It was cold, and it was dark.
The world seemed to have bled out every ounce of its radiance.
The rhythmic thump-thump of wheels hitting a ruined road sent tremors through the wagons, a jagged heartbeat punctuated by the jolts of every pothole. A freezing, relentless wind howled through the slats of the wood. Sunny felt a searing, sawing pain gnawing at his wrists, and a fierce headache crowned his brow like a wreath of thorns as his consciousness crawled back from a long, dreamless void.
Outside the wagon, two soldiers were conversing in low, guttural tones.
"...damn the General and his 'Son of War' delusions! I joined this crusade for the spoils, not for sermons. Do you know how much gold I've touched since we left the Empire? Zero! Not a single coin!"
"Tell me about it. Master Goliath won't let us have our way with the women, limits the looting, and makes us cut loose any slave who's too young, too old, or has a family to weep for. 'Glory is our greatest reward,' the bastard says. As if we're all glory-starved warmongers like him."
"And did you see that priestess? The one from the temple we razed? Even with a bolt through her chest, she was a goddess. Her skin was still warm when we found her. A damn waste that the General buried her with 'full honors' before we could have a taste. Just like he forced us to bury every other scrap of meat we cut down."
"I'm telling you, he's lost his mind. And so have the three-quarters of the battalion that follow him like obedient dogs. If he weren't an Ascendant, I'd have slit his throat and pissed in the wound by now. But the Gods were kind this time—he lost an arm to his own arrogance. He's bled a river. Maybe if we..."
"No. Even if the chance comes. Like you said, the men worship him. And an Ascendant is still an Ascendant. Two common rats like us couldn't kill him even if we buried every bolt we have in his gut."
"Tsk!"
***
Finally, Sunny's eyes fluttered open. His irises, twin abysses blinded by a single, sickly ray of whitish light, slowly fought to focus on his surroundings.
He was shackled, hands and feet. He sat among strangers—slaves, some young, some old—all huddled together in a shared, silent wait for an unknown fate. His expression was a hollow mask.
'From the stars to the gutter,' the thought betrayed him.
As his vision cleared, he noticed an old slave staring at him from across the wagon. The man's face was a map of scars and bitterness.
"Welcome back to the world, little prince," the old man croaked, a mocking sneer curling his lip. There was something predatory in the way he looked Sunny over, but for now, he was no threat.
Sunny ignored him with a cold indifference and turned his gaze toward the ceiling. A transparent shimmer hung in the air before him.
His runes.
---
Name: Sunless
True Name: -
Rank: Aspirant
Soul Core: Dormant
Memories: -
Echoes: -
Attributes: [???], [Shadow Weave], [spark of Divinity], [Shadowspawn], [the Heart]
Aspect: [Empty Chalice]
Aspect Description: [You bear a marvelous chalice, a birthright for Lords. Whether to fill it or not, it's yours to decide — Until then, you are but a useless wretch. Regardless of the outcome, Fate will witness.]
---
Everything was exactly as he had left it.
Except for one missing string of runes at the very bottom.
Slave: -
Sunny felt the absence like a raw, festering scar carved into his soul. It felt as if his heart had been split in two and thrown to the wolves. Something vital was gone forever.
His shadow.
Thene was dead.
The memory of her passing surged back, a violent physical ache in his chest. As much as the heavy chains allowed, Sunny drew his knees to his chest and buried his face in them to stifle his sobs.
"Thene..." he hissed, the name a jagged shard of glass in his throat.
Sunny withdrew into the dark sanctuary of his misery, shutting out the cold, cruel world that had taken everything from him.
'Why?' The question hissed shrilly in his mind, like steam escaping a pressurized valve. 'Why did it have to end like this? Why didn't I step in to protect her? But he was a Master... what could I have possibly done?'
Sunny let out another jagged, stifled sob.
'I had nearly a month to prepare for the raid, and what did I actually do? NOTHING! Not a damn thing! When the stakes were highest, I was superficial. I was a coward. That is all I am.'
The wagon hit a pothole deeper than the rest, jolting his spine. Then, it resumed its rhythmic, bone-shaking pace along with the rest of the caravan.
"I... I give up," Sunny murmured into the dark, a toxic lash of bitterness and self-pity.
'Why was I reincarnated as Sunless? I don't deserve this life,' he began. 'I give up. This world is too cruel, too ruthless, too difficult. I am not really Sunless. I've lived his life and carried his name, but I don't possess his legendary treachery. I lack his sharp wit. I don't have his charisma. And above all... I will never be a protagonist. Unlike him, I am just a ghost in my own skin. If I freeze at the first real obstacle and drown in self-pity, then it's obvious—I'm not fit for the role I was given. I am weak. I am a coward. Most of all, I am shallow. So... I quit. You win.'
With those words, Sunny vented every drop of resentment he held. Oddly, a wave of relief washed over him just by speaking the truth aloud, shedding a weight that had been crushing his chest for too long.
Deep down, he had always cultivated a sense of inferiority toward the original Sunless. He felt guilty for "stealing" this life. His surrender felt less like a tragedy and more like a restitution. When he died, he wouldn't just be vacating a desk; he'd be returning the chair to its rightful owner.
His tears ran dry. Only a hollow silence remained in his mind.
Until...
<
Sunny rolled his eyes, visibly annoyed. "Here we go again," he muttered under his breath. "The Jiminy Cricket is back."
In all his time in the Outskirts, whenever the world had tried to drown him, this presence would manifest to pull him back to the surface, perched on his shoulder like a bothersome guardian angel—and a cursed judge.
'Why won't you just leave me alone, you damn Cricket?!'
<
Sunny scoffed. 'If you're really my subconscious, you heard my monologue. I give up! This world is too hard, and I don't-'
<
Sunny fell silent. An uneasy pause stretched between them. Seeing that there was no pushback, the Voice sighed and continued.
<
Sunny blinked, his head lifting slightly.
'Honest? What do you mean? I'm being perfectly honest.'
<
'Sloth?! You're calling me lazy?' Sunny thought, clutching his chest as if standing before a jury.
<
'...' Sunny didn't snap back. He took the sentence in silence.
< You said you don't deserve Sunless's place. Sunless was a lump of clay; you only value him because you saw him become a jade statue as his story progressed. You feel unworthy because, unlike him, you have yet to break out of your own shell.
You said you will never be a protagonist. A protagonist is someone who holds their fate in their hands. Did it look like Sunless was the master of his? No. His choices, his relationships, his failures—they were all mapped out by someone else's weave. You, on the other hand, already know where the traps are hidden.
Now tell me: what other excuses do you have left?>>
"..."
The wagon made a sharp turn. The road began to incline. The neighing of horses and the coarse chatter of soldiers filled the air.
< So, instead of focusing on the answer, focus on the problem.
Instead of saying no by default, why not give yourself a chance for once?
You aren't better than the original Sunless, but you aren't worse, either.
You had dreams once.
Wonderful, massive dreams.
Selfless dreams.
If that pack of idiots mocked you in your past life, it was only because they were jealous. Your dreams were so radiant they highlighted the shadows their own lives had become.
They can't tell you anything now. And even if they could, let them talk. Everyone laughed at the caterpillar when it said it wanted to fly—everyone except the butterflies.
So stop underselling yourself.
Your light is brighter than any other in the sky.
And remember: "You can be so much more than this, aim higher, you could do better!">>
Finally, the caravan ground to a halt.
A few minutes later, a soldier carrying a cat-o'-nine-tails and a red banner entered the wagon. He began unlocking the slaves' shackles one by one to relocate them.
Sunny stepped off the wagon, his feet landing on ground that was snow-covered and even colder than before.
< An impetuous wind swept down from the mountain peaks, biting at his skin.
Sunny let out a long, weary sigh.
"What a headache!"