Nephis, truly, had never felt more impressed with anyone in a really long while. The last time it had been Sunny—the way he adapted to her swordplay quickly, adjusting his own without hesitation. He was a good student.
Now, watching Caster, she felt that same astonishment.
Perhaps it was because she was weakened.
She had overused her Aspect—dragging herself, Gunlaug, and Cassie from the brink of death. Her fatigue was potent. Her body felt hollow.
Or perhaps—
Caster and the Disaster were simply moving too fast.
She could not see them clearly—and only forty seconds had passed.
In that time, not one of them had managed to leave so much as a scratch on the Disaster's body. Its mist remained unbroken, impenetrable.
However—
The Disaster had failed to touch Caster.
Not even once.
'When?'
When had he grown this strong? He'd never exhibited such fury in any of the battles he had participated in before.
She knew his Aspect was the reason. Speed and acceleration. It explained how he'd endured this long.
It did not explain this.
Gunlaug barely avoided one of the six descending appendages, twisting aside at the last possible moment. He landed roughly, skidding across the pulverized ground. He raised his shield instinctively—
Only to realize the attack had never been meant for him.
The Disaster was focused on Caster.
The two of them were a blur.
Two existences tearing through space at such high speed that no one else could keep up.
Truly, Caster was far faster than he had been during his initial battle with Nephis at the academy.
The ruined corridor rang with sharp, metallic cries. The ground had already been reduced to powder. The walls were broken beyond recognition—even dust rose in clouds.
And still—
Not a single clean hit.
Caster was too small. Too precise and far too fast.
The Disaster was too vast. Too durable, and utterly overwhelming.
Caster would sooner shatter his own memory than pierce that ancient hide.
So he stopped trying.
Instead, he simply kept moving.
He felt—
Exhilarated.
A Legacy he might be, but this… this would be remembered. To fend off a Disaster for even a minute was not a small feat.
And indeed, a minute had passed.
As steel flashed and mist coiled, Gunlaug's eyes suddenly widened.
The six appendages had shifted, and he could feel a sudden pull.
The mist gathered behind the Disaster, spiraling inward and condensing into a violent distortion. It was pure pressure—condensed air, building toward release.
"Nephis, with me!" Gunlaug yelled.
She was moving long before he opened his mouth.
Augmenting her body twice over, she and Gunlaug dashed up the walls and launched off in sharp angles. They cut toward the Disaster's back, blades ready, aiming to disrupt the forming attack before it could be unleashed.
The creature seemed enthralled. Its attention was fixed entirely on Caster.
It did not react—
Until the walls cracked beneath Nephis's step.
Though it was in utter delight, it was still a Corrupted-Devil. It turned swiftly.
It was not mindless, after all. Even after a thousand years sealed away, even with its will eroded by corruption, it retained a sliver of awareness.
That made it all the more fearsome.
Nephis's blade cut through empty air. Gunlaug's spear struck nothing. The abomination's mist twisted upward and then outward in a violent surge—not a storm but a crushing wave of compressed force. It exploded around the creature's body and threw all three of them back.
Nephis felt herself lift off the wall. Somewhere else in the air, Gunlaug flew as well.
But before they could be hurled out of the corridor—
Caster was there in a flash. He caught them midair with perfect accuracy and redirected their momentum, throwing them down instead of away.
They hit the ground hard—but at least they were still within the battlefield.
Caster turned sharply.
"How much longer?!"
Gunlaug stared at him. He was about to answer, but instead was surprised by the sight before him.
Caster looked… older. And no, it wasn't subtle.
His features had sharpened into something more mature. His jaw was straighter—eyes deeper. Unlike moments before, there were now new lines that framed his face.
If Gunlaug had to guess, Caster was four years older now.
Perhaps more. But… all in a single minute?
'Is that his flaw?'
Gunlaug realized he had not answered. Thankfully, Nephis did for him.
"Three minutes and fifty seconds!"
"Tsk."
Caster clicked his tongue. He was not in favor of those numbers.
His body was straining. No Sleeper could push their Aspect without bearing the consequences. Not like this—not endlessly.
Even with the charm at his neck dampening the cost, his flaw was asserting itself.
If not for it—
He would already be a withered old man.
And once more, even with the Hourglass charm slowing the toll, it would take ages to undo the years he was burning away now. In truth, he was gambling his life.
Even if the Disaster had yet to touch him, he was slowly but surely dying by the second.
He inhaled sharply. In hindsight, it didn't matter. If he failed here, they would all die.
If the Bright Castle fell completely, the Forgotten Shore would never recover. Or more accurately—its Sleepers would not. Escape would become a distant dream.
Caster lowered his stance, drew in a heavy breath, and charged again.
Nephis rose and Gunlaug followed. Three figures moved as one.
For now—
It was up to him.
—
The ground and the sky had become indistinguishable in their hostility, both claimed by the same merciless war.
The Lord of the Dead remained rooted to the earth, yet its reach stretched upward without limit. Entire heaps of bone tore free from its towering frame, wrenched loose with violent indifference before being hurled into the air. They climbed in crooked arcs, pale and jagged against the dark, then fell screaming back down like fragments of meteorites.
Silvershade slipped between them with fluid precision, its wings folding and unfurling in seamless transitions that felt almost lazy in their grace. Each roll of its body carried them through impossible gaps. Each subtle tilt of its feathers stole them away from certain death. Behind them, bone struck stone and burst apart, the explosions of splinters and dust chasing their shadow across the ruined plain.
Sunny pressed himself lower against the Echo's back, fingers tight in its plumage, acutely aware of how fragile he was compared to the storm raging beneath. The skeletal colossus dwarfed everything around it. From this height, he could see the shifting mass of bones grinding against one another like the gears of some obscene machine.
And still, none of the projectiles touched them.
Frustration radiated from below in palpable waves. The Tyrant's towering form shifted and writhed, casting up volley after volley, as if determined to swat a particularly irritating insect from its domain.
'Curse it… I really have no choice, do I?'
He had drafted plan after plan in the span of seconds. Clever angles—distractions—perfect timing, you name it. Each idea had gleamed in his mind for a fleeting second before reality tore it apart. The golden light remained fixed near the edge of the shifting pile, half-buried, agonizingly close.
Close enough to tempt him.
He had already tried descending once, trusting Silvershade to draw attention while he made a quick grab for the prize.
That had been a terrible mistake.
The instant his weight left the Echo's back, the Lord of the Dead dismissed the radiant bird entirely. The sweeping wings, the blinding speed, the luminous feathers cutting through darkness… none of it mattered.
Its focus locked onto him with chilling intent.
Every bone it hurled adjusted mid-flight. Every shift of its immense body aligned subtly with his movement.
It had not been random. It had been with purpose.
It was… personal? No—yes, it definitely was personal.
That realization curdled in his gut.
Technically, Silvershade could retrieve the light alone. The bird was fast and agile enough to slip in and out before the Tyrant could respond effectively.
But the moment Sunny separated from it for more than a heartbeat, he would be standing alone on a battlefield that wanted him dead with obsessive clarity.
He knew his limits. Speed had never been his greatest virtue. Down there, amid falling bones the size of siege engines, flesh and steel alike would flatten in an instant.
Which left him with a single, unpleasant conclusion.
He would have to compress the entire maneuver into one seamless motion. Descent, retrieval, escape. No hesitation. No second attempt. A breath held and released at precisely the right moment.
Reckless, crude, and so brutally straightforward.
He disliked it with every fiber of his being.
Yet every more elegant solution had already crumbled.
Below, the massive silhouette shifted again, pale limbs grinding as they reassembled into fresh angles of attack. Sunny grimaced and reached down to pat Silvershade's back, feeling the subtle warmth of living essence beneath sleek feathers.
"I'm not sacrificing you," he muttered under his breath. "You're far too useful."
A flying Echo. The mere thought of traversing the Forgotten Shore with this creature at his command sent a spark of avarice through his mind. Points of destination would shrink dramatically. Dangers could be bypassed entirely.
He patted the bird again, almost sheepish. "Hang in there… pal? Lady…? Ah—hell! We'll settle that later!"
The assault intensified. The Lord of the Dead ripped free another cluster of bones and launched them skyward in furious succession. Silvershade weaved through the barrage with elegant economy, banking just enough, accelerating at the perfect instant. For a fleeting moment, Sunny had the absurd impression that the Echo found this boring. It was… far too calm for the current situation.
He wished he shared that composure.
Because the Tyrant below showed no sign of slowing. Its violence was methodical, relentless, grinding forward with tireless intent.
A faint chill traced its way down his spine.
Something felt wrong.
He scanned the horizon again, searching for movement beyond the skeletal giant, for a lurking threat drawn by the commotion. The ruins remained still. The darkness lay undisturbed.
Yet the unease lingered, quite unwelcome.
He needed to end this before whatever unseen variable decided to reveal itself.
'Drop lower,' he ordered.
Silvershade responded instantly, wings folding as it angled downward in a controlled plunge. Wind roared past Sunny's ears, tearing at his sleeves as the ground surged upward. At the last possible moment, the Echo leveled out into a blistering glide just above the earth, speed stretching the world into blurred streaks.
Light bent around them at Silvershade's command, their forms smearing into the night.
Still, bones followed.
The Lord of the Dead adjusted its aim without sight, guided by some deeper sense. Projectiles slammed into the ground in their wake, close enough that the shockwaves rattled through Sunny's bones.
They were nearing the edge of the shifting pile now.
As the Tyrant gathered itself for another volley, Sunny reached inward and summoned Saint.
She stepped from the shadows in all her glory. Steel gleamed faintly across her battered armor. Cracks marked her frame, reminders of battles not yet fully healed, yet the weight of her presence remained unchanged.
Worn, yes.
But unbroken.
The Fallen Tyrant loomed above them, a grotesque construction of countless smaller horrors bound into towering mass. Individual bones could be severed. He had seen Saint do something similar before.
The danger only lay in being buried beneath them.
He let Gloomy wrap around her, shadows engulfing her like a second layer of armor, and released her forward.
She cut across the battlefield in a straight, merciless line. Her blade rose to meet a descending fragment, and the impact shattered the projectile into a rain of splinters that scattered across the ruined plain.
'That's it…'
For a heartbeat, the momentum shifted.
Then the Lord of the Dead adjusted.
Sunny felt it before he fully saw it. A subtle reorientation. A sharpening of intent. The Tyrant's vast frame angled differently, its attention narrowing with sudden clarity.
Its focus abandoned Silvershade entirely.
Its movements around Sunny became measured, almost cautious…
But Saint drew its fury like a lodestone draws iron.
A massive limb of bone surged toward her, followed by another, the assault focusing around her position with unmistakable priority.
Sunny's breath caught.
…Why her?
His thoughts raced, searching for a pattern he had missed. Silvershade carried—or rather, manipulated light. He carried… what? Saint carried… what?
What did he and Saint share?
She was a Shadow, and so was he. Gloomy was wrapped around her like a second plating, the familiar weight of it tugging at the edge of his perception as they moved in tandem. It only took him mere moments to realize it. It struck him all at once, a shard of clarity sliding into place.
Divinity.
Saint carried the attribute [Spark of Divinity]. He carried it too. A faint ember, buried deep, easy to forget until something monstrous forced its gaze outward.
The Lord of the Dead was not reacting to movement. It was reacting to that.
His breath thinned as the wind tore past his face. Of course. That persistent hostility from Nightmare Creatures, the way their attention lingered, the way their violence heightened whenever he entered the fray… it had never been coincidence. He had been walking through the Dream Realm with a candle flame cupped in his hands, wondering why the dark kept leaning closer.
He almost laughed.
"Well then… that works."
If the Tyrant craved divinity, it would pursue the brighter spark. Saint could endure its focus for a few precious moments. He only needed seconds. A sliver of time in the depths of chaos.
"Saint. Don't die. I-I'll cry! I mean it!"
For the briefest instant, amid the grinding roar of bone and the shriek of wind, she tilted her helm upward. The movement was small, nearly lost in the violence of the battlefield, yet it carried unmistakable intent. He felt it through their bond, steady and resolute.
He felt warmth at the gesture.
The golden light waited below, half-swallowed by the shifting edge of the skeletal mass. It pulsed between fragments of ivory and shadow, a quiet, unwavering glow that did not belong in this graveyard storm.
'Now.'
At his command, Silvershade twisted through the air with breathtaking precision, its majestic wings folding and unfurling in a seamless motion that turned a lethal sweep into empty space. The Lord of the Dead adjusted immediately, proving with chilling ease that its awareness could split and sharpen without losing intensity.
Sunny let go at the exact heartbeat when balance tipped in his favor.
The rush of descent swallowed him whole. Wind clawed at his shroud, tore at his hair, filled his ears with a violent howl as the sky inverted and the pale landscape surged upward. The world narrowed to motion and impact.
He struck the shifting surface of bone and rolled through the collision, momentum carrying him across grinding fragments that bit and scraped against his armor. The ground writhed beneath him, skeletal pieces sliding over one another with a nauseating, living rhythm, threatening to collapse or surge without warning.
By the time his boots found purchase, he was already moving, weaving across the unstable terrain in a low, controlled sprint that forced every muscle into perfect coordination. Each step demanded calculation. Too much weight in the wrong place and the pile would give way; too little and he would lose precious speed.
Nearby, Saint met the Tyrant's fury head-on. The clash rang through the air like a cathedral bell struck by a hammer. Through their bond, he felt the strain pressing down on her, a relentless weight testing cracks that had not yet fully healed.
She could endure.
For a little while…
Though he'd rather not test that theory.
The shifting sea of bones surged beneath his boots as he forced himself to move faster, weaving through skidding fragments while the sky continued to rain death around him. The ground slid treacherously, threatening to swallow his footing, while projectiles shrieked down with murderous intent. It felt like sprinting across an open field under a storm of arrows, except every arrow weighed as much as a siege engine.
The golden glow pulsed ahead, close enough now that it painted the pale bones in a faint halo.
Sunny felt relief—only for a moment.
Then the mass to his left heaved.
A towering column of skeletal debris tore free and came crashing toward him in a sideways sweep that would turn him into paste.
'C-Curses!'
He brought his black tachi up, tightening his muscles despite having the knowledge that the blade would not be enough. The impact would shatter his guard, arms, and everything behind them.
The collision never came.
A streak of silver and pale light slammed into the incoming meteor mid-flight. The force of accumulated speed pushed against it in a concussive blast, sending the mass skidding away in a violent spiral.
'Silvershade!'
The Echo's body might not have been built for brute contests of strength, but velocity was its domain. Speed translated into power—power translated into might.
The path was cleared for a single heartbeat.
Sunny did not waste it.
He vaulted the last shifting ridge of bones and planted himself above the source of the glow. The Tyrant's body shifted beneath him, its skeletal fragments shifting as though aware of his intrusion. Without allowing doubt to root, he drove his arm down into the writhing lattice of bone.
He felt agony along his forearm as jagged edges bit into his flesh and shroud alike. Something resisted him, wedged deep into the monstrous frame. He gritted his teeth and pulled, wrenching his arm free in a violent shower of splintered fragments.
In his fist lay a small iron key.
It looked ordinary at first glance. Yet a soft golden radiance seeped from its structure, pulsing faintly against his bloodied fingers in waves.
Then—Sunny's entire world tilted. He felt a sudden wave of weakness come down on him. It was so abrupt that his knees nearly buckled. His grip tightened reflexively around the key as his vision swam.
He rotated his forearm, frowning at the strange heaviness dragging it down.
The sight that met his eyes froze his thoughts.
An… an enormous leech clung to his arm, its slick, bloated body nearly a meter long. Its skin glistened wetly, segmented flesh flexing as it fed. A grotesque maw had burrowed into him, drinking with obscene enthusiasm.
He felt repulsed at the sight.
The Tyrant took his distraction with another sweeping pillar of bone. He threw himself backward as Silvershade intercepted the blow once more. The Echo was forced several meters back by the sheer mass of the strike.
Sunny stumbled across the unstable terrain, retreating just enough for the owl to swoop low. His blood ran warm and slick down his arm, each pulse making the leech swell further.
'Ah… damn it.'
He nearly commanded his Gloomy shadow to return at once, only to remember that Saint remained locked in a brutal exchange with the Lord of the Dead. Pulling her back now would free the Tyrant's attention at the worst possible moment.
"You vile parasite!"
He hacked the creature with his black tachi. The blade skidded off its slick hide without drawing even a bead of blood.
He felt a cold dread settle upon him.
It was a Fallen.
The realization sharpened his thoughts. The leech was no mere scavenger drawn by the chaos. It was a Fallen-Beast. And of course, it had chosen him of all people.
He dismissed Saint the instant he judged the distance barely sufficient and hurled himself onto Silvershade's back as the Echo blurred into camouflage once more. They shot forward, weaving through another descending barrage while Sunny clawed at the parasite with rapidly growing desperation.
The damned thing would not budge.
His strength bled out by the second. The world felt heavier, and his vision was growing uncertain. One thought dragged after the other.
Only one option remained.
He stared at his own arm, calculating the angle. Better to lose a limb than his life. Steel could sever flesh far more cleanly than those monstrous jaws—
The leech suddenly stilled. Its body trembled.
Then it convulsed violently.
'H-Huh?'
Sunny was deeply confused.
The creature spasmed as it writhed from within. Its grip slackened. With a wet, sickening sound, it tore free and fell away, only for Sunny to snatch it midair with his Prowling Thorn.
It writhed in his grasp for a single second more before collapsing into small twitches.
Understanding dawned on him. It was Blood Weave.
His blood was not so easily devoured, it seemed.
The Spell's voice sweetly whispered in his ear, almost pleased.
[You have slain a Fallen Beast, Corpse Eater.]
[Your shadow grows stronger.]
[You have received a Memory.]
He acknowledged the messages distantly. Satisfaction could wait—staying conscious could not.
Despite Blood Weave having taken care of the parasite, his bloodloss had dealt a heavy blow. And with his fatigue stacked atop it? Together, they dragged him toward the same treacherous cliff he had visited far too often lately.
The darkness beckoned.
He pressed the edge of his blade against his own skin and carved a shallow line across his thigh. The pain flared immediately, forcing a ragged breath from his lungs and shoving sleep back for a few precious seconds.
Silvershade carried them beyond the Tyrant's effective range, its flight smoothing as the barrage thinned behind them. Only then did Sunny dare to glance down at the key in his grasp.
The golden radiance pulsed.
Divinity.
He had crossed hellish distances and cut down numerous Nightmare Creatures to obtain it. The objective was complete. The Lord of the Dead would continue towering over the ruins for now.
Naturally, he would return for it.
Problems for another day.
Ahead, the cathedral awaited him. Silvershade adjusted its course without needing further guidance.
A faint, humorless smile tugged at Sunny's lips. The Forgotten Shore had once felt like an execution ground for Sleepers. Yet lately, he seemed to be falling asleep on it with alarming regularity.
This was the third damn time.
'Let's avoid turning this into a habit.'
He twisted weakly to glance back at the coastline. The Dark Sea stretched outward beneath the barren sky. If stars had existed here, the sight might have been beautiful.
Wind whispered past his ears, lulling him further and further into slumber. The softness beneath him formed a cradle.
He had forced Saint into battle despite her damaged state. He felt a little guilt at it. She would need time. Far more than he wished to grant.
They all did, really.
His fingers curled into Silvershade's feathers as he lowered his body.
"Wake me… if anything ugly starts flying our way," he murmured, voice barely audible.
Because he had not forgotten that prickling instinct.
Something waited in the skies. Something close at hand.
With that final thought clinging faintly to his fading consciousness, Sunny allowed the darkness to take him, trusting the owl's steady flight to carry him home.
—
"The sky is noisy today…? Just… what are you up to, Heir of Weaver?"
Nokstella's voice, a melodic current, carried a beautiful grace.
She was a God…
He must wait continuously. He must pursue endlessly.
He must realize that it is impossible to succeed, yet at the very same time remain capable of enduring evermore.
He has searched for what feels like an eternity.
The answer should come soon. Unless the question itself is a blasphemy against the tapestry of fate.
He will stand before fate and make his vow. With everything that remains of him, he will question it. Even if it lies past the horizon of his life.
He lifts his gaze toward the distant, starless sky.
And curses it with his own eyes.
Even if the author is silenced, if the performance is halted mid-scene, the story does not conclude.
Whether it unfolds as comedy or tragedy, so long as there are voices that cheer, even one, the play goes on.
Just like the many lives that came before.
For the one that is still walking, still searching, yet not breathing within the journey—may warmth follow his steps.
He will continue down this path.
Until eternity.
The Observer's gaze snapped between two existences.
One was himself — or, a semblance. The resemblance was faint.
This… Sunless. He stood a slender young man. A long, lightless coat draped him. It swallowed surrounding color. Its surface, smooth and severe, fell past his knees in a single unbroken line. The inside shimmered faintly. As if a night sky had folded into the lining. When he moved, the hem lagged. Space itself within the realm struggled to keep pace.
His skin showed the pale luster of white jade. Silky white hair framed a face. It was too precise for reality. His eyes — two onyx gems with a hidden radiance — rested on this vast storm around them.
The beauty was delicate. So refined. The Observer felt a faint, unsettling sensation. A perverted version of himself.
The other was an existence so divine. The Observer felt insignificant before it.
No, more than that. The resemblance to his face was the stronger one. Someone beyond the rank of 'Divine-Titan'.
Still… this other one. It was not as strong, but it remained overwhelming.
A God.
The second existence possessed the appearance of a goddess. She was an exceedingly gorgeous young woman. Alluring. A beautiful, yet deathly pale face. Dark, long hair floated. It curled. As if weightless. Her eyes were multicolored. Washed out. As if the empty expanse of vacuous darkness had sapped her life force.
The Observer held no certainty of this information. Perhaps it came from the dream itself. Nevertheless, he recognized the two.
One was indeed himself. Or, once, himself. The other…
The other was Storm God.
The God of the depths, oceans, darkness, stars, travel, guidance, and… disaster.
House of Night's very own Goddess. Goddess of Night.
One of the seven Gods. An Incarnation of Flame.
Nokstella.
"What am I up to, you ask? Ah… I apologize. I was simply dancing within this realm of storm one last time. Seeking a hint of nostalgia, if you will."
"I… see."
Storm God blinked. She turned her head.
"Hm? You said 'one last time'?" Nokstella's query, precise.
Her eyes widened. They seemed to peer into the Outer-God's boundless soul.
"Y-You have—" Nokstella's voice, a sharp intake of breath.
"Yes, it seems I have. Or rather, that 'he' is drawing near." The Outer-God's words, a knowing pronouncement.
The Shadow lifted its hand. A faint, uncertain white mist enveloped it. Its fables seemed to grow unstable.
"The closer 'he' comes to this Nightmare, where he may be, or rather, will be, the closer I come to fading away. That time soon approaches."
Storm God walked beside the Shadow. She looked at his hand. The Shadow continued.
"It's quite the novelty. My existence will fade upon his arrival. The fact of my fading means he must have succeeded in reaching another worldline. But, I am also drawing him from another Worldline into the Nightmare of "my" own Worldline. Quite the puzzle, is it not?"
Storm God regarded him. Her face evinced incredulity.
"I… I will not pretend to have understood a word of that. But… I am happy you fulfill your wish." Nokstella's voice, genuinely pleased, nevertheless held a note of bafflement.
The Observer watched. Sunless chuckled. A moment passed. He composed himself. Then, he resumed.
What was he doing? What were those movements he performed?
The Observer could not discern. Was it a sword style? A dance of creation? It was like observing a thousand perspectives simultaneously.
The Outer-God's Odachi moved through the realm. The realm followed in tandem. It was a beautiful, yet harrowing dance. The Observer simply could not comprehend.
The dance lasted. A few moments. Forever. The dance only grew more beautiful. Storm God joined.
It… It may have lasted for years…?
So long. The Observer realized not when they stopped. A question from Storm God. Only then, did he perceive its end.
"So, you have met with Hope and Ariel, but what of the others?" Nokstella's words, direct. A God's inquiry into a Shadow's grand schemes.
They sat upon the calm waters of the Storm Sea, gazing at the endless constellations above.
"Before my time is up, I will head to the Inner-Dream of Destiny. I will speak with Nether. He is the most capable in dealing with Darkness. Therefore, he should be the perfect teacher for him."
Nokstella sighed. She spoke. "And what of Imagination, Repose, and… Oblivion?"
The Shadow shook his head.
"Even as I hold the Spell in my trembling hands, I have tried, repeatedly. I cannot reach those three. With Oblivion, it is simply her nature. If I have spoken to her, then those events find no place in my memory."
"However, It seems Mirage and Rime are… too eroded by the Spell." The Outer-God spoke, a hint of unease.
Storm God turned her gaze. A questioning expression.
"Mirage has forgotten most of her endless worlds. The tether, to which I would dive into their Inner-Dreams, is in error. It is already difficult for me, being of the Void instead of the Flame. Perhaps 'he' will find it easier."
Suddenly, the Shadow's expression evinced worry.
"But Rime… ah, Rime seems consumed by her own power. Truly, the most troubling of all the Daemons." The Outer-God's words, a rare tremor.
Storm God thought. As if recalling a memory from millennia past.
"That girl possesses the ability to awaken the Fable within herself. She unleashes it upon the world. Her domain embraces 'Rest' and 'Rejuvenation'. One might say she governs what sleeps and wakes, in her own unique way. However… you sound troubled. I have never heard you so worried." Nokstella's voice, observant, noted a marked change.
Then, Storm God understood.
"C-Consumed? By… her own power? Do you imply Rime has fallen into a split state of rest?"
The Shadow sighed. He nodded.
"One might say the Demon of Repose seems to have… gone a bit mad. She did not take kindly to being trapped within the Spell. I find it vexing, considering I intended her to teach 'him' how to control the 'Story.' He must make do on his own. Or, perhaps, he will perform a Miracle. He will awaken the inner-consciousness of Repose. Gods know I cannot." The Outer-God's words, a blend of frustration and grim acceptance.
Storm God remained silent. Her attention, however, drifted.
She then said, suddenly: "If that is the case, I will help him on his way." Nokstella's voice, firm. A decision made.
The Shadow seemed startled.
"You will?" The Outer-God's question, a flicker of surprise.
Storm God nodded. "His opponent is a being none of us Gods can take lightly. And then, he faces Rime. No other being aside from Izanami comprehends Rime's terror. Truly, out of all the Daemons, she is the one I would avoid most. And yet will have to face her."
Storm seemed to smile. "If the Nightmare Spell has truly stolen Rime's ability to keep hold of herself, then she must have lost her mind. That girl… she always sought freedom. There was not a single thing within the many Realms she did not wish to experience, grasp, or behold. A free spirit. Sometimes lazy."
"Such a being, having walked everywhere in the world we Gods created, gained the ability to control her Fable. In this, 'he' will have as much trouble facing her as he will that odious Angel. One of us Gods will come to his aid. Hope, likewise. But with Rime, that may not happen again…"
"I wish what you wish, Sunless. To see the Forgotten One felled. That cannot happen if 'he' is killed by her. I know that girl is terribly slippery. The constraints of the Nightmare Spell will do little to prevent her from ripping that poor Divine Shadow apart." Nokstella's words, a stark reality.
Storm God chuckled.
"She hates Izanami and Weaver most. Izanami, for perpetually trying to draw her in. And Weaver, for what he did to her freedom. He constrained her soul and spirit within the Spell." Nokstella's words, a keen insight into Rime's resentments.
Suddenly, The Shadow winced.
"Nokstella… when you put it that way…" The Outer-God's voice, a pained recognition.
Storm God nodded.
"That poor Shadow may not live long enough to conquer that cruel Nightmare of yours, because Rime might kill him herself."
Storm God turned her gaze back to the stars.
"Regardless, while Hope will be incapable of remembering you after your departure, I will. I find no one else more suitable to aid him than myself, in this manner."
Suddenly, the Shadow's expression changed. Storm God spoke again.
"You will be forgotten, but that does not mean I cannot tell him of you—" Nokstella's voice, revealing an intention.
"Do not." The Outer-God's reply, a sharp command.
Storm God seemed surprised.
"What?" Nokstella's question, a momentary bewilderment.
Shadow smiled bitterly.
"Do not tell him of me. I am to be Forgotten. Let it remain that way."
Storm God evinced displeasure. She accepted it. She sighed.
Then her gaze traveled to him. He stood up.
"Are you leaving, Sunless?" Nokstella's question, a quiet observation.
The Shadow nodded. "My time runs out. I best speak to Nether once more. Perhaps he can aid that poor Divine Shadow as well."
Nokstella simply nodded.
"Farewell then…" The Outer-God's word, a parting.
The Shadow, then, roughed up Nokstella's hair. She frowned.
"Goodbye Nokstella, take care to keep your Soul in check, to keep the Forgotten One sleeping a little longer." The Outer-God's farewell, laced with both affection and gravitas.
Nokstella looked him in the eye.
"What a cruel thing to say, Sunless. Really, how terrible of you." Nokstella's voice, a playful chiding.
The Shadow laughed. He departed. Not a trace of his existence. Nokstella watched. He dived into the Spell. He sought the Inner-Dream of Destiny. He would meet Nether.
The Observer shifted. He began to wake. Nokstella turned her gaze.
Her smile was small. She waved.
"I guess… we will see each other soon, little Shadow."
[ The gaze of 'Storm God, Nokstella' rests upon you. ]
—
Sunny woke with a start, Gloomy's urgency dragging him from sweet slumber.
'I can't even get a good hour in—!'
The complaint died in his mouth before it fully formed.
His face went pale.
He was still on Silvershade Harrow's back. Far above the ground.
Every cell in his body, down to the roots of his hair, screamed at him to RUN.
FLEE.
He had never felt terror like this before.
"Silvershade?!"
He leaned forward, straining to see the creature's head. Though he couldn't make out its expression, the tension in its body was unmistakable.
It had accelerated. Tremendously so.
The wind tore at him unlike ever before. Feathers and fur were dragged backward by the sheer velocity, the air shrieking past them. Silvershade wasn't just flying anymore. It was fleeing.
Sunny didn't hesitate. His Midnight Shard appeared in his hand, Prowling Thorn in the other. Fatigue still dragged at him, but whatever was approaching burned it away.
'Silvershade. Dive.'
The Echo obeyed at once.
The cathedral loomed ahead in the distance, but Sunny knew instinctively they would not make it in time.
Just what is it?
…
…
The sound reached him first.
A violent tearing of air. A pressure wave that made the sky part.
Something was moving far above them. It was fast. Faster than anything he had ever sensed before. Its presence dwarfed even the Lord of the Dead. From this distance alone, he could feel the murderous will pouring off it like heat from a furnace.
Then, without warning, Silvershade plunged into a vast dark cloud.
The world vanished. His vision was swallowed whole.
Silvershade jerked upward immediately, unable to sense the ground below. It surged back into open sky and leveled into a tense, straight flight.
Sunny pressed his knees to its back, stance low and ready, eyes scanning the void around them. Strangely, Shadow Sense could still function inside the unnatural cloud. It stretched outward, brushing against nothing but violent currents of essence.
Just where was it—
Crimson lightning flared.
For a moment, the cloud lit from within, and Shadow Sense heightened.
He sensed nothing tangible yet. Only rage. And the desire to devour all in sight.
T-This thing was no Fallen.
It was Corrupted.
Sunny felt his blood run cold.
A crimson comet tore across the heavens. The unknown lights from above seemed to dim beneath its passage. The sky itself felt strained, as if something immense was cutting through it.
And then—
Light flashed to his right.
He saw it.
A silver shape, terrible and lethal, wings flaring with violent radiance—
"Ne-p-h-il-im… L-lo-ron-a…"
And the next instant, Silvershade screamed in agony.
Its wing was torn open.
Sunny's arm ruptured from the shockwave alone, his flesh splitting beneath invisible forces. The Puppeteer's Shroud was obliterated in the blink of an eye. Crimson thunder flashed past him, so fast his mind could not grasp it.
The strike hadn't even landed directly.
It hadn't needed to.
He was falling before he understood what had happened. One moment there was storm and pressure and murderous light.
The next—
Only empty sky.
The thundercloud churned once, then the Disaster of the West shifted its attention elsewhere. Its colossal presence turned south and vanished in a streak of red brilliance.
Sunny fell.
Wind roared in his ears. Blood ran warm down his arm.
Through blurred vision, he saw a colorful form dive after him.
Silvershade.
One of its wings remained. Torn, but functional. It adjusted mid-fall with precision, caught him in its talons, and curled its body around him.
They plummeted together.
A lake rushed upward to meet them.
Silvershade twisted at the last moment and took the impact.
Black water swallowed them whole.
Cold.
Silence.
Weight.
Breath.
Sunny's consciousness slipped away beneath the surface, the world dissolving into dark motion.
This time, there was no dream.
He did not see storms.
He did not see stars.
He was simply gone.
—
They had just cleared the outer descent when the first tremor hit. Dust poured from the remaining walls. Behind them, the castle groaned like a dying beast.
"Keep moving!" Tessai shouted.
Effie didn't need telling twice. She shoved two lagging Sleepers forward with her one arm and swore under her breath.
Cassie ran beside Kai, one hand hovering near his shoulder in case the terrain shifted again.
They were almost far enough.
Almost—
Cassie slowed.
Then stopped.
Aiko nearly collided with her again.
Cassie's fingers tightened around her staff.
The winds had changed...
There was a pressure in the air now. A vibration too high, too sharp for ordinary ears.
Her breathing hitched.
Cassie spoke in a low, trembling whisper.
"K-Kai…"
He leaned closer.
"What is it?"
Her head tilted upward.
Her enhanced senses stretched far beyond anyone else's sight. So… she felt it before anyone else did.
A heat.
A crushing descent.
Something vast cutting through the sky.
Her body began to tremble.
"Kai," she said again, urgency breaking her usually calm voice. "Y-You need to fly. NOW! GET AWA—"
Kai looked up.
He saw red.
The world ignited in terrible brilliance.
Behind them, the Bright Castle disappeared beneath a descending star, and the shockwave reached them a heartbeat later—
Then the world was filled with screams.
—
Three more minutes.
Three more endless, bone-grinding minutes of steel flashing through mist and air rippling with every exchange.
Then—
The Disaster of the South stopped. It didn't slow down or falter.
It simply leapt back.
Six appendages slammed into the broken ground and a shockwave tore outward in a brutal ring of compressed force. The corridor split further along its seams, causing the pillars to groan.
Caster vanished in a streak of motion.
He caught Nephis around the waist before the blast could hurl her into the broken wall and twisted midair, redirecting the force so they crashed low instead of outward.
Gunlaug landed hard on his feet, shield already raised.
"It jumped back?! Is it going after the others?!"
Nephis didn't answer.
Caster didn't either.
There was no point in chasing it. They had proven that much. Not a scratch was on its pale frame. Not even a tear in that suffocating veil of mist.
The creature stood still.
Completely still.
Its enormous form quivered.
Nephis narrowed her eyes.
'What was it—'
Her breath caught.
The vapor that cloaked its massive frame began to thin in places, then thicken abruptly, as though its control over it had slipped. The currents no longer flowed with predatory intent. They stuttered. Collapsed inward. Frothed outward again without direction.
The six appendages that had moments ago moved with flawless, merciless coordination now wavered.
One scraped against the stone with a shrill, involuntary screech.
Another twitched midair, as if pulled by an unseen string.
The tips dug into the broken floor—not to strike, but to anchor itself.
Its enormous torso quivered—but it wasn't from delight anymore.
It was from something far more unsettling.
This was a being that had endured sealing, corruption, and centuries of isolation. A creature that had treated them as playthings.
And now it was bracing.
Afraid.
It was downright terrified in this moment.
"Don't."
Nephis said this when Caster shifted his weight forward. Her arm shot out, stopping him.
"We can't do any damage."
Caster clicked his teeth in irritation, but he didn't argue.
Gunlaug lowered his shield slightly, confused.
All three remained ready—weapons raised.
They could not retreat. If it followed—
The Disaster slowly tilted its head upward.
Toward the ceiling.
The hole above them revealed nothing except a slice of night sky. Empty and perfectly still.
Nephis followed its gaze, truly terrified of what she might see.
At first, she saw nothing. But that didn't last long.
It only took four more seconds for something to appear. A single crimson point burned in the darkness.
It was so… bright.
Then her stomach dropped to an unfathomable depth.
That light was growing.
It wasn't a star.
It was moving.
It was falling.
Her pulse began to race, breath turning from calm to shallow.
The Disaster opened its mouth.
For the second time since it had awakened, it spoke.
Its voice was broken and trembling, warped by ages of corruption and something deeper—an ancient, instinctive terror that turned this single word into a thin, fraying sound, as though the Disaster feared that even naming the creature would summon its gaze and erase what little remained of its existence.
But it was too late.
"N-irv-a-na…"
Nephis was a blur. She grabbed Caster by the shoulder and seized Gunlaug's armor with her other hand.
"Wha—"
"Nephis—?!"
She had never screamed before. Not like this.
"GET OUT OF HERE—!"
Time seemed to slow down.
Above them, through the splintered ceiling—
The crimson star swelled into a blazing comet.
It grew with impossible speed, devouring the slice of night visible through the cracks in the stone. What had seemed distant and harmless moments ago now burned with dreadful clarity. A molten core wrapped in streaming fire. A wound tearing its way across the heavens.
Its tail unfurled behind it in a vast arc of red brilliance, swallowing crimson constellations one by one. The sky dimmed around it, as though the lesser lights dared not compete.
Look up.
Even knowing she shouldn't, even knowing what it meant, Nephis looked.
A pressure descended first. Heavy. Suffocating. The air in the corridor thickened, pressing against skin and lungs. Fine debris lifted from the floor and hovered, trembling in anticipation.
The comet drew closer.
Closer.
The light intensified until shadows vanished entirely, erased beneath a flood of scarlet radiance. The broken pillars gleamed as if heated from within. Dust turned to glittering motes in the air.
The Disaster of the South made a sound.
A broken murmur that scraped against its terrible memory.
Its enormous body recoiled further, appendages digging into the stone as it tried to anchor itself against the incoming tide. The mist around it convulsed violently, tearing in ragged spirals.
The comet filled the sky.
Heaven itself seemed to split around its descent, the firmament parting as if cleaved by an unseen blade. A line of incandescent red carved downward, straight toward the heart of the Bright Castle.
For a single second, the world froze.
Then the light came…
Stone turned to dust. Towers crumbled to ash. The ancient walls that had withstood horrors beyond counting were erased beneath a single, overwhelming flash.
Red swallowed everything. That was all Nephis saw.
Inflamed red.
Nothing followed after. It was a cataclysmic detonation that chased the light and tore what little remained apart in a storm of force.
And in that instant—
The Bright Castle ceased to exist.