pretend, wraps himshelf in nice white clothesh… but in truth, he'sh jus' ushin' ya. I've seen his eyesh, kid. There ain't noshin' behind 'em. Jus' cold orbs, ish all."
Sunny studied the drunk man sprawled against the wall, fingers tapping absently against his thigh. By all logic, he should dismiss every word Gilligan said as alcohol-soaked paranoia and resentment. And yet… Sunny's instincts, honed by a lifetime of suspicion and survival, refused to let go so easily.
Finally, he decided to push once more.
"You think Adam's a hypocrite?" Sunny asked quietly. "Why? I need something deeper than just the look in his eyes."
For the first time since they had started talking, Gilligan did not answer immediately.
Instead, the drunk Sleeper straightened slightly and fixed Sunny with a look of unsettling clarity. The haze in his watery blue eyes receded, replaced by something sharp and calculating. Sunny felt a prickle run down his spine.
Just as he was about to step back, Gilligan broke into a wide grin, exposing several missing teeth. "Fine," he said. "I'll tell ya, kid. But ya can't go spreadin' rumors, ya hear? Now come closer."
Sunny frowned but complied, his body already tense, a Memory poised to be summoned at the first sign of danger. Gilligan leaned in close, his breath hot and sour against Sunny's ear.
"My Aspect," he whispered, "lets me read souls."
Sunny jerked back, eyes widening.
Gilligan chuckled at his reaction, clearly pleased. "Amazin', ain't I? Don't get ahead of ya shelf, though. It ain't that fancy. I only see a vague color—depends on the kind of person ya are. Good folks got good colors. Bad folks got bad."
He jabbed a finger vaguely in Sunny's direction. "Take you, for egshample. You're a dirty little black bastard… but there'sh still some white left inside. Ain't been scooped out yet."
Sunny felt his blood run cold.
He stared at Gilligan with new, wary eyes. "And Adam?" he asked slowly.
"White," Gilligan replied without hesitation.
Then his grin faded, replaced by a troubled frown. "Only… it ain't always pure. Shometimes it's black. Shometimes it's gold. Shometimes I can't even tell what it ish at all. I've seen him do charity, real charity—and his soul don't change one bit."
Gilligan took another drink, his voice dropping. "For him, doin' good ain't the point. It'sh jus' a meansh to an end. A man's soul ain't meant ta be one color forever, kid."
He looked Sunny straight in the eyes.
"So somethin' ain't right about 'im."
Sunny took in Gilligan's information, turned it over in his mind from several angles, then filed it away for later use. Nephis would need to hear all of it, of course—though whether she would believe it was another matter entirely.
Having exhausted himself with paranoia and alcohol-fueled revelations, Gilligan looked ready to pass out for his afternoon stupor. His eyelids drooped, his grip on the bottle slackened, and his head lolled against the wall. Sunny knew this was his last chance to ask the question that had lodged itself firmly in his mind.
"Sasrir," Sunny said quietly. "What about Sasrir? What color is his soul?"
Gilligan's unfocused gaze drifted toward him, pupils dilating as if staring into something far away. "Soul?" he rasped, lips twitching into something between a grin and a grimace. "Demon bastard… ain't got no soul. There ain't nothin' inside that shell o' his."
With that final declaration, Gilligan let out a rattling snore and slipped fully into sleep.
Sunny straightened slowly and exhaled through his nose. After a moment of hesitation, he reached down and carefully draped the man's threadbare blanket over him. He gently pried the bottle of moonshine from Gilligan's limp fingers and tucked it beneath a nearby crate, hidden but not gone. The man would find it when he woke up.
Then Sunny turned and left.
He checked his internal clock. Half an hour remained before he had to rendezvous with Nephis and Cassie. Not much time—but enough to be useful. If rumors were currency here, then he might as well try to meet someone worth hearing from.
According to Gilligan and several others, the most prominent figures in the Outer Settlement—besides Adam—were a woman named Athena and a man named Kai. Athena, Sunny had been told repeatedly, was impossible to miss. As for Kai, one woman had laughed and simply said, "Tall and handsome. You'll know him when you see him."
Apart from that, Sunny hadn't uncovered much concrete information. Seishan was widely known as a Legacy, one of the daughters of Ki Song herself—adopted, apparently, but no less fearsome for it. The other Lieutenants of the Bright Lord had no hidden origins or dramatic secrets attached to them, at least none that survived repeated retellings. Even Gunlaug, at the center of it all, was described not as a mastermind or chosen hero, but as a violent madman who had been lucky enough to gain power—and ruthless enough to hold onto it.
From everything Sunny had heard, the man sounded like a genuine piece of work. It made him all the more curious how a man who presented himself as holy and pure like Adam could work under him.
Pulling his hood a little lower, Sunny slipped back into the winding lanes of the settlement, eyes sharp and senses alert, determined to make the last minutes count.
He chewed over Gilligan's last words, about how Sasrir had no soul, but decided to ignore it. Maybe the man had a Memory that blocked out such abilities, maybe Gilligan was simply too drunk and tired, or maybe he really was a monster wrapped in human skin. Either way, Sunny had already learnt that he could bleed, and that was enough for him.
If it could bleed, then Sunny could kill it.
Nephis crossed her arms and frowned, her expression tightening as she sifted through the mass of impressions she had gathered. Acquiring information was easy enough—people were eager to talk, eager to complain, eager to project their frustrations onto a stranger who seemed important enough to listen. The difficulty lay in separating substance from noise. Most of what she had heard amounted to venting, recycled hearsay, or distorted rumors repeated so many times that even the speakers no longer knew where they had originated. And, as always, those most likely to possess genuinely valuable information were the least inclined to share it.
This would not do.
She could not operate like this—not for long. If she intended to unify the Forgotten Shore, she needed more than raw strength or a compelling objective. She needed legitimacy. Reputation. A public image that made people willing to trust her instinctively, or at least believe that aligning with her was safer than opposing her. It was not enough to be right; she had to be believed.
If Sunny were here, he would have remarked—perhaps with forced casualness and poorly concealed unease—that she was drifting dangerously close to manipulation. But Sunny was not here, and so the thought went unchallenged.
Beside her, Cassie gently tugged at her sleeve.
Nephis turned at once, the tension in her face easing. Her gaze softened as it settled on the blind girl. When she had first encountered Cassie at the Academy, Nephis had judged her with cold pragmatism and reached a simple conclusion: this girl would not survive. The Dream Realm was merciless, and Cassie's Flaw seemed like a death sentence waiting for the right moment to be enforced.
Yet fate—cruel, ironic, or perhaps deliberate—had placed them near one another when the Spell claimed them both.
From that moment on, Nephis had found herself unwilling to accept her initial judgment. Determined, even, to prove herself wrong.
She did not know whether this resolve was a test imposed by the Spell, or a mocking lesson—another reminder that she would always be forced to watch others suffer and die while she endured. Either way, something within her had shifted. From that day forward, she had decided that Cassie would live.
For no reason other than the simple fact that Nephis believed it was the right thing to do.
And because she could.
That distinction, she had come to understand, was fundamental. The difference between humans and beasts. And, more importantly, the difference between herself and the Sovereigns.
The thought of those loathsome figures soured her mood once more, dragging her back to a more immediate concern: the assassin.
She had no doubt about their existence.
The Sovereigns had been strangely restrained during her childhood. They had never ceased their attempts on her life, but neither had they pursued her with their full strength. It was as though they wanted her to survive—wanted her to grow—so long as she never forgot that death was always watching her. Always close. Always patient.
Now, however, she was in the Dream Realm. Alone. Beyond the protection of the Waking World. Beyond the reach of anyone who might intervene on her behalf.
No one could save her here.
No one but herself.
As for the likelihood that her enemies were present in the Forgotten Shore? She had never doubted it for a second. The Spell had proven itself relentless, methodical, and malicious where she was concerned. If she were forced to rank those responsible for the ruin of her life, the Spell would take first place without contest, with the Sovereigns following closely behind.
She had initially marked Caster as the most probable threat. His timing, his allegiance, his audacity—it all fit too neatly. Yet after entering the Dream Realm, her suspicion had gradually shifted toward Sunny instead.
In hindsight, the notion seemed almost absurd.
And yet… not entirely unreasonable.
A self-proclaimed street rat who absorbed everything she taught him with unsettling speed. A Sleeper wielding an unusual Aspect, paired with an even stranger method of cultivation that bypassed Soul Shards entirely. Nephis did not fully understand the limits of a Supreme's power, but if one of them had tampered with Sunny's Attributes—had shaped him into a blade meant to strike her—she would not have dismissed the possibility.
What unsettled her most, however, was not his growth or his abilities.
It was his mind.
Sunny's greatest talent was not his rapid advancement, but his mastery of deceit and misdirection. He was so thoroughly wrapped in half-truths, deflections, and calculated vulnerability that even Nephis—who had witnessed the ugliest facets of humanity since childhood—struggled to peel back the layers and see what lay beneath. Even now, she felt there was always one final barrier between them. Something impossibly thin, yet unyieldingly dense.
Many people, Sunny included, believed her to be terrible with emotions.
In truth, Nephis considered herself an empath.
She had simply burned herself out long ago.
The insights were still there, sharp and immediate, but she no longer bothered to express them. She had learned, through bitter repetition, that understanding others meant little when there was no one left to share that understanding with.
Everyone always left her.
One way or another.
The three of them reconvened precisely as agreed, at the same nondescript corner of the Outer Settlement. No one had followed them. No one lingered nearby long enough to draw suspicion. If anyone had been watching, they were subtle enough that even Sunny hadn't noticed—and that, at least, was reassuring.
Sunny spoke first.
He summarized what he had learned from the first five people he questioned: the broad consensus on Gunlaug's rule, the fear surrounding the Lieutenants, the quiet resentment simmering among those barred from the Host. Then he moved on to Gilligan and, with considerably more detail, recounted the drunkard's stories. He made no mention of Gilligan's appraisal of his own soul, but he repeated the man's claims about Adam and Sasrir without omission.
As expected, Nephis did not treat the words of a drunken Sleeper as gospel. Her expression remained composed, her gaze distant as she processed the information.
"Soulless?" she repeated quietly, more to herself than to Sunny.
"Right," Sunny nodded. "Still, there could be any number of reasons why Gilligan couldn't perceive Sasrir's soul. Assuming he was even telling the truth. His Aspect might have limits, or Sasrir might have some kind of concealment."
"I agree," Nephis said without hesitation.
Sunny hesitated, then frowned slightly. "Wait. Aren't you more curious about Adam's soul?" he asked. "If Gilligan was right, then Adam's… inconsistent. Way more complex than we assumed. He might not be easy to deal with."
Nephis turned her head to look at him directly.
"I am no stranger to mindweavers and charlatans," she said bluntly. "I may not be able to create their tricks myself, but I am confident I can cut through any web someone tries to spin around me. No matter how intelligent or malicious this Adam is, I doubt he can exert more pressure than entire Legacy Clans."
Sunny clicked his tongue inwardly.
"Fine," he muttered. "Then I guess we'll rely on your skill."
The words came out flatter than he intended. The irritation beneath them lingered, unspoken. Why was Nephis always so confident—no, so certain? Bordering on conceit. Yes, she had endured a lifetime of persecution and survived the attention of Legacies, but surely she didn't believe she had done so purely on her own merit. She had been a child for most of it.
Before he could dwell on the thought any further, Cassie finally spoke.
"So… are we going in now?" she asked softly. She had been fidgeting with her sleeve the entire time, patiently waiting for the exchange of information to conclude.
"Yes," Sunny replied, glad for the interruption. "I couldn't find Athena or Kai. From what I heard, they're probably already inside the Castle. People say they're close with Sasrir and Adam—and that they're the strongest so-called neutrals on the Forgotten Shore. No idea about their personalities, but they seem well-liked."
"We'll keep an eye out," Nephis said.
With that, she turned and began walking toward the gates of Bright Castle, her posture straight and unhesitating.
Sunny and Cassie followed close behind.
Nephis led them steadily up to the gate, her presence commanding despite the unease that radiated from Sunny and Cassie. The three Guards on duty immediately turned their attention toward them, their expressions a mixture of disdain and curiosity. All three were imposing, standing tall and muscular, each radiating the dangerous confidence of someone trained to wield the weapons strapped across their bodies. Spears, short swords, and three dirks crisscrossed over each of their chests, signaling they were prepared for both close-quarters combat and ranged defense. Their armor was utilitarian yet reinforced, practical for both intimidation and battle.
"Halt, newbie. If you want it, pay the tax," the Guard on the left barked, his voice dripping with authority—or perhaps just arrogance.
Nephis tilted her head slightly, regarding him like a predator might an insect. "You know we're new here?" she asked casually, her tone deceptively light.
The Guard chuckled, a sound that carried equal parts mockery and amusement. "We might not recall every face that passes through these doors," he said, glancing at her, "but we'd certainly remember a beauty like you." His eyes flicked to Cassie behind her, and his tone darkened to something lewd. "Or the pretty little miss behind you."
Sunny immediately frowned, stepping forward and placing a protective hand on Cassie's shoulder, guiding her behind him. He could feel her trembling against him, and his jaw tightened. The Guard on the left scoffed at the display, turning his attention back to Nephis. His grin widened, arrogance dripping from every word. "Hey, doll, why don't you ditch the shorty over there and join us? I promise you'll get to experience a real 'tall man.' We can even waive the bill for certain… amenities in the Castle. Not a bad deal, wouldn't you say?"
"Not interested," Nephis replied, her voice cold and final, cutting through the Guard's words like steel through silk.
The man's expression twisted into a scowl, his patience snapping. He stepped closer, his gauntleted fist raised, his voice rough with irritation. "Hey hey, don't be such a bitch! I made you a good offer, you know? Dolls like you are rare, and silver hair just so happens to suit my tastes. I'll ask nicely one more time—let me show you how to pass the time in this place."
Nephis' eyes, stormy grey and unflinching, settled on him like a glacier. The Guard's bravado faltered slightly, but he still lunged forward. Her reaction was instantaneous. Her arm shot up with blinding speed, her hand intercepting the raised gauntlet. Silver flames flickered to life along her arm, wrapping the Guard's fist in searing, ethereal heat.
The man screamed, trying to pull back, but Nephis' grip was absolute. Crisping flesh and the sharp scent of burning metal filled the air. A sickening snap echoed as one of the Guard's knuckles fractured, a sound that made Sunny wince despite the distance. Cassie trembled violently, her imagination painting the scene with unnerving clarity despite her blindness.
The remaining two Guards froze, their hands tightening around their weapons, but they hesitated. Nephis, undeterred, maintained her iron grip until she assessed the others' intentions. Only then did she release the first Guard. He staggered backward, clutching his ruined hand. The metal of his gauntlet had practically melted into the cracks of his skin, flowing into the fissures like molten silver. Sunny could see the bone of his knuckles peeking through the torn, molten flesh. Unless Bright Castle had a healer of extraordinary skill, that man had effectively lost his hand.
Nephis' expression remained calm, detached even, as she turned her gaze to the remaining Guards. Their weapons were still raised, but their stance was wary now, uncertainty and fear creeping into their rigid posture. Even from a distance, Sunny could feel the lethal precision radiating from her, a silent warning that resistance would not end well.
"Here" Nephis took six Soul Shards from a pouch hanging around her waist and tossed them over, the two Guards too slow to catch them, so they rolled along the ground. Without looking back, Nephis walked ahead, and Sunny and Cassie followed. Together, the three marched onwards.
Into the maw of the beast
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I sat back in my chair, watching the people below bustle to and fro like ants disturbed from their nests. From this height, the Outer Settlement looked almost functional. Orderly, even. Yet I knew better. Even after all my efforts, the gloom and despair that defined this place had not truly vanished. It had merely been suppressed—pressed down, hidden beneath routines, rules, and a thin veneer of stability.
Still, considering how little time I had been given, and how pitiful my resources had been at the start, I allowed myself a small measure of satisfaction. It was, by any reasonable standard, a good job.
My gaze drifted, tracking a few figures that I thought I recognized. Distance blurred details, and my eyesight could not quite keep up, but familiarity did not rely solely on vision. Mentally, I ran through names and faces, replaying conversations both trivial and consequential. Over the course of two years, I had become acquainted with nearly everyone worth knowing—and many who were not. I could not claim intimacy, of course. That would have been impossible. But I had exchanged greetings with every soul in the Forgotten Shore at least once. That alone was an achievement few could boast.
Absentmindedly, my right hand moved to my left, fingers stroking along the ridged knuckles of my index, middle, and ring finger. The motion was rhythmic, almost meditative. When I glanced down, I could just make out the faint mark that remained there: a thin ring of pallid flesh, barely perceptible. To anyone else, it would have been invisible, indistinguishable from unblemished skin.
To me, it shone like a sun in the dark.
Behind me, the rustle of cloth disturbed the quiet. Sasrir materialized from beneath the door, his form slipping through the narrow gap like a living shadow before coalescing fully inside the room.
"Well?" I asked without turning.
"Seishan has agreed," he replied. His eyes lingered, not on the city beyond the window, but on my hand and the habitual rubbing of my knuckles. "She praised and insulted you in equal measure. I do not think she knows how to handle you."
I chuckled softly. "You give me too much credit. Seishan may have been tossed into a corner by the author, left to be forgotten, but she is still one of the deadliest Awakened in the story. At the very least, I have always rated her higher than Morgan."
"That high?" Sasrir raised an eyebrow as he came to stand beside my chair, leaning slightly over my shoulder. "I am surprised you think so highly of her. Most of her information after becoming a Saint was skipped entirely. How can you be so certain she outclasses the Princess of War?"
"Call it instinct," I replied, a wry smile tugging at my lips. "Besides, when it comes to fighting, Valor is overrated as a whole. In fact…" I paused, amusement flickering through my eyes. "I might just have Medici swallow the entire Clan when Anvil finally kicks the bucket. Perhaps I will even have him marry Morgan."
Sasrir snorted softly. "The proud Red Angel has no need for a wife," he countered lazily, planting his elbow on the armrest of my chair as he looked down at me. "I thought you would take her for yourself."
"Don't you know?" I said lightly. "Clergy are meant to be celibate. Do try not to tempt a holy man, will you?"
Then I glanced up at him, my smile sharpening just a little.
"And besides… what Medici owns—or what any of you own, for that matter—I own as well."
Sasrir hummed, the sound deliberately noncommittal. "Seishan met with Caster as well, by the way. Judging by her expression afterward, I would say it did not go particularly well. He likely attempted to recruit her—and failed."
I let out a soft laugh, eyes still fixed on the settlement below. "A mere subordinate Legacy, daring to persuade his superior to follow his lead? My, my. I did not know our speedy friend was quite so bold."
"My thoughts exactly," Sasrir replied. "It seems the weight of his mission outweighs his sensibility."
"That raises an interesting question," I said thoughtfully. "How did Anvil ever convince a member of the Song Domain to accept his commission in the first place? Why not send one of his own people instead? Did the old man somehow know in advance that Caster would be sent to the Forgotten Shore?" I paused, then shook my head. "No. No such foresight was ever revealed in the story. Which leaves only one explanation."
"A plot hole," Sasrir supplied dryly.
"Precisely. One left behind by the author."
"Perhaps," he agreed. "The Forgotten Shore arc was something of a mess, after all." There was a faint note of amusement in his voice. "Although, I believe we have done our part to make it even worse."
I snorted. "Ah, there you go again, taking enjoyment in causing chaos. As expected of my negative side."
"Shut up, drama queen."
We both chuckled. As the laughter faded, I finally lowered my right hand from my left, breaking the unconscious, repetitive motion along my knuckles. I suspected that had been Sasrir's intention all along, subtle as it was, but I chose not to call him out on it.
After all, my Spectator abilities failed on only five people in the entirety of the Forgotten Shore, and Sasrir was one of them. I knew everything about him regardless, thanks to our symbolic connection, but trying to read his emotions through expressions or tone alone was a futile exercise.
It made sense. He was a Sequence 7 Shadow Ascetic. I, on the other hand, was merely a Sequence 8 Telepathist.
I sighed. "I cannot wait to become a mid-Sequence Beyonder," I muttered. "Why can Nephis not simply hurry up and obtain that shield?"
"Patience, Adam," Sasrir chided calmly. "She has only just arrived—assuming she is even here yet. We must wait at least a month for Sunny to split off and venture out on his own." He paused, then added, "Speaking of which, I have prepared the cathedral alcove for him, just as you requested. If the ploy holds and he stays there, you will finally get your fill of chunni-ism."
I laughed outright this time, the sound echoing faintly through the chamber.
"Much appreciated, Sasrir."
Sasrir tilted his head slightly, the shadows around his silhouette rippling in response to the motion. "Have you thought about your plan to overthrow Gunlaug?"
I exhaled through my nose, eyes still on the settlement below. "I have it mostly figured out. My only regret is that I will not be able to take his Transcendent Echo." A faint smile crept onto my lips despite myself. "Its Rank is not especially important to me, but the aesthetic is exquisite. Pure, flowing gold. Who could possibly say no to that? If only Amon were here—he could steal it for me and spare me the disappointment."
"You really cannot use the abilities of a Psychiatrist or Hypnotist to force him to hand it over?" Sasrir asked, genuine curiosity coloring his voice. "Not even by summoning the Visionary Uniqueness?"
"Sadly, no." I spoke with clear frustration, my right hand curling tightly around the armrest of the chair. The wood creaked under the pressure. "The Uniqueness does not grant me new powers. It only amplifies what I already possess. It pushes my observation to the level of a Discerner."
I lifted my hand, flexing my fingers slowly, as if enumerating the benefits one by one. "I can see Soul Cores and the Ranks of monsters, much like Sunny does with Blood Weave. I can even glimpse fragments of an attribute panel, the way Cassie does. But that is where it ends. I still cannot bend minds, rewrite thoughts, or enter dreams."
My expression darkened slightly. "And using the Uniqueness exacts a severe toll. The drain is not tied to Essence reserves or the number of Soul Cores I possess—it consumes something deeper. Prolonged use feels like scraping the inside of my soul with a dull blade."
Sasrir studied me in silence for a moment. "So Gunlaug remains outside your reach."
"Mentally, yes," I replied calmly. "Which is why he will fall in the simplest way possible. Not through coercion or illusion, but through inevitability. He will be placed in a position where every available choice leads to his defeat."
I leaned back in the chair, loosening my grip on the armrest. "A king who believes himself untouchable rarely notices the ground being hollowed out beneath his feet. By the time Gunlaug realizes what is happening, it will already be far too late."
"So you intend to kill him?" Sasrir pressed, his voice low and even. "Truly finish him off here? I am asking because I want to be certain about your intentions, Adam. If you wish to introduce variables into this world, a man like Gunlaug would be an excellent starting point. An Awakened in possession of a Transcendent Echo could become a pivotal tool."
"I know that," I replied, waving a hand in mild irritation. "But I have no means of controlling him at present. And beyond that, Gunlaug is simply a terrible person. I understand the necessity of maintaining order in the Settlement and the Castle, but there is no justification for the degree of depravity he has embraced."
I paused, eyes narrowing slightly. "Even if Gunlaug and Harus would make an assault on the Crimson Spire significantly easier, it is ultimately pointless. Or would you rather I spare them now, only to kill them after the Crimson Terror is dealt with?"
"That would also work," Sasrir said calmly, without hesitation.
I hummed in response and rose from my chair, the legs scraping softly against the stone floor. "We still have time to refine the details. Nothing is set in stone yet." I turned my head slightly toward him. "Keep an eye out for Sunny, Nephis, and Cassie. Also, pass a message along to Kai and Effie. I want to meet them sometime this week."
"Your word is my command," Sasrir replied. He bowed deeply, his form already beginning to lose definition as shadows pooled around his feet. In the next instant, he slipped into the darkness and vanished, as though he had never been there at all.
I remained standing, watching the empty space for a long moment. Then my gaze dropped to my left hand.
"Spare the Bright Lord…" I murmured softly.
My fingers curled inward, the hand clenching into a tight fist. "Then you had better prove your worth," I said quietly. "Gunlaug."
Inside the Castle, the environment was actually better than Sunny had been expecting.
The moment they passed through the gates, the oppressive squalor of the Outer Settlement seemed to peel away, replaced by something closer to rough order. The stone beneath their feet was worn smooth by countless steps, but it was intact, free of the deep cracks and creeping rot that plagued the structures outside. Thick pillars rose to support the high ceiling, their surfaces etched with old tool marks and faded carvings that hinted at a forgotten purpose. Dim witchlights were set into iron sconces along the walls, casting a steady glow that banished most of the shadows and made ambushes far less convenient.
Sunny noticed that immediately.
Too few blind spots, he thought. Whoever designed this place knew exactly what they were doing.
The entry hall was broad, deliberately so, funneling newcomers through a space that offered no easy cover. Guards were stationed at regular intervals, not clustered together but spaced just far enough apart to support one another if trouble broke out. Sunny counted them out of habit, noting their sightlines, the angles of their spears, and the fact that most carried secondary weapons at their belts.
Professional, he grudgingly admitted.
Nephis walked at the front, her posture relaxed but alert, silver hair catching the light in a way that made her impossible to ignore. Sunny suspected that was half the point. Anyone watching would focus on her first. Cassie stayed close, one hand resting lightly against Nephis's arm, her steps measured and careful. Sunny lingered just behind them, eyes constantly shifting, cataloging exits, stairwells, and choke points.
The Castle was not a single structure so much as a compact city enclosed within stone walls. Corridors branched off from the main hall, each marked with carved symbols that denoted their purpose. One led to residential quarters, where long, narrow rooms were stacked atop one another, each fitted with simple bunks and storage niches carved directly into the stone. Sunny noted the narrow doorways and low ceilings.
Defensible, he thought. Easy to barricade. Hard to rush in numbers.
Another corridor opened into the Cafeteria, a cavernous chamber dominated by long stone tables polished smooth by use. The smell of cooked meat and boiled grain hung in the air, not pleasant exactly, but far better than the rancid scraps Sunny had grown accustomed to outside. People sat in loose groups, eating, talking, watching newcomers with open curiosity or thinly veiled suspicion.
Sunny scanned the room, immediately noting the raised dais at the far end. A natural command position. From there, someone could oversee the entire hall, issue orders, or turn the space into a killing ground if necessary. The exits were limited, deliberately narrow compared to the size of the room.
Nephis noticed it too. He saw her eyes flick briefly toward the dais, then to the exits, her expression unreadable.
They moved on.
The Memory Market occupied a wide circular chamber with stalls arranged in concentric rings. Crystals, weapons, fragments of armor, and strange, half-understood artifacts were displayed behind reinforced counters. Artisans worked openly here, their tools laid out with care, guarded not just by armed sentries but by the very geometry of the room. Sunny traced the pattern in his mind.
Circular spaces are dangerous, he thought. Too many angles. Too much exposure.
Still, it was efficient. Buyers could be watched, sellers protected, and any sudden violence would be immediately visible from multiple vantage points.
Cassie slowed here, her brow furrowing slightly. "There are… many people watching us," she murmured softly.
"That's normal," Sunny replied under his breath. "We're new."
Nephis said nothing, but her stride never faltered.
They passed training yards next, open courtyards where Guards and Hunters sparred under the watchful eyes of instructors. The clang of steel rang out sharply, echoing against the stone walls. Sunny took in the weapons, the styles, the way fighters rotated in and out. It was not elegant, but it was practical.
"They're trained to fight in groups," Sunny whispered. "Not duelists." It made snse, since everthing they hunted in this City would be stronger than them individually anyways, and they would rely on teamwork for the most part. Focusing on improving group strength and cohesion was more beneficial than one person leading the pack.
"Good," Nephis answered quietly. "That means their individual weaknesses are easier to exploit."
Further in, they found administrative chambers, storage vaults, and guarded stairwells that descended into deeper levels of the Castle. Those, Sunny noted, were far more heavily defended. Fewer entrances, thicker doors, more Guards. Whatever lay below was important.
Or dangerous.
By the time they returned to the central thoroughfare, Sunny had built a rough mental map of the Castle's upper levels. It was a fortress designed not just to keep monsters out, but to keep people in line. Order through structure. Control through architecture.
As they paused beneath one of the great pillars, Sunny glanced at Nephis and Cassie.
"Well," he said quietly, "if a fight breaks out, this place will be hell."
Nephis nodded once. "Which means," she replied, "we will need to choose very carefully where and when we make our stand."
Cassie tightened her grip on Nephis's sleeve, her face pale but resolute. The trio had already understood that some form of conflict was inevitable, if only because Gunlaug had no interest in returning to the Waking World, but neither Sunny nor Nephis were content to sit here and rot away. They couldn't take the Crimson Spire by themselves, so they would need an army-and would likely have to take it by force.
And Sunny, looking up at the towering stone walls and carefully placed lights, felt a familiar prickle of unease crawl up his spine.
He had felt like someone had been watching him ever since he had stepped inside.
"Lady Changing Star?" a hesitant voice rang out, making several people slow their steps and glance around in curiosity at the strange title.
When their eyes landed on Nephis—her silver hair catching the Castle's witchlight, her calm, luminous presence impossible to miss—whispers rippled outward almost instantly. Heads turned. Conversations faltered. A few Sleepers straightened unconsciously, as though sensing something sharp and dangerous had entered their midst.
The trio turned as well, and Sunny couldn't help the scowl that tugged at his face.
Caster Han Li was approaching them.
He looked much the same as Sunny remembered: tall, straight-backed, with vibrant green eyes and a face so cleanly sculpted it bordered on infuriating. There was something unblemished about him, something deliberately maintained. Sunny had disliked him from the first day at the Academy, for reasons he had never bothered to fully dissect.
If he had to articulate it now, the comparison came easily.
Caster reminded him of Hero. Of Auro of the Nine.
Men who wrapped themselves in righteousness and duty, who spoke of sacrifice while carefully ensuring it was never theirs, who dispensed charity selectively and called it virtue. Men who upheld order not because it was just, but because it was convenient.
Hypocritical bastards, the lot of them.
By the time Sunny finished mentally eviscerating him, Caster had already reached them.
He stopped at a polite distance and inclined his head first toward Cassie. The gesture was unnecessary—she could not see it—but it was executed with practiced courtesy nonetheless. Cassie sensed the attention and stiffened slightly, her fingers curling against Nephis's sleeve.
Caster's gaze then slid to Sunny.
It lingered for just a fraction of a second too long.
A thin, sharp smile touched his lips—more instinct than intention—and Sunny immediately looked away, jaw tightening. The last thing he wanted was to meet that gaze and give the man the satisfaction of acknowledgment.
Caster turned back to Nephis, his demeanor smoothing out as though the brief exchange had never happened.
"Lady Nephis," he said warmly, voice clear and measured. "It is truly my good fortune to come across you here. I hope your travels through the Dream Realm have not impacted you in any serious way."
Nephis met his eyes without hesitation. Her expression was serene, composed, and entirely unreadable.
"Thank you for your concern, Caster," she replied evenly. "I hope the same for you."
The words were polite. The tone revealed nothing.
Caster bowed his head slightly, accepting the response as though it were a meaningful exchange rather than a formal dismissal. "You honor me. May I ask—have you only just arrived? I myself entered the Forgotten Shore a few days before you. In that time, I believe I've gained a reasonable understanding of this place."
He gestured subtly around them: the stone corridors, the moving crowds, the ever-present Guards.
"Both its layout," he continued, "and its… political realities. If you wish, I would be honored to serve as your guide."
Sunny's eyes narrowed.
Of course you would.
Nephis did not answer immediately.
She studied Caster with unnerving intensity, her gaze steady and unblinking. It was the same look she gave Nightmare Creatures before deciding whether they were worth killing. The surrounding noise seemed to dull slightly, as though the Castle itself were holding its breath.
Caster endured the scrutiny in silence, posture straight, expression composed. If he felt pressure, he did not show it.
Ten seconds passed.
Then Nephis nodded once.
"If you would be so kind," she said.
Caster's smile widened, genuine—or at least convincingly so. "Of course. Please, follow me."
As he turned and began to lead them down the corridor, Sunny fell into step behind Nephis, his mind already racing.
Great, he thought grimly. A hypocrite, a fanatic, and a blind prophetess, all walking into a lion's den—as well as a man who can tell no lies.
What could possibly go wrong?
Notes:Just the one chapter
Caster's quarters were located in one of the inner residential rings of the Bright Castle, far from the main thoroughfares but not quite secluded. The corridor leading to them was wide and well-lit by softly glowing soul-lamps embedded in the walls, their light reflected faintly off polished stone floors worn smooth by years of foot traffic. Guards passed by at regular intervals, each one casting Caster a brief, respectful glance before moving on.
Sunny noticed all of it.
The patrol timing.
The distance between alcoves.
The way the corridors subtly narrowed near choke points and widened near communal areas.
By the time they entered the room, he had already marked three viable ambush spots and twice as many escape routes.
Caster's quarters were modest by Legacy standards, but luxurious compared to anything outside the Castle. A single large room divided into functional sections: a sleeping area with a sturdy bed, a low table surrounded by chairs, weapon racks fixed neatly against one wall, and a small chest reinforced with runic metal. The air smelled faintly of incense and oiled steel.
Sunny's eyes flicked immediately to the exits. One door. One narrow window slit set too high to climb through easily. Defensible, but not ideal.
Caster gestured for them to sit, then leaned against the table himself, folding his arms as he resumed his explanation.
"There are approximately three hundred Sleepers in total," he said calmly. "Ages range from around seventeen to the early thirties, though the average is somewhere in the mid-twenties. Slightly more than half live within the Castle proper. The rest remain in the Outer Settlement."
He paused briefly, then added, "A handful of… unconventional individuals live directly in the Dark City. Most lack either the strength or the sanity to survive there long-term."
Sunny listened intently, expression neutral, though his interest sharpened at the next words.
"One of them," Caster continued, "is a woman named Athena. She's well known—very powerful, by all accounts. However, I haven't had the opportunity to meet her myself."
Sunny's attention snapped fully into focus.
Athena.
He had heard the name twice now, from entirely different sources. That alone made it significant. Living in the Dark City wasn't just reckless—it was suicidal for anyone below a certain threshold of strength. Awakened monsters roamed freely there. Fallen creatures were not unheard of.
What kind of person chooses to live in a place like that?
And more importantly—what kind of person can?
Nephis gave no visible reaction, merely inclining her head slightly. Cassie tilted her head, as though committing the name to memory.
Caster continued speaking, unbothered by the lack of response.
"And here," he said, stepping toward an open doorway and gesturing beyond it, "is the men's sleeping floor. Women are housed separately, on an entirely different level."
He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then added more gravely, "I'm afraid I can't bring you there. Seishan's Handmaidens guard the stairwells relentlessly. Any unidentified man attempting to enter is chased away immediately—or reported. Those who try to take advantage of the women don't last long."
The implication hung heavily in the air.
Cassie stiffened beside Nephis, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her sleeve. Sunny felt a familiar curl of irritation coil in his stomach. His already-low opinion of the Bright Castle dipped another notch. Order bought with fear was still fear, no matter how clean the walls were.
Nephis, however, focused on something else entirely.
"Seishan?" she asked.
Caster turned to her, clearly pleased. "Very observant, my Lady. Seishan Song—an adopted daughter of Saint Ki Song, and the eldest Sleeper still alive on the Forgotten Shore. She leads the Handmaidens and is personally responsible for their protection. From what I've learned, she takes that responsibility extremely seriously."
Sunny glanced at Nephis. "You know her, Neph?"
"No," Nephis replied after a moment, shaking her head slowly. "We're both Legacies, but I didn't spend much time around members of other Clans growing up. I may have heard her name before… I'll need to see her face to be certain."
Caster watched the exchange in silence. For just an instant, something cold flickered across his expression—so brief it was almost imperceptible. Then it was gone, replaced by his composed smile.
"If you wish," he said smoothly, "I could arrange a meeting. Clan Han Li is subordinate to Clan Song. I have some familiarity with the Young Lady."
"That would be much appreciated," Nephis replied.
Her lips curved into something that barely qualified as a smile. It carried no warmth, but it was enough.
Caster bowed his head slightly. "I'll see what can be done."
Straightening, he looked between the three of them, his posture relaxed but attentive. "Is there anything else you wish to know?"
Sunny exchanged a brief glance with Nephis, then looked back at Caster, eyes narrowing just a touch.
Plenty, he thought.
"Do you know anything about the other Lieutenants," Sunny asked, his voice flat and direct, "besides Seishan? Gemma, Kido, Sasrir, Adam, Harus. Or about the Bright Lord himself."
Caster looked at him for a moment, evidently surprised that Sunny had chosen to address him at all. Still, he did not refuse. If anything, the Legacy seemed faintly pleased to have an attentive audience.
"Gemma and Kido are the simplest to understand," he began. "Gemma possesses an Aspect that grants him extreme regenerative abilities. Wounds that would cripple or kill others are meaningless to him. As long as he has Essence, he is effectively unkillable at the Sleeper level."
Sunny noted that carefully. Regeneration meant prolonged engagements favored Gemma. Fire, dismemberment, Essence exhaustion—those would be the only viable counters.
"Kido," Caster continued, "has dominion over plants. Not merely growth or movement—she can alter their genetic structure. She breeds specialized flora: predatory vines, parasitic spores, seeds that bloom only under very specific conditions. In combat, preparation matters far more than brute force."
Nephis inclined her head slightly, filing the information away.
"On the surface," Caster said, "both are content with their positions. Neither has made overt political moves in years. Gunlaug relies on them heavily, and compared to the others, their personal conduct is… better."
He paused, then added evenly, "That said, Gemma himself does not engage in sexual violence or other excesses—but for a long time, he allowed his Hunters to do so. That only stopped about two years ago, when he finally tightened discipline."
Sunny's jaw tightened. Better, he thought, did not mean good.
Caster moved on before anyone could comment.
"Seishan is a far more complicated case," he said. "She predates Gunlaug's rule. When the Second Bright Lord fell, she held a significant position within the Castle. Gunlaug purged most of the former regime's confidants when he seized power—but he spared her."
"Why?" Nephis asked.
Caster shrugged faintly. "Competence. Influence. Perhaps fear. For nearly a decade, she served him loyally by all accounts, and he considered her one of his trusted allies."
His voice lowered slightly.
"That changed within the last year."
Sunny felt his attention sharpen.
"I don't know the precise details," Caster went on, "and those who do refuse to speak. But from what I've gathered, there was a conflict involving Sasrir and Gunlaug. Seishan took Sasrir's side."
Nephis's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.
"It might sound insignificant," Caster said quietly, "but Gunlaug is paranoid and obsessive. He interpreted it as a personal betrayal. He did not move against Seishan directly—but since then, several Handmaidens have met… unfortunate ends. Their standing within the Castle has declined noticeably."
The room felt colder for a moment.
Nephis spoke again. "Was Adam involved?"
Sunny had been thinking the same thing. From everything he had heard, Adam and Sasrir were inseparable—where one moved, the other followed.
Caster hesitated, tilting his head slightly as he searched his memory. Then he shook it. "I can't recall Adam's name being mentioned in relation to that incident."
After a beat, he added, "Though, to be honest, it would be stranger if he wasn't involved."
Sunny leaned back slightly, eyes half-lidded.
So that's how it is, he thought. Cracks beneath the surface. Blood paid quietly, in places no one was meant to look.
"Now, about Adam and Sasrir themselves," Caster said after a brief pause, folding his hands behind his back, "is where things begin to grow… complicated."
His gaze drifted to some distant point on the wall, as if he were mentally retracing the last two years.
"They appeared in the Bright Castle two years ago, allegedly having emerged from the Coral Labyrinth to the north. Whether that part is true or embellished, I cannot say. What is certain is that their first recorded act was the killing of three Hunters who ambushed them, attempting to rob them of their supplies. Only one man survived long enough to crawl back and report what happened."
Caster's lips twitched faintly.
"Gemma handled the matter personally. The price for killing Castle Hunters was clear: compensation through execution… or service. Adam and Sasrir chose the latter."
Sunny exchanged a glance with Nephis. Being pressed into service after killing Hunters was hardly unusual, but surviving such an initiation was another matter entirely.
"Despite being gang-pressed," Caster continued, "the two integrated with remarkable speed. By all accounts, they worked in perfect coordination from the very beginning. Yet the reasons others gravitated toward them differed."
He turned slightly, as though addressing each of them in turn.
"Adam was approachable. Charismatic. He listened. He remembered names, stories, small details people never expected a Hunter to care about. When tempers flared, he defused them with words. When despair took hold, he offered reassurance. People trusted him almost instinctively."
Caster's tone cooled when he spoke the next name.
"Sasrir, on the other hand, inspired something closer to fear. He was taciturn, sharp-edged, and carried himself like a drawn blade. Few sought his company for conversation—but in battle, there was no one the Hunters preferred to have watching their back. He never hesitated, never retreated, and never failed to finish what he started."
Cassie's fingers tightened slightly around the hem of her sleeve.
"For weeks—perhaps months—nothing changed," Caster said. "They hunted, they obeyed orders, and they kept their heads down. Then they crossed paths with Athena."
Sunny felt a flicker of anticipation. Even spoken in passing, that name carried weight.
"I should clarify," Caster added, "that Athena is unofficially blacklisted by Gunlaug. She refused to bend the knee when he consolidated power, and the Bright Lord made an example of her defiance. No formal decree exists, but everyone understands the rule: associate with her, and you invite punishment."
Caster inclined his head slightly.
"Whether Adam knew this or not, he invited her into the Castle. Shared a meal with her in plain sight."
Nephis' expression did not change, but Sunny noticed the subtle tightening of her jaw.
"Gunlaug learned of it within hours," Caster went on. "Adam and Sasrir were summoned, dragged before the Bright Lord, and given a public warning. No blood was shed, no punishment issued—but it was the first recorded clash between them and Gunlaug. From that moment on, they were watched."
The room remained silent as Caster allowed the implication to sink in.
"Things appeared to settle after that," he said eventually. "Adam resumed his duties, and Sasrir continued to hunt. But Adam had begun… expanding his activities."
Caster's gaze flicked toward Sunny, then Cassie.
"He started delivering food, supplies, and medical aid to the Outer Settlement. Not officially—on his own initiative. A few unsavory types tried to extort or threaten him early on. Sasrir broke their bones. Word spread quickly. No one interfered after that."
Sunny could picture it vividly.
"By then, Adam had earned a reputation among the settlers," Caster continued. "People sought him out for help, mediation, even advice. Around that same time, he began recruiting the first members of his small circle. You have likely seen them already—those who wear wooden crosses."
Nephis gave a slow nod.
"The turning point," Caster said, his voice lowering, "came shortly after. Adam and Sasrir discovered a woman who had been brutally beaten and abused—left barely alive—by two Castle Guards. They saved her, tended to her wounds, and then demanded justice."
Caster let out a quiet, humorless breath.
"They took the matter directly to Gunlaug."
Sunny grimaced. That alone bordered on suicide.
"As expected," Caster continued, "the Bright Lord refused. Guards were valuable. Discipline could be… flexible. Adam and Sasrir rejected that verdict and invoked trial by combat."
The air in the room seemed to grow heavier.
"At the time, the Head of the Guards was a man named Tessai. A brute. Universally despised, even among his own. Tradition demanded that the Head stand as champion for his subordinates—and Gunlaug ensured that he did."
Caster's eyes narrowed slightly.
"The prevailing theory is that Gunlaug wanted Sasrir and Tessai to maim or kill one another. Sasrir's reputation as a killer had grown too large by then, and Tessai was… expendable."
Nephis spoke quietly. "And the outcome?"
"Sasrir killed him," Caster replied without hesitation. "Decisively. Justice was granted. The two Guards responsible were executed shortly thereafter."
He paused, then added, "Sasrir was promoted on the spot, replacing Tessai as Head of the Guards."
Sunny frowned. "And Adam?"
Caster's expression hardened.
"Taken," he said simply. "Not in chains—but not free either. Gunlaug retained him within the Castle under the pretense of 'honor and trust.' In truth, Adam became leverage. A living guarantee of Sasrir's loyalty."
He inclined his head.
"And so it remains. Sasrir commands the Guards. Adam resides within the Bright Lord's grasp. Whatever bond they share is now a weapon Gunlaug keeps close at hand."
Caster seemed to release a long, restrained breath after finishing his account, as though recounting the tangled history had demanded more composure than he cared to admit. Some of the stiffness drained from his shoulders, and his posture relaxed marginally.
"Now," he said, tone turning measured once more, "everything I have just told you is secondhand. Rumors, testimonies, things overheard in corridors or whispered after too much cheap liquor. Of the absolute truth, I am afraid I am no more informed than you are."
He inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the limitation.
"And even then, that was only a recounting of their deeds, not their inner nature. On a personal level, I can offer little certainty. Adam presents himself as the very image of a saint—patient, gentle, sincere. Sasrir is… dangerous, certainly, but not irrational. By all available accounts, both possess an exceptionally low tolerance for cruelty and injustice. For what it is worth, I believe they are worth cooperating with."
Nephis considered that for a moment before speaking.
"Do you know their Aspects?" she asked.
Caster nodded slowly. "Somewhat."
His eyes flicked toward Sunny as he answered. "Sasrir possesses extensive control over shadows."
Sunny stiffened instantly.
Nephis and Cassie both turned to look at him at the same time, their gazes lingering just long enough to make his skin crawl. He shifted in his chair, irritation flaring instinctively.
"Hey," Sunny said defensively, "shadow users might be rare, but it's not like I'm the only one."
Cassie coughed into her hand, clearly suppressing a laugh, while Nephis looked away with deliberate calm. Still, Sunny could have sworn he caught the faintest trace of color rising along her neck.
With that brief, awkward interlude passing, Caster cleared his throat and continued.
"Sasrir's Aspect is exceptionally versatile—almost to an abnormal degree for a Dormant. He can dissolve into a shadow and conceal himself within others, rendering him immune to physical damage while doing so. In that state, he can observe freely, spying on enemies without detection."
Caster's voice remained steady as he listed the capabilities, as though reciting inventory rather than describing a person.
"He can also forge weapons from shadows at will. Blades, spears, constructs—whatever the situation requires. More troubling is the nature of his attacks. Those struck by his weapons report not only physical harm, but an impact on the soul itself. Survivors describe a lingering cold, heightened fear, and an increase in violent or extreme impulses after encountering his blade."
Cassie's brows knitted together faintly.
"His Flaw," Caster went on, "is unknown. However, some believe it is tied to his dependency on Adam. Adam himself claims that Sasrir is compelled to wear a shadow veil—some form of restriction imposed upon him. Most dismiss this as metaphor or religious language, but the rumor persists."
At that, Sunny's expression darkened, his thoughts dropping like a stone into deep water. His soul felt suddenly heavy.
Sasrir's Flaw.
He kept his face carefully neutral, but inside, a cold suspicion took shape. While not his Flaw directly, the caveat of Sunny's own Divine Aspect was absolute and merciless: anyone who knew his True Name could enslave him completely, bending his will to theirs. According to the Spell, even a Divine Shadow required a master.
And Sasrir… Sasrir seemed even more deeply intertwined with shadows than Sunny himself, despite Sunny bearing the Legacy of the Shadow God. If that was the case, then perhaps Sasrir was bound by an even harsher condition. Perhaps he did not require a True Name at all. Perhaps the chains binding him were far simpler—and far crueler.
It was only conjecture. Pure speculation. Sunny would not know the truth unless he met the man himself.
Still, unbidden, a trace of pity crept into his chest. Alongside it came a strange sense of familiarity, as though he were hearing about a distorted reflection of his own fate. Kindred spirits, bound by different shadows.
While Sunny sank deeper into his thoughts, Caster continued speaking, unaware.
"Adam's Aspect," he said, "is no less troublesome in its own way. He can read emotions and surface thoughts to predict an opponent's next action. His perception borders on precognition. All of his senses are enhanced, but his awareness of intent is the most dangerous part."
Caster's mouth tightened slightly.
"Lying to him is extraordinarily difficult. Deception, likewise. Gunlaug uses him as a personal lie detector, and from what I have seen, the Bright Lord has rarely been disappointed by the results."
"And his Flaw?" Nephis asked quietly.
Caster shook his head. "Unknown as well. However, Adam's most pronounced traits are his piety and his absolute intolerance of injustice. If I were to speculate, I would assume his Flaw is tied to one—or both—of those extremes."
"Can you arrange a meeting with them?"
The question cut cleanly through the lingering silence.
For a brief moment, no one spoke. Sunny, Cassie, and Caster all turned to Nephis at once, surprise written plainly on their faces. Sunny recovered first.
"Neph, are you serious?" he blurted out, incredulity sharp in his voice. "We just got here. Don't you think trying to meet the two most clearly abnormal Sleepers in this place is a terrible idea? What if Gunlaug takes notice?"
Nephis shifted her gaze to him, her grey eyes calm and utterly unreadable.
"He would take notice eventually anyway," she replied evenly.
The words were simple, but Sunny felt their weight immediately. It was not an argument—it was a reminder.
They were not here to coexist. They were here to overturn the Bright Lord's rule. Hostility was not a possibility looming on the horizon; it was an inevitability. If Gunlaug's greatest instability lay within arm's reach, then delaying only served him.
Why hesitate, when time itself was the enemy?
Sunny grimaced, unable to refute the logic, even as every instinct told him this was moving far too fast.
Caster cleared his throat softly and shook his head, his expression apologetic.
"My apologies, Lady Changing Star," he said, inclining his head. "But I am afraid that arranging such a meeting is beyond my capabilities. Adam and Sasrir do not answer to me, nor do they make themselves easily accessible."
He paused briefly, then added, "Lady Seishan may be able to assist you in that regard. She has… channels I do not."
Caster then gestured vaguely toward the direction of the Castle gates.
"Alternatively, you could wait in the Outer Settlement. Adam typically visits once a week to deliver aid. Sasrir is almost always present, acting as his escort."
Sunny exhaled slowly through his nose. Of course it wouldn't be simple. Of course the path forward involved either entangling themselves with Seishan Song or waiting exposed among hundreds of desperate eyes in the Settlement.
Nephis absorbed the information without comment, her expression unchanged. But Sunny had known her long enough to recognize the subtle stillness that meant she had already made up her mind for her next move.
And so, they found themselves in the Outer Settlement close to a week later.
They had made full use of their time in the Bright Castle. For several days, Sunny almost forgot what it meant to be hungry. The meals were hearty, filling in a way that bordered on indulgent—thick cuts of roasted meat, proper broth, real bread. Even more precious than the food were the beds. Solid frames, real mattresses, and walls that kept the wind and damp at bay. It was the first time in weeks that Sunny had slept without one eye half-open, listening for danger.
Though he would never admit it out loud, sleeping apart from Cassie and Nephis felt… strange.
He had grown accustomed to their quiet presence at night: Cassie's steady breathing, Nephis sitting awake longer than anyone, a silent sentinel in the dark. Alone, the room felt larger and emptier, and Sunny found himself staring at the ceiling longer than necessary before finally drifting off.
When morning came and the time to leave arrived, there was no ceremony to it. They packed what little they had and descended back into the Outer Settlement, trading stone walls and guarded gates for crooked shacks and weary faces.
Nephis immediately fell into a routine.
Several times a day, she went out alone to hunt, returning hours later with the bodies of slain monsters. The meat was rougher and less refined than what the Castle offered, but there was far more of it. What surprised Sunny wasn't her efficiency—he expected that—but what she did afterward.
She shared it.
Without hesitation, without calculation, Nephis butchered the monsters in the open and distributed the meat to anyone who asked. Beggars, families, lone Sleepers with hollow eyes—it didn't matter. Sunny watched as she knelt in the dirt, methodically carving clean portions and placing them into outstretched hands.
One man stared at the meat as though it might vanish, tears cutting pale lines through the grime on his face.
With each meal, Nephis would smile, wuld gently hold their shoulders or hands and bathe themin silver flames, healing their bodies and soothing their souls. Many did break down into tears, heaping thanks and praise upon her.
Sunny stood nearby, keeping watch. His expression was neutral, but something tight and uneasy coiled in his chest. He could not explain it. The scene unsettled him more than violence ever had.
For the first three days, life continued like that.
In some ways, it was better than before. The Dark Sea was gone, no longer looming behind them like an inevitable death sentence. But it had been replaced by something Sunny had never expected to fear.
Nephis herself.
On the fourth day, when she dragged another massive corpse back into the Settlement, a small crowd gathered before she even set it down. This time, the people weren't just desperate—they were familiar. They knew her now.
Nephis had never hidden who she was. She stated her True Name openly. She never denied her lineage.
And word had spread.
Sunny watched the shift ripple through the crowd as understanding dawned. Whispers rose, then hushed gasps. Eyes widened. Some people stepped back instinctively, as if unsure whether they were allowed to stand so close.
The Daughter of the Immortal Flame.
Broken Sword's only child.
Sunny knew the names well. Everyone did. Clan Immortal Flame and the legacy of Broken Sword were etched into the collective consciousness of the world. Still, seeing the reaction firsthand took him by surprise. Reverence, disbelief, awe—it was all there, laid bare.
Nephis seemed entirely unbothered.
She moved among them as naturally as ever, as if she had been born into crowds like this. Like a fish in water. Sunny swallowed his questions and said nothing, focusing instead on driving off a few opportunists who tried to muscle in on the weaker recipients of the food.
His unease deepened with every passing day, and he found himself watching the group in white robeswho held crosses more closesly. They did not interfere with Nephis' chariy, and even offered to help. Nephis did not reject them: they organized lines, cut the meat into portions, brought out their own ingredients to improve the flavour-it was all very harmonious, and despite his best efforts Sunny could find not a single malicious or ulterior motive behind them.
And then, on the sixth day, Adam arrived.
Sunny, or rather Gloom Shadow, noticed him before anyone else did.
The crowd shifted subtly, not from fear, but from attention, as if something had drawn their eyes without them realizing why. A man was walking through the Settlement at an unhurried pace, dressed plainly in white, carrying himself without any sign of arrogance or submission.
People looked at him—and then looked again.
Some straightened unconsciously. Others lowered their voices. The few with wooden crosses around their necks smiled faintly when they saw him, stepping forward to greet him.
Sunny's stomach tightened.
Adam had come.
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