The familiar, cold gloom of the Hunter's Quarters was my first sensation, followed by the chorus of snores and rustling blankets. Another morning in Bright Castle. A full month had bled into the next, each day a near-perfect copy of the last. The initial turbulence of our arrival had settled into a rigid routine, and with that routine, opinions of us had hardened into set, predictable shapes.
I swung my legs over the side of my bunk, the stone floor icy against my bare feet. A month of this. A month of prayers, of hunts, of playing my part. The reactions were now as routine as the days themselves. The Guards, when I passed them on my way to the outer walls, still wore those familiar smirks. They saw me as just another survivor with a strange hobby, whose antics broke the monotony of their watch. It was a comfortable disdain, one I'd carefully cultivated.
The Hunters were different. Their mockery had lost its sharp, testing edge and settled into something almost familial, like the way siblings tease each other. They'd roll their eyes at my prayers, but they'd also toss me an extra strip of dried meat if supplies were good. They'd joke about my "invisible friend," but they never hesitated to provide backup or share a useful tip if I asked. It was a strange, grudging form of acceptance, built on a foundation of shared risk and proven, if eccentric, utility.
My relationship with the Handmaidens was the most successfully cultivated. They definitely looked kindly upon me now. Where others saw foolishness, they saw steadfast compassion. A few of the younger ones, I noticed, would sometimes linger a little too long when I spoke, their eyes soft. They had been caught, not by any grand romantic gesture, but by the gentle personality and pretty appearance I projected so diligently.
And yes, it was pretty. I ran a hand over my annoyingly smooth jawline. Try as I might with what limited exercise I could manage, I couldn't seem to make myself look more muscular or imposing. My face remained stubbornly boyish, my frame lean rather than broad. I looked more like a choirboy than a warrior. I'd hoped my signature golden beard would grow in soon, something to add a shadow of maturity, a hint of grit. But for now, I was stuck with the face of a saint, not a soldier.
I went through my morning ritual, the motions so practiced they required no thought. The murmured prayers, the careful folding of my thin blanket. Around me, the room stirred to life. A Hunter named Jax tossed a ball of bundled socks at my head. "Say one for me, preacher!" he called out with a grin. I caught it and gave him a patient smile. "His mercy is boundless, Jax. Even for you." The room chuckled, the sound warm and inclusive. This was my place now, my carefully constructed niche.
As I headed out toward the mess hall, I passed a trio of Handmaidens. The red-haired one from my first day, Elara, gave me a small, genuine smile. "Good morning, Adam." Her friends glanced at each other with knowing looks. I returned the greeting with a nod, my expression the picture of humble serenity. It was all working exactly as planned. The Guards saw a boy, the Hunters saw a quirky brother, and the Handmaidens saw a kind soul. They were neither right not wrong in their assessments: I was all these things, but still more than the sum of my parts.
The satisfaction of playing my role almost made me start humming a tune, but of course, Sasrir had to burst my bubble. Sliding in silently beside me, his steps synchronized perfectly with mine. "You know, if you did that to someone else, they would probably stab you in fright" I said to him.
He shrugged, unbothered by the thought. "They'd have to hit me first. And besides, seeing your cheery face, I couldn't help but try and scare it off you."]
"You're a sadist" I rolled my eyes in fake exasperation.
"And you're a chuunibyou" he responded, amusement dancing beneath his monotone timbre. I coughed awkwardly, waving my hand at him in embarrassment. "Please, it's not that bad. I'm just doing what I'm meant to. I mean, the Curator obviously provided me with this role for a reason, right? Besides, isn't it fun?"
Sasrir hummed in acknowledgement, his gaze looking out the nearby window. "I suppose there is a certain charm to it. Watching people struggling to hold back their fright when I appear behind them always lifts my spirits. You know, they've started calling me a reaper, out in the Outskirts. I suspect it'll only be a month or two more before they say I snatch babies from cribs."
Now that got a laugh out of me. According to the division of manpower, Sasrir was the front while I was in the shadows-just as our Pathways dictate. While this was intended to boost my own reputation, it also had the unexpected side effect of alienating Sasrir and turning into some sort of bogeyman. While he went out on hunts with me and the rest of the squad, he always branched off on his own and returned with a monster carcass in hand. As the weeks went by, his reputation as a monster slayer built and solidified into the current legend.
"It's a good thing you're already a Hunter, or else you would have gotten the Effie treatment from Gunlaug. Gemma's already tried to pry some information about you out of me, but all I've given him is the fact we're brothers."
"Brothers?" Sasrir raised an eyebrow at that. "Even with my shadow cloaking, people can tell we look nothing alike."
"Brothers from a different mother," I responded breezily. "My dad and your mom, with little brother Amon on the way."
"As long as I'm not the one that has to give birth to him" Sasrir snorted, annoyed by my previous teasing.
We fell into a comfortable silence, the two of us watching the sunrise over the Dark City and reveal its decayed glory. After a minute of this, I spoke up. "Any news on the whereabouts of Athena?"
"Some, but mostly when she takes the initiate herself. I'm afraid of approaching her directly, but trying to make it look like an accidental run in probably isn't going to work at this rate either."
"We can't take on that Devil Knight without her," I sighed, gently rubbing the cross around my neck. "Not to mention acquiring the other Lord Shards. The Crown, at least, requires her presence-unless we can convince Seishan and Gemma to leave the City with us."
"Not likely."
"And the Soul Devourer?"
Sasrir's expression hardened. "I'm not going near that tree. My Listener powers still activate on their own if they receive too strong a probe, and while I'm confidant in my own mental strength, I don't want to risk hurting you by accident. The Unshadowed Domain requires too big a blood tax to defeat both the Tree and the Centurion Demon. We'll need two to engage it, and one to stay back to protect you."
"No Blood Weave or Mask then" I said dejectedly. The fact two Divine treasures were just lying forgotten in the ground was enough to infuriate me beyond words, but there was nothing I could do about it. We were too weak, too lacking, to make the most of our information advantage.
Seeing me frowning, a smile smile appeared on Sasrir's face as he put his hand on my shoulder. "Well, no need to be so upset. I did manage to find one thing in this godforsaken city at least."
"Oh yeah? What's that?"
"I think I know where we can find Saint."