You plan to steal Sunny's True Name and Fate?" Sasrir raised an eyebrow.
I sat up and stared at him with my mouth open before closing it and coughing sheepishly. "How did you guess?"
"Because," Sasrir was rolling his eyes now, "we share the same origin, and I naturally thought of that too. Let me guess, you plan to envision Amon and have him use Theft after the Vile Thieving Bird plucks out the strings. It's a good idea, but I doubt it'll work that easily. The Bird is a Cursed Terror that hoodwinked a Divine Daemon and multiple Void Creatures. Amon would need to be at least a Saint or have Parasite level Theft to even contend with it. And the former means he won't even be able to show up in the Tomb."
"That's why I said not to ask me about it" I waved my hand impatiently. "I'm still trying to work around that stuff."
"Sigh, you've already mentioned your plan to steal away Stone Saint, Weaver's Mask and the Blood Weave. Are you sure you're not actually Amon is disguise?"
"I'm just brainstorming," I shrugged. "Following the plot to the letter is just boring, don't you think? And beside, we have an active audience to impress. If we do well, the Curator hinted at some rewards, or maybe real-time assistance. Besides, if I want to become an Author, I need my own experience in writing scripts. I'm thinking of playing the "ancient and unknown Deity slowly awakening or recovery from his slumber" trope. Maybe add in a few murals, dash my Honorific Name across some walls, that sort of thing."
"I can't tell if you're imitating Klein or Shadow with that method" Sasrir muttered, causing me to smile. "Who says it's one or the other? Maybe I'll drop an "Atomic" right after flexing all my lore knowledge. Heh, I can imagine Cassie's face when I know even more than she does."
Sasrir's head snapped up at her name. "Can the witch pry into our Fates? I'm just an extension of you, but your currently body is an actual citizen of this world, with a past and history. You might not be able to avoid her eyes" he warned.
"That's why I need Weaver's mask" I said, serious this time. "Sunny was being led around the nose by Cassie and Nephis with it anyways, at most it blocked out Mordret's spying for a bit but didn't change anything. It would have far more use in my hands than in his. A Divine Memory...even up to as far as we read before getting dropped in here, there wasn't a second, right? Can you imagine what we could do with something like that?!"
Seeing the fanatical look on my face, Sasrir just sighed and retreated into shadow form, his last words echoing in my head.
"Just don't let Amon use it, he'll be trouble enough as is and we really don't need to embolden him."
....
The Academy in the final days before the solstice was a pressure cooker of grim anticipation. The casual buzz of learning had vanished, replaced by a focused, heavy silence that clung to the hallways. You could feel it in the air—a sharp, electric tension that had even the most arrogant Legacy kids dialling back the bravado. This was it. The final countdown.
The instructors shifted gears completely. No more theoretical deep dives or philosophical debates about Essence theory. Their lessons became brutally practical, stripped down to bare essentials.
A grizzled Awakened from the War Department drilled us on field triage, his voice a gravelly monotone as he described how to staunch a wound caused by acidic venom or psychic backlash.
"Your first priority isn't to fight," he'd barked, scanning our faces. "It's to survive long enough for your Aspect to kick in. Don't be a hero. Be a survivor."
Another instructor, her fingers tracing glowing runes in the air, outlined the most common types of minor Nightmare Creatures—the Scavengers, the Lurkers, the Swarmlings. "Memorize these," she commanded, her voice leaving no room for argument. "Knowing what's trying to kill you is the first step to killing it first."
The cafeteria, usually a place of scattered chatter and occasional laughter, became a sombre mess hall. Sleepers I'd barely spoken to all year gravitated together, forming quiet, grim huddles. We didn't talk much.
There was nothing left to say. We just sat, eating the excellent food that suddenly tasted like ash, stealing glances at each other. You'd see someone and think, Will they make it? and then the darker, more selfish thought: Will I see them again? It was a room full of people silently saying goodbye.
But the strangest change was in the Legacies. The ones who usually lounged with an air of bored superiority were suddenly… awake. Their eyes, usually half-lidded with disinterest, now held a sharp, predatory glint. You'd see them in the combat sims, not going through the motions, but tearing into the holographic monsters with a vicious, joyful intensity they'd never shown before.
This wasn't training for them; it was a preview. They weren't afraid of the monsters. They were excited. For them, the Dream Realm wasn't a death sentence—it was a hunting ground, their birth right, the place where they would finally get to unsheathe the legendary Memories they'd heard stories about since childhood and prove their clan's worth.
Their quiet conversations were no longer about avoiding danger, but about efficient killing fields and teamings. For a Legacy, death is more of a shame than a fear.
The whole place felt like it was holding its breath. Every lesson, every meal, every glance felt weighted with finality. We were all standing on the edge of the cliff, and in a few days, the push was coming. The only question left was who would fly, and who would fall.
Reality really set in when an Awakened-Roche, or maybe Rouge-called the for one last assembly, in a room full of Hollows. "Take a goof look around you," he started, his voice and face as solid as stone.
"You may recognise some of these people, you7 might even know them personally. All of them were Dormant or Awakened, novices or those with a hundred battles under their belt. And each and every one of them is dead."
Despite knowing his speech beforehand, it still sent a shiver down my spine. These people were Hollows, Awakened whose souls had been destroyed in the Dream Realm, never to wake up again.
The opposite, those who died in body while exploring the Dream Realm, were called the Lost, and Nephis' own mother was one of them. Of course, whether or not she was really dead was still contested in some theories, but it was generally accepted as canon, just like how Broken Sword was indeed dead. Hmm, didn't Valour also send a whole division of Lost to guard Mordret in the Chained Isles?
Below me, my shadow flickered. "What, are you planning to add the Prince of Nothing to your little retinue of misfits and madmen? I approve, if you feel like holding it up to a vote."
...
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