The Nameless Sun had finally gone down over the Forgotten Shore, and the Dark Sea had risen.
The Great Titan expanded, drowning the crimson coral toward the horizon, its impossible depths hiding unspeakable horrors. Zachary sat on the edge of the marble arch, staring sternly into the lightless expanse after offering to take first watch, a tight frown adorning his lips.
'A Great Titan, the darkness born from a fallen Nephilim... Or something like that. I can't recall accurately,' Zachary mused, a cold chill creeping up his spine.
A narrative tool, a vivid atmospheric resource—now a very real, very tangible threat. And he had to figure out how to survive it when the time came.
Sighing deeply, he looked down at his left hand, carefully massaging the scarred knuckles and stiff joints.
The hand didn't cause him too many issues despite having healed wrong, yet sharp, phantom pains still coursed through his palm and shoulder from time to time. He pressed his ring finger, working in slow circles toward the tip. The dark shadow in his empty eye socket looked deeper as he nursed the limb. The fingers were visibly crooked, a patchwork of gruesome, pale scars set against rosy skin.
Zachary licked his lower lip as a deep breath escaped him. He tried to extend his hand fully, but a sudden, sharp pang shot up his forearm, forcing a pained winced. He aborted the attempt immediately, his face settling back into a guarded frown—whatever heavy thoughts he held hidden behind an expression that didn't quite feel like his own.
A soft, firm step echoed suddenly behind him. The grim look vanished, replaced by a subtle, amused smile as Zachary felt the presence approaching in the dark.
"I'll be honest... I was expecting anyone aside from you," Zachary muttered over his shoulder.
Caster stood a short distance away. Beneath the starless sky of the Forgotten Shore, the two men who had just traded blows exchanged quiet, heavy glances.
The easy, gentle smile that usually characterized the Legacy was gone, replaced by a deep, sharp frown—the kind that only appeared when a plan went sideways, or when something managed to breach his polished armor.
The scion offered no greeting. Instead, he studied Zachary intently despite the pitch-black night blinding normal vision. To Zachary's eye, it almost looked like Caster was contemplating his own reflection rather than staring at another man.
Despite towering over Zachary's seated form, there was no bravado in the scion's posture. He looked tense—nervous, even. His broad shoulders remained locked, his body completely static except for his right hand, which continuously clenched and unclenched in a rigid, restless cadence.
Seeing that the Legacy wasn't going to break the silence anytime soon, Zachary turned back toward the dark horizon. But then, Caster finally spoke from behind him.
"Do you truly believe that?"
The voice came with its usual flat cadence, yet there was an undeniable strain beneath it.
Zachary turned, still seated, to look at the Legacy standing a couple of meters away, keeping his expression neutral.
"Believe what?" he asked, a genuine note of surprise lacing his voice.
Caster opened his mouth for a second before snapping it shut, his nose scrunching in a mixture of disgust and disbelief. Perhaps he couldn't believe he was actually entertaining a conversation with Zachary, disgusted that he had allowed himself to be pushed into this position. Yet something deep inside was pulling at him, demanding an answer.
"The words you spoke... during the spar," he said quietly, forcing the statement out, clearly refusing to call their clash a real duel.
"About..." Caster paused, his lips twisting as he took a slow breath, as if the mere act of uttering the phrase went against every value he held dear. "About the fear of childishness... and that there's nothing wrong with it."
To say Zachary was surprised was an understatement. He knew C.S. Lewis's idea had reached the cohort based on the brief reactions he had caught earlier. But Caster being the one to seek him out to discuss it? He hadn't seen that coming in a million years.
Zachary studied the Legacy. Caster continued looking down on him, as if maintaining physical height would allow him to retain control over the interaction. But Zachary saw right through it—it was just a desperate front.
Caster couldn't see well under the lightless night, meaning he couldn't hide his micro-expressions as effectively as he usually did. The tight knots in his shoulders, his wide, defensive stance—his guard was completely up.
In stark contrast, Zachary sat leisurely. One arm rested casually over his knee while he leaned back on his other palm, his single crimson eye observing the scion's frowning face and the subtle tremor in his gaze that felt entirely out of place on an elite Legacy.
'Do I truly believe that?' Zachary repeated the question internally, drawing a long breath.
To be completely honest, he had thrown those words out in the heat of the moment. The quote had just felt like an oddly satisfying counter to Caster's taunt. Yet he couldn't deny it was a core philosophy he had carried back in the Other World. But he couldn't hide behind that excuse here, where those exact words carried a vastly different, almost dangerous weight.
After all, his own Attribute branded him a child.
[The Fool] Attribute Description: "It appears you're new in this world, an innocent child who hasn't met hardship..."
Words carried power. A basic principle from his past life was only reinforced in this realm, where Names defined existence and actively shaped destinies. It was entirely understandable why a rigid, heavily conditioned Legacy like Caster was so visibly rattled by the concept.
Understanding an idea and truly believing in it were two entirely different things, separated only by how one acted when pushed to the brink.
Did he really believe it?
Zachary's smile slowly softened, the amusement fading into something far more grounded as he looked up at the scion waiting in the dark.
"You're a Legacy, so you must have received a far vaster education than what they teach in a normal Academy, right?"
Caster nodded stiffly, and Zachary continued with a low chuckle. "So... have you ever heard of Nietzsche? German writer, powerful mustache. You should have learned a bit about the past, too."
Caster's frown vanished for a second, replaced by genuine confusion, but his guarded look quickly returned as he shook his head. "I think I have heard the name, but I cannot say I have read his work."
Zachary nodded in understanding. He still didn't fully grasp how Legacy education functioned—what subjects were deemed essential and which were tossed aside. He remembered Morgan referencing The Brothers Karamazov, and Nephis knew the Russian author well enough to recognize his quotes. Perhaps only the Great Clans placed a heavy focus on classical humanities and arts.
Shaking his head and suppressing the urge to lampoon, Zachary smiled faintly. "Don't worry too much about it. It's just that this guy rambled about a concept that fits our little debate remarkably well."
A brief laugh escaped his marred lips. Nietzsche wasn't at the top of his personal list of favorite thinkers—not that he ranked philosophers anyway, as there was hardly an objective standard for such things. But it was strangely amusing how the old philosopher's ideas kept rearing their heads in this brutal new world.
"You should really sit down, Caster. I'm about to monologue a bit," Zachary said, his lips twitching as the Legacy stubbornly remained standing a short distance away.
"Nietzsche wrote about the Three Metamorphoses of the Spirit. And when he said spirit, he wasn't talking about some mystical soul or ethereal magic. The word he used was Geist, which translates better to mind, intellect, consciousness, or the human spirit. Nuance in translation is pretty important with these things, you know?" Zachary added, pointing a finger at the rigid scion.
"These metamorphoses aren't a biological evolution. They represent the internal stages one must pass through to achieve true spiritual freedom... Though, to be fair, there's a lot of philosophical setup before this part," he admitted with an awkward cough before continuing.
"Anyway, the first transformation is the Camel. The camel is the beast of burden that willingly kneels down to take on the heaviest loads: duty, traditional morality, inherited values, the tyrannical 'Thou Shalt.' The camel is resilient, disciplined, and obedient—but it lacks a true will of its own and the capacity for genuine self-reflection."
Hearing those words, a faint flicker of recognition flashed in Caster's eyes. Yet the Legacy remained completely motionless, refusing to take a single step closer. Despite noticing the scion's defensive stillness, Zachary pressed on, his tone remaining calm and measured.
"But in the loneliest desert, the second metamorphosis takes place: here, the spirit transforms into the Lion."
Zachary paused, catching Caster's brow furrowing in confusion.
"Keep in mind, this is an aphorism—a metaphor for the nature of human growth. When Nietzsche speaks of the desert, he's describing a state of profound social solitude. Stripped of institutions, far from a community to enforce traditional morality, the camel is forced to become the lion. In the barren landscape of nihilism, one must adapt or break."
Zachary leaned slightly, his single crimson eye fixing Caster in the dark. "The lion seeks its own freedom. It wants to become the master of its own desert. Its sole task is to do battle with the great dragon whose name is 'Thou Shalt.'"
A sharp, mocking grin split Zachary's features.
"It's ironic when you think about it. Humanity has been fighting dragons since the dawn of myth. The dragon is the ultimate archetype—the final, terrifying foe the hero must destroy at the end of their story. So... is there really any greater dragon than the rigid values and expectations that molded us into who we are?"
Zachary let his gaze wander toward the lightless sky, his expression turning thoughtful.
"The dragon is nothing more than the heavy burdens the camel once carried. Out in the desert, there is no one left to remind the lion of what he ought to do, yet he still carries those lingering obligations. The dragon roars 'Thou Shalt!'—but the lion answers back with 'I Will.' The dragon speaks the language of external duty; the lion replies in the language of sovereign will. The lion shatters the old values—it is the ultimate spirit of defiance."
"And yet... the lion is still fundamentally incapable of creating new values. It is a grand destroyer, but it cannot build."
{_^_}
Suddenly, Cinder Eyes flared, Zachary felt a sharp prickle of awareness—someone else in the resting cohort was listening intently to every word. He simply smiled knowingly, keeping his focus on the starless void above rather than looking back at Caster or their silent observer.
"Finally... the lion must become the Child."
Caster's eyes trembled as the heavy silence hanging over the arch grew noticeably denser. The hidden attention watching them from the shadows pricked at Zachary's skin, but his smile only grew wider and slyer as he delivered the final piece.
"In its infinite innocence, the child carries neither the weight of past resentment nor the guilt imposed by old moralities. It forgets what 'ought to be' in order to fully engage with what is. The child is naive to the world, yes, but there is no flaw in that. That innocence is a 'Sacred Yes'—it affirms life as it comes, experiencing reality without judging it through artificial categories of 'good' and 'evil' forced upon it by others."
He looked back at the scion, letting the words sink into the silence.
"The world becomes a playground for the child. In its naivety, everything is fresh, novel, and full of wonder. Through spontaneous joy, it experiments, invents, and creates without fear of failure or judgment..."
Zachary suddenly paused, his tone dropping an octave, carrying an undeniable weight.
"...In its infinite innocence, the child is equally bearer of infinite potential."
He stared into Caster's faintly trembling eyes for a long, quiet second before concluding softly.
"The child is a wheel that rolls out of its own motion. It doesn't seek external validation, nor does it ask for permission. It becomes its own center... and its own lawgiver."
They continued to stare into each other, Caster's thoughts clouded behind a tight frown that betrayed as much emotion as the stoic mask he was trying to maintain.
Meanwhile, Zachary was frowning for an entirely different reason.
Yes, he could quote Nietzsche all night. He could demonstrate how well-read he was and dissect high philosophy with effortless precision. But none of that answered the single, uncomfortable question that had brought forth this entire exchange in the first place:
Did he truly believe the words he was preaching?
'There must be some truth behind them... there has to be.' Zachary wanted to believe it. Deep down, he desperately needed to.
Back in the Other World, these kinds of existential questions—this spiritual anxiety and philosophical hunger—were largely buried. In a modern society lulled by comfort and castrated of any true yearning for the extraordinary, deep reflection had been relegated to an afterthought. The Last Man—the hollow, placid human Nietzsche warned about—was rapidly becoming a reality.
Yet Zachary couldn't deny that the very ability to study and question such concepts was a luxury. It was a product of the privilege he had enjoyed in his past life. That old world had its own suffocating problems that demanded people's survival energy, and he couldn't blame anyone for focusing on standard existence.
But in this world?
In this twisted circus that danced to the macabre rhythm of Fate—a reality entirely indifferent to the strong and viciously cruel to the weak—Zachary had been forced to dismantle and rebuild everything he thought he knew.
Perhaps that was the true point of all this. To have his faith and will tested, to clash against rigid doctrines that denied the old world he still called home. In a realm that systematically punished innocence... Zachary thought that being branded a "child" didn't feel so bad after all.
'But that isn't even the real question I should be asking myself right now...' he thought, his grin twisting wryly.
Honestly, there was a deeper, far more selfish motivation he had purposefully avoided acknowledging since the conversation began.
Why was he preaching this? Why was he sharing these subversive ideas with Caster, of all people?
Because the Legacy had brought the topic up first? That was a convenient excuse, but it wasn't the truth. Zachary knew exactly what kind of character Caster was—devoted to his Clan, bound to his mission, completely loyal to the Sovereigns. Raised from birth to be the ultimate poster boy for the Legacy system, Caster was the quintessential Camel.
So why try to shake his foundation? Did Zachary actually expect him to undergo some grand character arc? This far into the timeline, with his own survival plans already in motion?
No. Zachary's true reason was far less logical, driven purely by an impulse he couldn't suppress:
He wanted to see a different ending to this cursed story.
It was a quiet desperation that had taken root when they sat around the campfire hours ago. Every time he navigated a landmark already outlined in the original novel, or worse, heard a dialogue he had once read on a screen without him needing to prompt it... it made Zachary feel horribly trapped.
That same cold detachment he felt whenever the people around him perfectly mimicked their fictional character arcs—he hated it. He abhorred it.
Zachary knew it would be infinitely easier to survive this hellscape with a hardened, detached heart. This world wasn't kind. It operated on the brutal law of struggle: to live was to fight, to bleed, and to continuously tear through the dark just to keep breathing. Disconnecting emotionally was the smart play.
And yet... it was human nature to crave genuine connection.
Every time he found himself trapped in those pre-scripted moments, watching people act out their pre-ordained destinies like puppets, he felt profoundly isolated. He felt alone.
So, against every rule of self-preservation, Zachary spoke those words. He cast those ideas into the dark, hoping to catch a glimpse of something human beneath Caster's polished Legacy veneer. What would it achieve? How would it ripple into his future plans? He didn't know. Maybe he never would.
Oblivious to the quiet storm raging inside the young man sitting before him, Caster finally met his gaze. The Legacy mask was back in place, but Zachary could see the hairline fractures beneath it—it was nothing more than a fragile facade.
"This is mere intellectual play," Caster said matter-of-factly, his tone stiff. "There is no real substance behind it. What actual validity do those ideas hold in a world like ours?"
"Yeah... you're probably right," Zachary admitted easily, watching Caster's eyes widen slightly in surprise. "And yet, it's also true that words and ideas can reshape entire worlds."
A faint smile flashed across Zachary's lips as he quoted softly into the quiet night:
"...The powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse."
Zachary sighed, looking steadily into Caster's green eyes. "A lack of inherent meaning doesn't make an idea useless. Words carry power. By giving voice to an idea, we make it real."
Caster's frown deepened, his jaw tightening before he forced his expression to settle. "I understand the concept. It sounds poetic on paper, but reality doesn't work that way. The world requires order."
The scion took a half-step forward, his voice hardening with conviction. "You talk so casually about destroying values, about building new truths... But you conveniently ignore the absolute horror the world fell into when the old civilization destroyed itself. You know the era we live in, Zachary. There is no room for chaos or rebellion. We need structure. We must serve a higher Will—that is the only way humanity survives."
Caster locked his gaze onto him, his eyes piercing through the gloom of the dark arch. "Your ideas are dangerous."
"Doesn't that mean they're working?" Zachary replied instantly, letting out a soft, low chuckle. "A good idea ought to transform us, challenge our worldview, and push us higher. Stagnation is what brings collapse."
"You really are ignorant," Caster muttered, unable to fully mask the bitterness in his voice.
"I guess I am," Zachary accepted without a hint of resistance, looking back toward the silent, rising tide of the Dark Sea. 'And honestly... I'm speaking from a place of sheer privilege.'
Childishness... He understood intellectually that the Waking World was a dying realm, even if he hadn't fully walked its ruined streets himself.
Innocence and childhood weren't thrown aside simply because of strict upbringing or elitist Legacy education—they were casualties of sheer necessity. It wasn't just the scions of the Great Clans; every child in that world had inherited a shattered planet, where catastrophic Nightmare Gates could tear open reality at any moment. How could a normal childhood ever take root under the weight of constant existential dread?
Zachary came from a world spared from such daily horrors. He hadn't grown up with the terror of a Gate spawning beside his house. He didn't have to worry about food rations collapsing because a Siege City was under assault. He had lived a mundane life, enjoyed a normal education, and received the grounding, unconditional love of a family. A world without such nightmare problems—
'No, that's not right,' Zachary quickly checked himself, once again catching his own privilege.
The Other World wasn't some flawless paradise. It had its own cruelties: wars, crushing poverty, neglect, abusive homes... Innocence wasn't guaranteed back home either. How many kids lived through their own personal hells at the hands of the people meant to protect them?
'I really was privileged,' Zachary thought grimly. Both of his parents had worked long, exhausting hours just to support the family, but they had sacrificed everything to ensure a stable, warm environment for him and his little sister. 'I really was blessed.'
He was naive. He was speaking from a place of rare comfort. A Fool in every sense of the word.
And yet, maybe that was precisely why he could say, with absolute certainty, that he believed what he preached. One should fight to protect that innocence. In an unforgiving universe that seeks to harden and destroy, preserving a fragment of that initial light ought to be the highest human endeavor.
Interrupting his spiraling thoughts, Caster broke the silence with a long, tired sigh.
"My mom would like you..."
"Is she pretty?" Zachary blurted out instantly, his mouth moving faster than his brain.
Danger Sense flared viciously. Zachary whipped his arm up just in time to catch a heavy, blindingly fast kick from Caster's boot. The impact sent a dull throb straight down his forearm, but Zachary just grinned mockingly through the pain.
"Only pretty girls get to lay hands on me, dude."
Caster stared down at him with unfiltered disgust. "Fucker."
"Hahahaha!" Zachary laughed out loud, pointing a finger directly at the scion. "There it is! You finally dropped that proud, pristine Legacy act!"
The scion spun around anxiously, checking the resting cohort to see if anyone had been stirred by Zachary's booming laugh. Seeing no movement, the Legacy turned back, took a rigid step forward, and glared down at him.
"I genuinely hate people like you," Caster said, spite lacing his proud voice. "Mongrels who have no idea how to know their place... And yet, I can't even bring myself to properly hate you."
"That's just my natural charm," Zachary smirked, watching with satisfaction as Caster finally caved and sat down beside him on the edge of the arch. "So... about your mom..."
Zachary pressed, refusing to let the moment slip away. The scion flashed him another disgusted look, but it quickly faded into a tired, heavy breath.
"My parents are both Ascended..." Caster began, his voice dropping into a flat, distant rhythm. "I grew up under their constant instruction, listening to endless stories of what they achieved. My mom is the strategist of their cohort—always cold, always calculating. I've heard horror stories of the cold decisions she made for the sake of the mission. But that wasn't the mother I knew at home... She was always warm with me."
A faint, genuine ghost of a smile flickered across Caster's face, only to be instantly buried beneath his guarded exterior.
"We have servants and professional chefs in our estate, yet she always insisted on cooking for me herself. Whenever I got injured sparring with my father, she tended my wounds personally... And that's where the problem lies."
Frowning, Caster's voice strained slightly. "There's a hard limit to how far a Legacy Clan can grow when it's led solely by Ascended members. I am expected to elevate our clan's standing. I owe that duty to my father, and I will fulfill it. But my mother refuses to see that. She constantly scolded him for pushing me too hard... Why can't she understand that I'm not a child anymore? I have a massive responsibility on my shoulders."
Caster's brow furrowed deeper, turning his green eyes toward Zachary with absolute seriousness. "That's why she would like you. Both of you are fools who fail to grasp what is actually at stake."
Zachary stared out into the dark horizon, letting the harsh label slide right off him.
"Don't be so hard on your mom, Caster," Zachary said softly, his voice devoid of any mock or bite. "Can you really blame a parent for just wanting their kid to have an easier life than they did?"
Caster's eyes widened. For the first time all night, his carefully cultivated Legacy mask crumbled completely. He bit his lower lip hard, his nose scrunching as he turned his face away toward the rising sea, unable to speak.
"I don't even know why I'm telling you this..." Caster muttered quietly, letting the silence hang between them for a long, heavy minute.
Finally regaining his composure, the scion leaned back, stating casually without looking at him:
"For someone with dead parents, you give surprisingly good counsel."
Zachary blinked, caught off guard for a fraction of a second, before bursting into a quiet chuckle. "I see what you're trying to do, but you're not getting under my skin, man."
Caster scoffed softly, a faint, reluctant twitch of a smile crossing his lips. "You can't be the only one allowed to mess with people's parents, Zach."
With another slow sigh, the Legacy stood up, dusted off his trousers, and began making his way back toward where the rest of the cohort slept. He paused for a fraction of a second, looking back over his shoulder.
"You mentioned earlier that you wanted to open a bar, right?" Caster said, his tone turning somewhat composed again. "You should aim higher, Zach. Someone with your level of talent could easily join a Great Clan."
Without waiting for a reply, Caster walked away into the shadows, leaving Zachary sitting alone on the edge of the world.
Zachary sat in the quiet dark, a heavy knot tightening in his chest. A sudden, chaotic mixture of genuine warmth, contentment, regret, and deep-seated shame washed over him all at once.
'I really fucked up, didn't I?' Zachary thought, letting out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh.
All the while, Cinder Eyes continued to burn softly behind his closed lid—warning him that someone in the dark was still listening to every breath he took.