Sunny's eyes fluttered open at the crack of dawn, he lazily dragged himself straight from his bed and stretched his arms.
He glanced to his side, toward the small bronze door leading to the King's chambers. His hands instinctively tightened while his gaze hardened in thought. A moment later, whatever hesitation lingered within him faded, and he pushed himself off the bed.
Today, the court would finally stir to life — though calling it a court was generous, considering there were no courtiers in attendance.
Supposedly, one of the Freehold's last surviving squads from the western battlefield had returned with urgent news to deliver.
As an imperial slave — and more specifically, the King's personal fanbearer — Sunny was expected to be present long before the court convened.
Not because his role carried importance. Quite the opposite.
Fanbearers existed to stand silently beside the throne for hours at a time, unseen and unheard unless commanded otherwise. Talking tools, one could say. Living ornaments meant to ease the burdens of royalty.
A faint scowl tugged at Sunny's lips.
Of all the positions he could have ended up with, Fate had somehow decided that playing a slave was a perfect use of his talents.
Ridiculous.
Still, complaining about it changed nothing.
He grabbed the folded black garments resting near the bedside and dressed quickly. The silk-like material clung lightly against his skin, embroidered with faint crimson threads that marked him as one of the King's attendants. Around his neck rested the familiar bronze collar denoting his status as property of the palace.
Fate truly had a twisted sense of humor.
In his First Nightmare, he had been a lowly slave beneath one empire. Now, in his Second, he had somehow ended up an imperial slave serving yet another tyrannical kingdom.
Sunny clicked his tongue in annoyance as his fingers brushed past it.
Even after an entire month within the Nightmare, he still hadn't found Mahoraga. The elusive Sleeper had seemingly vanished without a trace.
Perhaps he had been thrown onto some distant battlefield as another expendable soldier, still fighting somewhere beneath the Freehold's banners. Or perhaps he had already died long ago, Sunny had no idea.
Damn that bastard.
He silently cursed under his breath.
Mahoraga had dragged him into what was possibly the worst Nightmare imaginable — a catastrophic war between two Divine Hosts, the Gods and the nebulous Daemons seeking to destroy the very Freehold Sunny now found himself trapped within.
No Awakened was capable of conquering a Nightmare like this — let alone two Sleepers, regardless of how divine their aspects might be.
The moment Sunny stepped beyond the bronze door, cold air greeted him.
The corridor outside stretched endlessly beneath the dim light of the yellow lanterns, their light flickering against black stone polished smooth with precision.
Shadow servants drifted silently through the halls, their heads lowered as they carried out their endless duties. None acknowledged him. Imperial slaves ranked only slightly above furniture within the palace hierarchy.
Fine by him.
Sunny preferred being ignored.
He moved through the corridor at an unhurried pace, his soft footsteps drowned beneath the distant rumble of thunder outside the fortress walls. Rain battered the palace relentlessly, the storm showing no signs of ending.
Normally, the Freehold was lifeless. The palace stood nearly abandoned, while the city beyond had grown desolate after most of its inhabitants marched away to join the endless war.
Only the King remained in his kingdom, silently ruling over an empire that was bleeding itself dry in war.
But there were times when even the King himself departed the palace for the battlefield, personally intercepting the Daemons and Gods to prevent them from utterly annihilating his forces.
Sunny had never witnessed the King fight personally.
But he had heard of the aftermath once.
An entire region had been plunged into eternal darkness for a fortnight. For two entire weeks, no light had touched that land. The sun vanished above it. The skies became a black void where even stars refused to shine, and everything caught within that region during that period simply disappeared.
That alone told Sunny everything he needed to know about how horrifying this Nightmare truly was.
His expression darkened slightly.
This is impossible.
The thought surfaced in his mind again.
Nightmares were difficult by design, but this surpassed anything reasonable. Sleepers were not supposed to survive conflicts between Divine entities. Even surviving near the battlefield felt miraculous at times.
Which meant one of two things.
Either the Nightmare possessed some hidden method of resolution… Or everyone inside it was simply going to die.
Sunny exhaled slowly.
Neither possibility comforted him.
Eventually, Sunny reached an enormous corridor lined with towering pillars of black stone. At its far end stood the colossal doors leading into the throne hall.
Two gigantic shadow guardians stood motionless before them, each one resembling a knight sculpted from darkness itself. Crimson light glimmered faintly through the gaps in their armor, like embers buried beneath armour.
Even after a month, those guards weren't any less terrifying.
One of the shadow guardians slowly turned its head toward him, its gaze lingering on Sunny for several long moments before it faced forward once more. Then, with a deafening groan of shifting metal, the throne hall doors began to open.
…
Damnation… what is he doing?
Sunny grumbled in his mind, his gaze fixed on the shadow he was almost certain belonged to that adaptable prick.
Upstaging the King in his own court was an executable offence, even more so when the King was a God himself… although he had to admit, Mahoraga looked cool doing so.
Not that he'd ever say that out loud.
His eyes darted towards the King, searching for even the slightest hint of anger.
But there was none.
The ancient ruler remained seated upon the throne of blades and bones, shrouded beneath layers of living shadow. Those pale crimson eyes rested upon Mahoraga with unreadable stillness, neither insulted nor amused by the Sleeper's refusal to kneel.
That alone unsettled Sunny more than rage would have.
The guards lining the chamber had gone utterly motionless. Even the servants drifting along the edges of the throne room slowed, as though the entire palace had instinctively recognized the danger of the moment.
Mahoraga, meanwhile, stood there in chains looking entirely unconcerned.
The King's voice echoed softly across the throne room once more.
"You claim kingship for yourself."
Mahoraga's lips curved faintly.
"I do."
Sunny nearly buried his face into his hands.
'He's actually doubling down.'
The King's pale crimson eyes studied Mahoraga silently.
"And what kingdom do you rule, child?"
Mahoraga tilted his head slightly.
"Myself."
The answer lingered in the hall.
Then, unexpectedly — the King laughed.
Yet the moment that laughter spread through the chamber, the suffocating pressure weighing upon everyone eased slightly.
Even the shadow creatures looked stunned.
Sunny blinked.
…What?
The King leaned back upon His throne.
"Interesting."
His gaze remained fixed upon Mahoraga.
"Most who stand before Me kneel out of fear. Others kneel out of worship. You alone refuse because you believe yourself equal."
Mahoraga shrugged lightly despite the chains binding his arms. "A king that bows isn't much of a king."
Sunny closed his eyes briefly.
We are going to die.
But instead of anger, the King only seemed more intrigued.
"So… what are you seeking, kid?"
Mahoraga fell silent for a moment, his eyes closing as he mulled over the question. After a brief pause, he finally gave his answer.
"I'm seeking to end this futile war."
The King decided to entertain the child standing in front of him and asked in a low tone, "And how do you propose we do that?"
Mahoraga's smile widened faintly.
"With a bit of planning of course… I'm surprised you lot haven't managed to do it already!"
A dangerous silence settled over the throne room as the captain began regretting ever bringing the damned demon in front of him before the King.
Mahoraga continued calmly, seemingly oblivious to the suffocating atmosphere around him.
"The Freehold is losing."
A few of the shadow creatures bristled immediately, but Mahoraga ignored them.
"Not because your soldiers are weak. Not because your generals are incompetent. You're losing because this war stopped being winnable a long time ago."
The King's pale crimson eyes narrowed slightly.
"My kingdom still stands."
"For now," Mahoraga replied evenly. "But your enemies are Divine beings. Even if you repel them a thousand times, all it takes is one mistake. One breach. One battle you arrive too late to."
His chains clinked softly as he shifted his stance.
"You're fighting a war of attrition against forces that do not care how much they lose."
The King watched him in silence.
"You're trying to preserve everything. Territory. Cities. Armies. Borders." He shook his head. "That's impossible."
A faint ripple passed through the shadows surrounding the throne.
"And what would you have Me abandon?" the King asked quietly.
"Everything unnecessary."
The chamber fell silent once more.
Mahoraga lifted his gaze directly toward the throne.
"Consolidate your forces. Abandon the wars at the Northern and Eastern Fronts, they're losing anyways. Fortify only what truly matters. Stop reacting to every attack and start forcing your enemies into battles on your terms."
His eyes gleamed madly.
"And start using the spite between the Gods and Daemon's to your advantage. The Daemons and Gods hate each other more than they hate you. Exploit that. Turn them against one another. Manipulate their conflicts. Divide them whenever possible."
He smiled faintly.
"Immortals are arrogant. Arrogant beings are predictable."
The King regarded him for several long moments and said with a sigh.
"You speak boldly for a mortal."
Mahoraga chuckled softly.
"There is nothing impossible to him, who tries."
The King's gaze remained fixed on Mahoraga, unmoving, as though weighing not just the words but the intent behind them. "And what price do you require for this?" he asked at last.
Mahoraga did not respond immediately. His expression softened into thoughtfulness as he pondered over the question.
"Command over a segment of your army, a small force with enough autonomy to move without approval. Some memories to outfit myself and my cohort. And most importantly," his eyes flickered to the shadow fanning the King, "that slave right there."
____
A/N - Wasn't we hitting 400 powerstones a month ago? Where that at?