The walk didn't take long. Soon enough, the screen-Nephis reached the entrance of the Academy, where a woman in a sharp, professional uniform stood waiting.
"Oh! You must be the new Sleepers. You arrived just in time; the briefing hasn't started yet." The woman extended a hand, which Nephis took and shook with a practiced, neutral grace. "It's not very usual for people to come into the Academy this late into the solstice, since there are only months left for the Sleepers to become Awakened."
The mention of the deadline hit the theater with a subtle shift in the soundtrack—the low, romantic strings were replaced by a ticking, rhythmic percussion, signaling that the clock was running out on their preparation.
After finishing shaking Nephis's hand, the woman turned to Sunny and offered to shake with him too. In a moment of pure cinematic tension, movie-Sunny didn't take the hand immediately. He stood perfectly still, his "wild" black hair casting a shadow over his dark eyes as he stared at her hand as if assessing if this were a trap or a dangerous ploy. The actor played it as "mysterious and guarded," a brooding warrior who trusted no one.
In her seat, the real Nephis felt a flick of annoyance. The movie-Sunny was treating a simple handshake like a life-or-death tactical decision for the sake of drama. The real Sunny would have been far more subtle—he wouldn't have stood there like a statue; he would have been scanning the woman's stance, the exits, and the hidden cameras while shaking her hand to blend in.
Finally, after a very long, silent moment that was clearly meant to make the audience lean in, Sunny shook the woman's hand with a firm, decisive grip.
"I see you're the careful type. Nothing wrong with that," the woman said with a knowing smile. "My name is Fe. If you two would please follow me."
As they followed Fe inside, the Academy was revealed to be a gleaming, high-tech fortress of glass and steel—a far cry from the cold, stone-and-shadow reality Nephis remembered. The movie-Nephis walked with a cooperative, heroic stride, looking every bit the "destined protagonist," while the "giant" Sunny loomed behind her like a dark, protective sentinel.
Fe led Nephis and Sunny through the sprawling facilities, her voice a steady stream of information as she highlighted the most popular classes—the ones she believed both of them should take to "harness their potential." She spoke of legendary professors with an air of reverence, but just before they passed through the doors leading to the briefing, she added a final detail with a conspiratorial smile.
"By the way, the dormitories aren't separated by gender. All Sleepers are encouraged to interact and build bonds freely."
On the screen, the camera lingered on a quick, charged glance between movie-Sunny and movie-Nephis—a classic trope hinting at the "inevitable" romance to come. In the dark of the theater, the real Nephis felt a pulse of irritation. The movie was turning their survival-focused training into a high-stakes dating spectacle.
As they entered the room, the voice of a man mid-sentence greeted them. The classroom was a gleaming, high-tech auditorium, featuring a massive, glowing holographic map that looked more like a sci-fi command center than a school for soldiers.
"As you can—oh, I see we've got two more! Welcome! Please, take a seat. I was just showing the route from the dormitories to the gym area and the tactical classrooms." As the man spoke, he turned away from the hologram, where the map was seen pulsing in a cool blue light, and flashed the newcomers a bright, professional smile.
"If you two don't mind, could I have your names? The other students already introduced themselves, so I believe it would only be fair if you two also shared."
Nephis opened her mouth to answer, her screen-self looking poised and cooperative. But she was suddenly interrupted by Sunny.
"I kind of mind," he said, his voice dropping into a low, defiant rasp. "But my name is Sunless."
The music in the theater shifted instantly, the background hum taking on a darker, more mysterious tone that framed the name like a looming omen. The other "students" in the background whispered amongst themselves, looking impressed by his blatant lack of respect for authority.
The real Nephis shook her head. The real Sunny would have sooner cut off his own tongue than draw that much unnecessary attention to himself on the first day. He was a creature of shadows, not a stage-hogging rebel. If the man doing the presentation was bothered by Sunny's answer, he didn't show it; he only nodded, his smile never wavering as the camera panned to catch Nephis's "surprised" reaction to Sunny's boldness.
The frame focused on the screen-Nephis, and a melodramatic internal monologue echoed through the theater speakers:
"So that's his name. I like it. It's very strange, but also kind of poetic."
In the real world, tucked away in the velvet shadows of the theater, Nephis felt a sudden, traitorous heat crawl up her neck and settle in her cheeks. She stared straight ahead, her eyes fixed on the screen, but her heart gave a heavy, rhythmic thud. It was a ridiculous, over-the-top line—the kind of thing a screenwriter came up with to sell a romance—and yet, a small part of her felt exposed. She had found his name poetic. She had thought it sounded like a lonely, beautiful secret, though she would have sooner let the Nightmare Spell claim her than ever admit that to anyone.
Beside her, she was acutely aware of her friends. She prayed the dim light of the projector didn't betray the faint, rosy glow on her face.
After the monologue, the screen-Nephis stood a little straighter and spoke with a practiced, cool authority. "My name is Nephis, of the Immortal Flame Clan."
A low hum of whispering filled the theater's surround-sound speakers as the other Sleepers in the meeting turned to stare. The weight of the "Immortal Flame" name settled into the room like a physical pressure. The instructor's eyebrow raised slightly—a sign of a veteran who recognized the legend standing before him—but that was the only change he allowed himself.
"Well, I'm glad you both could make it. Please, take a seat."
The movie-Nephis didn't hesitate and chose a seat in the back of the group. The camera followed her, showing how she picked a spot that gave her a perfect tactical view of the room, the man, and his displayed map.
Now in her seat, the screen-Nephis focused her gaze forward, looking every bit the cold, untouchable heir. Meanwhile, the real Nephis sank a little deeper into her theater chair, her face still warm. On the screen, the other Sleepers were seen whispering and taking glances in her direction, but her movie-self just stared ahead with iron discipline.
Then, her inner monologue returned, sounding weary and cynical:
"Yeah, that's the usual reaction."
In the real world, Nephis remained perfectly still, her face still flushed as she tried to regain her composure. She gripped the velvet armrest until her knuckles turned white, her mind racing. How could they have known? It was a lucky guess by the scriptwriters, but it hit far too close to home. She just hoped the theater was dark enough that Cassie and Effie hadn't noticed the glow of her skin.
On the frame, Nephis could be seen looking to the sides, her jaw set as she tried to avoid making eye contact with the other Sleepers, who had begun to glance at her without hiding their curiosity. Looking around the room, she saw the figure of Sunny still standing at the entrance, his eyes scanning the area with a calculated intensity that the camera lingered on for several seconds.
The scene expanded to show both of them locking eyes for a brief, heavy moment—a visual bridge between the two outcasts. Then, movie-Sunny turned his face away and headed to the opposite corner of the room. For some reason, that specific corner looked to be shrouded in deep, cinematic shadow compared to the bright, clinical lighting where Nephis and the other Sleepers were sitting.
In the theater, the real Nephis felt a ghost of a smile tug at her lips. The real Academy was a place of sterile, unyielding light; it didn't provide "thematic shadows" for brooding teenagers to hide in. The movie was literally dimming the lights just to make him look more mysterious.
The frame focused on Nephis's face, which wore a complicated expression—part curiosity, part longing. This was followed by an inner monologue that sounded far more romantic than any thought she'd actually had that day:
"Guess we can talk and get acquainted later." With her inner monologue finished, Nephis turned back to the instructor. The background music shifted, a single, lonely cello note trailing Sunny's retreat before a more upbeat, academic melody took over. The instructor had stopped talking about the multiple pathways to get anywhere in the Academy and was now talking about the specialized classes that were provided.
Nephis tried to focus on the technical details being explained on screen, but her mind kept drifting back to that dark corner. The movie was doing its job—it had successfully framed them as the only two people in the room who mattered, separated by a sea of nameless extras and a very intentional lack of lighting.
"As I'm sure Fe has mentioned to some of you before coming to the briefing, there is not much time left for you guys and girls to become Awakened." The instructor leaned forward, his voice taking on a reassuring, paternal tone that felt entirely manufactured. "Usually, there would be nothing to worry about. You will be transported to the Dream Realm, where there will most likely be human settlements to greet you."
As he spoke the words "human settlements," the man crossed his arms and gave a quick, pointed glance at Fe. The camera zoomed in slightly on his eyes, catching the flicker of a secret being kept. In the theater, the real Nephis felt a cold spike of memory. The Dream Realm hadn't been a welcoming land of settlements; it had been a nightmare of salt and bone.
The frame changed to Nephis's face, a sharp frown appearing on her forehead. Her internal monologue echoed with a suspicious edge:
"I could be wrong, but that glance looked like he is hiding something."
The real Nephis watched her screen-self narrow her eyes and felt a dry sense of amusement. The movie was making her "intuition" look like a superpower, whereas in reality, everyone at the Academy had been drowning in a sea of half-truths and government secrets.
The frame changed back to the man's face. He cleared his throat before continuing, the upbeat background music turning slightly dissonant and tense. "Still, with this said, I would recommend taking combat classes even if you already are proficient. You never know—you might learn something new. Another class I would recommend would be wilderness survival; the classroom is near here if you want to check it out. But in truth..." He paused for dramatic effect. "I would recommend focusing on the sparring classes."
The camera panned across the room, showing the Sleepers looking at each other with newfound anxiety. By prioritizing sparring over survival, the movie was subtly telling the audience that these students wouldn't be fighting monsters—they'd be fighting each other. Nephis sat back, her silver eyes reflecting the glow of the screen, wondering how the film would butcher the actual brutality of their first training sessions.
The frame changed from the instructor to Nephis, showing her leaning back in her chair with a sigh of relief. Finally, the suffocating weight of the crowd's attention had shifted back to the man at the front. She had been listening intently, but her peripheral vision picked up a sudden movement from across the room.
Turning her gaze away from the instructor, her eyes fell on the dark corner where Sunny was sitting. It was a bizarre piece of cinematic staging—despite his massive, towering build, the movie-Nephis seemed to have difficulty locating his form in the shadows. The scene on the screen showed her having to squint her eyes, the lighting so unnaturally dim in his specific corner that he looked like a ghost haunting the briefing.
In the theater, the real Nephis felt a dry laugh threaten to break her composure. The movie was trying so hard to give Sunny "shadow powers" that they were making a six-foot-plus hunk look like he was playing hide-and-seek in a brightly lit room.
The frame changed, and movie-Sunny was shown leaning forward slightly, the light finally catching the "disheveled" silk of his hair. Tentatively, and with a rehearsed hesitation that made him look like a sensitive loner, Sunny raised his hand.
The frame shifted to the instructor, who, unlike Nephis, didn't squint at all. He looked directly into the darkness as if he had been expecting the interruption.
"Yes, Sunny? You have a question."
The camera caught a flicker of surprise on Sunny's face—the shock of a boy realizing the Academy already knew his name—but he quickly composed himself into a mask of cool indifference.
"Are there many people taking wilderness survival this year?"
The instructor closed his eyes and shook his head, the music taking on a soft, intriguing tone that framed Sunny's question as a sign of hidden genius. "No. That class is not really that popular. In fact, I'm surprised they even still offer it. Any other questions?"
"No, thank you," Sunny replied, retreating back into his thematic darkness.
The frame changed back to the instructor, who simply nodded, but then the camera zoomed in on Nephis's face. Her head fell slightly to the side in a classic "intrigued heroine" tilt, her silver eyes reflecting a sudden, deep curiosity about the mysterious boy in the back. Her internal monologue followed, sounding more like a teaser for a sequel than a private thought:
"What a strange question to ask. I wonder what he'll do with that information?"
Music starts playing, a sweeping orchestral track that swells in volume and cancels out the voice of the talking man. The scene shifts into a montage: the instructor continues to move his lips in a silent explanation of Academy policy, while the camera cuts between the faces of the students.
The focus remains on the "Star-Crossed" leads. The frame captures Sunny watching the room from the thematic darkness of his corner, his gaze intense and unreadable. Then it cuts to Nephis, who is ostensibly paying attention to the instructor, but the camera catches her stealing glances in Sunny's direction.
In the darkness of the theater, the real Nephis felt a twinge of secondary embarrassment. The music was far too emotional for a simple orientation, and her on-screen counterpart was being remarkably unsubtle. To the audience, it looked like a burgeoning romance; to her, it looked like she had forgotten how to maintain a neutral expression.
The volume of the music begins to fade, dipping until the voice of the talking man becomes audible again.
"Well, I think that covers everything you need to know about the Academy. Miss Fe, if you would please take the new Sleepers to their individual quarters? I'll stay and clean up here."
The frame changes from the face of the instructor to the face of Fe. At the request, she simply nods—the consummate professional. She heads to the door, her posture perfect as she waits for the Sleepers to form a line.
The frame changes to show Nephis standing up and forming a line with the other students. While the crowd is a blur of movement, Nephis, still on frame, turns to look back at the dark corner where Sunny had been sitting. She finds he's no longer there. A genuine expression of confusion appears on her face, and the frame expands to show her discreetly turning her body left and right, her silver eyes searching the room for him.
While she looks, her inner monologue echoes through the theater:
"Where did he go? He was just sitting there."
Finally, Nephis turns to look at the very back of the line, and there she sees him. The frame focuses on Nephis's face as she blinks twice, a somewhat shocked expression visible. Her inner monologue comes through the speakers over a sudden, sharp percussive hit in the soundtrack:
"What is this? I never saw him even move. I have seen people being able to go unnoticed, but this—" The scene cuts from Nephis to Sunny. He is leaning against the wall, absentmindedly looking around the room, possibly cataloguing all the entry and exit points. To the audience, he looks like a seasoned assassin; to the real Nephis, he looks like the same paranoid boy she remembered, just much larger.
Slowly, Sunny turns his head, his dark eyes locking directly onto Nephis. The camera captures the "caught" moment with a heavy silence. The frame changes back to Nephis, who refuses to look away, and her inner monologue returns with a competitive, "shonen-hero" edge:
"This must be an ability of his. Still, with his height, I should have been able to see him move. Curious. Now I really want to make his acquaintance." The real Nephis cringed slightly at the line. The movie made it sound like she was hunting for a rival, whereas in reality, she had just been wondering if he was another in a long list of assassins. The monologue is suddenly interrupted by the voice of Fe, and the frame changes to show the instructor leading the line out of the room, breaking the intense stare-down between the two leads.
"Okay people, please follow me. It's time to show you to your rooms, since I'm sure you're all tired."
The scene changes, showing a column of people walking down a long, sterile hallway where Nephis is placed near the front, while Sunny remains the anchor, the last in line. The camera tracks their movement, showing Fe making rhythmic stops where she leaves Sleepers in front of their respective doors. Not long passes before Fe looks at Nephis and points to a sleek, recessed panel.
"Well, Nephis, this is your room. I know you've heard me say it before, but I'll say it again: classes start at 8:00 AM tomorrow. All the scheduled hours can be found in a pamphlet on top of the desk in your room. You are free to take the classes that you want—just make sure you get to them on time, okay?"
The frame expands to show both Nephis and Fe standing in front of a gray metallic door that hums with faint, integrated power. Nephis is shown giving a single, sharp nod. Fe nods back, her expression unreadable, and leaves the frame without another word.
After Fe departs, the camera lingers on Nephis. She looks back down the hallway, her silver eyes catching the reflection of the overhead lights as she searches for the end of the line. The frame changes to show Sunny at the back, his posture relaxed but his eyes distant, not particularly looking at anything or anyone. He is a silhouette against the cold light of the corridor.
The frame changes back to Nephis. She places her hand on the metallic door; there is a soft, pressurized hiss as the door slides open with minimal sound. In the frame, Nephis is shown entering the room, her figure silhouetted by the soft glow from within. A moment later, the door slides shut, the metallic "thud" taking Nephis off the frame and leaving the audience with the silent, empty hallway.
The scene changes, and we are looking at the room through Nephis's eyes. The frame shows a room with off-white walls; the room is not too big, but also not small. A closed window can be seen, and on each side, there are white curtains. In the frame, a good-sized bed is placed right up against the wall, filling a corner of the room. On the left side of the bed, an artificial wood desk can be seen with a single chair and a piece of paper on top of it.
The frame changes, and we see Nephis from the back. She moves with slow steps into the room, her head moving left and right. Nephis heads toward the window and tries to open it. The window is shown to only open enough to let fresh air in, but not enough for a person to escape. With the window open, Nephis heads to the bed and lies down, covering her eyes with her arm and letting out a sigh.
In-frame, Nephis stays in that position for a couple of seconds before she slowly turns her head toward the desk. Picking herself up slowly, Nephis leaves the bed and takes a few steps to end up in front of the desk. She picks up the piece of paper that details the classes and the times they are provided during the day.
Nephis looks up from the schedule, and the frame changes to show her from the back, a solitary figure standing in front of the window. The cold, deep blue of the night sky fades into the pale, artificial gold of the rising sun. The scene cuts to a quick succession of shots: Nephis pulling on her boots with practiced efficiency and picking up the pamphlet. Her inner monologue echoes with a cold, determined clarity:
"I haven't had time to train as of late; I should probably take all the combat-related classes. Yes, that sounds like a good idea."
The monologue fades as the frame changes, showing Nephis from the back as she slides her door open and steps out. The camera follows her in a long, tracking shot down the corridor. As she walks, the sterile quiet of the night is replaced by the morning rush. Sleepers begin emerging from their rooms, some looking terrified, others merely exhausted.
People pass Nephis, heading in different directions, but she moves through the crowd like a shark through water—undisturbed and focused. She passes several rooms with their doors thrown wide. As she turns her head, on-frame we see the interiors of classrooms already teeming with life.
The audio design takes over here; we hear snippets of lessons bleeding into the hallway. From one room, a professor's voice drones on about monster anatomy, the speakers filling with the sound of a chalk-like stylus scratching out the weaknesses of a scavenger.
Next, Nephis passes another door where the professor's voice is sharper, more urgent. Through the speakers, the man can be heard: "...and remember, once you cross over, every piece of technology you carry becomes dead weight. The Dream Realm does not tolerate your machines."
Nephis doesn't slow down, but her eyes linger on that door for a fraction of a second longer before she continues toward the training wing.
The camera keeps following Nephis as she passes more classrooms, her pace never faltering until she stands before a pair of big doors. The frame shifts, focusing on Nephis's hand as it rises and presses against the cold, metallic surface. As the doors begin to retract, a wall of sound erupts from the speakers—the rhythmic clang of steel and the guttural shouts of exertion—before the doors have even fully opened.
The scene expands to reveal a massive training hall. Inside, the sheer scale of the Academy's resources is on full display. From Nephis's perspective, the camera sweeps across rows of high-end strength-training equipment and groups of Sleepers being trained in various weapons by stern, watchful instructors. Finally, the camera pivots toward the source of the most chaotic noise in the room.
The frame turns back to Nephis as she begins walking toward the roar. The frame expands, showing her cutting through a dense crowd of students who are forming a tight circle. The audio design sharpens, the speakers filling with the distinct, heavy sounds of two people engaged in a high-stakes duel. Nephis maneuvers through the press of bodies with practiced ease, finally reaching the front of the circle.
The frame changes, and the audience now views the arena through Nephis's eyes. Inside the ring, the stage is set: a boy in a blue shirt and black pants is wielding a longsword, his eyes locked on his opponent—a boy in a red shirt and black pants who carries a short sword in his left hand and a heavy shield on his right. Standing between them is an older, battle-scarred man serving as the referee, his presence anchoring the tension.
The background noise of the hall seems to dim as Nephis's inner monologue comes through the speakers, cold and analytical:
"Seems the fight is about to start."
Just as Nephis's inner monologue ends, the referee gives the signal to start. The boy with the longsword is the first to attack. He lunges forward, closing the distance with surprising speed and swinging his blade in a heavy downward arc. He misses entirely, however, as the boy with the short sword steps fluidly to the side, ramming the edge of his shield into the lunging boy's exposed ribs.
From the speakers, Nephis's voice returns, her tone sharp and analytical:
"The longsword boy had good initiative, but his mistake was putting all his strength behind that strike, assuming he would hit the shield. He never expected his opponent to step to the side, offering no resistance."
The boy with the longsword collapses to one knee, gasping for air as he presses a hand to his side. The boy with the short sword and shield—Chrome—doesn't waste a second of the opening. He slams the flat of his shield across the kneeling boy's face, a move that sends him sprawling to the floor. The referee steps forward immediately, signaling the end of the bout and declaring the fight won by the short-sword boy.
The crowd inside the frame explodes into a chaotic wall of noise; some shout praises, while others berate the referee for not calling the match sooner. Despite the scattered complaints, the overwhelming sound coming through the speakers is excitement for the next clash.
In the frame, the referee approaches Chrome and speaks to him. Unlike a typical movie, Chrome doesn't look bored or arrogant; instead, he appears intensely concentrated, his eyes still scanning his fallen opponent as if looking for ways he could have ended the fight even faster. He gives a sharp nod, and the referee returns to the center of the circle, his voice booming over the crowd:
"Anyone would like to fight Chrome next?"
The frame changes to show people in the crowd looking at each other with excited smiles. Speculation fills the room as random voices are heard through the speakers, calling out names of people they would like to see Chrome fight. After a minute of rising anticipation, a figure steps forward, raising a hand with calm authority.
"I would like to spar with him."
The frame expands, providing a top-down view of the training hall as the figure walks toward the center of the circle. The camera cuts to a close-up, revealing a boy with a refined, aristocratic air. His build is athletic, with broad shoulders and bronze, sun-kissed skin that seems to glow under the gym's lights. His brown hair, neatly kept, frames a handsome, symmetrical face that looks as if it were sculpted from marble.
The boy stops a few feet in front of Chrome, with the referee standing as a buffer between them. The referee's voice drones through the speakers:
"Can you please state your name for the record?"
"My name is Caster. Would you mind if I ask what you mean when you say 'records'?"
The voice echoing through the speakers is calm and melodic—the kind of voice that projects tranquil strength through its sheer smoothness. As he speaks, the ambient noise of the crowd seems to dip, the audience instinctively hushed by his presence.
"The government keeps records on the fights of students to identify possible recruitable assets," the referee explains, his tone turning cold and clinical.
The real Nephis, watching from her seat, noted the shift in the background score. The music had taken on a subtle, mechanical undertone at the mention of "assets," a reminder that in this high-tech fortress, their talent was just another commodity to be harvested.
The frame, still capturing the tension between Chrome and Caster, shows Caster giving a single, elegant nod in response to the referee's explanation. He doesn't look intimidated by the mention of "records"; if anything, he looks like he expects to be at the top of them.
The frame shifts to the referee as he raises a hand, his voice booming over the speakers:
"Are you ready?!"
The scene cuts to a split-screen view, capturing a tight close-up of both Chrome's and Caster's faces. Both can be heard acknowledging their readiness—Chrome with a grunt of intense focus, and Caster with a calm, melodic confirmation. The camera then pulls back into a wide landscape view, centering the three men in the ring.
The referee drops his hand, and the fight starts.
Chrome takes a sudden step forward, intending to close the distance, but he abruptly halts and jerks his shield upward. A millisecond later, a sharp, metallic crack echoes through the speakers as Caster's straight sword hits the shield. The "bronze blur" of Caster's movement is so fast that the impact makes the intensely concentrated Chrome lose his balance, his boots skidding back against the mat.
The frame cuts to Nephis's face. Her eyes are narrowed, tracking the space just ahead of Caster's blade as she mentally "dissects" the movement. Her inner thoughts come through the speakers, cold and certain:
"He's unnaturally fast. It must be his Aspect ability."
The frame returns to the center of the ring. Chrome attempts a desperate, unorthodox counter-attack, throwing himself backward and rolling through the dirt to swing his short sword upward as he regains his feet. The blade slices through empty air; in a "glitch-like" blur of motion, Caster is suddenly behind him, executing a precise downward swing onto Chrome's unguarded back.
With a painful cry, Chrome falls forward, landing face-first on the mat. The referee raises his hand and declares Caster the winner.
The frame changes, showing Nephis's face. Her eyes are narrowed as her inner thoughts echo through the speakers:
"That Aspect is powerful, but not only that—his fighting style is polished. It's clear this is not his first time holding a sword; he must be from one of the Clans."
Suddenly, two hushed, whispering voices bleed into the audio from off-camera, interrupting Nephis's analysis:
"Who is that?" "Don't you know? He's part of Valor. Not part of the main branch, but still related to them." "Oh!"
At the mention of "Valor," the background score hits a low, ominous chord. The frame changes back to Nephis, her mind already working through the political implications:
"I see—part of Valor. But why is he here, then? Usually, the Clans instruct their Sleepers themselves, no matter what branch of the family they are from. How strange."
The camera pulls back to show Caster's reaction to his victory. Instead of the cold indifference of a killer, he instantly shifts into the role of a charming champion. He sheathes his sword with a fluid, theatrical flourish and offers a hand to the fallen Chrome, helping him up with a polite, "heroic" smile. He turns to the crowd, acknowledging the cheers with a modest wave and a charismatic nod, playing the room with the practiced ease of a born politician.
Nephis watched him from the front of the circle, her expression neutral.
The scene shifts from a close-up of Nephis's calculating gaze into a high-energy montage. We see Caster in a series of one-on-one bouts with various Sleepers, his movements appearing as nothing more than a bronze streak across the screen. He wins every exchange with ease, his speed making his opponents look like they are moving through water.
In the middle of the montage, the heavy doors at the back of the hall slide open. Nephis turns her head slightly, her eyes catching a dark-haired figure slipping inside. On-frame, we see Sunny moving like a ghost along the perimeter, clearly trying to go unnoticed. The camera captures Nephis's focus splitting: she continues to watch Caster's theatrical display, but she is also stealing frequent glances toward Sunny. He doesn't join the crowd; instead, he sits alone to the side, his eyes fixed intently on the movements of the sword instructor rather than the students.
Eventually, Caster decides he has had enough for the day. He sheathes his blade and leaves the room, offering charismatic smiles and nods to the adoring crowd. On-screen, a few more forgettable fights take place as the energy in the room dips, but then Nephis decides it's her turn.
The frame changes to a wide landscape mode as Nephis steps into the center of the circle. She stands before a tall boy holding a heavy wooden staff, with the gray-haired referee positioned as the anchor between them. The referee turns his head toward Nephis, his voice flat and clinical as it carries through the speakers:
"Please state your name for the record."
On-screen, Nephis is shown taking a deep, steadying breath. She straightens her back, her posture shifting from a student to a warrior, and lifts the wooden practice sword. Her voice is calm, but it carries to every corner of the silent hall:
"I'm Nephis, of the Immortal Flame Clan."
Through the speakers comes a wave of hushed whispering as the surrounding crowd physically recoils. The weight of the name hangs in the air. The referee nods, his expression turning grave, and gets in position.
The fight starts, and on-screen, Nephis is a blur of minimalist efficiency. She attacks first, her movements lacking any of Caster's theatricality. The girl with the wooden staff tries to defend, but Nephis's strikes are too fast and too precise, hitting with the inevitability of a tide. Nephis spins to the left, a fraction of an inch clear of a desperate counter-attack, and without losing a drop of momentum, executes an upward swing. The wood cracks against wood, and the force sends the staff flying out of the girl's hand, clattering across the floor.
The girl falls to her knees, her breathing ragged as she reels from the sheer onslaught of the exchange. The referee intervenes immediately, declaring Nephis the winner.
There is a heavy beat of silence as the name "Immortal Flame" settles over the room—then the Sleeper crowd erupts in a chorus of excited shouts. The frame changes to show Nephis offering a hand to her opponent, her face devoid of arrogance as she helps the girl to her feet. From the speakers, Nephis's voice is heard, sounding more like a mentor than a rival:
"You have good fundamentals, but your grip on the staff is too strong. You need to relax your grip so that you can react more quickly to close-quarters attacks."
As the girl looks at Nephis with newfound awe, the camera cuts away from the cheering crowd to a tight shot of Sunny in the shadows.
He isn't cheering, instead, he raises an eyebrow, his dark eyes tracking Nephis with a look of genuine interest and curiosity, as if he has just found a puzzle he actually wants to solve.
The frame changes, capturing a close-up of the referee. He gives a slow, respectful nod, acknowledging the tactical wisdom in the advice Nephis has just provided.
The scene then transitions into a rhythmic montage on-screen. We see Nephis engaged in a series of swift, efficient bouts. Unlike Caster's flashy dominance, Nephis's victories are quiet and clinical. After each match, the camera lingers on her as she helps her opponent up, her lips moving as she points out a flaw in their stance or a lapse in their timing. The other Sleepers don't look resentful; they look like they are memorizing every word she speaks.
Suddenly, a heavy, industrial chime echoes through the speakers—a deep, metallic resonance that signals the end of the session. The room immediately begins to clear, the silence of the training hall replaced by the scuff of boots on metal floors.
While heading out with the rest of the crowd, Nephis spots Sunny's back. He is walking away alone, his hands tucked into his pockets, navigating the flow of students with the same ghostly ease he used to enter the room. He doesn't look back, disappearing into the dark grey of the corridors before she can even move toward him.
The scene changes, and on-screen, Nephis enters a cavernous dining hall. The room is a maze of long tables, with various lines leading to different food stations. Nephis scans the options before deciding to wait in line for fish and rice.
As she stands in the queue, the camera provides a point-of-view sweep of the hall. She sees groups of Sleepers talking carelessly, their faces lit with the relief of surviving another day of training. Her gaze eventually spots the table where Caster is sitting. Through Nephis's eyes, the social hierarchy of the Academy is clear: Caster is the center of a storm, surrounded by boys talking animatedly with wide gestures and girls sitting so close they are almost on top of him.
The frame changes, and on-screen, Nephis receives her tray. She begins walking in the general direction of Caster's table, her path taking her straight through the heart of the room. The frame shifts to Caster, who looks up from his meal and catches sight of her. He begins to adjust his posture, a confident smile already forming as he prepares to welcome the "Immortal Flame."
However, the frame shifts as Nephis notices something to her far left. She alters her course abruptly, her boots pivoting on the metal floor. The frame follows her gaze to a far table tucked into a hidden, dimly lit corner of the room. There sits Sunny, looking like a ghost in the machinery. Beside him is another figure, though on-screen, only their long blonde hair is visible, cascading down their back.
The frame cuts back to Caster. The audience sees his confident smile shift into a dark scowl as Nephis walks right past his "court" without a second glance. The scene ends as Nephis reaches the isolated table, her shadow falling over Sunny and his companion.
The frame changes, showing the table through Nephis's eyes. It is a simple, circular surface made of cold metallic material, surrounded by four round seats with thin cushions. Two seats are occupied: one by Sunny and the other by a delicate-looking blonde girl. She holds a white walking stick, and as the camera lingers, it becomes clear she is blind, her gaze fixed on the space just in front of her.
The frame shifts to a landscape view as the girl tilts her head, "watching" with her ears as she tracks the sound of Nephis's approaching footsteps.
"Oh, hello. Would you like to sit with us?"
In the frame, Nephis starts to nod, but remembering the girl's condition, she stops herself and opens her mouth to speak instead.
"If I'm not intruding."
The frame changes, showing Nephis sliding a glance at Sunny, who is eating his food absentmindedly, seemingly oblivious to the social interaction. The frame shifts between a standing Nephis and the sitting girl, who offers a warm, radiant smile that feels out of place in the industrial hall.
"Not at all. Please, sit. Our friend here is not much for conversation."
The camera cuts to Sunny. He is in the middle of chewing his food, but at the girl's remark, he pauses and raises an eyebrow. The expression only lasts a moment before he returns his focus to his tray. Nephis takes a seat, her body slightly turned toward the girl, choosing to ignore the boy for a moment.
"I'm Cassie, and our friend here is... eh. I don't know his name, since he doesn't talk much, like I said." On-screen, Cassie shows an apologetic smile.
Nephis lets out an amused breath, and a small, rare smile appears in the corner of her mouth.
"I'm Nephis, and the quiet one over there is Sunless."
The frame expands, showing the three of them in the same shot. The deeper shadows of the corner wrap around the table, making it feel like a private island. At the mention of his name, Sunny's spoon freezes halfway to his mouth.
On-screen, Nephis continues the conversation, her tone casual but inviting.
"We came in together yesterday; I guess we are both late Sleepers, if we go by what the professors say."
Sunny nods slowly and quietly. He places a hand under his chin, leaning slightly into the gesture as he turns his head to follow the exchange. The camera focuses on his eyes—they are sharp and hyper-observant, revealing an intelligence that contradicts his silent exterior. As Nephis watches him process her words without the need for a verbal reply, her inner thoughts echo through the speakers:
"I see—he's not antisocial, he's just really quiet. That's good."
Nephis's thoughts fade as Cassie's voice, light and airy, drifts through the speakers:
"Oh, I see. Sunless... That's a very poetic name, don't you think, Nephis?"
On-screen, Nephis nods, a genuine, small smile softening her features as her response carries through the hall:
"I thought the exact same thing."
On-screen, Nephis catches a flicker of movement from across the table. Sunny has a faint, lopsided smile in the corner of his mouth. He lets out a small, silent huff of a laugh through his nose and shakes his head, clearly finding their romanticized commentary on his name ironic.
Nephis notices her shoulders relax a fraction as her inner thoughts return:
"There we go—a smile. Now we are making progress."