4 months ago
The howling wind cut through the ship like a living thing, a deafening roar that drowned out everything else. Thunder rumbled overhead, shaking the very air, while the rain hammered the deck with brutal force, each drop like a whip against the wood.
Lightning flashed in sudden, blinding bursts, illuminating the monstrous sea outside—the black waves crashing against the hull like the hands of some unseen giant, trying to tear the ship apart.
Inside, the air was thick with tension, the sound of the storm seeping through every crack and crevice.
They were all reunited for the month's most important event. In this kind of meeting, heads rolled, fortunes were made and lost, favors that could affect the future of the House were exchanged, and alliances and enmities were reignited in equal measure.
"It was a dark and stormy night…" Typhaon started sinisterly, his eyes carefully tracing his hand.
Everyone groaned in annoyance.
"Father, we are in the Stormsea. Every night is dark and stormy," Master Aether chided him, his tone practically begging him to stop.
Typhaon was a man worthy of having songs and myths written in his name. He was a Saint, one of the mightiest in the world. A pillar of the House of Night. The man, the legend, the one who put fear in the hearts of all nightmare creatures in the Stormsea… pouted at being scolded by his son.
"You used to love my stories," he whined.
"Not as much as I love stripping you of all your shards," Bloodwave rumbled in annoyance. "Play already."
"Your stories suck!" someone at the end of the table called out.
Typhaon, at last, played his hand, showcasing a pair of twos, earning him the win of the current round.
"He must be cheating somehow," his nephew Naeve muttered resentfully.
It was poker night for the House of Night, a joke everyone had made at some point. The tradition had been started by Nightwalker, and nobody had any reason to stop it after he was gone, so it had eventually turned into their own equivalent of a congress.
All in all, it was foul, filled with backstabbing, profanity, and childish disputes.
So, just congress.
"He does," Knossos agreed, caressing his long beard. "We just don't know how."
"All I hear is poor losers," Typhaon retorted smugly. "Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, it was a dark and stormy night…"
Everyone groaned but did not interrupt again as the Saint went on to regale them with another of his overly dramatized stories. As he did, they kept playing, jeers and insults being thrown around the table as they did so.
A few more rounds were played. In them, Bloodwave got to witness the birth of no fewer than three blood disputes, two new lifelong grudges, and a very dramatic breakup between Saint Charibdys and Master Scylla after the latter baited the former into going all in.
Just the usual for poker night, as far as he was concerned.
"Shouldn't we discuss yesterday's announcement?" Master Scylla asked, still smiling smugly about her victory over her—now—ex-lover.
Bloodwave groaned inwardly. They would make up; they always did. He would just have to be sure not to be anywhere close to their quarters when they did.
"Like we discussed not lying to each other?" Saint Charibdys retorted bitterly, her beautiful face contorted in annoyance.
Knossos intervened before they could get into another of their lovers' spats. "What's there to discuss? We offered, and she refused."
Then the old man played his hand, revealing a pair of kings that earned him the victory of the round—much to everyone's dismay.
"Changing Star has just returned from her Second Nightmare! Barely a year has passed since she became an Awakened, and not only has she ascended already, she also has no fewer than forty-five other Masters under her!" Scylla insisted.
Bloodwave couldn't help but agree. It was a feat of absurd magnitude. Of a cohort of forty-seven that had entered the seed, only one had died. It was the kind of thing that would be decried as unrealistic if it were a movie.
"So?" he rumbled calmly. "We offered her good terms for joining us, and she refused."
"Shouldn't we worry?" The Master was not dissuaded. "We are witnessing the revival of the Immortal Flame Clan in real time."
"Let Song and Valor worry about that," Typhaon replied calmly, the playful man serious for once.
"Isn't that the problem?" Aether interceded, surprising, considering he usually preferred to stay silent in this kind of discussion. "If any of them manage to court her to their side, the balance of power will be greatly tilted in their favor."
"The terms we offered were quite generous. I seriously doubt any of them will be willing to offer more," Naeve answered calmly.
"I can't fathom any way they could get her to agree without outright gifting her their clans," Charibdys added.
"But what if—"
A slam echoed as a hand violently smashed onto the table, spilling the tokens to the ground. They all turned in unison to Knossos, the laid-back old man glaring at them fiercely.
"Enough," he said, his voice as sharp and cold as a blade sliding free from its sheath. "We are the House of Night. We stayed neutral in all the petty squabbles before this, and that's how we will stay. Let Valor and Song rip each other apart for all I care. Our duty is with humanity, not with our pockets. Who cares if either of them destroys the other? We will brave this storm like any other and come out the other side unscathed."
"I agree," Bloodwave added his support, quickly joined by Charibdys, Typhaon, and the other pillars.
There was plenty of grumbling after that, as well as some attempts to reignite the discussion, but lacking the support of any of the Saints present, it couldn't go beyond petty displeasure.
Bloodwave could feel it in his bones—they were making the right choice by staying out of it. He was old enough to know danger, and Changing Star was a flaring red beacon of it.
-------------------------------------------
Wake of Ruin could feel a headache taking shape.
It was nothing new—he dealt with enough stress in his daily life to give a heart attack to a dozen mundane humans. But this time, it was shaping up to be even worse.
The room exuded power, a space where decisions that shaped the world's future were made. The long, polished mahogany table stretched out in the center, its surface gleaming under the soft, ambient light that filtered through the tall, darkened windows. Around it, high-backed chairs were arranged with precision, each one a symbol of authority and command. The walls, lined with dark wood panels, held framed portraits of past leaders, their gazes fixed, almost watching over the proceedin—
"She refused! That arrogant wench refused!" one of his colleagues complained loudly.
His attempt at staving off the headache by focusing on his surroundings was rudely interrupted.
He shared a commiserating look with Thane, the other Saint looking just as exasperated as he was with the whole situation.
"SHE REFUSED!" the same woman reiterated.
"Yes, we heard you already," he said, his arms raised in what he hoped would be a placating gesture.
"She refused!" Master Leah was not one to be dissuaded easily.
She seemed about to go into another tirade, one that was fortunately interrupted by a not-too-convincing cough from the current leader of the government.
"Thank you for the reminder, Leah. Now, since we can't do anything about this topic, let's please move on." Her tone implied quite clearly that she wasn't asking.
Wake of Ruin exhaled in relief. He was already dreading having to listen for hours on end to his colleagues ranting. She was a good and competent professional, but her flaw made her handle rejection rather poorly. How President Angela could rein her in so easily despite being a mundane was a mystery.
The monitor screens before each of them came to life, displaying charts and data in ordered rows that painted a clear yet complex situation. Quite worrying, too.
"Professor Obel sent us the final results of his investigation a few hours ago," Angela started to explain, her tone carefully controlled despite probably feeling the same creeping dread everyone else did.
"How sure is he?" Thane asked.
Angela gave him a stern look, one that made clear what she thought of such a question. She replied nonetheless, "As sure as he can be on such a thorny topic."
The creeping dread built up. They were all experienced enough to know better than to hope, and yet they did all the same.
"So this is it," Leah muttered bitterly. "We are either safe, or we are about to witness another America. Only a whole order of magnitude worse."
They all grimaced at having their thoughts voiced aloud, yet none refuted her words.
It had started almost a year ago. The Obel Scale had shown a streak of incredible accuracy. At the moment, no one paid it much mind—it was rare, but it did happen—so it was flagged as a curiosity and they moved on.
But then the accuracy kept increasing. As of now, no Gate had opened without ample warning in a year. What's more, the information about the Gates had never been so precise. The accuracy of predictions regarding opening Gates stood at a staggering ninety-nine point nine percent, the remaining zero point one belonging to a mistake committed by one of the department's newbies.
Normally, it would have been a thrilling fact. Humanity had never been as safe against the natural disasters known as Gates as it was now.
The problem lay in the fact that they did not understand the reason behind it. And in their fields, the unknown was ten times worse than the known.
The government had spent a veritable fortune on the investigation, even going so far as recalling Obel from his current post in Antarctica back to NQSC to personally lead it.
The end result lay before them.
The first possibility posed by Obel's research was the one everyone hoped would come true: the situation had stabilized at last. The ripples of the category five Gate in America had settled, and now they were in the clear.
If it were true, humanity had at last earned itself a well-deserved respite—one that might allow them the time to rebuild and even reconquer some of the lost lands, like Europe.
The second and final possibility was the one everyone feared would come true. Doctor Obel posed the possibility that they were witnessing the prelude to something far worse: the first category six Gate to appear on Earth. Just as water recedes before a tsunami, the ripples caused by the opening of Gates had calmed, only to come crashing down far worse than ever.
A somber silence spread through the room, no one willing to break it.
No one but the President.
"Si vis pacem, para bellum," she recited, her voice made of pure steel.
"How do we prepare for something of that magnitude?" Thane asked bitterly, the flamboyant man looking more somber than Wake of Ruin had ever seen him.
She replied instantly. "By going all out." There was no speck of doubt in her voice. "Cor, speak with the Great Clans. You have my full authorization to do whatever it takes to get them on board with the evacuation of Antarctica. Thane, start driving up the propaganda—make that kid Sunless into the son of God if you have to—but by the time we announce the mobilization, I want Awakened and civilians alike to fight each other for the privilege of joining. Leah, prepare plans to have the economy survive the acceleration of operations. Cut whatever is not strictly necessary if you have to."
The air in the room changed. It was still somber, but now they at least had a plan—something to do so as not to feel as useless as they had felt just minutes before.
Heat seemed to invade his weary body, filling him with a newfound energy he hadn't felt since he was a young man.
"What are you waiting for?" she pressed. "The nightmare creatures won't stop, so neither can we."
Spurred on by her words, they all got up and left, ready to do whatever they could.
Cor brought out his communicator, inputting the digits so fast his fingers were a blur. He had to visit the strongholds of the clans, but he could also do one more thing before leaving.
It rang for a few seconds before the call was answered.
"It's my free day, you asshole," the sleepy voice of Jet could be heard from the other side.
"This is too important to leave for later. Say, Jet—how do you feel about challenging the Third Nightmare?"
-------------------------------------------
How tedious.
"…And I'm telling you we have to do something!" the Elder replied, his voice increasingly loud and whiny.
Had he left his forge for this travesty?
"Calm down, Master Lancel," Morgan chastised him, her voice clearly conveying what would happen if he didn't.
The Master, whose name he hadn't bothered recalling, seemed properly castigated, sulking in silence.
It might have been a good sign for her future, had she not looked at him from the corner of her eyes, silently checking for his approval. Morgan was a woman he had forged with mastery and the best of steels—hard when needed and flexible when not. Quite sharp, too.
And yet, he had the certainty that she wasn't what he was looking for. She hadn't failed him yet, but he was sure that she would.
"We shouldn't act hastily," Madoc intervened. "Changing Star has already proven herself dangerous, and a frighteningly good leader to boot. Whatever we do must be done only after proper preparation and reconnaissance. We cannot underestimate Elegy of the End either; our diviners estimate her to be the most powerful Seer in the world, after all."
His brother was a good blade—lethal and trustworthy. He was, however, too soft, too cautious. If allowed, he would spend years researching his opponent before even drawing his blade. Faced with an unexpected situation, his confidence would disappear and break all too easily.
What a disgrace. Years of effort, and not a single one of them was worthy.
"Why should we act at all?" Gilead, foolish and naive as he was, added his own voice to the discussion. "As far as we can tell, she's not aware of what happened with Broken Sword. There is no grudge between Valor and Immortal Flame to justify any action."
It was a pity. He could have been a good blade, were he not so obsessed with his ridiculous concerns about honor and chivalry.
"The sun holds no grudge against us, yet it would burn us all the same in its immortal flames if we weren't careful," Jest intervened smoothly, his face as calm as the surface of the Mirror Lake despite championing the death of little more than a child. The elegant air he carried was shattered by his next words. "Get it? Immortal Flame." He snickered.
Jest was a good blade—the best in the whole room, in his opinion—yet not lacking faults of his own. He was too content with his current life, too willing to stay right where he was and not move any further. Rust was slowly but inevitably covering him.
He also wasn't completely sure that Jest hadn't lied about his flaw; his sense of humor was worse than Broken Sword's pitiful attempts at wooing Smile of Heaven. How the two of them had ended up together was still beyond him. To think she chose that fool over him…
Everyone in the room froze upon feeling the edges of his will pressing down on their shoulders. He reined himself back a fraction of a second later, but the damage was already done. They were too afraid to invoke his ire to speak again without permission. Another notch in their list of defects.
"Continue," he said simply, if only so the meeting could end faster.
They kept arguing, but he stopped paying attention, his mind drifting to that vexing girl.
He had ordered her death, and yet none of his blades had delivered. Mundane and Awakened alike had tried and failed. Whether by luck, fate, or skill, she had survived time and time again.
He could have sent Ascended, but Asterion's menace still hung over his head, years after he had been trapped on the Moon. He didn't trust that demon wearing the skin of a human not to have some sort of backup plan.
What-ifs were not worthy of his time, so he stopped pondering the matter. Now it became a question of what to do.
She was dangerous—that was undeniable—and if his suspicions were true, she had the support of the Other's child. It fit too well. Her public appearances had stopped right after the assault on the Night Temple and the mysterious disappearance of that accursed thing, which meant she had entered the Second Nightmare before she said she did.
Devious. Cunning, even.
Maybe… maybe she was the blade he had been looking for. Perfect, without flaws.
The blade that would end his life.
No. He shouldn't get his hopes up. She had succeeded so far, but so had Morgan.
It was time to put her to the test, to see if she truly was worthy of being forged into the perfect blade that would one day claim his life.
The room grew vastly colder, words smothered in the throats of their owners before they could be uttered, a crushing pressure descending over all of them. They had squabbled long enough. Now it was time for them to listen.
"Morgan, you are to assault the Immortal Flame Manor and kill everyone inside," he ordered, his voice brooking no argument.
"As you wish, Father," she replied instantly, her eyes lowered to avoid his gaze. Another disappointment. "How many knights can I take with me?"
A good question. There were forty-six Masters inside that manor to contend with, as well as some Awakened. The menace of that devilish child couldn't be ignored either.
He allowed the silence to stretch, sweat slowly building on their foreheads. Good. Better they think twice before questioning him.
"Take Madoc and Jest with you, and as many Ascended and Awakened as you see fit," he replied at last.
A small crease of her brows was the only hint of the surprise she felt. Her control over her body language was lacking.
"And the time?" she asked next.
"That's for you to decide," he replied with finality.
If she couldn't figure out a proper time and plan to win despite such overwhelming odds, she would at last prove just how unworthy she was.
Let's see if you have what it takes, Changing Star, he thought, his attention once more drifting away from the meeting.
-------------------------------------------
The throne room gleamed as though carved from moonlight itself. White jade rose in smooth, seamless walls, its surface cool and luminous, catching the light and bending it into soft, pearly reflections that drifted across the chamber. The floor was polished to a mirror sheen, so that every step seemed to float above a pale, glowing reflection of the world.
Despite the vastness of the room, there was barely anyone occupying it. Just Ki Song and her daughters, all of them seated behind a round table as they waited for Death Singer to finish her divination.
"D—death... death is coming! Our blood will flow like a river, our flesh will fester and rot, our eyes will be eaten by hungry ravens, our viscera will become a feast for maggots! There will be no hope, no escape, no relief, no salvation... death is coming! It's here!" Little Hel cried out.
"Yes, we know. You have been saying that since we met," Little Shan replied, irritation subtly creeping through her composed mask.
"Can you please tell us about the current situation instead?" Little Eunbin prodded, trying to steer her eccentric daughter back to the topic.
Hel scrunched her adorable face in confusion, as if questioning herself why they would disregard her warnings so easily. Then she shrugged and went back to her seat on the table, hands still dripping blood.
"Not much I can tell you with certainty. The Tapestry of Fate is in shambles, and my revelations aren't as trustworthy as they once were," she explained nonchalantly.
"Wait, what?!" Little Revel, ever the recluse, had missed the meeting in which Hel had explained the situation and, as such, was quite surprised by the revelation.
"Oh yes, I noticed a few months ago, but in truth it started a little over a year ago," Hel said, still as indifferent as before. "It was just details, small enough to go unnoticed but quite telling in hindsight. And now? My prophecies are as trustworthy as Moony's promises to not eat all the cake."
"You promised to keep it a secret!" Moonveil cried out in indignation. "And stop calling me that!"
"When you stop eating all my cake!" Hel retorted immediately, sparks seeming to clash between the eyes of her adorable daughters.
"Now, now, no fighting here," she chided them softly.
Her daughters kept glaring at each other a little longer, but in the end they stopped and adopted serious faces once more. It didn't stop them from giving each other sharp stares when they thought she wasn't looking. Children.
"Changing Star has denied our offer. What should we do about it?" Seishan, ever the serious child, brought them back to the topic at hand.
It hurt to think that she would be leaving soon to initiate her own Second Nightmare. A year and four months was too little time since her return. It couldn't be avoided; little Hel and Moonveil would brave the Third Nightmare in no later than two years, and she wanted to join them.
"We should kill her and her cohort before they can grow further," Revel replied instantly. She always preferred the blunt approach.
"We should keep trying to recruit her," Eunbin retorted, preferring the soft approach instead.
"Can I keep Sir Sunless if we kill her? He's kind of cute. Just like a porcelain doll." Hel asked, her eyes shining with excitement at the prospect.
Maybe she should gift the boy to her. Her birthday was still a few months away, but it wasn't like she needed an excuse to dote on her daughters.
"Hel being creepy aside, we need to come to a decision on this matter," Moonveil said, still glaring daggers at the oracle.
"What are the chances she will pose a menace if we leave her be?" Seishan asked Hel.
The petite woman shrugged, seemingly uninterested in the topic. "The chance is around eighty-six percent that she will be a problem if we ignore her. But, as I said before, my divinations cannot be trusted. It could be lower, it could be higher. For all I know, she might retire tomorrow and become a cheese maker instead."
"What do you think, Mother?" Silent Stalker asked at last. She preferred to stay silent, but when she spoke, they all listened.
"We should do..." She started, her voice low to add to the dramatic effect, "nothing."
The effort was worth it to witness the puzzled faces of her daughters. Her answer had surprised them, all of them wearing shocked expressions upon hearing it.
"Why?" Lonesome Howl intervened for the first time, the conversation having been of no interest to her so far.
She smiled at them, silently prodding them to figure it out. A mother's job never ended. She wanted to coddle and hold their hands forever, but at the same time she knew that they needed to be able to stand on their own feet.
Ah, the kind of sacrifices she made for them. It could truly break the heart of a lesser woman.
They were silent for a few minutes as they all pondered the matter, trying to understand the reasoning behind their mother's answer. At last, one of them broke the silence.
"Valor," Revel spat the name like it was a curse.
"Correct," she congratulated her daughter. Revel might prefer a direct approach, but she was no less smart than her sisters.
Eunbin narrowed her lovely eyes, seemingly coming to the same conclusion. "Valor won't stay idle. If Changing Star rejected us, she will most likely reject them too. They will answer just as always, with overwhelming force."
"And when they do, they will either resolve the problem or they will fail, forcing her to reveal her hand in the process, as well as making her unable to stay neutral anymore," Seishan continued.
"Neither the Government nor the Nightwalkers can protect her from them, which leaves only us," Moonveil finished.
"But what if she still joins the House of Night or stays firm on being neutral instead?" Lonesome Howl asked.
A tense silence followed the question, one that she decided to break herself.
"Then I will go there personally and crush them myself," Ki Song answered, her will flaring along with her words. "Menaces are better strangled in the cradle, after all."
No ill will was directed at them, and yet her daughters shivered all the same. Good. As much as she loved her daughters, they should never forget she was their sovereign too.
"Awwww, I really wanted to keep Sir Sunless"
-------------------------------------------
The Moon hung in perfect silence, a pale witness suspended in a black sky that never breathed. Its surface was locked in stillness—dust frozen where it had fallen, shadows stretched long and unmoving. There was no wind to erase footprints, no sound to soften the emptiness. The cold had been absolute, seeping into everything, an unfeeling presence that denied warmth, motion, and time itself.
There, loneliness was not an emotion but a condition of existence. The horizon curved away into nothing, and Earth gleamed faintly in the distance, vibrant and impossibly far. The Moon did not welcome or reject—it simply endured, ancient and indifferent, a place where silence pressed in so completely that even thought felt exposed, echoing in the void.
Or it would, were it not for the ceaseless calling he could hear at all times. It had been fascinating at first, filling him with endless curiosity. Now, it only vexed him.
A category six Gate—to think humanity had it right under their nose—or was it over? He never quite mastered these idioms—all along and didn't even realize. How amusing.
He had spent years trapped there already, his only companion the little marks he still had in the world before him, feeding him information and what little of the events of the world the pitiful owners could find out. And what a tasty morsel they had delivered today.
"So little Nephis has ascended," he whispered to himself.
The only reason he could even hear himself was the sphere of Will he maintained around himself at all times, replicating the atmosphere of Earth. It was a fascinating application of Will, one that he would love nothing more than to study in depth. The possibilities opened by being able to will the world into obeying his whims never ceased to amaze him.
Alas, it was quite hard to do so in this dreary place. His Will was better spent keeping the facsimile of an atmosphere around himself, and, besides, the calling and the presence of his Unholy neighbor made concentrating quite difficult.
"Hmm… maybe I should expedite my return," he muttered. "My curiosity about this place has long been satisfied."
He looked to the planet before him, so big yet so small, filled with endless little curiosities he wanted to discover. So vast and yet so fragile.
Yes, he should start his return early.
The faces made by his fellow sovereigns upon reuniting would be exquisite.
-------------------------------------------
She walked confidently, smiling at those who greeted her and engaging in small talk with those who wanted to speak with her.
However, she did not dally, ending the conversations as quickly as politely possible and kept moving, advancing toward her destination.
Soon, she arrived. She carefully inputted the code on the door, which opened with a quiet hiss.
She exchanged words with the Firekeeper who had been standing guard inside, but the man, thankfully, seemed to catch on to the fact that she wasn't in the mood to talk and left promptly, leaving her alone at last.
She activated her awakened ability. In this quiet, sealed room, with no one but herself and the sleeping body of her dear friend, she could almost pretend to be able to see. Her ascended ability was priceless, but it wasn't real sight for herself.
Without the chaos of endless possibilities running at the same time, she could appreciate the scene before her. He was pale, with hair that had grown long enough to reach his hips, incredibly thin; his face was calm, almost vulnerable, just as it had been for the past year and four months.
What is he doing? she asked herself.
Was he well? Did he miss them? Hate them? Feel nothing at all?
She had tried to use her Ascended ability on him already, but sadly, it didn't work. The separation between body and spirit was too much for her aspect to bridge. She would have to wait to know, just like everyone else did.
It was only then, in the silence of a completely sealed room, accompanied only by someone she loved like a brother, that she allowed herself to let go of the tight control she held over her body.
It started slow, like it always did. First, her shoulders started to tremble, then her whole arms did. Before it could extend to the rest of her body, she sat down, and just as she did, she could feel her blindfold starting to grow wet.
Soon, she was crying, knees hugged to her chest, her face buried in them.
"It didn't work," she whispered to herself amidst sobs.
She had thought that ascending might grant her clarity—about herself, about him, about Fate itself.
Instead, the only thing it did was reveal just how truly blind she was.
-------------------------------------------
Nephis walked inside the room confidently, offering a quick nod to the Firekeeper who had been on watch duty.
Once she was finally alone, she allowed herself to relax, her shoulders sagging sharply upon being liberated from the tension they had been carrying for so long.
They had returned from the Second Nightmare a week ago, and it had been a long and stressful one—one that had kept her every moment too busy to allow her to visit. The hounding of the clans and the Government had been rather unpleasant, too.
Fortunately, all of it was settled now, and she could relax at last.
She smiled a little upon seeing the person inside the pod, her tired heart conjuring warmth out of nothing upon setting eyes on his lovely, peaceful face.
She hesitated for a moment, and then her hand moved, inputting the code that would open the pod silently.
Soon, he was safely tucked inside her embrace, the warmth of his body melting away all the tension left behind. Nephis exhaled contentedly and allowed herself to just be.
Minutes later, when the curiosity proved too much, she opened the runes. She had been so busy that she couldn't afford anything but a quick check to make sure he was still alive.
[Shadow Fragments: 4296/5000]
Sunny had earned a worryingly high number of fragments, which meant that he must have been in quite the battle. She looked down, and fortunately, there were new Memories to be seen.
It was a hobby of hers, one she would never admit having. She was endlessly curious about what was going on on his side—was he curious about hers?—and the Memories he earned were the only hints as to what he was facing. If only he stopped feeding them so quickly to that shadow of his, it would be far easier, she complained inwardly.
But she welcomed the challenge. It was like a game, trying to figure out what adventures he had over there with just the descriptions of the Memories.
Without further delay, she viewed the first, all the while tightening her hold on Sunny, as if she were holding a teddy bear while watching a movie.
[Memory Name: The Essence of Combat.
Memory Rank: Awakened.
Memory Type: Tool.
Memory Description: "What is the essence of combat?" the treacherous Lost from Light asked his shadows.
As he bore witness to a meaningless battle, fought by creatures consumed by madness over nothing of value, he pondered the matter, ultimately coming to a conclusion that only someone as lacking in honor as him could.
"Back then, my answer was 'Survival.' Who cares about honor? Who cares about glory? Leave those to the Legacies and may they choke on it. Who am I to stop them from dying if that's what they want? I, for one, will do whatever it takes to survive."
"She rebuked me, claiming that it is 'Murder.' In battle, the only thing that matters is murdering your opponent while stopping your opponent from doing the same to you. I believed her. If she said so, what reason did I have to doubt her?"
"It's quite hard to argue against a beautiful woman in a seaweed bikini," the lecherous shadow added.
"Murder is simple. Elegant, even. Honest in its brutality. It is not, however, an acceptable answer for me."
"The essence of combat is control. Control your enemy so they act how you want, while losing the ability to act how they want. Control the battlefield, turning the environment into an extension of your will. Control time—strike when they are weakest, when you are strongest."
"But most importantly… control yourself, and even the gods will fall."
And just as the shadow promised, he took control of the battlefield, luring his enemies into trap after trap until only he remained standing.]
She didn't need a mirror to know her face was completely red. To think he would say such things openly… maybe the accursed Spell was right to call him lecherous.
Wait… was that why he looked at her like that at the beginning of their journey? She had thought he was coming up with ways to kill her due to how closely he watched her!
She buried her face in his hair, trying to smother the embarrassment she felt. It didn't work; if anything, it made her feel even more embarrassed. Although she wasn't against him thinking of her like that…
She shook her head violently to get rid of the thought and paid attention to the other part of the description. To think he had come up with his own philosophy of combat was interesting. The Spell seemed to approve, considering that it had gone so far as to record his speech about it.
She would have to test him when he returned—see for herself if that mentality was worthy of superseding her own answer.
Mind set, and still quite embarrassed, she moved on to the next Memory.
[Memory Name: Crown of Wrath.
Memory Rank: Transcended.]
Her eyes widened. She knew that the Marble Saint was Transcendent now, but to think he had killed a Corrupted Beast on his own as a Sleeper was still a staggering feat.
[Memory Type: Tool.
Memory Description:
There was a king who once ruled a proud city, filled with wonder and happiness that few could claim to compare to. When darkness spread across the streets and everything was lost, he was missing, having left to visit faraway lands. Upon returning, he witnessed in despair what remained of the city he loved. That fateful day was the one on which the seed of darkness was planted in his heart.
Bent but not broken, the king led his people toward the salvation promised by the mad Seer, only to succumb to an unquenchable fury upon discovering that there was no hope left for his people. Thus, he roamed the lands he once ruled, waging eternal war against the Seer and his vile progeny, his wrath never to be satisfied or overcome… until one day, the king met a treacherous shadow.
"Who are you, to speak to me about anger, beast?"
"I have been betrayed more times than you can count. I have faced no less than two death zones as a Sleeper and survived. I have stared at an Unholy Titan's soul, and it did not dare to strike me down."
"I am Lost from Light, rightful heir of Death and beloved son of Fate. I have been wronged more times than there are stars in the sky, felt emotions so intense they could stop a man's heart, battled against my own mind to keep a sliver of sanity intact. So tell me, beast—who are you to lecture me about wrath?"
True to his words, treacherous Lost from Light faced the wrath that no man or creature had bested before and came out unscathed. Having met his match at last, the king who had outlived his land died in despair.]
Nephis did not, in fact, squeal. Nobody had heard her, and as such, it did not happen. She stared at Sunny to make sure and found him still asleep, which brought a sigh of relief from her.
Why couldn't she have been there to witness that? It must have been such a glorious moment! And surely Sunny would look even more handsome than usual as he delivered that speech…
She would get him to repeat it. She promised herself that.
Then she recalled a part of the description, and her face paled.
An Unholy… Titan?
Just what was he doing? And how had he survived?! He had so many questions to answer!
She tightened her embrace on him. Had her hair not been gray already, it would have become so after worrying over him for so long.
She moved on to the last Memory, curious about how the battle he had been in had ended.
[Memory Name: Ring of Sorrow.
Memory Rank: Ascended.
Memory Type: Tool.
Memory Description:
In all of the realms, no greater poison is known than the one called hope. No one knows this fact as well as the Mad Seer, who, in his desperation to avoid another tragedy, hoped to find a way to save his people by gazing into the waters of Fate, only to doom his beloved city to a far worse one in the process.
No one… but the treacherous Lost from Light. The shadow, who had journeyed through a land consumed by darkness and then another smothered by inconsolable sorrow, found at last a beacon of hope in a sea of despair—only to have his hopes dashed upon finding the truth.
"Is this it, Fate? Is this my grand fate? The thing I'm supposed to be the centerpiece of?"
"I guess it's my fault. For having hope. For thinking that something good might happen to me for once. For believing I could escape this hell. Look at the foolish little slave, playing right into your hands! Isn't this hilarious? ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?!"
"Is this your revenge? For defying you? For refusing to lie down and die in my first Nightmare? For all the times I should have died—and didn't? I'm no child of yours. Just entertainment. A toy—sharp enough to survive, stubborn enough not to shatter, and desperate enough to follow along in your sick designs."
"Is this it? Is this my destiny? To suffer? To search endlessly for a way out—only to find there is none?"
"You win. I give up."
Confronted with the crushing hopelessness of his situation, the treacherous shadow broke down, unable to keep on moving like it had through many tragedies before.
In the end, it was not the tides of darkness that defeated Lost from Light, but the loss of all hope.]
Her arms tightened without her input, so much so that she heard a harrowing snap. She quickly relaxed upon hearing it, and immediately after, her silver flames enveloped him, undoing the damage.
It hurt—but not as much as her heart did. For right under the description of the Memory, she could see it.
[Gateway: Temple of the Twin Gods.]
[Gateway Component: Many Awakened may make use of it simultaneously. Minimum amount: Two.]
He had found a way out.
He had done the impossible—crossed two death zones as a Sleeper, somehow survived an encounter with an Unholy Titan, then battled what looked like a Corrupted Beast and a Fallen Terror, coming out as the undisputed victor.
Right now, at this exact moment, he could have already escaped.
Except that he couldn't.
Because he was alone.
Because she had abandoned him.
Because she had forced him to stay behind.
An image of an alternate, happier world appeared in her mind: the two of them staying together, braving the darkness of the Forgotten Shore and then that of the land he had ended up on. Battling side by side against anything that dared to bar their path, and then, at last, coming upon a Gateway that could bring them back to the Waking World.
It was a beautiful image—one she cherished with all her heart. It was also a lie.
How was she meant to earn his forgiveness after this? How could she make it right when even the sole salvation he had found was useless because of her selfishness?
Tears prickled at her eyes, threatening to spill at any moment. She wiped them away before they could, then returned her hand to where it had been, holding on to him in despair.
It was another sin added to the list, one she would have to make up for too.
She would do it. She already knew it would be hard—hellishly so.
In the end, this changed nothing. She would make amends, even if it was the last thing she did.
It did not stop her heart from breaking a little more.
-------------------------------------------
Present time
Nephis entered the room quietly, opened the pod, and soon had Sunny in her embrace.
She opened the runes, curious to see if more of the strange memories had appeared. It had started a little over two months ago—memories with strange names and even stranger descriptions.
Like:
[Memory name: Shadow Chair.
Memory description: AAABBBBBCCCCC.]
Or:
[Memory name: Fancy Knife.
Memory description: Does this work?]
Also:
[Memory name: Painkiller Rock.
Memory description: A rock that alleviates pain when held. Pity it's so damn rough.]
And her favorite:
[Memory name: Shadow Cloth.
Memory description: A cloth. A cloth made of dark silk. A shadow cloth, if you will. Why do I bother writing this crap?]
She found herself eagerly awaiting the appearance of more of them, curious to see what would come next. She had no idea how, but Sunny had seemingly figured out a way to either create memories or change their names and descriptions.
Sure enough, right under his attributes—how had he even acquired five fragments of his lineage at the same time?—she could see his list of memories. And at the end, a second after she checked, a new memory appeared.
One that filled her with a foreboding sensation.
[Memory name: Read This.]
She felt herself almost afraid to continue, yet she did so anyway. Whatever he considered important enough to name a memory like that, she had to see.
[Memory description:
Hey Neph, it has been a while, hasn't it?
This last year and a half has been quite eventful for me.
Let's see, I escaped the Crimson Spire by a hair's breadth, then I buried everyone who died, hunted down all the remaining nightmare creatures in the Dark City, and then left to look for another way out.
It took a few months, but I found a new region. I called it "The Tears" since it's always raining. Poetic, I know.
There, I found traces of a forgotten civilization and hints of the existence of a Gateway, so that's where I went. Along the way, I had a rather unpleasant meeting with the one who governs this land—a quite rude fellow that one. I also stared at the Tapestry of Fate— zero out of ten, I do not recommend.
Anyway, I ended up finding the Gateway, and after defeating the nightmare creatures outside, I entered, only to find out I could not use it. You might be right about the Spell—it's a real asshole.
I was a little down after that, but then I found a book written by Weaver—yes, the Daemon. They are an even bigger prick than the Spell, if you can believe it, but they also inspired me to get back up on my feet, so there's that.
So I left the Temple behind and moved on to search for Aleras, the city to which that civilization I mentioned belongs. And now I've found it. Worthy of note is the fact that there is a Seed of Nightmare before it—one that I intend to challenge once I'm done weaving this memory.
Just between you and me, I'm afraid. I'm deathly afraid.
But… well, it's not like I have much of an alternative, do I?
I guess I could just leave this place behind and keep looking, but honestly? I won't. I have been trapped in this hell long enough.
Glory or death, I was ready to stake my life on that before, and I'm ready to do so again.
But enough of depressing topics—let's talk about what I will do if I succeed instead.
The first thing I'm doing is finding myself the nicest, softest bed ever and sleeping for a few weeks. When I wake up, I'm going to the best restaurant in the city, and I will eat until I get sick. You have no idea how tired I am of eating nothing but dried meat.
Then, I will go visit my sister Rain. I will tell her everything—who I am, about our parents, my reasons for not talking to her. If she's willing, I will try to be the best big brother ever. If not, I will respect it; she has a life, and I have no right to barge in on it.
After that, I guess I will go find Kai and go with him to one of those concerts he wouldn't stop talking about. I also can't wait to see his reaction when I tell him about all I have been doing here.
I will also visit Effie and prepare her a feast the likes of which she has never tasted before. Then I won't allow her to eat any of it until she apologizes for all her pestering. Okay, maybe I won't, but I will still be very petty about the whole thing!
Cassie… I will listen to what she has to say before making any decision. Until then, ask her to take care for me.
And then, there is you.
Nephis, Changing Star of the Immortal Flame Clan, the very star of my ruin, my Master.
I hate you.
The kind of things I have gone through—the pain, the sorrow, the sheer despair. I have been betrayed before, but not like this, never like this. The idea of taking revenge was the only thing keeping me warm on many cold nights.
Which only makes the following fact even more ridiculous:
I love you.
The memory of you, of Cassie, of what we have gone through. Even your runes—as much as they infuriated me, or even that thrice-damned command of yours—are the only thing that keeps me going even now. Quite pathetic, right?
I hate you. I love you.
I love you. I hate you.
Even now, I'm not sure what I will do once we meet. Maybe I will kill you, maybe I will kiss you. Maybe both, though not in that order.
I guess I will find out when I come back. Until then, I have a task for you. As the one responsible for my current predicament, I hope you will at least have the decency to fulfill it. Or maybe you won't even read this before I die, and I'm just wasting my time—but a man can have hope, can't he?
No matter what happens next, how long it takes me to come back, or even if I die.
From now to the day of your death—whether by my hand or other means—I want only one thing from you:
Remember me.]
Silence lingered in the room, her soft breath the only thing that could be heard.
The silence was deep and heavy, almost deafening in its stillness. And then, it was broken.
Had the room not been soundproofed, one could have heard the great Changing Star cry for the first time in years.
-------------------------------------------
Sunny was seated on the [Shadow Chair], numbly staring at the Seed of Nightmare before him.
His message had been finished minutes ago, and now there was nothing left to do but enter.
It was a foolish act, that he knew—to think he had fallen so low as to beg the same person who had put him in his current situation to remember him was just another pathetic deed in a long list of them.
But… he wanted to leave a message, a proof of what he had been through. To express what he felt, what he feared.
To be remembered if he died—even if it was by Her.
He felt the usual war between hate and love take place in his heart, but he couldn't be bothered to pay attention to it—not when he was staring at what might very well be his death.
He shook his head and stood up, the chair dissolving behind him in dark sparks.
It was time.
Without fanfare, he walked to the seed and plunged his arm inside.
[Sleeper! Prepare for your Third Trial…]
Wait, what?!
[Brave one… welcome to the Nightmare!]
End of Volume One: Beloved Child of Fate.