The wind howled outside, joined by thundering strikes of lightning and a ceaseless barrage of rain on wood.
Seated around the table, they all stared at each other somberly, whole conversations being exchanged through their eyes. With those stares alone, alliances were reignited, and enmities were brought back to life. And yet, almost in unison, they all turned toward the man of the hour, who was smiling like he had won the lottery.
"A pair of kings," Typhaon exclaimed proudly.
"Bullshit." Bloodwave called out instantly, hand slamming against the table.
His friend -and known cheater- merely smiled, challenging him to prove it.
"You are getting more overt," Knossos commented, his free hand idly caressing his beard.
Typhaon shrugged, retrieving the tokens he had just won without a care in the world.
Scylla hummed softly, eyeing her cards. "Soooo... when are we going to address the elephant in the room?"
"Honey, must we ruin a fun night like that?" Charibdys complained, sending a pleading look to her -currently- lover.
"We already ignored Changing Star, and look where that led us," Scylla retorted. "We could have another Saint right now had we managed to convince her."
"Are we even sure that the broadcast wasn't fabricated?" his nephew Naeve asked, softly tapping on the table.
Knossos shrugged, still caressing his beard. "As sure as we can be nowadays."
Despite not showing it, Bloodwave was sure that he was deeply rattled. He couldn't blame him. He was rattled too, after all.
Sunless, a boy who was little more than a footnote in the minds of every great power, had just become one of the most important men in the world. From a propaganda tool and Changing Star's boytoy -Scylla's words, not his- to a Saint. One of the strongest, if not the strongest at that.
Bloodwave was a proud man. Why wouldn't he be? He had reached the peak of humanity through nothing but his own efforts and wits. He was one of the pillars of the House of Night and a champion of mankind itself. He had stared down impossible odds and come out alive every single time. Fought against horrors his mind still dared not remember to this day.
Despite his pride, he could admit without shame that if they were to fight, both Whispering Blade and Not So Funny Anymore would kill him.
Sunless had defeated both of them at the same time, while also dealing with a category-three gate. Right after becoming a Saint.
Everything pointed to the broadcast being true, and still, he doubted. He had seen many talented people in his life. He was one of them himself. But a mere sleeper defeating a challenge he himself had barely overcome as a Master? The boy must be blessed by the gods themselves.
"What should we do?" Aether asked; the young man was visibly shaken.
Knossos hummed softly, eyes never leaving the cards in his hand. "Nothing."
Scylla snorted derisively. "That's what you said last time, and look where that led us, old man."
The old man in question stared at her calmly and sighed like the disappointed grandparent he was. "What happened to my cute granddaughter? She was always so sweet and respectful," he lamented.
She rolled her eyes exasperatedly. "Cut the speech. You give it to me every time I refuse to listen to one of your ramblings."
Charibdys played her hand, showing a pair of queens that won her the round, much to everyone's chagrin.
"I have to agree on this," she said after retrieving the tokens. "We are seeing the rebirth of the Immortal Flame clan. And if what we saw in the livestream is true, they might as well have eight Saints."
"Valor is on the down," Aether added. "They are yet to make any official proclamation about their actions, but public opinion is quickly rising against them."
"Exactly!" Scylla said animatedly. "This is our chance. Some of their clans might be reconsidering their stance. Maybe we can steal some of their Awakened and Masters. Maybe even some Sai-"
Bloodwave did not hesitate to interrupt. "And then what? Pray their Sovereign doesn't just erase us out of this world for it? Just because we are not worth the trouble, it doesn't mean he won't destroy us if we poke him like that."
"Anvil is just one man," Typhaon said calmly.
Bloodwave shot him a glare. "A man who might I remind you, we both saw cut a Great Tyrant in two with a flick of his wrist."
He could still remember that day with perfect clarity.
It happened a little over a decade ago, back when he was still a Master. He was traveling to Rivergate along with Typhaon to resupply when they ran into a Great Tyrant. The creature was big enough to dwarf even Knossos' own gargantuan form and had been pursuing them for days before finally revealing itself. A mad scramble followed as they desperately fought to delay it as much as they could while praying to reach the landmass in time.
Just as Rivergate came into view and the creature was about to devour them whole in a bite, Bloodwave spotted a man calmly walking on water, a sea of swords trailing behind him.
Anvil of Valor, the King of Swords.
A mere flick of his wrist made the sea of steel merge into a single cyclopean blade that sliced the creature in two. Just like that.
He could still recall the horrendous smell of the creature's entrails, the rush of wind as it parted, the sheer terror he felt when the ocean itself was bisected. They were only spared from the attack by mere millimeters. The indifferent look in Anvil's eyes was seared in his mind, as if what he had done was nothing of note.
That was a Sovereign's power. And as proud as Bloodwave was, he knew it in his bones: all of the House of Night could unite, and they would still have no chance against him.
"So what? Are we just going to wait to fade into nothingness? Fester in our own weakness while another clan takes our rightful spot?" Scylla demanded. Her eyes went to her grandfather. "We are already weaker than Song and Valor. We also get far fewer recruits than they do. How long is it going to take before Immortal Flame overcomes us, too?"
Knossos exhaled slowly, looking far older and more tired than he had seen him since Nightwalker's disappearance. "So what do you suggest? Try to do what Valor just tried and failed to do? Bow our head to Song? Raise our own Sovereign?"
Bloodwave grimaced at the last question. It wasn't the first time it was discussed, and he suspected it would be a recurring discussion from now on.
They had already contemplated the possibility after finding out about the Sovereigns. They had shot it down back then, and they would shoot it down now, too. It was simply too risky.
The House of Night had four pillars: Knossos, Typhaon, Charibdys, and himself.
If they wanted to have any chance at succeeding, all of them would have to go in, and that would leave their clan completely undefended in the process.
They weren't worth the trouble right now. Strong as the Sovereigns might be, they would have to chase them all the way to the Stormsea, where they would have to battle endless Nightmare Creatures and fight them on their own turf.
The amount of casualties they would take in the process was simply not worth it. It was the reason they could still be independent despite how much both clans wanted their allegiance. But if they weren't around to act as a deterrent... Neither Song nor Valor were the kind to just ignore such a chance to forcibly make their clanmates bend the knee.
Maybe they would triumph, at which point they could take back what was stolen, but Bloodwave was a realist, and, despite his pride, he knew that he didn't have it in him to go any further than he already had. He suspected the others thought the same, too.
Their best option was to wait, raise more Saints of their own, and once they had enough of them to defend the clan while they were gone, they could attempt it. It was a good plan, safe. The one that they had agreed on the first time they spoke about it, and the one they would likely agree on today.
It would also take a long time.
"If I may say something..." Naeve started, flinching back when all the attention was focused on him. "I think I have an idea."
-------------------------------------------
"Now, if you go to subsection 17A, you will see the projected results of this plan," Leah's voice droned on.
Jet felt like she had been scammed.
"Go challenge the third Nightmare," Wake of Ruin had said.
"Power, respect, and more money than you will know what to do with awaits you," he had promised.
He had made promises like that and a thousand more. And Jet, somehow, had allowed herself to be fooled.
Oh, they were true. She sure felt far more powerful, and some begrudging respect was there in the eyes of those who stared at her, along with fear. The money was nice, too.
What the old bastard had failed to mention was that her workload would triple. That she could tolerate. She was always in need of more carnage if she wanted to stay alive. Besides, now that she was a Saint, what had been a harrowing challenge before was a walk in the park.
What she could not tolerate was that she was also forced to sit in these nightmarishly boring meetings on a bi-weekly basis. "You are too important now to miss this," they had all said. "It's befitting of your new status to have a voice in the decisions made by the government," they insisted. She suspected this was Cor's revenge for the many times he had saddled him with paperwork.
Honestly, she would rather die and crawl out of a tomb once again than endure this a second longer.
"Also, we have to account for the damages to the structure..." Leah kept speaking.
Jet shared a commiserating glance with Winter. The other woman shrugged with a helpless smile, looking just as desperate for any distraction as she was.
They had been nothing but colleagues before challenging the Third Nightmare together. Friendly enough to work together when necessary, but nothing more. Now? After dealing with the horrors found in there? She could admit to considering her a friend.
As friends, she would surely back her up if she faked a heart attack to get out of the meeting, right?
No, it wouldn't work. Winter would fake it too, and it wouldn't be believable. Jet sighed dejectedly.
From the corner of her eye, she spotted Randall, listening attentively to what Leah was saying. Unlike Winter, she wasn't on the best terms with him. The old man was decent enough, but he was all business and duty. Boring, honestly.
She envied Jesse and Dale for being able to skip it. The number of Gates had steadily risen in the past month, and the two of them were dealing with another outbreak at that very moment.
Jet herself had just returned from facing one, making it the sixteenth she had contained since returning from the Nightmare two weeks ago. She was dearly hoping for another one, if only to escape this dreary place.
Leah stopped talking for a moment, and just as hope started swelling in Jet's chest at the idea that they were done, she pulled out an encyclopedia-thick folder filled with papers and resumed talking.
The door opened before she could get too deep into it, revealing a disheveled-looking Cor. Unlike usual, the old man did not carry the air of confidence and wisdom he usually did.
"Have you all seen the livestream?" he asked tiredly.
Jet shared a puzzled look with the others. She had been too busy to watch some streamer shouting exaggeratedly at a camera, and so had everyone else. She did notice a buzz when she arrived at headquarters, but she hadn't paid it attention.
Angela, the president, frowned, looking at him askance.
Cor sighed deeply and brought out his communicator, on which he tapped quickly a few times. That of everyone in the room pinged soon after, having received a video.
Shrugging, and quite thankful for the distraction, Jet started watching what looked like a very abridged retelling of whatever Cor was speaking about.
It started normally enough: a pre-teen introduced herself as Aiko, speaking about the incoming opening of a Gate. Then the camera panned to Changing Star and her cohort preparing to face it. She almost turned it off at that very moment, but she trusted Wake of Ruin enough to know he wouldn't waste their time. What followed was a conversation between her and the just-arrived Valor contingent.
Whatever they spoke about, she had no idea, since the pre-teen was too far away to have audio. Clearly nothing good, given that shortly after the Gate opened, Saint Madoc lunged at Changing Star, and both sides started fighting. They held surprisingly well; Changing Star did better than even she would have as a Master -as much as it stung to admit- but it was obvious the victorious side wouldn't be theirs.
Then the world dimmed, and someone appeared. She blinked in genuine surprise when Sunny, of all people, arrived -naked, for some unholy reason- and proceded to beat both the Valor contingent black and blue, then deal with most of the Gate single-handedly.
By the time she was done watching the abridged retelling, there was an expression of severe disbelief on her face. One that everyone else shared.
Sunny, a Sleeper, a fellow outskirt rat… had finally returned. That alone was already cause for celebration. Except that the crazy kid was not content with just returning from a death zone. No, he also had to do the impossible and beat a Third Nightmare as a Sleeper.
Honestly, she was feeling a little inadequate now.
Spurred on by the ridiculous thought, Jet laughed so hard her chest hurt.
When she saw the puzzled faces of her companions, she laughed even more. "Sorry, sorry," she apologized, wiping away the tears that had formed at the corners of her eyes. "It's hard to believe that the mouthy kid I watched over during his first Nightmare has caught up to me so fast."
Angela's eyes turned calculating. "Were you two close?"
Jet shrugged, already foreseeing what was about to be asked of her. "Kind of? He's not about to fight against two Saints and hordes of Nightmare Creatures for me-" and she would have to speak with him about that, why in the world would he protect Changing Star after what she had done? "-but he will probably listen to me if I ask for a talk."
The president nodded thoughtfully, her lips arched in one of her rare smiles. "Please ask him for one." She stared around the room, seeing the still-disbelieving stares everyone had. "Cheer up, won't you? Humanity has just gained another champion."
Randall did not seem convinced. "Is the kid reliable? No one can deny his strength, but he's also too young to be trusted. Spell, my own grandson, is older than him, and I wouldn't trust him with a pet rock."
Angela did not flinch. "At this point, I would take a five-year-old as long as they were a Saint."
"Did the situation get so much worse?" Winter asked curiously.
The president exhaled slowly, looking like she had just aged a decade in the span of a second. "You weren't a Saint before, so we didn't inform you. But, along with the already predicted Nightmare chain, we fear that…" Her voice faltered for a moment before she steeled it. "…that a category-six Gate is going to open in Antarctica."
Jet really felt like she had been scammed.
She listened to Winter and Randall demanding an explanation with half a mind, while the other half churned about what she had just found out.
The crazy kid was back. Another person who had gone through the same as she had had made it to the top of the food chain. Her heart would beat with joy if she wasn't dead.
Still, she inwardly lampooned the fact that he had done it so quickly after she did. Had she waited a little longer, he would have beaten her to it. The damn kid was crazy.
Jet did not need Angela's prodding; she would have contacted Sunny all on her own. She was already looking forward to their conversation.
-------------------------------------------
He drew the whetstone along the blade.
The sound was thin and precise, sharp enough to scrape at the nerves. It lingered in the air long after the stroke had finished.
"You failed me," he stated evenly.
Anvil did not look up. He did not need to.
"Brother-"
Steel met stone again. The sound rang harder this time, deliberate. A warning carved into the air.
"You failed me," he stated again, his tone just as mild as before.
No one dared to speak.
Silence settled over the room, heavy and obedient. Beneath the table came the soft betrayals of fear: boots shuffling, the shallow drag of breath, the faint creak of leather as muscles tensed. They were already bracing. Already preparing for the incoming punishment.
Anvil continued to sharpen the blade.
He did not need to. Memories were always sharp when summoned, their edge just as keen as the day they had been forged. And if they were not, he could refine steel with his will alone. Reshape it, perfect it, make it sing. He sharpened it by hand nonetheless.
For him, it was a ritual. The slow draw of stone against metal. The patient correction of imperfection. The illusion of control in the steady rhythm.
It reminded him of his father.
He had been young when he earned his first sword, a plain, unremarkable thing granted as a reward for completing one of Father's trials. He had treasured it. Polished it daily. Sharpened it obsessively.
Until the day it broke.
He had worn the edge too thin. Honed it past its limit. Loved it too much. When it met Madoc's blade, it shattered on impact.
Father had been patient in his disappointment.
"Too much care can be as dangerous as too little. Sometimes more," he had said. He had insisted that this too was a good lesson to be learned, then smiled at him and promised to gift him another when he had the chance.
Anvil had listened. He had nodded. Agreed with every point made by his father.
And yet, he couldn't stop thinking that if the blade had been worthy, it would not have broken.
He had not understood it then, but that was the day the seed for his dream had been planted: the dream of something flawless. A blade that could not chip. Could not crack. Could not fail.
Minutes passed as he continued the ritual. The whetstone whispered. The silence in the room tightened; their fear ripened, turned thick and heavy, almost palpable.
Good.
They had kept him waiting for months. Promised results and returned with empty hands. They could endure a few minutes more while he finished what he had begun.
He ran the whetstone against the blade one more time, and the blade sang. It was a faint sound, wrong, subtle.
A chip appeared along the edge. Then a hairline fracture, splintering through the steel like a fault line.
Anvil stared at it for a long moment. His grip tightened around the hilt, the leather groaning softly under his might. The blade cracked in his hand and collapsed into a scatter of sparks that died before they touched the floor.
Another disappointment. Expected, but disappointing nonetheless.
He lifted his gaze at last, to take in the other occupants of the room.
Jest was wearing one of his elegant suits, but he could see bandages peeking from underneath the sleeves, just like he could spot the pained winces he made at the smallest of movements.
Madoc was wearing armor. Unlike the older Saint, he had bandages covering his head too. His left arm was missing; the healers had tried to restore it, but without the appendage and with how much more pressing his other wounds were, they had been forced to give up.
Maybe he could craft him another one.
Looking the best of them all was Morgan. Aside from some bruises, she seemed perfectly healthy. That was only superficial, of course; Anvil could see deeper than that. She had been silent since her return, locked up in her own mind and barely engaging with the world. Even now, in his presence, she did not pay him mind, staring deeply at the far wall.
"Go on, explain yourselves," he ordered.
Jest opened his mouth, probably to start with one of his asinine jokes. Someone chose to speak before he could.
"We were defeated," Morgan said in a mild tone, eyes still not leaving the wall.
Irritation flared. "I told you to explain yourself."
Vermillion eyes flickered to meet his, and for a moment he was taken aback by what he saw. "And I said we were defeated."
He allowed a sliver of his will to permeate the room. The presence settled over their shoulders, heavy but not crushing. Yet.
Unlike any other time, Morgan did not flinch, still looking him in the eye.
"We failed," she reiterated evenly. "We had everything going for us, and we still failed."
"So you won't make an excuse?" Anvil quirked an eyebrow, surprised despite himself. "Very well, we will discuss your punishment later."
Morgan made a noise he almost mistook for a snort.
"Now tell me about the events."
Madoc coughed lightly, bringing attention to himself. "We engaged Changing Star-" Why did his brother sound so wistful? "-and her cohort shortly before the Gate opened due to Elegy of the End's actions. While not the optimal scenario, the battle was following our projected scenarios, and victory was inevitable. Then Sunless, the Black Star, appeared mid-battle. I tried to eliminate him before he could gather his bearings, but he was too strong and defeated us," he explained, voice filled with shame.
"Too strong? The kid is a damn monster," Jest sniggered and then winced in pain. "I have been reviewing the fight ever since it ended, and the only genuine mistake I can think of is not running away from the beginning."
Anvil was surprised despite not showing it.
That was tall praise, especially coming from someone as experienced as Jest. The boy was dangerous; his achievement alone already made him so. But the fact that he went on to defeat his two strongest Saints right after completing a Nightmare made him even more of one.
Anvil would have to study him in depth, find how the boy worked. If he could be of use, he might prove to be the greatest sword he had ever forged. If not, he would break him like he did with any other. The same with Changing Star.
"What of the broadcast? Why didn't our IT team deal with it?" he asked next, irritation subtly flaring along with his will. They would have to make an announcement soon if they didn't want to completely lose face. They still would, no matter what they said, but at least the damage could be mitigated.
"Well, it turns out that half the team was out on a poorly coordinated vacation," Jest began explaining. "Most of the remaining ones called in sick due to some sort of food poisoning. You could even say they were full of shit." He started to laugh, only to be silenced by a flare of Anvil's will. "...Right, and the remaining two did not show up to work or even give signals of being alive."
Madoc frowned. "Are they dead?"
"Oh no, not at all," a big smile split the old man's face. "They were found a few hours ago. Turns out the two of them were friends… very close friends. Together, but not together-together. Apparently, they ran into each other the night before by chance, started drinking, and one thing led to another." Jest shook his head in disappointment. "A pity. My bet was on the two of them finally sealing the deal during the next Awakened Ball."
Morgan broke out of her stupor to stare weirdly at the old Saint. "Why are you aware of all of this?"
Jest shrugged nonchalantly. "Do you have any idea how boring this clan is? Gossip is the only source of entertainment around."
Anvil did not pinch his nose. Neither did he exhale. It would be beneath him and the dignity he carried himself with.
It was a close thing.
"Black Star returning at the precise moment. The IT team being down. There is too much causality in this," he stated with narrowed eyes. "What do our diviners say? Is this Elegy of the End's doing?"
"They are not sure, just like always as of late," Jest answered calmly.
His eyes narrowed further. How could it be that a girl alone could do what a team of his best diviners had failed to?
Was everyone under his command truly that incompetent? Was there not a single decent sword under his command?
Anvil's will spread outward once more, its weight crushing this time. "Morgan, get to the bottom of this."
She stared at him for a long time, so long he started wondering if she had heard him.
What was wrong with her? A failure she might be, but not this much of one.
"No."
Surely, he had misheard. "What did you say?"
"I said no."
"You would dare disobey me?" His will intensified, slowly but surely crushing her against the chair she sat on.
She did not blink. "I do."
Anvil tilted his head, noticing at last the steel in his daughter's eyes. Now, this was interesting. It was still soft, still untested, but he saw genuine iron there at last. A promise for something more.
Had the failure been what she needed all along to truly bring out her potential? Was her will strong enough to prove herself worthy at last?
Morgan laughed lightly, a faint sound soon followed by a far more noticeable one. Soon, she was laughing openly, her shoulders shaking in an effort to keep herself together.
"I have been waiting for so long to see you looking at me like that," she said after stopping, bitter amusement coloring her voice. "And now that I finally see it?" She snorted derisively. "I don't want it."
Morgan sat up and turned around, walking toward the door.
Anvil felt a brief moment of disconnect, like he had just lost something he could not name but was precious beyond words.
"Where do you think you are going?" he asked sternly, ignoring the strange emotion.
She did not turn around. "Fuck you, Dad."
The short sentence was so surprising coming from his normally obedient daughter that he did not react in time. She left the room, and in mere moments, she had also left the castle, returning to the Waking World.
He turned to stare at his brother, feeling at a loss about what to do for the first time in forever. Madoc did not seem any more aware of what had just happened than he did.
"Seems like little Morgan has finally entered her rebellious phase," Jest commented lightly.
-------------------------------------------
The sweet smell of blood blanketed the room.
Seishan watched calmly as Hel slowly went through the entrails of a goat-like nightmare creature, her mind still being assaulted by the progressively harder-to-resist craving for the liquid of life.
For a moment, she allowed irritation to spike before she crushed it.
Yes, she had only returned today from her Second Nightmare.
Yes, she was tired, hungry, and craving a shower as much -or even more- than she craved the red liquid.
Yes, she was barely concealing how tempted she was to throw Hel aside and feast on the creature like a ravenous beast.
As usual, she acknowledged all of those little cravings and then ignored them. She was no animal -ironic, considering her flaw and divine lineage- and she refused to be led by her base instincts.
Almost mockingly, the smell flared, so close and delicious she could almost taste it on her tongue.
She diverted her attention to today's shocking revelation to distract herself. Sunless, a boy that she had all but forgotten about, had returned just yesterday. As a Saint. If Mother hadn't confirmed it herself, she wouldn't have believed it.
He hadn't left much of an impression on her. He looked competent enough, but not much more. In fact, the only notable thing she could remember about him was just how delicious his blood had smelled.
Seishan might have risked a bite if she wasn't sure that Changing Star would react poorly. A suspicion that had been proven true, given the charred remains of the two agents they had sent to kidnap him. At least, it had served as a good field test for the poison developed to counteract Changing Star's incredibly potent healing.
To think that unassuming boy had gone on to do something considered impossible. Spell, there were no records of a Sleeper challenging and overcoming a Second Nightmare. Asking one to overcome the Third was just prolonged execution.
If Sunless accepted her mother's offer, she would have to watch him closely, very closely. He was dangerous, very much so. Maybe she could acquire some of that delicious-smelling blood in the process…
Seishan cast the thought away. He was a Saint. One capable of defeating two others and a Gate at the same time. The chances of getting it without permission were close to zero. The exhaustion was affecting her more than she thought.
When the smell of the blood in the room flared once more, she returned her attention to the scene. Hel was still rummaging through the creature's entrails.
"How much longer?" Revel asked, the deep bags under her eyes making her look minutes away from falling asleep.
Seishan might have felt bad for her, if she weren't aware that her state was the result of spending the whole night reading one of her trashy novels. "Is it wrong to accidentally seduce the Goddess' husband?" Seriously, what was wrong with Revel? And with whoever had written that crap? And with herself for actually having her interest piqued?
It was the exhaustion; it had to be.
Thankfully, before she could fall deeper down that rabbit hole, Hel got up. She stepped calmly toward the table where they were all seated, dripping blood everywhere. She was doing it on purpose, she was sure of it.
"So? What can you tell us?" Eunbin asked.
Hel opened her mouth-
"Skip the part about all of us dying, please," Moonveil pleaded.
The Seer glared at her. "Why bother asking for my prophecies if you will ignore them?"
Revel groaned, letting her head thud against the table. "Can't you two bicker later? Some of us need to sleep."
"Some of us need a shower, too," Seishan said, subtly edging her chair away. Her sister could be such a slob sometimes.
Revel made a sound that Seishan chose to ignore for her own sanity.
"My adorable daughter, please go on," Mother asked gently.
"Fine, fine, you all are no fun," Hel grumbled, then took a deep breath.
"When the last dusk bleeds into a sunless dawn,a shadow vast enough to swallow the turning world shall rise again.In its wake, the seas will churn with wrath,the mountains will split,and sorrow will fall like unending ash.
Three thrones shall shatter in a war,whose thunder splits sky and earth.From a never-ending abyss,and from the depths of fractured dreams,a being of boundless madness, and unfathomable power shall stir.
An abomination, wrought of older sins,shall unmake the shadow,yet what is lost may not be forgotten.For from its dying echo it will return,and the darkness reborn shall tower greater than before,and with it, a star brighter than all dawns shall ascend.
When the void at last rends its ancient chains,and the world teeters upon its final breath,the shadow and star, entwined in fate and ruin,shall close the wound of nothingness,with that act, surrendering more than can be owned."
In the silence that followed, Seishan was wholly aware of the way her heart had started thundering. It wasn't the first time she had heard a prediction like that from her sister. She wished it were only the tenth. But there was something about this one that gave her goosebumps.
"Do you know what that means?" Eunbin asked, frowning in concentration as she tried to decipher it.
Hel shrugged nonchalantly. "It's pretty obvious."
Moonveil tilted her head, looking at her strangely. "That's easily within the top five of your most vague prophecies. How is it obvious?"
The Seer lifted her chin, looking at her smugly. "Maybe if you weren't a brute who only knows how to swing a sword, you would be able to understand it."
Seishan rolled her eyes and gently slapped the back of Hel's head. Why did she feel like the only adult around?
"Can you please explain it before I fall asleep?" Revel mumbled.
"I still think it's obvious, but fine." The smug aura around Hel increased. "The shadow is obviously Sir Sunless. He has just returned, and his aspect is directly related to it, after all. The star is obviously-"
"Yes, Changing Star is a likely-"
"-me."
Seishan looked at her sister in open confusion. A stare that her sister returned with pity.
"Poor you," Hel lamented, softly patting her hand. "You are so tired you don't even know what you are saying."
"As amusing as the idea is, I will have to agree with Shan on this," Eunbin commented lightly. "I cannot blame you, though; the newest Saint looks rather… appetizing."
"Hey! I saw him first!" The Seer complained. "And it's totally me."
Mother laughed, amusement shining clearly in her eyes. "Do explain yourself, little Hel."
"It's obvious," she insisted. "What this means is that the world can only be saved by the two of us." She sighed melodramatically. "I understand, I truly do. I guess I will have to marry Sir Sunless and have a dozen children."
"Do you?" Eunbin asked, just as amused as Mother was.
"Of course!" She agreed. "Plus, that way he will also join our clan. Win-win!"
"Keep dreaming," Moonveil snorted.
Hel looked at her, horror dawning in her expression. "I understand now, you want him for yourself."
Seishan did her best to ignore whatever Revel was saying; there was only madness in listening to her mumblings. Why she felt the need to enunciate an N, a T, and an R, she did not get. And neither did she want to.
"Not my type," Moonveil answered, shaking her head.
Hel narrowed her eyes in open distrust but chose to let it go.
"What are the odds of this prophecy being accurate?" she asked, if only to get the conversation moving. The smell of blood was starting to get overwhelming.
"If I'm the star, a hundred percent," she said, still not letting go. "If not… eh, about forty-six percent."
Seishan nodded. "So, not trustworthy." She ignored Hel's indignant cry.
"Amusing as that was, we still don't have any idea how to approach Changing Star and Black Star," Eunbin commented idly.
Mother smiled, looking confident. "Oh, there is no need. I know very well what to offer."
Seishan blinked owlishly as another pang of hunger hit her. "What was the point of this, then?"
Her eyes twinkled. "My amusement."
"...I'll go rest," Seishan said in a carefully even tone as she got up. Behind her, she could hear Revel start snoring.
She left before any of them could rope her into another ridiculous conversation, woefully regretting not skipping the meeting like Lonesome Howl and Silent Stalker had done.
And still, she wondered what ace Mother could have under her sleeve to be so confident.
-------------------------------------------
Asterion allowed himself a thin smile, the expression sharp against the sterile vastness.
The sphere of will around him trembled faintly as he exhaled. A brief laugh followed it, tinged with amazement and delight.
He tilted his head, listening but not listening. There was nothing in front of him, and still, through his marks, he could see. Through them, the world whispered, and he listened eagerly.
Little Nephis had just faced a great peril. One in which she had proven herself worthy of her revered bloodline.
How dearly he wished he could have been in the room when dear Anvil found out. His face would be carved in steel, as always, but his emotions… his emotions would be delectable.
And then there was the other name. Sunless. Asterion's lips curved further.
"A Sleeper," he murmured softly, as though testing the absurdity of it against the vacuum. "A Sleeper who overcame the Third Nightmare."
Even among Sovereigns, that phrase would draw silence.
The Third Nightmare was not meant to be survived by the unprepared. It was a crucible designed to shatter Ascended, to grind them into dust and carve divinity from agony. A Sleeper was scarcely more than an ember in comparison.
And yet… that fantastic boy had done it.
"Marvelous," Asterion breathed.
He did not feel admiration, but pure, unmitigated delight.
The world had rules. He enjoyed rules. They made it all the more satisfying when he found a way to break them. And that boy… he might have broken no rule, but he had bent it so far it might as well have happened.
A Sleeper who conquered the Third Nightmare was not merely talented. He was either catastrophically lucky… or profoundly dangerous. In his opinion, he must have been both to truly succeed.
Asterion's eyes flicked toward Earth, blue and distant.
And then, inevitably, his thoughts turned to little Nephis again. Apparently, she and this anomaly were… involved.
He laughed.
The sound echoed within his fragile atmosphere, rich and unrestrained. It had been a long time since anything had genuinely amused him so much.
"Women of the Immortal Flame," he mused. "You two do have a talent for finding the most troublesome companions."
Should he be concerned?
He was her uncle, or at least that was what Broken Sword had said once. Should he have a talk with the boy? Intimidate him like in those weird movies that Smile insisted on making him watch?
He tapped a finger against his arm in thought.
If Sunless truly possessed the audacity to challenge a Third Nightmare as a Sleeper, then he would inevitably collide with forces far beyond his current reach: other Saints, great Clans, the Sovereigns, and, of course, himself.
"Should I protect you from him," Asterion wondered idly, "or protect him from you?"
The idea of Nephis being endangered by romance was almost comical. She was more likely to set the world alight than be consumed by it. And yet, as amusing as the idea sounded, he couldn't allow it. He still had to devour it, after all.
His gaze drifted to the dark expanse behind him, where the presence of his unholy neighbor pressed like a distant, malignant star.
The calling throbbed again, ever-present and insistent. Maddeningly so.
Yes, perhaps it was time to return.
A Sleeper who conquered the Third Nightmare.
An Ascended with an unquenchable thirst for revenge.
A world teetering on the brink of revelations it was not prepared to understand.
The Moon had been an enlightening exile, but Earth… Earth was about to become truly entertaining.
Asterion straightened his head, cutting off the connection.
"Very well, Sunless," he said quietly, voice warm with anticipation. "Let us see whether you are an accident… or another delectable meal."
-------------------------------------------
Cassie allowed herself to exhale tiredly.
The sound was small, brittle. It did nothing to ease the tightness in her chest. The exhaustion that made her fingers tremble.
It had been a long day -just as long as yesterday had been- and it would stretch longer still. Her hands did not stop moving. The chisel traced careful lines into the wood, each rune carved perfectly. It would be necessary soon.
As she worked, she drifted through her marks.
First, there was the Government Master, Leah. No new information there. She was listening as the president explained the situation to the newborn Saints. There were no disruptions. No surprises. Good.
Naeve and Morgan advanced along the paths Cassie had nudged them toward months ago. Hel's latest prophecy brushed dangerously close to one Cassie had once seen herself, a future that was just as bleak as the original fate had been.
She discarded the thought easily. That future was long shattered. She had made sure of it.
And yet, she still worried. There was nothing her Parent loved more than to surprise her in the worst of ways.
She cycled through more marks until finally, she reached for Sunny through Kai's eyes.
He was sound asleep. His chest rose and fell in a slow, heavy rhythm, exhaustion having claimed at last what he had denied himself for far too long. His body was collecting the debt with ruthless interest now.
She had been aware of what her choice could possibly lead to. She had been ready to hear of his death. To remember him with a heavy heart and tear-stained eyes.
Instead, he was alive. And everything was worse for it.
She loved him like a brother. It did not change what she would have to do.
Cassie forcibly cast the thought away. There was no point in dwelling on it when she wasn't even sure if she would be forced to carry through those steps.
Her attention returned to his calm, sleeping face. They had agreed he would not wake alone. Soon, Nephis would take her place on watch. Cassie made sure of that, too. A subtle adjustment, a message passed along a careful chain. Small manipulations. Necessary ones.
She braced herself and activated her aspect. Pain lanced through her mind, sharp and searing. She did not falter, did not look away. When it ended, she nodded thoughtfully.
So far, everything was unfolding as planned. The thought filled her with dread.
She hated that there was a plan. Hated that she was the kind of person who could weigh Sunny's life against the survival of the future and find it expendable. Hated that she would do it again.
Hated it because she would.
If Fate demanded a sacrifice, if she was forced to choose once again… she would sacrifice him without a second thought.
There had to be another way. One that she would feel like a fool for not finding earlier, one in which all of them would end happy.
If there was, she was yet to find it. The futures she had seen…
"I'm sorry," she whispered to no one, the words heavy with mourning.
There was anger, too. At Fate for forcing her hand. At the world, for demanding it of her. At herself, for going through with it.
She kept carving even as her blindfold grew wet.
-------------------------------------------
Nephis walked calmly into the room, her echoing steps barely disturbing the quiet. She offered a small nod to Kai as she did.
The handsome man returned the gesture with a gentle smile, a trace of apology lingering in his eyes for ending his watch early. He did not need to speak for her to understand. After reassuring him in a quiet voice that there was no problem, she moved past him. The remaining distance felt longer than it was, each step measured, until she finally reached the chair resting directly in front of Sunny and lowered herself into it.
For a moment, she simply sat there.
Even now, as she stared at his mesmerizing face -so calm in sleep, so unguarded- she found herself at a loss. Words, which had always obeyed her so easily in battle or command, abandoned her here. She still didn't know what to say or do.
"I'm sorry," she whispered at last. The words felt worn, overused, even though she had barely used them. And yet they were the only ones she could offer. She had defaulted to them once more, as if repetition alone could bridge the distance between them.
He stirred briefly, almost as though her voice had reached him through whatever dreams he drifted in, and her heart leaped into her throat. Her fingers tightened imperceptibly against the armrests.
She wasn't ready.
Maybe she never would be, she realized.
Despite the sudden movement, he did not wake. However, his face scrunched slightly, a faint frown marring his otherwise peaceful expression.
Her own brows drew together in concern. Was he having a night terror, perhaps? He must have seen enough horrific sights to be haunted by them even while resting. The thought made her chest tighten.
Without hesitation, she summoned Nightmare, the air shifting subtly as the steed answered her call. She ordered it to watch over his dreams, to shield him from whatever horrors sought to follow him into sleep.
No sooner had she given the command than a strange heaviness settled over her. A wave of drowsiness crashed into her without warning, thick and suffocating. Her vision blurred at the edges. She tried to steady herself, to push back against the unnatural pull, but her eyelids grew unbearably heavy.
They closed before she even had time to realize she was under attack.
When she opened them again, the manor was gone.
Instead, she stood in a field that stretched far beyond sight, a vast sea of white lilies swaying softly beneath a gentle, whispering breeze. The moon hung above, impossibly close and luminous, its silver glow washing over the landscape and making each delicate petal shimmer like scattered pearls.
For a moment, she simply stood there, disoriented, before slowly turning her gaze across the endless field of white.
That was when she saw them.
First, she saw Sunny.
He lay with his head resting comfortably on another's lap, dark hair spilling softly. There was a warm smile on his face. Open, unreserved, untouched by pain or caution. He looked… happy. Truly happy.
The sight struck her harder than any blade. Jealousy rose within her, sudden and fierce, at seeing such an expression directed toward someone else.
Then she looked at the woman.
Her beauty was beyond words, almost ethereal. Silky dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing a face of delicate perfection. Deep black eyes gazed down at Sunny with quiet tenderness. She was a vision of grace and elegance.
But… Nephis did not miss that something was wrong.
Cracks covered the woman's form -small at first glance, but deeper the more she paid attention- splintering across her skin like fractures in porcelain, as though she were slowly breaking apart.
-------------------------------------------
All across the world, whispers of the newborn Saint traveled. Tales of his heroism spread. They spoke of a Black Star, cast down from the heavens long ago, now rising once more to its rightful place.
Fame turned into respect.
Respect turned into admiration.
And admiration turned into worship.
In a place that was, yet wasn't. In a location that paid no heed to any rule but its own. In the cradle of everything that ever was and ever will. It rested.
It had slept through untold eons, long enough for countless stars to be born, burn, and die, while It endured the same unyielding pain. A torment without name or measure.
It was nothing now but a hollow husk, corrupted, fractured, a shadow of what once had been.
And yet, for a single, brief instant, It dreamed of something different.
A dark-haired boy. Lost. Fractured. Forced to navigate endless trials and merciless choices. Defiant, even as the certainty of death loomed at every step.
And in that dream, It felt it: a fleeting breath of relief, a whisper of warmth in the endless cold. For a heartbeat, It was not in agony. For a heartbeat, It remembered what it had forgotten, what it had been before the darkness.
For an impossibly short yet long instant, It stirred from slumber.
The dream woven by the Daemon of Fate's Spell claimed It once more before it could do anything further.
And yet, it would not be long before It stirred again.