Hey long time no see!
I would like to apologize for the lack of updates. My life has been a bit of a mess as of late, I was sick for a while and had to prepare for some rather important exams. Also no one had told me that moving would be this time consuming.
So anyway I want to just say that while I'm rather busy the fic is still ongoing.
'*'
The Chained Isles buzzed with life and death, an unrelenting war waged by nightmare creatures who stalked the twisted, floating fragments of land like territorial gods. Here, survival wasn't a mere struggle—it was an endless bloodbath, a dance of predation where the strong flourished, and the weak were devoured. This week, however, the air felt heavier, saturated with the sharp tang of violence. More creatures than usual had met their untimely end, and death seemed to linger in every corner of the Isles, curling its fingers around everything.
And the reason for this?
Her.
Effie, the huntress, grinned as the weight of that truth sat comfortably upon her shoulders. She was raised by wolves—*both literally and figuratively*—and now, here she stood. A beast among beasts, her skin hard as steel, her body sculpted with the kind of raw power that could crush the life from a man with a single, careless flick. The sheer force of her presence was almost tangible, an energy that made the air crackle with quiet intensity.
But today? Today, she hadn't done a damn thing.
She hadn't needed to.
The low hum of her wolves was more than enough.
Effie sprawled on her back, the warm, sun-bleached rocks cool beneath her skin. A lazy breeze slipped through the tangle of her hair, scenting the air with salt and earth as she gazed down at her loyal hounds below. Those two beasts—massive, shimmering specters—did all the dirty work for her. The low growl of the wolves filled the air, as if they were aware of their master's smug amusement.
*Damn,* Effie thought, her lips curling into a wide grin. *So this is what it feels like to have underlings doing all the work for me, huh?*
She stretched her arms overhead, letting out a sigh of satisfaction as she took in the view. The two wolves below were savage, unstoppable. She knew they weren't Echoes—no, they weren't born from memories. They were creatures crafted from the silver fangs she wore in the waking world. But it didn't matter. Not when they were so damn effective.
The ground beneath her seemed to hum with the violent energy of the hunt. The scent of charred flesh and the heavy musk of blood wafted up from below, drifting on the wind. Her eyes narrowed as she watched the scene unfold.
A misshapen turtle, its massive shell covered in thick, barnacle-like growths, had withdrawn into itself in a desperate bid for protection. But there was no protection to be found here. Not from her wolves.
The two beasts—massive creatures of silver light—lunged forward with terrifying precision. Their forms were fluid, undulating with the intensity of stars burning too brightly, the light of their bodies blinding and radiant. They were the size of her, their ethereal frames pulsing with an energy that could scorch the earth itself. The turtle had no chance.
With a swift, savage motion, one of the wolves plunged its ethereal jaws into the shell, its teeth *sinking* through the hardened surface with terrifying ease. The air crackled as its fiery breath burned through the turtle's insides, cooking the creature from the inside out. The other wolf joined in, leaping into the fray with all the grace of a predator, its fangs and claws shredding the once-defiant creature as though it were little more than a soft, squishy snack.
The turtle's weak, tortured cry echoed across the Isles, but it was a futile protest. The poor thing was nothing more than prey now—cooked, torn apart, and rendered unrecognizable. The wolves were unrelenting, devouring what remained of the creature with the patience of monsters who knew their prey had nowhere to hide.
Effie's grin widened as she watched the scene unfold. Her heart beat slowly, rhythmically. A deep, contented chuckle bubbled up from her chest as she swirled the taste of victory on her tongue, savoring the sensation of power that only *she* could wield in this twisted corner of the world.
She ran a hand through her sun-kissed hair, now tousled from the wind. The heat of the moment seemed to cling to her skin, the soft saltiness of the air biting at her lips. She wasn't hungry—not yet—but the thought of that rich, tender meat would surely taste sweet after such a glorious hunt.
And yet...
She couldn't ignore the gnawing hunger for something more—*something better.*
*Damn those coins,* she thought, her eyes narrowing with a frustrated flicker. The clinking of them, the promise of their value, lingered in her mind. She could almost hear the metallic sound of them, could almost feel their weight in her palm. Coins, *so many* coins. They were a rare find here, scattered across the Isles like lost treasures, and for some reason the doofus was obsessed with them.
She stretched again, her muscles flexing beneath the sun, her body tight with restless energy.
Effie was going to eat well today, she decided. There was no doubt in her mind. But she wasn't going to stop there. She *would* find those coins. Especially when her roommate had promised her some rather potent memories he had brought in exchange for them.
With a final glance at the scene below, where the last of the turtle's scorched remains were being devoured by her wolves, Effie pushed herself up, dusting off the rough stone beneath her and stepping forward. The wind tousled her hair, and her bare feet sank into the earth as she began her next search—whether for treasure, another meal, or whatever else the Chained Isles had in store.
Her wolves would see to the blood. Effie? She had other business to attend to.
'*'
The fire crackled low in the hollow between the boulders, its warmth flickering against the jagged rocks and casting restless shadows across the patch of barren earth they'd claimed for the evening. Sparks danced upward into the smoky twilight, fading into the fractured sky above the Chained Isles.
Sunless sat with his legs crossed, elbows resting on his knees as he leaned forward slightly, breathing in the rich, gamey aroma of the roasting meat. The smell clung to the air—fat sizzling over flames, a hint of salt and ash, and the faint sweetness of herbs Effie had insisted on tossing in "for flavor." It made his stomach growl, though the hunger was dulled by the ever-present itch of frustration that clawed at the back of his mind.
Across from him, Effie crouched near the fire like a lounging predator, one hand idly turning the spit, her other resting on her knee. Her sun-kissed skin shimmered faintly in the firelight, casting warm amber highlights through strands of her tangled hair. Her expression was half-bored, half-annoyed, and entirely too calm.
"So we got nothing, huh?" she asked, her voice dry and sharp as kindling. She poked at the fire with a stick, sending a flurry of embers spiraling into the air. "All this chasing, and not even a single clue to show for it?"
Sunny grunted, his gaze flicking to the dull metal cylinder resting in the dirt beside him. The damn thing sat there like an insult.Bumpy , seamless, totally inert. Just a single unyielding piece of steel that had resisted every trick he'd tried to pull.
"We've redoubled our efforts," he muttered. "Pushed harder than we have in week. Slaughtered half the isles. Found more coins. Burned through our stockpile of Favors . All for this—"
He picked up the cylinder and turned it over again, futilely, in his hands.
"Nothing. Nada. Nix. Not even a rattle."
Effie let out a low whistle through her teeth, shaking her head. "It doesn't open, doesn't glow, doesn't make cryptic noises when you whisper sweet nothings to it. You sure it's not just a really pretentious paperweight?"
Sunny gave her a flat look. "The Party Pet gifted it. And that thing didn't exactly strike me as sentimental."
"Well, yeah, true," she conceded, lips quirking into a lopsided grin. "I still have nightmares about its clown makeup. No offense, but that thing made your tree look cuddly."
Sunny didn't laugh. His brow furrowed as he turned the cylinder again. Not a seam, not a crack—just cold, silent metal. And the worst part? It *felt* important. Like something just beneath the surface was waiting to be uncovered, if only he could think of the right angle, the right pressure, the right—anything.
"I've scanned it with shadow sense. Tried feeding it soul essence. Dismantled it. I even tried... whispering 'open sesame'," he added flatly.
Effie barked a laugh and leaned back on her hands, boots kicking out lazily toward the fire. "Desperation suits you. You're almost charming when you're losing it."
"Glad someone's enjoying it," he muttered, and dropped the cylinder beside him again with a soft *clink.*
Silence fell, save for the pop of firewood and the soft hiss of fat dripping into the flames. The sky above them rippled faintly, the edges of a nearby island shifting as gravity whimpered and twisted. The Chained Isles were restless tonight—winds howling low, the bones of the world grinding beneath them.
Effie stared into the fire, eyes half-lidded. Then she said, casually:
"You know,maybe we're going about this the wrong way."
Sunny glanced at her, one brow raised.
She turned her head, watching the flames dance in her eyes. "We've been trying brute force, trial and error, magic, shadow probes—hell, you practically threatened to crush it with your tree. But maybe what we need isn't power or finesse."
He narrowed his eyes. "Then what?"
"Perspective." Effie smirked. "Specifically... artistic perspective."
There was a beat.
"You want to ask *Kai*?" Sunny said slowly.
Effie grinned wide, flashing teeth. "He's got the instincts of someone who navigates human weirdness for a living. Who knows—maybe it's a metaphor. A performance. A puzzle you need to *feel* your way through. He's good at picking up on meaning, symbols, emotional cues... that kind of soft, intuition stuff."
Sunny exhaled through his nose. "...And here I thought I was the idea guy ."
"Hey," Effie said, standing up and stretching her arms overhead with a slow, languid groan. "I'm just saying, if the magic cylinder refuses to respond to overachievers like us, maybe it'll warm up to someone who sings about hope and inner light."
She threw him a wink. "Worst-case scenario? He writes a song about it."
Sunny didn't respond immediately. He just stared at the cylinder, the flickering firelight dancing along its surface.
"…Fine," he said eventually. "We'll call Kai."
Effie's grin widened as she sat back down, satisfied. "Now that's the spirit. Let's see if his way of thinking can do what brooding couldn't."
The fire crackled on.
Tomorrow, they'd get answers—or at the very least, be serenaded while trying.