"Hm. Demon of Possibility… It has been some time since we last spoke. But, I know you haven't come to see me out of the goodness of your heart, as you have none. So… why are you here?"
The time neared, its shadow stretching long. Beyond the confines of the World, a presence approached, its arrival imminent. The one tethered to this reality, destined for subjugation, would become a vessel. And the one who had transcended that very host, found himself dissolving...
Had this been his quest from the onset? Never.
He sought reunion with those he cherished. And perhaps, that wish had been granted. Ten million times and more, he had witnessed them.
Yet, he was condemned to observe, never to share their existence. Thence, he chose to avert his gaze from all.
It was comedic. Truly, terribly comedic. To ascend to the stature of an Outer-God...
Only to be enslaved by Fate once again.
Therefore, he incinerated Fate. His fury consumed her entirely.
His own fate…
And the Worldline that would follow.
He would never know if the subsequent Worldline would endure. Their voices, never to grace his ears again.
His singular recourse… was to entrust it to 'him,' praying fervently, with his diminishing essence, that what 'Song of the Fallen' had said, held truth.
That 'he' would witness the Miracle, the dawn of a new Conclusion in his stead.
The Shadow seemed to falter, wobbly and unstable. Nether realized the truth of it instantly. The Corrupted Shadow, its body and pale, white coat, fractured into countless white lines. Letters streamed forth, only to be drawn back within. Nether, surprised, observed the once-great Outer-God, who had purged the Dream Realm of its unholy and cursed beings, now disintegrating. This same being, who once scarred the Forgotten One, appeared as a pathetic existence, clinging to itself.
"Your 'Story' is… being destroyed?"
The Corrupted Shadow shook its head.
"No… It's simply being drawn… elsewhere…"
The Shadow gazed upon its right hand, finding itself able to perceive Nether's workshop floor through its fading form.
Nether, it seemed, already grasped the Shadow's meaning.
"I see. So 'he' is approaching, and my time has come."
The Shadow looked up.
"You know… you have the right to refuse. You don't have to force yourself into my Nightmare."
Nether sighed.
"Even if I attempted to reject you, the frequencies emanating from that Nightmare, so close to the Spell, would rouse me. My agreement or refusal bears no consequence. Thus, I will accept your request."
Nether then smiled.
"And irrespective of that reality, I possess more than ample reason to witness that abhorrent Angel's destruction. That thing not only inflicted a grievous wound upon me but also claimed my comrade, Abaddon."
Nether then glared at the Shadow.
"Whom you have requested to rejoin that repulsive existence. As such, consider this no favor. I merely harbor the desire to liberate Abaddon from the Chalice of Want with utmost haste, even with my constraints. If 'he' is destined to slay it, I will exert every conceivable effort to ensure he succeeds."
"I had promised to kill Avaritia for forcing Abaddon to do what he did… and I never found the chance to do so. Sun God had sealed that being away."
Nether laughed.
"Funny. For owing to that, I find myself with the opportunity to confront that existence once more. Do you not find it amusing, Sunless?"
The Shadow regarded him with a pained expression. It was spiritual pain, the torment of existence and 'Story' slipping his grasp.
"I… do."
For, if Sunkiller was the being that unleashed hell upon the Doom War during the Age of Daemons, then Sunslayer served as the appellation for Avaritia, an Angel of the Void, the Chalice of Want, the primeval being who contended with Sun God in the Age of Heroes. The Observer witnessed and comprehended that in that era, Abaddon, a Nephilim born of Sun God and an Angel, bound himself to Avaritia using his strange abilities.
The Shadow chuckled painfully.
"W-Well… good. That is… good. I have little to worry about now."
Nether observed him with no discernible emotion.
"I cannot perceive how any of this is good. You… I will not claim to comprehend you. Yet, to declare this 'good' as you dispatch the Sunless of another Worldline into the Nightmare of your own past is… hah… perhaps this elucidates why we of Flame were never meant to understand those of Void."
The Shadow smiled.
"Indeed, Nether. I affirm that the 'desires' of the Void cannot be categorized as Desire at all. They are merely Chaos, mutable at every whim. I myself have found it arduous to maintain one form. But enough discourse, I should send you on your way."
The Shadow glanced at its body for a moment, a frown etched upon its fading visage.
"After all, one last task remains. A safeguard for his 'return path', if you will. 'The Etheric Sea' is not to be trifled with, it will naturally dispatch an impediment to my schemes."
Nether appeared to ponder for a moment as he approached the Shadow. He then spoke with hesitation.
"The Etheric Sea…? Oh, I see."
Nether then shook his head.
"Truly, Sunless. Projecting your Nightmare across a Worldline will undeniably link the two; surely you were aware of this. Are you trying to draw the attention of an Arch-Angel? That is an existence neither he, nor any of us Daemons could withstand. No, even the Gods would find themselves nearing death when confronted by one of those harrowing things."
The Shadow shrugged.
"It cannot be avoided, I'm afraid. Once he completes this Nightmare, he will merely acquire the alteration of his First Aspect and the Blessings he obtains. I cannot permit that. No. he needs everything. H-He—!"
Suddenly, the Shadow convulsed violently, spewing forth a torrent of blood. White cracks, resembling lightning, assailed its form.
It was not lightning. Instead, it was the very essence it had manifested as a Divine Law. For if he now existed as an Outer-God of the Void, he had previously been a Divine-Titan, the Demon of Possibility. The Laws he had instantiated were created to permit its impending endeavor. After all, one cannot tamper with the World's Logic on such a grand scale without embedding a safeguard to counteract that alteration. Lest they destroy the Logic itself.
And that Safeguard was named—
"The 'Plausibility'… your domain of the past assails you?"
The Shadow found itself on its hands and knees, yet it laughed.
"It is indeed! I am content. This is g-good!"
The Shadow raised its right hand to its mouth and slowly ingested it, conjuring the Nightmare Spell into its left.
"If my Law of Probability and Plausibility affects even me, then this entire endeavor wasn't for nothing after all!."
Nether regarded him with a dark expression.
"What will succeed?"
The Shadow remained silent for a moment. Then it declared—
"The destruction of this Nightmare."
Nether stood aghast, though the Shadow continued to speak.
"It required time for me to discern it, but I… I-I did! You see, if the completion of this Nightmare would allow him to fully realize, and finally divest himself of [Shadow Bond], and retain his myriad [Blessing]'s, then what of the Second Aspect he will possess, as I once did?"
The Shadow shook its head.
"No… no… no! That simply would not suffice. I require him to be as potent as possible, to preserve both his Worldline and confront the Forgotten One. Therefore, I will have him annihilate my Nightmare, shatter it to its core, and permit the contents of the Host he will assume to spill forth."
The Shadow gazed within its Nightmare as its right hand contacted Nether's chest, enveloping him with its strings. Nether was drawn inward.
"…And those spilled contents… will permeate his Worldline. He will retain his Second Aspect, the Memories he accumulated, and even the Fables he will forge. But above all else…"
Nether concluded for the Shadow as the dream appeared to dissipate. His voice trembled, utterly bewildered and astonished by the Shadow's unadulterated madness.
"Your Imprint of the Void will be carried over as well—!?"
And as the Dream faded, and soon the Observer would forget, he still could not wholly shake its impact. For the Outer-God's design was to…
Turn him into a Void Being as well, and Corrupt his Spirit Origin.
'He's going to turn me into a being of Flame and Chaos—!'
He woke up.
[The Divine-Titan 'Prince of the Underworld' looks upon you.]
—
Unexpectedly, motion roused Sunny. This movement was steady. Each step vibrated through the surface he occupied, each impact followed by the scrape of stone.
For several long seconds, he kept his eyes closed. He drew a breath.
Dust. Metal. Water.
These scents registered, familiar now.
His eyes cracked open. The multi-hued furs of Silvershade Harrow filled his vision.
A minute passed as he gathered his thoughts. A weak, breathless chuckle escaped him then, a sound that brought more pain than it should have, a testament to his injuries.
"Still here, huh…" his voice was rough, his throat parched.
He shifted slightly, regretting the decision instantly. Agony flared through his right arm, merciless. He opted instead to turn his head with care, assessing his surroundings to confirm his return.
He lay sprawled across Silvershade Harrow's back. His Echo, against all odds, had survived the battle.
It walked, foregoing flight.
Radiating determination, its stride carried them onward. The ruins of the Dark City passed beneath its hooves, its remaining wing tucked close, the other dragging uselessly at its side. Even from his prone position, Sunny saw the damage clearly. The silver feathers were shredded, matted with darkened blood, their pristine sheen ruined. The membrane beneath had been torn in a jagged line.
The source of the damage was apparent. Something had carved through it mid-flight.
His gaze ascended.
A black crack split the mask obscuring Silvershade's true visage. It forked downward, a stark fissure against the pale surface.
Sunny studied it for a long while. The thought occurred that a creature of corruption had inflicted this harm.
Luck had played no part in the events that transpired in the sky.
He tried to recall the encounter. A storm cloud, appearing from nothing. Crimson lightning flashing within. A silver shape streaking past, too swift for his eyes to follow, too sudden for his mind to process.
One wing, burning red. A presence so overwhelming that even the Lord of the Dead seemed insignificant next to it.
He remembered his thoughts then: 'it was Corrupted.'
Yet, something was distinct about the creature. It held an aberrant nature, transcending a mere Corrupted abomination.
The proof? It had not finished him.
The strike had not targeted him directly. It had merely grazed Silvershade, rupturing its left arm through sheer proximity. The creature, if it had desired his demise, would have required less effort than swatting a fly.
Instead, it had veered away, shifting south, then vanishing.
Sunny frowned, burying his head into the fur. He felt a sting that he had not been deemed worthy of a killing blow.
For now, he settled for gratitude.
He rested his head fully against Silvershade's back, listening to the steady rhythm of its steps. Each stride carried them farther from the lake, and more importantly, farther from that ominous sky.
"...You did good," he murmured quietly. "Seriously."
The Echo offered no response, yet its pace held constant.
Moments later, Sunny forced his thoughts toward matters he could control.
The Iron Key.
He lifted his hand with care and drew the key forth. He had observed its nature: it was not a Memory. The metal felt cold against his fingers, deceptively ordinary for an object that had twice brought him to the brink.
Only one last 'light' remained.
Beneath the Cathedral.
Guarded by… the Black Knight.
Sunny grimaced.
He pictured confronting that towering figure again in his current state and almost laughed. His chances were practically nil, even at full strength.
But he had journeyed this far. He intended to see it through.
Before he fully comprehended the transition, the scenery around them began to shift. The broken outskirts yielded to familiar ruins. Silvershade stepped once more into the plaza of the Dark City.
Sunny lifted his head slightly, scanning the area. It was empty. His shadow sense detected nothing.
Where were all the Nightmare Creatures?
They had previously swarmed this place relentlessly.
A strange unease settled upon him.
Almost absently, he glanced upward — and froze.
The strings of divinity still stretched across the sky, luminous as always.
However, threads of shadow now intertwined through them, along with silver. These strands converged unmistakably toward the Cathedral. Sunny slowly raised the Iron Key, observing how the nearest threads shifted.
It was imperceptible, yet undeniable. The very winds seemed to acknowledge the key's presence.
His heart skipped a beat. He understood then. The act of claiming the key had fundamentally altered the strands.
Silvershade continued its forward movement.
Then, without warning, a brilliant light flared at the distant horizon.
Sunny hissed, squeezing his eyes shut, overwhelmed by the sudden brilliance after such a long time beneath the starless night sky. For a moment, he believed it to be another attack.
Warmth touched his face then.
Slowly, he opened his eyes and sat up.
Silvershade paused, lifting its masked face toward the light.
Far in the distance, beyond the ruins, something burned bright once more.
Sunny exhaled in disbelief.
"I… I can't believe I'm saying this, but… I missed the sun."
The Nameless Sun shone once more.
Dawn had returned.
And the Crimson Terror had recovered.
—
"It's been a while."
Sunny stood before the grand gates of the cathedral. Silvershade Harrow waited directly behind him, his only true defense, considering Saint remained in recuperation. As Sunny entered the Cathedral, the changes were immediately evident.
The strands of divinity that streamed through the skies were potent within the interior.
They possessed a captivating quality. Each strand — golden, silver, and shadow — was magnificent. They converged upon a single point. Situated somewhere beneath the grand hall, opposite his current position.
Moreover, the Darkness itself—
Sunny found himself staring, disbelieving.
The Black Knight, typically guarding the entirety of the Cathedral's grounds with vicious duty, cowered.
It stood in a corner, fear radiating from its form. Not precisely cowering, for it maintained its imposing stature, sword in hand, poised for defense.
But the Darkness itself was being torn apart. This was an impossible sight, yet before his eyes, it happened.
The Knight was forced against the far wall of the Cathedral. Each attempt it made to approach Sunny resulted in the strands thrashing out, pushing it back.
Sunny's inclination was to approach and seize the opportunity to dispatch the towering figure, a dark thought. But he hesitated, unwilling to test if those strands would extend their protection to him.
He continued his path. If the Black Knight could not approach him due to the source of all this light, then he would not squander the opportunity.
He had never entered this place before, kept at bay by the living darkness and the Black Knight. Now, with the adversary cornered, Sunny would finally witness what lay hidden within.
He moved through the chambers and passageways, once occupied by the cathedral's clergy, assessing his surroundings but discovering nothing remarkable. Much of the place lay in ruins, reduced to rubble and decay, with only a few ordinary objects left undisturbed.
One would expect nothing of importance here. Yet—
Sunny stopped abruptly before a wall and tilted his head.
The wall appeared completely ordinary, devoid of visible markings or irregularities. Yet beyond its surface, he sensed a dense concentration of pooled shadows.
A hidden passage.
"Huh. A secret passage in a creepy ancient cathedral. How… interesting!"
After searching for a time, he discovered a hidden lever and attempted to press it.
The ancient mechanism, rusted and disintegrated over thousands of years of neglect, resisted.
"Of course it did. Such things are never easy."
With a quiet sigh, Sunny summoned the Midnight Shard. He leaned forward, inspecting the hollow section of the wall, finding the faint seam where the stone segments met. He slid the tachi into the narrow gap. Then, without ceremony, he braced himself, using the unyielding blade as a pry bar, forcing the mechanism to yield under the full weight of his inhuman strength.
With a terrible scraping sound, a part of the wall slid inward. The air rushed past Sunny, entering the dark maw of a narrow corridor.
Behind it, a set of stone stairs descended.
Deep underground.
"...Of course it goes down. It always descends. Never ascends. Never 'here's a nice sunny balcony with a view.' Always a descent into the creepy, murderous basement. Damnation!"
With a resentful grimace, Sunny flourished the Midnight Shard, shaking off the clinging dust, then placed it upon his shoulder, entering the secret passage.
The hidden passage led Sunny underground, winding through the mass of stone. Despite cautious movement for several minutes, Sunny felt he remained beneath the cathedral. By his estimation, he approached its center.
The strands of divinity strengthened here. He felt them pulling at him, guiding him forward with an insistence that was almost physical.
"Great. Not only am I walking into certain doom, but fate itself drags me there by the collar. Wonderful."
Indeed, precisely beneath the spot where the goddess statue should have stood, the narrow passage opened into a larger room. Within it, a deep well led even further down, a winding staircase spiraling into the darkness.
Sunny frowned.
"What is it with this place and creepy dark wells?"
Further descent would place him perilously close to the catacombs. He recalled the danger previously: his last venture into the maze of ancient tunnels below the city had ended in a narrow escape.
"Then again, I've barely escaped alive from almost every location on this cursed shore. At least I maintain consistency. Effie would be proud…"
After hesitating for a while, he stepped onto the staircase and began his descent. Deep, ancient shadows surrounded Sunny, offering a small measure of comfort.
At least he was among his own kind.
The strands of divinity grew brighter as he descended, weaving through the darkness like luminous threads. Golden, silver, and shadow — all pulling him deeper.
"Right. Because nothing suggests a 'good idea' more than following mysterious glowing strings into an ancient underground chamber. Surely certain this will end favorably."
Even as he formed the thought, he knew he would not turn back.
His intuition — that damned, persistent intuition that had preserved him through countless torments — screamed that this held significance. Whatever lay below was important.
After a minute or so of descending the stairwell, Sunny entered a large chamber, seemingly carved into the bedrock, rather than constructed by human hand.
There, on the opposite side, stood a large door forged from black steel.
Illuminated by two burning torches.
Sunny stopped.
The torches burned with colorless flames. They were pale, ghostly, devoid of heat.
Upon consideration, the torches appeared peculiar. They emitted light, but it was cold and lifeless. And the shadows they cast…
The shadows cast by the ghostly flames were profoundly disturbing. The movement of the fire should have caused them to dance upon the floor. Instead, the shadows remained absolutely motionless. It was as though the torchlight had somehow trapped and paralyzed them.
"That's… unnatural."
Sunny pondered for a moment before instructing his shadow to maintain its distance.
It offered no argument. If anything, it displayed gratitude.
With a few overly dramatic steps, the shadow retreated, melting into the dense darkness pooling at the chamber's entrance. It lingered there, half-hidden, casting uneasy glances toward the strange, motionless shadows clinging to the walls.
"Even my shadow experiences fear. By the Spell… why is nothing ever simple?"
Sunny advanced toward the black door with measured steps, raising the Midnight Shard defensively, his body braced for any emerging threat.
…But nothing attacked him.
The only occurrence was a sudden chill that permeated Sunny's body as he entered the circle of light cast by the two ghostly torches. It sank into his bones, cold and invasive, a touch ancient and aware.
"These torches are… they are definitely a form of protective charm. I feel certain their power can harm even shadows."
The question he faced was this: were the torches designed to prevent something from entering the space behind the black door…
Or were they meant to contain something within?
"Well… there is only one way to learn the truth. And with my luck, it must be the latter."
To an outside observer, Sunny's actions would have appeared as pure madness. Yet, no recklessness marked them. He had not descended into these depths out of idle curiosity, nor had visions of hidden riches lured him here.
'Though to be honest, treasure would be magnificent! I am deserving of a reward after all my tribulations!'
What had led him here, compelling him to scrutinize the black door, was his intuition.
By now, Sunny acknowledged that his intuition was more than a mere manifestation of his subconscious. It had proven accurate far too many times.
Especially since he had consumed the drop of ichor.
From that moment, the presence of the divine had become impossible to ignore. It brushed against his awareness, and on rare occasions, guided his steps without his consent — first toward the cathedral, and earlier, toward the secret entombed within the Lord of the Dead. A pattern existed, whether he liked it or not.
And Sunny felt he was about to discover its nature and purpose.
But his intuition possessed other capabilities.
In his perception, this sensation was distinct from the dim ember of divinity he carried. It felt far more like the influence of [Fated]. Since the ichor had remade his body, that Attribute had grown keener, allowing him, on rare occasions, to discern faint disturbances rippling through the strands of fate — strands that, disturbingly, seemed coiled around him.
'Like a noose. A very persistent, very annoying noose that constantly drags me into dreadful situations.'
The transformation of his eyes, coupled with his unwelcome intimacy with those invisible threads, granted Sunny a faint sensitivity to fate and moments of revelation — an echo of Cassie's gift, albeit diminished to the point of near insignificance.
It was enough to guide him to this door and to compel him to open it.
As Sunny approached the towering black monolith, he studied its seamless surface, comprehending that few things could breach it.
The metal from which it was forged appeared familiar: disturbingly so. Dark, lusterless, impossibly dense. The same alloy that composed the Black Knight's armor.
"Great. So this door is made of the same material as the bastard who nearly killed me…"
A small keyhole, however, lay hidden on its dark surface.
Reaching for the thread at his throat, Sunny drew out the small metal key resting against his chest, closing his fingers around it.
The key glowed faintly with golden light. It was warm, almost alive..
"Here goes nothing. Or everything. Probably everything. Why am I talking to myself? Does isolation breed this internal monologue?"
After a brief pause, he guided the key toward the lock and slid it in with deliberate care.
It seated without resistance. The moment the metal met its counterpart, the dim radiance of divinity clinging to it swelled, then throbbed softly — once, twice — as if acknowledging a presence beyond the door.
Sunny sighed, then readied himself and turned the key.
Something disengaged within the black metal. The door moved in utter silence. On the other side, pale, corpse-like flames shuddered, bending to a current that felt like a passing presence.
Every strand of divinity — golden, silver, and shadow — vanished without a trace.
'That's… probably bad.'
Sunny felt his blood run cold.
Behind the door, a small room was carved into the rock.
And in it, a corpse in a dark mantle was chained to the floor inside a circle.
Sunny could not discern whether the corpse belonged to a man or a woman, for a strange mask covered its face.
The mask was carved from black lacquered wood. It resembled a ferocious demon, its teeth bared, four fangs protruding from its mouth. The mask was crowned with three twisted horns.
Within the black chasms of its eyes, there was nothing but utter darkness.
No.
Not darkness.
Light. Overwhelming, brilliant, blinding light. And shadow. Both at once, writhing together in those hollow sockets.
The corpse itself was covered in golden cracks. Deep fractures ran along its limbs, its torso, and neck. No inch of it remained unbroken.
The moment Sunny laid eyes on it, his entire being recoiled.
His breath caught. His pulse hammered in his ears. Every instinct screamed for him to flee.
But he could not move.
'What… what is this?!'
And all at once, multiple phenomena occurred.
The overwhelming divinity that had flooded the Forgotten Shore vanished instantly. Across the land and sea, Nightmare Creatures suddenly lost their hunger for the blessed light. The Lord of the Dead forgot its purpose for surfacing. Each of the Disasters froze in place, utterly bewildered.
And before Sunny…
The Spell began to speak.
[The Attribute 'Regressor' has begun to open its eyes.]
The fog that had clouded Sunny's memories — from the time of his First Nightmare to this precise moment — was ripped away in an instant.
He recalled everything.
Everything.
And he also recalled why the Attribute was so important.
He remembered then. He remembered what the appraisal of his First Nightmare had mentioned.
It had mentioned that he turned back this world.
— The Night of the Winter Solstice.
The dormitory was quiet.
The kind of quiet that pressed in from every side—the sterile hush of a building full of people who were all pretending to be asleep, none of them quite managing it. Sunny was no exception. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, and thought about the fact that he was now, technically, seventeen years old.
'Happy birthday to me,' he thought flatly.
Only a kind, blonde girl was aware of it. Aside from that, nobody knew. Nobody here had any reason to know.
He didn't particularly care about that.
He rolled onto his side.
Then back.
Then, with the dignity of a man who had exhausted every other option, he stared at the ceiling again.
The room was warm and the mattress was soft. These were, objectively, good things. He'd told himself that at least a dozen times this week. You have a bed and walls. This is good, so stop thinking of that time.
Naturally, he did not.
His mind kept circling back to the same thing it had been circling back to since he left that black mountain with a hole in his chest and a god's shadow sewn into his soul.
The appraisal. That is what had been keeping all his attention.
He'd recalled it a hundred times now. Maybe more. He knew the Spell's words by heart—which was saying something, because there had been a period in his life where the only things he'd committed to memory were which escape routes were still viable and which rats lied about their prices.
He recalled it once more.
In his mind, he imagined the cold silver runes in the dark.
[Aspirant. Your trial is over.]
[A nameless slave ascended the Black Mountain. Both heroes and monsters fell by his hand. Unbroken, he entered the ruined temple of a long-forgotten god and spilled his blood on the sacred altar. The gods were dead, and yet they listened.]
[You have defeated a dormant beast: Mountain King's Larva.]
[You have defeated three dormant humans, names unknown.]
[You have defeated an awakened human: Auro of the Nine.]
[You have defeated an awakened tyrant: Mountain King.]
[You have received the Shadow God's blessing.]
[You have achieved the impossible!]
[You have returned to the beginning.]
[You have faced your conclusion — and refused it.]
[In refusing it, you refused the world.]
[Final appraisal: Glorious. Your treachery truly knows no bounds.]
Sunny remembered those last three lines, clear as day.
Then he muttered them out loud a third time.
'…What.'
He had been, up until this precise moment, somewhat pleased with himself. He had defeated a tyrant. A tyrant. As a slave with no weapons. With nothing but dust on his shoulders, the rotten Aspect of a temple slave, and the deeply unreasonable conviction that he was going to spite his way out of anything the Nightmare Spell threw at him.
That was supposed to be the whole story.
However…
'You have returned to the beginning.'
Sunny didn't move for a long time.
The shadow at his side sat equally still. It was, he had recently discovered, more independent than most. An invaluable helper, in the Spell's words. Currently it seemed to be doing the same thing he was—just thinking very hard about absolutely nothing while staring at a fixed point.
He opened his runes and looked down. In his perception, the runes fully materialized, familiar now in the way that an injury becomes familiar—you still felt it every time.
Memories: [Silver Bell], [Puppeteer's Shroud].
Echoes: —
Attributes: [Fated], [Mark of Divinity], [Child of Shadows], [Regressor].
He stopped.
[Regressor].
He read it again.
There was no description to behold. Just the name itself, sitting there, with a completely unknown origin.
He tried to examine it—and got nothing. He tried to understand it—and got nothing. He tried to at least sense whether it was something good, bad, or merely deeply inexplicable—the Spell's third and most common category.
Nothing.
He lay there in the dark for another few minutes.
The word kept nagging at his mind—sleep wasn't going to come any time soon.
Regressor.
He recalled the appraisal yet again.
You have returned to the beginning.
You have faced your conclusion — and refused it.
In refusing it, you refused the world.
Sunny had grown up in the outskirts. He was not, by any metric, an educated person. Teacher Julius was already subjecting him to things he suspected were light forms of psychological torture disguised as curriculum. He had never, in the whole course of his seventeen years of being cold and underfed and largely unimpressed by everything, entertained anything resembling abstract thought about the nature of time.
And yet.
'...Returned to the beginning,' he thought, very slowly.
'Faced a conclusion.'
He was at the beginning. That part was obvious enough—first Nightmare, first day at the Academy, metaphorically speaking, he was standing at the start of everything.
But if the beginning was a place you returned to—
If a conclusion was a thing you could face and then refuse—
The thought was outlandish. Absurd. The kind of thing someone said right before people started slowly backing away from them, staring at them like a madman.
And yet… he found himself unable to reject it.
'Am I…'
He didn't finish it. Not even in his own head.
He looked at the [Regressor] Attribute one more time, blank and unhelpful as ever, and then dismissed the runes entirely.
The room went dark.
Sunny rolled onto his side.
He did not, for a very long time, sleep.
— Night of Promise
"I'm sorry."
Sunny raised his eyebrows. "Sorry? What are you sorry for?"
The blind girl lowered her eyes. "For being so useless."
Sunny frowned and looked away. A second or two later, he said in his usual careless tone, "You are far from useless."
Cassie softly chuckled. "Aren't I? If I want to walk, I need to be leashed to you or Neph. If I want to eat, I need to wait for one of you to feed me. My life now is such. I cannot do even the simplest of things without your help… nor can I be of use to either of you in return."
Slowly, her voice turned raw with emotion. This was the first time Sunny had seen her mask of resolve slip, revealing a desperate, angry, frightened face beneath.
He was silent for a long time. Longer than usual, as if thoughtfully choosing words from a set he had already formulated.
Then he said, "Hey, have I ever told you about my First Nightmare?"
The blind girl shook her head. Sunny half-closed his eyes. "My First Nightmare held the worst conditions. The situation was truly hopeless. I was a slave destined to die from cold or mistreatment. Chained, bleeding, defenseless. What's more, my Aspect turned out to be completely without use. Literally. If I remember correctly, the Spell chose to describe it as 'a useless wretch with no skills or abilities worth a mention.'"
Cassie turned her head slightly, clearly drawn in. "Then… how did you survive? Did things get better?"
Sunny smiled. "Gods no! In fact, things rapidly worsened. Much, much worse. Yet, in a strange turn of events, my useless Aspect proved to be the only guide through that mess. For that, I was incredibly lucky."
He shifted slightly and glanced at the delicate girl, noting a thoughtful frown on her face.
"But here is a truth about luck. People usually speak of it as something that simply occurs. That is not its nature — luck is fifty percent circumstance and fifty percent one's own ability to grasp it. It is something one must create. I fought with everything to survive. That is one of two reasons for my continued existence."
Saying that, Sunny remembered the cold, dark mountain and shivered. Then, pushing the chilling memories away, he continued.
"The second reason is the Spell itself. I will not call it reasonable, but it is fair… in its own, twisted way. The Spell takes with one hand and gives with the other. This held true with my First Nightmare, and it holds true with you."
Cassie's frown deepened.
Sunny chose his next words carefully. More carefully than he usually bothered with anything.
"Your Flaw is the most debilitating one I have ever witnessed or heard of. You are correct — without help from someone like Neph, it would be a certain death sentence. And people like her… well, I am not even certain another such individual exists. But…"
The blind girl gritted her teeth. "But what?"
"But that also means the other side of the Flaw, your power, is equally extraordinary. You simply have not yet found the means to grasp it. When you do… believe me, you will recall this conversation and feel great embarrassment at your past naivety and foolishness."
Cassie's expression shifted to doubt and confusion. "Do you really think so?" she whispered.
A hint of desperate desire colored her voice. The question itself nearly made him laugh, for an obvious reason.
"Trust me. I am the most honest person in the world. Two worlds, in fact."
…Sunny would prefer less honesty, but, lamentably, he was physically incapable of such a thing. She did not need to know that.
Cassie was silent for a long time, lost in thought. Sunny almost assumed their conversation had concluded, but then she suddenly said in a low, raspy voice, "I had more visions than I told you guys about."
He blinked, staring at her with surprise and a touch of apprehension. Her sudden statement completely unsettled him. Why had she kept this secret? And why inform him now?
"More… visions? Why have you not told us?"
A fleeting, tired smile appeared on Cassie's face. She lowered her head and remained silent for a while. Then, closing her eyes, she said, "You probably do not know. How could you know? But knowledge… knowledge can be truly heavy. It can be as weighty as the heaviest object in existence."
Then a sad smile appeared on her face. "I am afraid that by telling you, I will cause the things I saw to become manifest."
Sunny tensed up, alarmed by the implication. If she feared the visions becoming real, their content must have been terrible.
If something awful was destined to befall them, he needed foreknowledge. That way, he could prepare. With preparation, many things would become less dire. However… what if his preparations became the very catalyst for that terrible event, transforming Cassie's vision into a self-fulfilling prophecy?
This was the peril of knowing the future.
His head ached. He hated this.
Sunny struggled for a long time, trying to decide whether to pressure Cassie into revealing her visions. Either outcome would leave him uneasy. Ultimately, unable to make a decision, he remained silent.
Cassie also remained silent.
After some time, she finally spoke. "Can you… can you just promise me one thing?"
Sunny frowned. "That depends on what it is."
The blind girl hesitated. "Can you promise you will take care of Neph? No matter wha—"
"Yes, even if it costs me my life."—["How could I not? I love her…"]
Sunny cut her off before she could finish. Then, he went silent.
Sunny froze.
Cassie's unseeing eyes widened. The realization struck.
The words were already uttered. He had not considered them. Not felt the familiar sting of his Flaw, nor braced against it — the answer had simply come, automatic, and now it hung between them.
The voice in the back of his Skull sounded genuinely horrified. Lunatic.
'You idiot! You damned fool! What have you done?!'
Damnation. He was finished.
Cassie's mouth opened slightly. She looked as if someone had presented her with proof that penguins could fly.
"...You mean that?"
"No—" Sunny said immediately.
The pain hit him like a brick wall.
He winced, and Cassie heard it. Her expression shifted — suspicion first, then something slower and softer. She had recently discerned the nature of his Flaw, and therefore—
"Y-You actually mean it…!"
Sunny said nothing. He found nothing to say.
Cassie was quiet for a long moment.
Then her arms found him.
She hugged him. Carefully, with a gentle touch she had not previously used before. Her grip was light yet certain, her face pressed against his shoulder. She did not immediately release him.
Sunny sat with his arms slightly raised, utterly unsure of how to use them. He settled on placing them carefully on her back. Once. Twice.
This could not be.
What terrible thing has occurred to his subconscious?
She sniffled, just once, and tightened her grip.
Sunny stared at a fixed point on the sea before him.
He had just promised, with complete sincerity and no deliberation, to protect Nephis with his life. To a blind girl who was now embracing him. On a cursed shore filled with abominations seeking his demise.
He needed a serious conversation with himself.
He looked down at Cassie in his arms, and offered a small smile.
She was… happy…
And because of that? Such matters could wait.
—
The Dark Sea held still this night.
This stillness, more than anything, put Sunny on edge.
He sat on the base of the ancient statue, one leg dangling off the edge, watching the black water move in slow, soundless rolls beneath them. The usual sounds of waves were absent. The distant, occasional breeze was also absent.
A profound suspicion settled upon him.
"You are frowning," Cassie said, from somewhere to his left.
He was surprised by her observation.
'Uh, excuse me? You literally cannot see. How the hell—?!'
"Uh, yeah… I am deep in thought, I guess."
"Uh-huh…"
Nephis, sitting cross-legged with her sword across her knees, remained silent. She gazed at the horizon, her particular form of relaxation.
Sunny considered the water for another moment, decided nothing was about to kill them, and leaned back on his palms.
"Hey," he said. "Have I ever told you two about the time I accidentally procured employment as a debt collector?"
Cassie turned her head toward him with a curious expression.
Nephis did not turn her head, but something stirred in her posture. Attention, in Nephis terms.
"I was thirteen," Sunny said. "Perhaps twelve. Old enough to possess discernment, and to accept employment."
"What happened?" Cassie inquired.
"...There was this man in the outskirts—everyone called him Bricks. No one knew his actual name. He ran a small operation from the back of a noodle shop, lending credits to us outskirt rats ill-suited to borrow them. Small amounts and terrible interest rates." Sunny paused. "I… I believe he had a sign on the door stating 'Assistant Wanted,' and well, I… was quite hungry then."
Cassie's mouth curved. "So you applied?"
"Indeed I did! He asked if I possessed persuasive skills. I replied affirmatively, and technically I had spoken truth — I possessed great persuasiveness in convincing people to offer me their leftover food. He did not ask for specifics, and I had no intention of providing them freely."
"That seems like a poor foundation for employment," Nephis said.
"W-What?! How dare you! I'll have you know that it is a catastrophic foundation for employment! He sent me to collect from a woman three blocks over who owed him forty credits." Sunny looked at the water. "She was enormous, and I mean that in every. Possible. Direction. She had a dog the size of a small horse that had, at some point in its life, decided it didn't like pale scrawny boys with short black hair. Truly, I don't know what I did to anger it so deeply…"
Cassie made a muffled sound, covering her mouth with a hand.
"I knocked on the door, and instead of a fellow outskirt denizen, an enormous, vicious, terrible dog answered. The woman appeared behind it and looked at me — I was, at this point, again, a fairly scrawny twelve-year-old in clothes somewhat too large — and she asked my purpose." A pause. "I told her, with great professionalism, that I was there on behalf of Mr. Bricks to collect the outstanding balance — or rather, the debt she apparently owed the man. This… may have been news to me until that moment…"
"What did she say?"
"She laughed for quite a long time, actually." Sunny's expression was perfectly flat. "Then she told me to tell Mr. Bricks that if he sent another child to her door, she would come down herself with her… companion. Ah… the horror! But! Surprisingly, she gave me a significant amount of synthpaste! That was one of the finest days of my life."
Cassie chuckled. Truly, it was one of the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard in his short life. It brought a genuine smile to Sunny's face.
"You… you accepted it? From a random woman? Is that not dangerous, Sunny?"
"I… I was hungry! Of course I took it. Who refuses free food? I stood in her doorway and consumed the entire bowl while the dog watched me with undisguised contempt." He paused, then smiled. "Then I returned to Bricks and… somewhat reported she was not home?"
Cassie laughed again, making no effort to conceal it. He found satisfaction in her mirth.
She continued observing the water. But the corner of her mouth had subtly twitched. For a brief instant, he glimpsed it curling upward.
"Did he believe you?" Cassie inquired.
"Ah, well, I wish he had. But no — absolutely not. That old man sent me back three more times, and I found myself scared each time I saw that woman's dog. Thankfully, she provided rice with every visit. By the fourth time, she even knew my name." He scratched the back of his neck. "She eventually settled her debt. I have no idea if that was due to my efforts."
"It was not," Nephis said.
"Almost certainly not," Sunny agreed, without any particular anguish. "But I ate well for two weeks, which was the true achievement."
Cassie shook her head, still smiling. "You truly are something, Sunny. I do not believe I could have managed that, given your description of the Outskirts."
He considered that.
"...I survived," he said, after a moment. "What other choice existed? Every foolish act from which one emerges intact counts as a triumph."
He intended it as a jest. Mostly.
But suddenly, his expression grew somber, if only for a moment. He had forgotten that after those two weeks concluded, the kind woman was found dead, like any other pauper.
He also neglected to share the fact of her abrupt end.
Nor the fact that he located those responsible, and killed them all.
Thankfully, withholding this information proved the correct choice. After all, Cassie's smile remained warm, in a way that made him wish to gaze upon it forever. She could not see him, and Nephis had no intention of intervening.
Nephis herself had resumed observing the horizon, but her posture had settled into something slightly more relaxed than it had been before.
The Dark Sea continued its calm movement beneath them.
For once, nothing screamed or writhed in agony.
Sunny leaned back on his palms, turned his gaze toward the sea, and concluded his efforts. He had succeeded in lifting his companions' spirits and his own.
— Night of Parting
Morning arrived as mornings always did on the Forgotten Shore — unmoved by the casualties of the preceding night.
Sunny woke abruptly, already half-upright, his hand instinctively reaching for a weapon that was not there.
Fortunately, nothing specific presented itself. No one was present. Only the familiar, terrible scent of damp wood and ash, and the faint sounds of other Sleepers stirring to life.
He sat there for a moment, breathing.
Then he rubbed his face and swung his legs off the cot.
The routine provided solace. Splash water on his face. He resisted thought. Eat something if provisions were available. He resisted thought. Check the shadows at the perimeter—an old habit, now automatic. He resisted thought.
Harper's face constantly intruded, regardless of his mental protests. Not the deceased version. The living one—that cautious, timid facade, always observing from the corners of rooms, always smiling at appropriate moments for entirely incorrect reasons. The face of an individual who had possessed such profound fear of death that he had ensured another would ultimately suffer that fate in his stead.
If they felt no concern, why should he?
Sunny repeated this to himself, as he repeated many things lately. Flatly. Without conviction. The outskirts held a saying: the dead do not bleed twice, so why continue to shed blood upon oneself?
It offered no assistance.
He spent most of the day in his new room. He ventured out once to train with the Midnight Shard, moving through the katas with the focus of one attempting to expel every other thought from his mind. He was halfway through the third sequence when he detected the faint weight of Nephis's attention from afar — that particular observing quality she possessed, precise and assessing, like being measured for something to which he had not yet consented.
A second later she vanished, pulled away by the endless, tidal demands of managing a settlement teeming with people who constantly required things from her.
'Good riddance. You haven't been paying any attention to me anyway.'
The anger was sudden, irrational, and completely unhelpful. Sunny dismissed the Midnight Shard and returned inside before he could examine it too closely.
He had engaged in much of this lately.
—
His new room was already occupied upon his return.
Cassie stood with her back to the door, hands folded over her wooden staff, her face directed toward a wall she could not see. The particular quality of her stillness — that composed, unhurried quiet she carried everywhere — was present. But something beneath it felt amiss. Like a painting hung slightly askew. Almost imperceptible. Almost…
Sunny's pulse quickened before his brain fully registered the anomaly.
'Does she know?'
He arranged his expression and said, with a lightness he did not feel, "Oh, hey Cas. Do you need something?"
She turned. A beat passed—just long enough—and then she smiled. It reached the correct parts of her face. Her blind blue eyes were aimed vaguely to his left, soft and directionless as always.
The smile remained… askew.
"No," she said. "Nothing in particular."
Sunny blinked. 'What is wrong with her today?'
She crossed the small distance between them without hesitation—she never faltered on familiar terrain—and her hand found his shoulder with the easy certainty of long practice.
"Actually," she said. "I have a present for you!"
He had just enough time to appear confused before a spark of warmth journeyed from her hand into him.
[You have received a Memory: Endless Spring.]
He stared at her.
The small glass bottle. The one she had carried since the beginning, refilling itself infinitely, never once depleting. He had observed her use it countless times. He had drunk from it himself, on days when the Dark City had been particularly intent on their demise, and seeking water felt like a luxury beyond their means.
"Why are you giving me this?" he asked, genuinely baffled.
She remained quiet for a moment. "I simply wanted to." Her thumb moved slightly against his shoulder—a small, almost unconscious gesture. "Why? Am I unable to offer you something, after everything you have done for us?"
"I… I suppose you can? I simply did not anticipate it."
She did not withdraw.
That was what triggered alarms in his mind—she remained. Standing close, her hand still resting on his shoulder, with a particular softness he was unaccustomed to.
Then, without any warning, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.
Sunny became completely rigid.
A hug.
It was a genuine embrace. Not the brief, perfunctory kind. She held on, her cheek resting against his shoulder, and she did not immediately release him.
The silence stretched.
Sunny's brain, in its infinite helpfulness, offered nothing useful. He stood there, stiff as a board, arms half-raised in the universal posture of one ambushed by sincerity and lacking any established protocol for handling it.
Truly, he was bewildered.
Then, slowly, he raised one arm and patted her on the back.
Once. Twice. The awkward movements of one who had grown up in the outskirts and therefore treated physical affection with cautious respect, and a small hope that it would conclude soon without incident.
"...Okay," he said, to the wall beyond her shoulder.
"Thank you," Cassie said. Her voice was very even. Very quiet. "For all the times you kept me alive when I had absolutely no business remaining alive."
Sunny opened his mouth.
Closed it.
"That's—" he began. "I mean. Someone had to."
"And for being so enjoyable to be around."
He let out a slightly strangled sound, neither a laugh nor anything else.
"Enjoyable. Right. I have been called many things, but never that."
"I mean it." She pulled back then, just enough to look up at him—not precisely at his face, but in its general direction, as she always did. Something resided in her expression he could not parse. Something that lay behind the calm like a tide behind glass. "You are, Sunny. Whether you see it or not."
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"You have clearly spent too much time in close quarters with the same four people. Your standards have dropped, Cas."
She laughed. It was soft and genuine, and it made the tightness in his chest feel worse somehow, which was the opposite effect laughter should produce.
She stepped back entirely and turned toward the door.
"We will meet again soon, Sunny," she said.
"Of course we will." He watched her depart, vaguely unsettled in a way he could not articulate. "Where would I go? The lodge is too small to avoid anyone for more than a day and a half, I've already tried it."
She chuckled. Her hand found the doorframe.
"Indeed. You are correct."
A pause.
"I will leave now."
"Alright. Goodbye."
She stood in the doorway for a moment. Still. Her head turned slightly away, obscuring her face.
Then:
"...Goodbye, Sunny. I'm going to miss you."
She walked out.
Sunny stood in the middle of his room and stared at the empty doorway for a long moment.
'Weird,' he thought.
'Now that I think about it… she's been weird all day.'
He scratched his jaw, shook his head, and sat back down on the cot.
Outside, her footsteps faded slowly into nothing.
—
"...I am going to destroy it."
Sunny stared at her. Nephis looked back, calm as she always was, white flames burning within her grey eyes, and he understood with a cold, sinking certainty that she spoke with absolute conviction.
She spoke no metaphor. No performance existed in her words. Changing Star intended to walk through every Nightmare, kill every moving thing, and tear the Spell apart at its core — not because she believed in her ability to do so, nor because she possessed a plan, but because she intensely hated it.
That was its entirety.
"You believe Gunlaug can stop me?" She took a step forward. "You believe a Fallen Terror can stop me? Any who dare will die. I will kill them all."
Sunny took a step back, staring at her with wide eyes. He felt something cold touch the back of his neck.
"Why?" His voice emerged quieter than he intended. "Why do you want to destroy the Spell so much?"
The corner of Neph's mouth curled slightly. "Because I hate it."
Silence.
He blinked. He awaited further explanation. None came.
She inhabited a world devoid of pretense, a fact he had known for some time. Yet occasionally, it still managed to catch him completely off guard. Another person might have offered a speech. Three paragraphs, minimally. Nephis had spoken four words and sealed the matter.
He closed his eyes. "You are really insane."
She smiled. "What does it mean to be insane in a world that has descended into madness? I would be wary of any who remained perfectly sane within this hell."
He possessed no retort for that. He made no attempt to find one.
Sunny exhaled slowly, opened his eyes, and turned around.
"So," he said, to the alley before him and the last red edge of sunlight bleeding out at its end, "we are finished here."
It was not a question.
He took a step forward.
"Come with me."
He stopped.
He had not anticipated those specific three words, in that particular order.
"...Excuse me?"
"You heard me." Her tone remained unchanged. Calm. Precise. The tone she employed for everything from sword corrections to announcing her intent to destroy an immortal existence. "I am telling you what I need. I need people who will not yield. People who can fight, think, and survive. You have demonstrated, repeatedly and against considerable odds, your ability to do all three."
There it stood. The cold, reasonable argument. Nephis presented her desires — not with sentiment, but with utility, making them seem obvious, the solitary logical conclusion available to a discerning individual.
He had observed her deploying this tactic on others.
It would not work on him. He wasn't that weak.
"I think not," he said.
"Why not?"
He turned slightly. Just enough to see her in his periphery.
"Because I know how it ends, Neph. You yourself told me. Fire and rivers of blood. That is your grand plan — your words, not mine. And I will not take part in a plan that demands bodies for its execution." He shook his head. "I will not be one of those bodies you will trample upon."
Something shifted in her expression. A moment of reassessment.
"What about Cassie, Sunny?"
Sunny froze.
He had known, the moment she spoke, that this would arise. He had known the instant he resolved to leave that she would discover the correct angle, and Nephis consistently found the correct angle, and the correct angle here was—had always been—
'Cassie…'
'Using Cassie against me, Neph? Now that's just fucking low.'
He thought of a blind girl sitting opposite him recently, her unseeing eyes wide with disbelief. He thought of the question she had asked, low and quiet with everything she must already comprehend.
Will you protect her?
He had affirmed. Even if it cost him his life. In those precise words. The answer had emerged before he could prevent it, before his Flaw had even found the opportunity to strike.
'Damnation.'
And even with that promise weighing upon him — he was still departing. For a promise made to Cassie and a death march orchestrated by Nephis were two entirely distinct things.
Sunny laughed. Short and bitter.
"That is precisely why," he said.
The silence stretched.
"What?" Nephis said, her voice perhaps the flattest he had ever heard it.
"Cassie." He faced the alley again. "That is precisely why I am leaving her here. With you." He paused. "She is yours, Neph. She came to this shore on your behalf. She emerged from the dark city because of you, not me. And so, she will stay with you. Why even introduce the matter?" Another pause. "Besides… she is considerably safer with you than she is anywhere I happen to be going."
"You could protect her—"
"No." Very quiet. "I could not."
He spoke it as he might state the sky is dark or the shore is cold. No self-pity existed in his tone. It was the simple truth of one who possessed no luxury to protect others.
"I can barely protect myself," he continued. "I believe we both acknowledge that. I have survived this hellish place through a combination of shadow sense, cowardice, and dumb luck, in roughly equal measure, and I am sincerely unwilling to stake her life on any of those three." He shook his head. "Leave her with you. You are more adept at preserving lives than I am. That… that is simply the truth."
"Sunny—"
"And besides!" Something almost like humor found its way into his voice. Almost. "What exactly am I supposed to be useful for? You haven't even looked my way in three days, Neph. There's a limit to how accommodating I can be. Your mind has been set since you brought me to this alley. You know what you're doing. You know what you want. You understand your desires, as I do mine." He smiled, a smile that conveyed no warmth. "And you… you do not need me for any of it. So, tell me, 'Changing Star,' why would I stay?"
A pause.
He heard her open her mouth, then close it again.
He had her.
Nephis, for perhaps the first time since he had known her, possessed no immediate retort. She had just reached for something absent, and was processing its nonexistence.
He did not wait for her to regain her composure.
"I… I guess I'll see you on the other side," he said. "If a 'side' exists."
He began walking.
"...Come here."
He continued walking.
"Come back, Sunny."
He continued walking.
"I said return, Sunny! This conversation is not over! Turn around right now!"
He stopped.
He stood still for a moment with his back to her, the last red light dying at the end of the alley, night encroaching rapidly behind it.
Then he turned around.
His expression was cold. Distant. Something beneath it, which he had chosen not to reveal — quiet and heavy, bearing a faint trace of disappointment. Some in her, and some in the unfolding circumstances.
'What was it that she'd say now? Ah yes…'
"'If that is your will, try to stop me.'"
The shadows enveloped him entirely. He turned around and continued to walk.
However, he took only three or four steps before—
"W-Why? Do… do you not trust me?"
He stopped abruptly.
Her voice was quiet now. Stripped of everything she usually cloaked it in. Even her pride had vanished.
Sunny stood in the dark and remained motionless.
He considered it. He owed her that much.
He thought of the preceding months. The cold calculations she made — always, always — those that never flinched, that took every available factor and returned the most efficient answer, regardless of its cost.
All of them. Indeed.
That was her declaration when he had inquired about the number of sacrifices she would make. Without hesitation or a tremor, she had stated that everyone on the Forgotten Shore constituted another body to be walked over.
That was Nephis. That had always been Nephis. And hopefully, some day, that wouldn't be Nephis.
But today was not that day.
"No," he said.
Low and even.
"I do. I do trust you"
Another moment of silence.
"And that is why I am leaving."
He felt her go still behind him. Something in the space she occupied — a space she perpetually commanded by her mere presence — had completely arrested.
"You will do it, Neph. Every last part of it. Every single body required to walk your path." He stared forward into the dark. "I know you will. I have never doubted it for a second."
A pause.
"And so, I say again. I refuse to be one of them."
Nephis offered no response.
"I will not be another body for you to step over," he said quietly. "Not even for a righteous cause. Not even for your reason."
He exhaled slowly.
"So no. I will not stay. Goodbye, Neph. And good luck."
He attempted to take another step—and halted.
Behind him, footsteps.
Her hand found his arm in the dark.
Sunny stopped entirely. He stood very still. She could not see him — yet she located him through sounds alone. Her grip was tight — desperate.
He looked at her hand without turning his head.
He knew her expression. Its shape was already formed — down to the tension in her fingers and the sound of her breathing. The weight of everything she was not saying, or did not know how to say. He had spent sufficient time observing Nephis from the external perspective that her face was no longer necessary.
He knew its nature.
Slowly, he reached up and took her hand by the wrist.
And removed it.
He held it there for just a moment, in the dark, before releasing it entirely.
Then he walked.
'Thank you,' he thought, in the quietest place of his mind. 'Thank you for trying.'
She had. And yet…
The shadows had claimed him anyway.
Behind him, Nephis stood alone at the edge of the light. The last ember of the sunset painted the stone a dim, dying red. She remained motionless. She offered no further calls.
She had tried.
Nevertheless, he was gone.
— The Present.
The fog had lifted.
All of it.
Sunny stood before the chained corpse and the ferocious demon mask, and for the first time since he had awakened on the Forgotten Shore with nothing but a unique Aspect, his mind was entirely, utterly clear.
He remembered.
He remembered the dormitory room. The soft mattress for which he had been foolishly grateful. The winter solstice night spent staring at the ceiling, reading an appraisal that contained things no appraisal should, turning a word over and over in his head like a stone concealing something dreadful.
Regressor.
He remembered why it had unsettled him so profoundly. Not merely the word — but the sensation that accompanied it. The persistent, crawling incorrectness of his own reactions. The way he had made choices at the Academy that had not felt like his own. Choosing Wilderness Survival for a reason deeper than Master Jet's advice. Sitting beside Cassie at breakfast as if something within him already knew she was worth sitting beside. Looking at Nephis across a cafeteria and feeling something that defied explanation for a first meeting.
He had dismissed it then.
But now both sets of memories coexisted, residing in his Skull like two rivers that had finally converged into the same sea. The combination produced not confusion.
It produced certainty.
He remembered the Dark City. Not the months he had just endured — but the other months. Those that had already transpired once, in a version of events that no longer existed and never would again. He remembered his time on the Dark Sea, the black water and the cold, and Nephis standing at the prow with her customary calmness.
He remembered Cassie's small, beautiful laugh in the dark, its particular warmth, and how it had consistently surprised him, regardless of how many times he had heard it. He remembered growing closer to both of them than he had ever intended to grow to anyone. He remembered the small, foolish, precious moments — Nephis entirely failing to comprehend a jest and then, a full minute later, smiling at it without any warning. He remembered Cassie listening to his stories, a constant sensation that he owed her a debt he possessed no means to repay.
His chest ached with it.
He had reached a conclusion. His future self — whoever that had been, whatever he had become — had arrived at the culmination of an existence.
And then he had returned.
And now he stood here, in a cold underground chamber with ghostly torches, a chained corpse, and a mask that stared at him with hollow eye sockets filled with both light and shadow. His intuition — that relentless, annoying, fate-adjacent impulse that had propelled him since swallowing a drop of ichor — was completely, profoundly silent.
It possessed nothing left to say.
It had led him here. Its task was done.
The remainder fell to him.
Sunny inhaled slowly.
The golden-cracked corpse twitched.
A shiver ran through its broken limbs — not the movement of something living, but the tremor of something that had prolonged its vigil, and now registered its imminent end.
He felt no fear.
That was the strangest aspect. He cataloged it as he exhaled: no fear, no dread, no urge to retreat and devise an alternative plan. Only a clarity so complete it felt almost physical, like stepping from a dark room into crisp, open air.
He took a step forward.
He thought of the Forgotten Shore. All of it — the beginning, the middle, and the harrowing, blood-soaked chaos of the intervening parts. The people he had encountered on this cursed coastline, whom he had not intended to care for, yet had cared for regardless, seemingly fundamentally incapable of adhering to his own stated policies. The battles he had won harshly, the ones he had barely survived, and the few — a very small few — of which he was quietly, privately proud.
He took another step.
He thought of Nephis and Cassie. Not the memories — only the fact of their existence. That they were, at this moment, somewhere on this shore or beyond it, performing their activities unobserved by him, and about which he silently worried, though feigning indifference.
He hoped they were well.
He genuinely, sincerely — without any self-consciousness — hoped they were well.
They must be safe.
He took the final step.
The golden cracks in the corpse's surface pulsed once, brilliant and sharp, like a breath held to its absolute limit.
Sunny reached up with one hand.
His fingers met the mask.
The world went silent.
Not quiet — silent. Absolute. Total. Every sound in existence simply ceased, and with it the chamber, the torches, the cold stone floor, the ancient dark, and the distant memory of open air. All folded into nothing in a single, seamless instant.
He stood above black water.
His own reflection gazed up at him from below, still and perfect, undisturbed.
He knew this place, he realized. Or something within him did. The particular quality of the silence, the particular depth of the dark around him — it resonated with something resident in the part of his Soul shaped by a god's dead blessing and a borrowed childhood spent in shadows.
His hand remained raised.
The mask rested in it.
He turned it toward him slowly and looked at its face.
The ferocious demon stared back. Teeth bared, four fangs, three twisted horns. The hollow eye sockets churned with light and shadow, intertwined, inseparable, neither consuming the other.
He looked at it for a long moment.
Then the Spell spoke.
[The Iron Key has fulfilled its purpose.]
[The lock has found its key.]
[The key has found its lock.]
[You have received a Memory.]
A pause.
[The Attribute 'Regressor' is trembling!]
[Lost from Light, would you like to witness the past of the True Worldline, to comprehend the full power that was yours, the suffering that was accounted for, and the future left behind in the dark, restored to your hands?]
Sunny's breath caught.
He almost said yes. The word was poised on his lips.
But the Spell was not finished.
[I must warn you, Lost from Light. If you choose to reclaim it, no return exists. From this point forward, fate will be—■■■]
It ceased.
The silence stretched.
Sunny stared at the mask.
He considered its offering. Not merely the memories — not merely the events, the battles, the progression, the accumulated weight of a life he had apparently already lived once. It offered knowledge. The complete experience of a past that no longer existed, from a version of himself who had walked all the way to its end and then, somehow, found his way back to the beginning.
He would remember a future that could no longer occur.
He would remember a past that did not belong to him.
He would know what approached — or what had once approached — while standing at the genesis of a story already being rewritten by his mere presence.
His concluded self had reached an end.
And then sent another self back.
'Why?'
The question he had circled for months, never quite allowing himself to settle on it. Why regress? Why return to the beginning? What had been so unfinished, so unacceptable, so fundamentally wrong about that conclusion that the version of him who had reached it had chosen to unmake it?
He desired to know.
The desire was so sharp it almost pained him.
He needed to know.
For what else had all of this served? The key. The Cathedral. The strands of divinity pulling him forward through every arduous corner of this shore. The appraisal that had told him, in the Spell's flat and merciless manner, that he had faced his conclusion and refused it. All of it, every step, leading here.
What would have been the purpose, if not this?
He exhaled slowly.
Then he lifted the mask, and put it on.
The fit was perfect. It had always been destined for perfection.
Yes.
For one moment, nothing occurred.
Then the Spell's voice returned — and it was different. Almost something else entirely.
[Welcome back, Lost from Light…]
[Dreamer! Prepare for your '???' Trial…]
[Welcome to the '???'.]
The world faded to black.
And then the world was gone.
—
Sunny dreamt, his consciousness tracing paths through the endless halls of memory. He dreamt of happiness, its fleeting moments gilded by warm laughter. He dreamt of sorrow, its chilling tendrils winding through moments of dread. Through paradise and despair, his mind wandered.
He dreamt of a woman whose light had once guided him through the encroaching dark. He dreamt of that woman, her eyes now unfamiliar, standing in a field of pristine snow. She looked upon him, recognition entirely absent, as if he had never been.
Sunny dreamt of the origin.
Sunny dreamt of the conclusion.
—
The tapestry of events unfolded, both stretched across a vast expanse of time and compressed into mere heartbeats for Sunny. It was all too swift.
Asterion had been vanquished. Stripped of his Domain by the Song of the Fallen, overwhelmed by the combined might of Lost from Light, Changing Star, and King of Nothing, the once formidable Sovereign held no recourse. Asterion fought, a desperate savagery, yet his efforts were futile. His authority, lightened like a feather, failed to bend the world to his will. His monstrous form weakened. Power dwindled, a presence fading into fragility. And then, he fell, collapsing upon the glass-strewn grounds of Glass Hell. He glared at the three towering Sovereigns above him, a powerless snarl.
Yet… Sunny found unease stirring within him, born of that dying gaze. Perhaps it was the "Sunny" who had become this host, or perhaps the host itself that perceived a shift, but a lurking presence began to surface.
Ah… it had been an age past, the precise details of its manifestation long forgotten. Yet, the Dreamspawn's insidious touch remained undeniable.
What were Asterion's final words? Ah, yes…
He muttered something, an apparent apology not addressed to his conquerors, but to a deeper, more profound existence. The Dreamspawn began to shudder, his form thrashing as invisible chains bound it to the earth. In that instant — his head burst. The remainder of his demise unfolded in mere seconds.
It was a novelty, indeed. To witness an "idea" reduced to mere rubbish. Neither Nephis nor Mordret perceived his whispered words, yet Cassie could. And what she heard shook Sunny to his core.
[Avaritia… Avaritia… Chalice of Want… please, take sustenance in me… ah…]
Cassie had merely echoed the message, before even that was silenced. Silenced, just as the skies, the grounds of Glass Hell, and the very fabric of the world were silenced. For out there, in a sprawling, horizonless distance, where a once-mighty Seal had held a truly monstrous existence at bay — that Seal shattered. The Dreamspawn's dying words had roused it, and the long-imprisoned being tore through its chains. It was truly harrowing.
The end had commenced.
In one moment, he, Nephis, and Mordret gazed toward Godgrave. In the next, no "direction" existed toward Godgrave; it was consumed and devoured.
In another, a single, vast mass of True Darkness spilled forth from the void where Godgrave had once stood.
And finally, Song of the Fallen found herself seized by a singular vision, perhaps not her own, but that of another. Her final words, odd in their conveyance to Sunny, held no trace of fear:
[All shall bid farewell to you, and that you alone will witness the miracle…]
In the next moment after her death, Nephis experienced the sickening sensation of countless flames being plucked from her domain, a screech heard echoing in her mind.
In the next moment, Mordret found no sanctuary in the reflections around Glass Hell, for even they were swallowed by the encroaching black.
In the next moment, Sunny looked upon the Ivory Tower, a wail of sorrow tearing from him as Rain's life was extinguished.
In the next moment, the Darkness surged forth, overwriting the Law of War, swallowing Humanity in the waking World, utterly and entirely.
In the next moment, Mordret chuckled, offering his farewells, lamenting his brief existence, only to perish again.
In the next moment, Nephis, gripped by true despair, turned and embraced Sunny, whispering something about [Shadow Bond], commanding him to live.
In the next moment, she conveyed how he would no longer be bound, as Cassie had prophesied before her own flame was so easily extinguished.
In the next moment, Sunny felt an overwhelming surge of power as the Will and White Flame of Changing Star embraced his very being.
In the next moment, she smiled through her tears, kissing him one last time.
In the next moment, he cried out, clutching her limp form as the Darkness tore her asunder, splattering her divine blood across the ground.
In the next moment, Sunny lost himself in madness, desperately trying to gather the pieces of her: her head, silver hair unbound against the shattered glass, a torso still bearing the grace of a lady, a single, delicate hand severed at the wrist. He cradled the upper half of her body, her face a mask of serene death, as he sought to make her whole once more.
In the next moment, Sunny's hopes were obliterated as the Aspect [Light Bringer] permeated his being, fulfilling [Shadow Bond].
In the next moment, Sunny found himself with two Aspects, of Shadow and Light.
In the next moment, Mordret turned, a final pat on Sunny's back, then was engulfed by the Darkness.
In the next moment, Sunny was alone.
There was no one. No Soul to sense. No Shadow in the world to summon.
Darkness had claimed everything, painting the world black.
In the next moment, Sunny, two majestic, pure wings unfurling from his back, looked up at the sky.
In the next moment, the Sky was devoured as a long, swan-like neck emerged from the darkness.
In the next moment, Sunny stood, beholding the existence before him.
Its eye opened first, dwarfing even the Ivory Tower. The iris resembled a burning solar furnace, wrapped in metallic rings. Each orbit bore etched, crackling sigils, arcs of pale lightning dancing between them. More eyes followed across the clouds — dozens, then hundreds — igniting one after another until the entire sky resembled a living constellation, staring down at a single being.
Wings spanning the entire sky unfurled through the thunderheads, each feather fashioned from radiant, dripping blood layered atop blackened gold. Veins of frozen stardust pulsed between the gaps in its crimson, heavenly flesh. Chains of flame crawled along the edges of those wings before detonating into the clouds of darkness, illuminating the outline of an elongated draconic neck crowned by a halo-like solar disc burning behind its skull. Massive rings interlocked behind its head with cathedral-like grandeur, each revolution releasing torrents of sparks and radiant debris that fell from the sky like meteor showers. Entire sections of the Dream-Realm vanished beneath the bombardment, though already, every human and Nightmare Creature across the realm had been consumed by the dark, unable to comprehend what had transpired. Save for the Unholys.
Then finally, moving its snake, swan-like neck that seemed to hold countless constellations along its length, it turned downward toward the single remaining being it had failed to devour.
Then finally, it simply flapped its wing once—
And Sunny was no more. A mere stain of blood and shadow upon the Darkness.
For indeed.
What Asterion had called was no mere Profaned God.
It was an Unholy.
An Unholy-Titan had descended into the Dream-Realm, then engulfed it whole. Every region, every citadel, every hidden nook, consumed entirely by the Darkness.
The World…
The World faded to black.
Yet within that Darkness, despite no longer possessing a body, much less a Soul, something persisted.
[The Attribute 'Regressor' is realizing what needs to be done.]
[The Divine Miracle 'Regressor' has activated in an unstable manner!]
[The Attribute 'Regressor <1st Turn>' has been modified!]
[Regressor <2nd Turn> (???)]
And indeed, for many more cycles thereafter, Sunny simply opened his eyes, barely capable of a single movement before the Unholy existence above crushed and devoured him.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Ten…
Twenty…
Sixty…
One hundred…
And ah… many more cycles after that.
It was only during the ninety-ninth regression that he came to comprehend the true nature of [Regressor]'s influence upon him.
It was only during the one hundred forty-second regression that he understood his inability to escape death as long as the Divine Miracle remained active.
It was only during the two Hundredth Regression that he managed to evade the initial wave of consumption.
In subsequent regressions, he sometimes retreated to the Shadow Realm, the sole sanctuary the Darkness seemed unable to pierce.
In some, he simply dwelt in solitude, knowing that suicide would merely trigger [Regressor]'s resurrection. This, however, did not deter his attempts at self-destruction.
In others, he wandered the Realm, for years even, hundreds of years he stayed alone, perhaps trying to find some means to vanquish the Unholy-Titan, to at least avenge those he had once known.
And finally, it was only during the nine hundred ninety-ninth regression, having expended countless cycles battling the Unholy Being, slowly losing his sense of self, gradually transforming into a God, that he finally learned the name of the entity before him.
Avaritia.
The Endless Chalice of Want.
The Unholy of the Dark.
Envoy of the Forgotten One.
Sunslayer.
The Unholy-Titan that embodied 'Consumption'.
The existence that was once… an Angel.
And for the one thousandth time, Lost from Light's hell began again.
Though… one could say it was different, for indeed.
The 999th Turn was the final turn in which Sunny could ever call himself human.
For the 1000th Turn was the turn he achieved Apotheosis.
Within The Etheric Sea, between one turn and the next, he devoured his six shadows, alongside his domain, and the countless domains of the past conceptual rounds before him…
And became a Spirit.
The Spirit of Death, onward, challenged the Endless Chalice of Want.
And even then?
It meant nothing. The outcome remained unchanged.
And thus, over and over…
His hell began again.
[The Divine Miracle 'Regressor' has activated in an unstable manner!]
[The Attribute 'Regressor <1000th Turn>' has been modified!]
[Regressor <1001st Turn> (???)]
[Welcome back, Lost from Light.]
…
[The Divine-Titan 'Demon of Desire' is stirring in her slumber…]
[The Divine-Titan 'Demon of Dread' is stirring in his slumber…]
[The Divine-Titan 'Prince of the Underworld' is stirring in his slumber…]
And on and on it went. His own cruel, Hell of Eternity.
A Nightmare of his own making. A Nightmare weaved to relive the past of another.
The past of himself.