The stygian silence of the Great Devil's nest was broken only by the wet, rhythmic thud of necrotic gore sliding off the black chitin walls. The audience stood precariously upon the slick, oily branches of the canopy, surrounded by the oppressive tang of divine blood and the lingering spiritual gravity of the hatchling's death
In the center of the carnage, the flickering, indistinct figure of the Blur reached into the grey remains and withdrew a single, radiant vial — the [Drop of Ichor].
The golden light of the [Drop of Ichor] pulsed with a rhythmic, heartbeat-like cadence, illuminating the shocked faces of the Witnesses, who have just seen a Sleeper slay a Great Devil.
Suddenly, the air shimmered as the golden runes of the Nightmare Spell manifested, weaving themselves into a tapestry of information that hung suspended in the phantom mist.
[Memory: [Drop of Ichor].]
[Memory Rank: unknown]
[Memory Type: unknown]
The appraisal manifested, but as the audience's eyes drifted to the Memory Description, the atmosphere shattered.
"Wait... I can't..." Rain suddenly gasped, doubling over as she clutched her stomach. Beside her, Professor Julius turned a ghastly shade of grey, his hand trembling as he reached for a nearby branch to steady himself. Beth, Kim, and Luster were struck with a wave of violent nausea, while Tamar and Telle let out strangled cries as sharp, spiritual headaches lanced through their minds.
Professor Julius stared at the runes for -unknown- and -Unknown- with a scholar's horror. "I have never... in all my years... seen runes like these," he whispered through gritted teeth. "The structure is wrong. It's as if the Spell itself is physically recoiling from the concepts it's forced to record."
"Do not look too closely," Daeron of the Twilight Sea rumbled, his Supreme Will allowing those weaker observers to breathe again. His voice was dry, carrying the weight of ancient oceans."The Spell is screaming. Those voids represent the primordial beings and the Forgotten God — truths that are naturally corrosive to a mortal soul. The pain you feel is the Spell's mercy, a physical barrier meant to repel your curiosity before it can breed corruption".
The revelation of such primordial horrors left the audience in a state of profound, paralyzed shock — the weight of names that should not be named pressing down on their very souls. Yet, even that existential dread was soon overshadowed by a sight far more impossible.
The Saints stood stiffly, feeling the pressure on their minds but remaining unbent, their unseeing gazes fixed on the appraisal.
They watched as the description flickered into existence:
[Memory Description: The loathsome Thieving Bird was hated both by the gods and -unknown-. However, it only cared about shiny things. Enamored by -Static-'s beautiful eyes, it stole one of them on a dark, starless night. Impatient, the vile creature looked at its bounty while still in flight. However, when it saw the reflection of -Unknown- forever frozen in the depths of -Static's pupil, it went mad and screamed, dropping the eye on the mortal realm below. All that was left in its greedy beak was one drop of pure, golden ichor.]
However, as the runes attempted to form the identity of the eye's owner, the nature of the censorship changed.
There was no scream.
There was no pain.
Instead, the Silver Strings that anchored the Loom of Fate began to physically snap and melt away. The golden runes forming the being's name dissolved into a silent, shimmering slag of silver light before they could be perceived.
This surgical, quiet redaction was far more unsettling to the Sovereigns than the Void's broad defense.
Anvil of Valor narrowed his eyes, the air around him growing heavy enough to crack the illusory wood beneath his boots . "This interference... Your children have always been fond of playing in the dark, Ki Song. Is this your play?".
Ki Song let out a breathy, mocking laugh, her dead eyes sliding toward the King of Swords . "Don't be tedious, Anvil. If I could pluck the strings of Fate with such precision, your precious Citadel would have already become a tomb for your entire lineage. You're simply upset that your 'Forge' has a leak you cannot mend".
From the onyx branch where his skull rested, Eurys let out a dry, rattling sound — a noise that might have been a wheeze or a manic chuckle . "My, oh my," the skull rasped, the ghostly red flames in his sockets flickering with a sudden, sharp recognition. "This isn't a wall. It's a hand over a mouth."
Noctis leaned forward, his usually manic eyes clouding with a rare, somber focus . "Eurys is right. This is not the Spell's handiwork," he murmured, his voice lacking its usual musical levity. "The voids we saw before was the Spell protecting the ignorant. But look at these strings. They aren't being silenced by the Spell. They are being physically suppressed. Someone or something is plucking them."
"It lacks the weight of the Spell's authority," Morgan of Valor noted, her red eyes tracing the way the silver slag dripped into the mist . "When the Spell censored the Void, it struck the mortals with nausea. This redaction is painless. It is a mask, a redirection. Someone is intentionally obscuring the identity."
"To redact the Memory Description, one must possess its original knowledge," Anvil of Valor rumbled, his voice heavy as falling iron . "The Spell records what was. For the records to melt and snap in real-time, the source must be present to deny them."
"A ghost watching his own forgotten records," Ki Song purred, her tantalizing red lips curving into a predatory line . "The Spell protects us from the Void. But this... this 'Will' only cares about hiding the name. It is protecting a legacy, not our sanity."
"Exactly," Mordret interjected, his mirror-bright eyes dancing with a sharp, deductive clarity . "A memory is a closed loop, yet the strings are reacting to a present influence. The person we are watching in the past... he doesn't just exist in the records. He is the one holding the quill in the present. He is watching us watch him."
While the others argued over the "leak" in the Spell, Ananke and Nephis stood in a pocket of internal silence.
Ananke felt a surge of religious reverence that almost drove her to her knees. She remembered the relevation of the one who had braved the eternal abyss and returned alive from the ancient murals of her order.
The Demon of Fate, the Great Weaver, she thought, her eyes wide with awe.
Sunless is holding the ichor of Weaver. He is the Heir, the Heir of Weaver
She resolved to stay silent, a silent pact to protect the "Lost Variable" from the kings who would seek to consume him.
Nephis felt the hum in the void of her heart, a phantom resonance matching the Blur's defiant will. She looked at the silver slag where a name should have been.
This wasn't the theft of Fate that had hollowed out her own history. This was a mask, a willful shroud draped over the truth. If the Blur was truly the owner of this memory, he was a variable too dangerous to be left in Anvil's grasp.
He could not be allowed to become another tool wielded by the King of Swords.
Suddenly, a localized heaviness settled over the branch where Rain stood. It was not the soul-crushing pull of the Great Devil's egg, but a sudden, chilling density. The air around the girl seemed to thicken, turning cold and sharp.
One by one, the gazes of the Sovereigns and the powerful Saints snapped toward her, as if pulled by an invisible tether.
The darkness at Rain's heels was no longer mimicking her shivering form. It lay across the black bark of the tree like a pool of living ink, its edges sharp, defined, and vibrating at the exact same frequency as the snapping silver strings in the sky.
Mordret shifted his gaze to the coiling darkness beneath the mundane girl, a poisonous, mirthful glint appearing in his mirror-like eyes. 'What are you going to do now, Lord of Shadows?' he thought, his mental voice dripping with amusement. 'You've hidden your face from the world, but you cannot hide your panic.'
"He is right there," Nightwalker finally stated, his voice a calm, terrifying statement of fact that cut through the murmurs. The reclusive Saint stared at the coiling shadow beneath the girl. "The 'Sunless' we are watching in the past is currently standing among us. He is hiding in the shade of that child and he is plucking the strings of the Spell to hide his own origin."
The atmosphere turned predatory as Anvil of Valor and Ki Song began to move across the obsidian branches toward Rain. The girl looked like a leaf before a hurricane as the Supreme presence of the Kings began to crush the air around her.
Immediately, the Cohort — Nephis, Cassie, Effie, Jet, and Kai — shifted their positions, forming a defensive circle around her. Nephis stepped to the front, her grey eyes turning to cold steel as she faced the King of Swords.
Morgan stepped beside her father, her eyes flashing with a mix of curiosity and cold calculation. "Dear sister," she said, her voice smooth and dangerous as she looked at Nephis. "This girl hasn't even formed her Soul Core, yet she hides such a terrifying secret. You surely cannot expect us to ignore such a blatant anomaly."
"Stand back," Nephis commanded, ignoring Morgan's taunt, her voice ringing clear in the cathedral of silence. "What business do the Sovereigns have with this girl?"
"The Loom is being manipulated, Changing Star," Anvil rumbled, his eyes glowing with heavy interest. "The record is being redacted by the very thing standing at that girl's feet. We wish to know what this girl is hiding."
"She has no part in your wars," Nephis countered, her white flames flickering in her eyes. "Violence is prohibited within the Loom, Anvil. You will not intimidate her."
"Violence is prohibited, but truth is not," Ki Song mocked, her dead eyes fixed on the girl. "Surely, if she has nothing to hide, she will not mind the scrutiny of Nightingale." She looked at Kai, whose Flaw made him the ultimate arbiter of truth.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Effie tightened her hands into a fist, her eyes darting between Anvil and Song. Jet's posture remained relaxed, but the air around her grew unnaturally cold.
"Kai doesn't have to do anything," Effie spat, her voice echoing through the nest. "We aren't your soldiers."
"Enough," Nephis said, her voice cutting through the rising tension. She turned slightly toward Rain. The girl was pale, her breath coming in shallow hitches, but she didn't look away from the King of Swords. Nephis saw the flicker of defiance in her — the same defiance she saw in Sunless.
Rain gave Nephis a small, resolute nod. She knew she couldn't hide forever, and if this was the only way to protect her teacher's secret, she would do it.
Nephis stepped aside, though she didn't move far. The Sovereigns stepped closer. Kai went still, his eyes searching the air with profound reluctance. He looked at Rain, who was dwarfed by the gods of the waking world.
"Rain," Kai asked softly, his voice pained, "Do you know this person inside the memory — the boy called Sunless?"
Rain looked up at the King of Swords, her face pale but her eyes fierce. "I don't know who Sunless is," she whispered, her voice trembling but true. "I only know my teacher."
Kai went silent for a heartbeat, the weight of his Flaw settling over the room. "It is the truth," he confirmed.
The Sovereigns stood frustrated, their predatory interest only deepening as the memory-Blur in the projection finally made his choice. The young man uncorked the golden vial, his hands shaking with a desperate, frantic terror.
Suddenly, the voice of the Spell boomed within the nest, sounding oddly vibrant, almost... expectant.
[You have acquired a drop of ichor. Do you wish to consume it?]
The Blur hesitated for an eternity, his breath hitching in the cold air. He looked at the Sovereigns in the present, then back at the prize in his hands.
"Yes," the Blur rasped, his voice a jagged whisper. "I want to consume it.".
[As you wish.].
The Spell's response rippled through the Loom with an undercurrent of excitement that made the hair on Nightwalker's neck stand up.
In a heavy, suffocating silence, the golden sphere separated into two radiant streams. They caressed the Blur's cheeks for a fraction of a second before flowing into his eyes, entering his soul through the pupils.
The reaction was instantaneous and violent. The audience watched in horror as the Blur fell into the soft embrace of the spiderwebs, letting out a terrible, wailing shriek as unimaginable, blinding pain tore through his entire being. His body convulsed in spasms, every fiber being torn apart and reassembled by an unnatural force.
The shriek of the past bled into the silence of the present.
Inside the lightless expanse of Godgrave, at the very edge of an abyss that swallowed the world, stood the Nameless Temple. Its colossal columns of black marble rose like the ribs of a dark god, decorated with reliefs that seemed to writhe in the impenetrable shadows of the hall.
Inside the grandiose hall, sitting upon a tall throne cut from the same stygian stone, the Lord of Shadows sat unmoving.
But beneath the stillness, a storm of agony was raging.
His fingers, encased in dark, intricate armor, trembled as they reached for his face. With a sharp, grinding click, he unfastened a mask. The black lacquered wood was carved to resemble the face of a ferocious demon, its teeth bared with four protruding fangs and three twisted horns rising from the brow like a crown of thorns.
As the mask came away, a low, guttural hiss of pain escaped his lips.
The Lord of Shadows leaned his head back against the marble throne, his chest heaving. His eyes, usually pools of deep, calm darkness, were a ruin of fire. They were partially burned, the iris clouded by the immense strain. No blood trickled down his cheeks, even as acrid smoke and steam rose from the scorched flesh around his eyes.
The agony of his current efforts had exacted a heavy toll. He was partially blinded, his vision a kaleidoscope of silver slag and golden runes.
He stared into the darkness of the temple, sensing the presence of the Soul Serpent hovering high above him, its scales scratching against the ancient marble with a sound like shifting dry leaves.
"Finally..." Sunny whispered, his voice a jagged edge of pain and satisfaction.
He closed his eyes, the image of his past self falling into the webs still burned into his mind, shadowed by a ghostly, distant ripple that pulsed through the very core of his soul.
"That idiot should be awake now."