Seishan's fingers curled slightly at her sides, subtle but tense, as she considered him: not merely another Sleeper in the Castle, but a variable she could neither ignore nor underestimate.
Above all of that was the presence of Sasrir, though. If Adam carried the faint, familiar scent of one of her own—someone who wore their intentions just beneath the surface—then Sasrir was of a completely different breed: like a Knight born of Clan Valor.
Every movement he made exuded lethal precision, as if death itself lingered in the wake of his steps. His accomplishments over the past six months alone spoke volumes of his skill, a catalogue of feats that would intimidate even seasoned Hunters.
But it was what lay beneath that unnerved her most. She had tried, more than once, to probe him, to read the currents of his blood and the subtle rhythms that betrayed intention. And yet, time and again, she gleaned nothing. No telltale pulse, no flicker of fear, no hint of desire or calculation—he was utterly unreadable. In that moment, the thought struck her: he was closer to a souless Echo than a flesh-and-blood human.
The most disturbing part, in her mind, was that when she focused intently, trying to map the flow of life within him, she felt… nothing. As if his body were a vessel animated by purpose alone, a living shadow with no heartbeat to betray it. Sasrir existed on a plane that Seishan could not measure, an enigma wrapped in steel and silence, bound only to Adam—and that bond, inexplicably, radiated a power she could neither penetrate nor ignore. Why the man stuck to the blonde priest, she and the rest of the Bright Castle had no clue; and everyone was dying to find out the price for the loyalty for a monster such as Sasrir.
Together, the two posed a threat far larger than either alone. And yet, instead of striking preemptively, instead of eliminating the danger before it could grow, some inscrutable force compelled her to extend an olive branch. Why? Was it Adam's acts of charity, his small gestures that shone like sparks in a world consumed by Dream Realm depravity and cruelty? Unlikely. She was no naive maiden, no girl whose heart could be swayed by kindness or charm.
Then why? Even Seishan could not answer that. All she knew was the undeniable truth of her actions: she was gambling—not just with her own position, but with the lives and futures of every sister behind her. And for what? For two men who, if misjudged, might amount to nothing at all. The risk was immense, yet the pull of something she could neither name nor control had drawn her to this precarious decision. It left a chill in her veins, a tension that would not fade, and a question that haunted her more than any threat she had faced before: could she truly trust what she could not understand?
Only time would tell the results of her gamble.
________
"Starlight Shard, Sunlight Shard?"
"Check."
"Moonlight Shard, Zenith Shard?"
"Check."
"Stone Saint?"
"Check, and upgraded to Marble Saint."
"Black Knight?"
"Check."
"Weaver's Mask, Mantle of the Underworld?"
"Check."
"Promotion to Lieutenant?"
"Check… though for you, it's closer to becoming a pet."
"Fuck you. Kai, Effie, and Seishan?" Two of them check, last one is still a work in progress."
"Alright then," I let out a long, exaggerated sigh and stretched my arms above my head, leaning back against the cold stone of the church pews. The quiet of the Corpse Cathedral wrapped around us, almost sacred in its stillness. Beside me, Sasrir stood perfectly still, eyes casually tracing the massive statue of the man with the blurred face, cross looming behind him.
We were in my Soul Sea, going over everything we'd managed to tick off, and what remained. Nine months had passed since our first arrival, and honestly, most of the stuff on our little list had already been crossed off. The few remaining tasks were either nearly done, or… impossible for now—like killing the Soul Devourer or getting Blood Weave.
Honestly, I didn't really care about Weaver's Lineage. I could already see the Runes on all my stuff without it, and once I leveled up my Sequence, I'd be able to use my own form of Discernment to pry into Fate anyway. The only real downside of skipping Blood Weave was that it made learning Sorcery harder—the Visionary Pathway just wasn't ideal for it, even as an Angel. But… I could live with that.
Over the past three months, I could see Sasrir's work with the Guards slowly taking shape, even if the process was brutal and methodical. From day one, he didn't care about being liked; he only cared about results. Every morning, the sound of boots echoing through the training grounds became a sort of ritual. Sasrir drilled the younger recruits relentlessly, making them repeat formations until their muscles burned and their minds ached.
The first month was chaos. The Guards, still loyal to Tessai in spirit, or perhaps just naturally belligerent, resisted authority at every turn—mocking his commands, testing his patience, and sometimes outright refusing to comply. Sasrir didn't hesitate. Punishments were swift, precise, and public. Nothing malicious—he wasn't cruel for the sake of cruelty—but every lesson left a mark. By the end of the month, murmurs of fear had replaced whispers of defiance.
The second month was the real transformation. Sasrir focused on removing the worst excesses of the Guards' debauchery—gambling, smuggling, and drinking binges in the castle. He created new schedules, enforced curfews, and assigned responsibilities that forced even the laziest of them to contribute. The Guards slowly realized that failure wasn't just dangerous—it was visible, humiliating, and entirely avoidable if they obeyed. By now, discipline was taking root, and Sasrir's stoic presence was enough to keep most in line.