The sun had just begun to rise when Sunny opened his eyes.
The warmth of the blanket still clung to him, and beside him, Rain slept soundlessly, her tiny breaths soft against his arm. Olivia stood near the door, already dressed in her dark traveling cloak, the silver clasp at her throat glinting faintly in the morning light.
"Come on," she said with a gentle smile. "We're visiting the Immortal Flame Clan today."
Sunny sat up quickly, blinking the sleep from his eyes. "To meet Nephis?"
Olivia nodded, her expression unreadable—but her eyes lingered on Sunny for a moment longer than usual. "Yes. And I need to speak with Broken Sword."
⸻
The Immortal Flame Clan mansion was built like a temple carved into a mountainside—majestic and ancient, flames gently dancing in iron braziers that lined the paths. The air smelled of incense and heat, of stone and power. Towering walls bore symbols of past victories etched in fire and ash.
Inside, waiting in a grand courtyard filled with glowing embers and lotus ponds, stood a girl around Sunny's age.
Nephis.
Her hair was long and dark, flowing like ink down her back, and her eyes—white as moonlight—glowed faintly in the warmth of the sun. She stood calm and still, as though she belonged to the fire and silence that shaped this place.
Sunny approached cautiously, Rain held in his arms. Nephis tilted her head slightly as she looked at him, then at the baby.
"You're Sunny," she said. Her voice was quiet but carried a strange weight, like distant thunder wrapped in calm.
Sunny nodded. "You're Nephis."
They stood there for a moment—two children from different legends—studying one another in silence, until Rain reached out and tugged a strand of Nephis's hair.
She didn't flinch. Instead, a small smile touched her lips.
"She likes you," Sunny said.
"I like her too," Nephis replied simply.
⸻
While Olivia disappeared into the inner sanctum with Broken Sword. As Rain toddled curiously toward a glowing ember lily, Sunny and Nephis strolled beside the reflecting pool at the courtyard's edge. The water shimmered with soft light, and flames from distant braziers danced in its surface.
Their steps were quiet—calm, thoughtful. Not much needed to be said. But something in the silence between them begged to be shared.
Sunny broke it first.
"Your home feels… still," he said, glancing around at the carved stone and flame-lit walkways. "Like it's standing still while everything else keeps moving."
Nephis didn't look at him. "It doesn't like noise."
He nodded slowly. "Ours is kind of the same. Just… colder. I think the walls are used to waiting."
"Waiting for what?" she asked without emotion, but not unkindly.
Sunny gave a soft breath. "For my mom. She's not always home. She goes into the Dream Realm a lot. And whenever she leaves, it's like the house holds its breath until she returns."
Nephis was silent for a few steps. Then she said, "Mine never came back."
Sunny stopped walking.
Nephis turned her pale gaze toward the water. "She was one of the first to respond to a Category 5 Nightmare Gate in the North America . My father said she walked through the breach with thirteen others." Her voice remained steady. "Only two made it back. She wasn't one of them."
Sunny's face fell. "I… I'm sorry."
"I'm not." Nephis's voice didn't waver, but her white eyes flickered faintly in the light. "She wasn't just lost. She became a Hollow. That's what happens when a soul is consumed slowly—when their essence gets twisted, not shattered."
Sunny's mouth opened slightly. "So she's still…"
Nephis finally looked at him. "She exists. But she isn't her. I never met her. Just a name… and a shadow behind my father's silence."
Sunny's throat tightened. He couldn't imagine that—knowing your mother was still out there, but not truly alive. Not truly gone. A nightmare in the flesh of someone you were supposed to love.
"That's why I train," Nephis said simply. "Not to protect her. But to become strong enough that no one else loses theirs."
There was no fire in her voice—only ice, and an ember of quiet pain.
Sunny swallowed, then nodded. "I train for the same reason. To make sure Rain never has to know what that silence feels like."
Nephis looked down at Rain, who had sat and begun pulling petals from a flower, humming to herself. Then she looked back at Sunny.
"We understand each other," she said.
"Yeah," he replied. "I think we do."
And in that moment—fragile and fleeting—two legacies, shaped by absence and forged by resolve, quietly touched.
Then the sound of heavy boots disrupted the stillness.
The approaching steps belonged to Frank, an Awakened retainer of the Immortal Flame Clan. Broad-shouldered and armored in ceremonial crimson, he walked with the slow swagger of someone used to being noticed—and feared.
His eyes settled on Sunny with something between amusement and contempt.
"Well, well… the little phantom shows himself," Frank said, voice carrying across the courtyard like oil on water.
Nephis's expression barely changed. "Frank," she said flatly. "Leave."
But he didn't. He walked a slow circle around them, gaze lingering on Sunny. "You're from the Shadow Clan, aren't you? Thought they were just a bedtime story for Awakened who sleep with their lights on."
Sunny didn't respond. He simply stood still, watching.
"Funny thing," Frank continued. "Most people in the great clans don't even believe the Shadow Clan is real. But me? I've heard the whispers. Ghosts in the battlefield. No banners. No names. No proof. But now"—he gave a mocking bow—"here you are. Small, pale, and swinging wood sticks like you're someone."
Nephis's eyes narrowed. "He's not just someone. He's Sunny."
Frank chuckled. "Sunny? That's rich. A bright name for a kid crawling out of shadows."
Sunny remained silent, but his eyes flicked to Rain. She was watching, holding a petal in each hand, blinking up at Frank with innocent confusion.
He stepped forward, slowly. "Don't talk like that in front of my sister."
Frank grinned, clapping his hands once. "Oh? Going to teach me manners, sword rat? Let's see it, then."
Nephis stepped forward. "He's not Awakened. You are."
"I'm not cruel," Frank said, already reaching into his side pouch. "We'll make it fair."
From the pouch, he pulled a resistor—a curved band of black steel with faint etched runes. With a flourish, he strapped it onto his shoulder, where it hissed softly as the runes lit up. A moment later, the aura around him dimmed.
Now, he was bound to the strength of a mundane.
"Better?" he asked, flexing his arms.
Sunny nodded once, then stepped into the courtyard's center, drawing his training sword—a plain, sanded wooden blade. No aura. No tricks.
Frank grabbed a blunt training weapon from a nearby rack, lazily testing its weight.
"Ready when you are, little shadow."
The duel began with a rush.
Frank lunged forward, brute strength compressed into a single strike—intended to end it fast. But Sunny stepped sideways with fluid grace, letting the blade cut only air. There was no hesitation, no waste in his movement. Just calm.
But behind that calm was something deeper—sharp intuition and unseen insight.
Unnoticed by anyone else, shadows rippled faintly beneath Frank's feet. Sunny's eyes flicked to them, reading every shift in weight, every twitch of intent.
Frank's battle art unfolded through his shadow—an early echo of his next move, and Sunny read it like a familiar language.
He wasn't just reacting. He was anticipating.
Nephis stood at the edge of the courtyard, arms folded loosely, her pale eyes locked on the boy in silence. She had seen many fight—Awakened, elite, disciplined warriors—but what she was watching now felt… different.
Sunny moved like someone who had memorized danger, as if he had danced with death before and learned its rhythm. Each dodge, each strike, was perfectly timed. Not flashy. Not loud. Just precise.
And as Frank's frustration mounted, so did Nephis's quiet astonishment.
How?
He's not Awakened. He's younger. Smaller. He shouldn't be able to do this.
And yet—he was.
Another wide strike. Another wrong prediction from Frank. Sunny was already gone, slipping behind him, delivering a sharp blow to the ribs that made the older boy stumble.
From the side of the courtyard came a soft sound—a delighted squeal.
Rain.
The one-year-old had lifted her tiny arms, eyes wide, mouth open in a big baby grin. "Mmm-bahh!" she mumbled, bouncing where she sat with a little thump, her hands flapping against her knees in joy.
Nephis glanced at her, surprised—and then back at Sunny, a flicker of warmth sneaking into her gaze.
Frank growled and charged again. He thought strength would carry him through.
But Sunny's eyes were watching his shadow.
It twisted. Shifted.
Told the truth before Frank's body did.
Sunny stepped aside and struck with speed and precision. The flat of his blade landed across Frank's back with a loud crack.
Frank dropped to one knee.
Silence.
Rain, wide-eyed, let out a breathy, confused, "Buh?" Then giggled again and clapped her small hands together, her tiny fingers curled.
Sunny lowered his sword.
He walked calmly to his sister, crouched, and picked her up. Rain babbled happily into his chest, her voice full of meaningless but soft, affectionate sounds—"Daaa…mmm…dee…dee!"
She didn't understand what he'd done.
But she knew he was her world.
Nephis stood motionless, something new and unfamiliar welling in her chest. She had expected a boy with promise.
But she had seen something far more dangerous—a child who already knew how to win. Not because he wanted to be admired.
Because he had someone to protect.
"You were…" Nephis spoke before she could stop herself. "You were incredible."
Sunny looked at her, not prideful—just calm. "I don't want to be incredible," he said. "I just don't want her to ever be afraid."
Rain mumbled a sleepy "Mmmnaah," and snuggled into his shoulder, thumb finding her mouth.
Nephis gazed at them both, the boy and his baby sister—silent, warm, whole.
And for the first time in a long while, she felt something stir in the cold, quiet part of her heart.
Not just admiration.
But hope.
————————————————————————————
Above the courtyard, behind a tall arched window veiled in crimson silk, two figures watched in silence.
Olivia stood with arms folded, gaze fixed on the garden below, where their children now sat—Sunny gently bouncing Rain on his lap, and Nephis beside him, her expression unreadable, but her posture relaxed for the first time that day.
Next to Olivia stood Broken Sword, straight-backed and silent. His gaze wasn't on the children—it was pointed farther. Somewhere beyond the horizon. Somewhere deep.
She didn't need to ask.
"I'm going," he said at last.
"To the Fourth Nightmare Seed," she replied, quietly.
A pause.
"Yes."
Olivia exhaled, long and slow. "No, you're not."
He turned to look at her, a subtle shift of tension in his shoulders. "You don't have the right to say that."
"I do," she said calmly, "because I know what it means to lose someone in the Dream Realm and still walk the world with that scar burning under your ribs."
His mouth tightened.
"She's not dead," he said. "Her Aspect allowed her to move between souls. She could've—"
"She's gone, Broken," Olivia said, her voice like iron in velvet. "I know what her Aspect could do. But even souls leave echoes. And she left none."
He turned his gaze sharply back to the window. "You think I'm mad."
"No. I think you're grieving," she said, softer now. "And you've worn that grief so long it's turned into something else. Something dangerous."
He was silent, the air between them growing still.
"I know why you're looking at the Fourth," Olivia continued. "I know you think if you just push a little deeper, risk a little more, maybe you'll find a trail. But Broken—what if you're wrong?"
He didn't answer.
"You'll die. Or worse—you'll become something she'd never want you to be," Olivia said. "And you'll leave Nephis with nothing but your shadow."
The mention of his daughter hit harder than any blow.
"She needs you now," Olivia pressed. "Not the version of you lost in a gate that doesn't give second chances."
Broken Sword clenched his hands behind his back. "If it were Abel—"
"If it were Abel," Olivia interrupted, stepping forward, "I would still choose Rain. I would still choose Sunny. Because he would've wanted me to live, not chase ghosts."
Her voice softened, but her presence did not.
"She's not in the Fourth. She's in your daughter's eyes. In her silence. In her strength. You're not trying to save her—you're trying to undo loss. And that's not bravery, Broken. That's surrender."
For a long time, neither of them spoke.
Below, laughter echoed faintly.
Sunny was lifting Rain into the air, her tiny hands waving, a chorus of babbles escaping her as Nephis watched with the smallest smile tugging at her lips.
Broken Sword stared down at them.
Then he finally said, "You won't let me go."
"No," Olivia said. "And if you try, I'll stop you."
He didn't ask how. He knew she could.
And somewhere inside, he knew she should.
He didn't nod, didn't agree, but after a moment, the storm behind his eyes dimmed—just a little. The tension in his stance softened.
Not peace.
But pause.
"I'll stay," he said, finally.
And Olivia, steady as ever, just replied, "Good."
Because their children still needed them alive.
Because some doors, once opened, don't close again.
———————————————+———————————————-
The estate of the Immortal Flame Clan was a world of its own—walled gardens brimming with ghostlit flowers, obsidian stone paths winding between pale silver trees, and ancient statues carved with eyes that never blinked. Everything breathed power and legacy.
Nephis walked beside Sunny in silence at first, leading him past silent koi ponds and training courts echoing faintly with the memory of past duels.
Sunny carried Rain carefully on his hip. She babbled to the wind, reaching toward passing butterflies with wide, wonder-filled eyes.
"I like your home," Sunny said eventually.
Nephis didn't respond right away. Her expression remained thoughtful, almost distant.
"It's heavy," she said finally. "The silence. The walls. The history."
Sunny glanced at her. "But still home?"
Nephis gave a small nod. "Yes… and no."
They stopped at the edge of an open courtyard, its stone tiles marked with the faded lines of old dueling circles.
Nephis turned to face him, her white eyes unreadable in the fading light. "You fight differently."
Sunny blinked. "Is that bad?"
"No," she said. "It's… sharp. Like you're always listening. Not just with ears—deeper."
He smiled slightly. "I listen with shadows."
She looked down, then back up. "Will you come tomorrow?"
"Where?"
"Here. To this courtyard." She paused. "I want to spar. A real duel. My swordsmanship is good… but I want it to be better. You might help."
Sunny tilted his head. "You want to duel me to improve?"
"Yes," she said plainly. "Because you fight to protect. I fight to remember."
He didn't fully understand that last part. But he nodded.
"Then I'll come," he said simply.
Nephis glanced at Rain, who had fallen asleep against his shoulder, thumb in her mouth.
"You're not like most boys."
"I don't have time to be," Sunny replied quietly.
Before she could respond, the sound of a distant bell echoed through the estate—soft, resonant, calling them inward.
"Dinner," Nephis said, turning toward the manor.
The dining hall was wide and solemn, with high ceilings and walls hung with relics and ancient weapons. The long obsidian table was already set with golden plates and silent servants standing by. Olivia sat at the head, her posture relaxed but noble. Broken Sword sat opposite her—still, imposing, as if carved from war itself.
Sunny was seated beside his mother, with Rain cradled beside him in a wrap. Nephis sat diagonally, eyes quiet.
Dinner began without grand words. It was quiet. Food was served with smooth precision.
Partway through the meal, Broken Sword looked across the table at Sunny.
"You fight well," he said.
Sunny looked up, surprised. "Thank you."
"Where did you learn to read intent like that?"
Sunny glanced at Olivia. She didn't answer for him.
He thought for a moment, then said, "From the way shadows move. People don't always show their truths—but shadows don't lie."
Broken Sword studied him, the corner of his mouth twitching. Not quite a smile—but something close.
"I once said something similar," he murmured. "But I said it to her." His voice grew quieter at the last word.
Sunny followed his gaze to Nephis.
"She's strong," Sunny said.
"She has to be," Broken Sword replied.
Olivia watched the two of them—her son, and the man who still bore grief like armor. She didn't interrupt.
Broken Sword returned his attention to Sunny. "You could have hurt Frank. You didn't."
Sunny nodded once. "He wasn't trying to kill me. Just humiliate me. That's not enough reason."
Broken Sword looked at him for a long time.
"That kind of judgment doesn't come from age. It comes from weight. You've carried something already."
Sunny didn't answer.
But Broken Sword saw it in his eyes.
He gave a slow nod and returned to his food.
The rest of the meal passed quietly.
But a shift had happened.
The man carved from silence had spoken.
And for Sunny, the words had landed deeper than praise—they were an acknowledgment.
As some conservations continue Nephis left the dining hall walking in the hallways. The night had deepened. The estate had grown quiet, cloaked in the hush that only places of old power knew. Outside, moonlight touched the garden with silver, and the lanterns along the hallways glowed like watchful spirits.
Nephis sat alone on a cushioned bench near a tall window, knees drawn slightly up, her sword across her lap. She wasn't meditating. Not quite. Just… thinking. Staring out at the stars, as if they might spell out something she could never quite read.
Footsteps padded softly behind her.
Olivia's presence was like a warm breeze—gentle, but never unnoticed.
"You're still awake," Olivia said, her voice soft, warm.
Nephis didn't look back, but she gave a slight nod. "I don't sleep much."
Olivia walked closer, folding her hands behind her. "Neither did your mother, once."
Nephis's hands stilled on her blade. "…You knew her."
"I did," Olivia said. "Not as deeply as Broken did. But well enough to know she burned bright. And fast."
Silence settled between them. A long one.
Then Olivia added, "And I know you never got to see her."
Nephis's shoulders tensed, just a little. "She died when I was still in the cradle. Turned into a Hollow, they said. She answered the call… and never came back."
"I remember the gate," Olivia said softly. "Category Five. No survivors. But I know she died protecting others."
Nephis finally looked at her.
Her white eyes were unreadable—but something shimmered behind them. Not tears. Just a flicker of the ache she kept sealed inside.
"I don't remember her voice," Nephis said. "Not even a dream of it."
Olivia's gaze softened.
"She would've been proud of you," she said. "But if I may… pride isn't everything. It's not the same as being there. And sometimes… strength isn't enough to fill that space."
Nephis turned her eyes away again. "Sometimes I wonder what it would've been like. Having a mother."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Olivia quietly stepped closer, her voice gentler than ever.
"You may not have had her growing up. But listen to me, Nephis—if you ever feel alone… truly alone… I want you to come to us."
Nephis blinked.
"Our home is not just for Sunny and Rain," Olivia said. "It's for any child who carries too much silence in their heart. Any child who forgets what warmth feels like. Even just for a day."
"I'm not a child," Nephis whispered.
Olivia smiled, brushing a hand gently along Nephis's hair—just once.
"We all are," she said, "when it's late and we miss someone we never got to love."
Nephis didn't reply. But her hands curled a little tighter around the sword on her lap.
And when Olivia turned to leave, Nephis said—so quietly it was almost a breath:
"Thank you."
——————————————————————
Nephis remained by the window long after Olivia left, the words still settling in her chest like embers that refused to die out.
If you ever feel alone… come to us.
No one had ever said that to her. Not in that way. Not with warmth that expected nothing in return.
She didn't cry. She didn't even fully understand what she was feeling. But the silence inside her shifted slightly—less hollow, a little fuller.
Then footsteps echoed softly in the hall.
She turned her head to see Sunny, walking carefully with Rain asleep against his shoulder, her thumb still tucked into her mouth. He looked tired, but content. Behind him, Olivia stood waiting near the entrance, her cloak already around her shoulders.
Sunny walked up to Nephis and stopped just in front of her.
She looked at him, tilting her head slightly. "…Leaving?"
He nodded. "Rain's already dreaming. And Mom says it's time."
Nephis glanced at Rain and smiled softly. "She looked happy. She smiled a lot today."
"She always smiles around people who feel kind," Sunny said.
Nephis looked back at him, that faint, unreadable expression on her face again.
He hesitated, then offered a small smile. "Thanks for today."
She blinked. "For what?"
"For asking me to duel. For walking around the garden. For… making the silence less quiet."
Her lips twitched upward. Not quite a smile—but something that tried to be.
He took a step back, careful not to wake Rain.
"I'll come tomorrow," Sunny added. "You better be ready."
"I will," she replied, nodding.
Then Sunny turned, but paused again at the hallway's edge.
He glanced back over his shoulder and said softly, "Good night, Nephis."
"Good night, Sunny."
And with that, he disappeared into the quiet, the sound of his fading footsteps echoing for just a moment longer.
Nephis stood still, alone once more.
But now, the silence didn't feel quite so heavy.