The battle had reached its conclusion. Swiftly, the fragmented ranks of the Sleepers retreated toward the Maw of the Catacombs, their movements heavy with the weight of exhaustion and the memory of the Saint's terrible power.
Fortunately, the entrance was not entirely lost. Though debris and shattered stone had partially choked the mouth of the tunnel, it was a simple matter to clear the rubble. The Sleepers slipped back into the relative safety of the earth, beginning the long march through the subterranean dark.
Caster moved with a sluggish, uncharacteristic effort. He was a man besieged twice over, afflicted by the lingering touch of the Crimson Blight and the accelerating toll of his own Flaw. He appeared to be in his early forties, his features prematurely aged and worn. By mutual silent agreement, the group ensured he was shielded from any further conflict; to draw upon his Aspect now would be a sentence of death.
Gunlaug followed close behind, his skin a shade of sickly, unnatural pale. Like Caster, he remained under the shadow of the Blight, a condition that stifled the Blessing of the Fire and left his inherent healing as a Dormant stunted and thin. He bore moderate wounds from the exchange with the Legionnaire, each one weeping sluggishly through his bandages.
Effie walked among the ranks, armless but undaunted. Her spirit remained as vibrant as her usual self, sustained by the knowledge that Nephis had survived the battle. Since she remained untainted by the Blight, she knew her body would eventually be healed by Nephis.
Gemma had already begun to mend, his vitality regenerating the worst of his ruptures. He was drained, a state shared by every soul who had stood at the front, leaving only the archers and rear guards in their peak condition.
Sid moved with a surprising lightness, having navigated the storm of the Legionnaire through sheer caution. She had been a ghost during the exchange, striking in fleeting, calculated arcs before vanishing back into the dust.
Tessai had survived the crushing impact, though he remained entirely out of commission. A horrifying, pulpy wound marred his side where the Disaster had struck him, a reminder of the fragility of a mortal shell against a Transcendent force.
Kai was a still being carried on Sid's shoulders. He remained adrift in a deep, dark silence, his life hanging by a weathered thread. He had taken the full weight of the Legionnaire's aspergillum, a blow that had sent him hurtling through the air and directly through a stone partition. Even with the intervention of the white flames, the trauma to his mind was severe; it would be a week at the minimum before he could even hope to stir.
Seishan moved near the vanguard, her pace steady despite the body on her back. Her constitution, bolstered by the Divine Lineage of Beast God, granted her a physical resilience that neared the supernatural. Her transformation only served to further anchor her strength, allowing her to bear the aftermath of the Saint's fury better than any other.
And finally, there was Nephis. She rested limp against Seishan's back, her consciousness entirely submerged. Her arms were a map of charred flesh, the testament of a soul that had set itself ablaze. Despite the natural alabaster of her skin, she was pale — translucently, unnaturally white.
Her heart still beat, yet the state of her spirit remained a dark, uncertain question.
Regrouping with the remaining five hundred and six Sleepers was a blur of triage and shifting resources. The wounded were separated by the severity of their ails. Under normal conditions, Nephis would have been the beacon of their recovery, but she was now the one who required the most desperate care.
They eventually settled into the darkness of the depths. Gunlaug and Seishan shared the burden of command while Changing Star slept a deep, dreamless sleep. She was placed upon one of the few functional beds, lying in a stillness for days. Beside her lay Kai, his condition no less grim.
Effie visited often, a task made difficult by her own state. Without arms, she relied on the others to feed her, yet she remained a constant presence at the bedside. Gunlaug made regular appearances as well, driven not by warmth, but by the cold calculation that the loss of either hero would be a catastrophic blow to them all as a whole.
Caster drifted in and out, performing his duty on the periphery. Though he abstained from his Aspect, he remained a potent force against the Awakened and Fallen abominations that occasionally prowled the catacomb entrances.
But it was Seishan who remained. She spent every possible hour anchored to a chair between the two beds. Her worry for Nephis was a sharp, biting thing, though she did not neglect the archer beside her.
She had known Kai since he had first set foot on the Forgotten Shore; they had shared years in this hell. To watch him fail to wake would be a loss she would truly feel. But the thought of Nephis — a sister she had only just found — slipping away was a different kind of terror.
If Nephis died here, Seishan was not sure what would become of her restraint. She would weep, certainly, but the grief would likely manifest as a cold, irrational violence against this world had dared to take her family.
She sat in the dim light, checking their pulses and trickling water into their mouths. There was no point in food; neither had the strength to chew.
Days bled into one another in a haze of uncertainty. Life in the Catacombs continued, the Sleepers growing in the dark, until the seventh day arrived.
Seishan felt the weight of exhaustion pulling at her eyelids, her head eventually resting against the edge of Nephis's mattress. Just as she drifted into a shallow slumber, she felt a sudden, frantic movement.
It came from both beds at once.
On the seventh day… Changing Star and Nightingale opened their eyes.
—
"—Neph!"
For a fleeting second, as Nephis's eyes drifted open, she thought she glimpsed a vision of the past. It was a fragment of familiarity she desperately wished to hold — the delicate blue eyes that saw nothing, framed by beautiful blond hair, and the onyx gems of a boy with short, roughed black hair. The girl who had guided her, and the boy she had taught in return.
The images dissolved like a gray fog, thin and untouchable. The voice that pulled her back was real, and full of a sharp, anchoring relief.
"Nephis! How are you feeling?"
It was Seishan. Nephis felt herself being gently guided into a sitting position, a groan escaping her lips as a wave of aching pain flared through her muscles. Despite the protest of her body, she found herself smiling; it was an instinctive reaction that preceded her awareness.
"H—Hey..."
Seishan let out a sound of pure, unadulterated joy, though she quickly turned her gaze toward the other bed. Nephis followed her look, and had she the strength, she would have beamed.
Kai was groaning, his hands clutching his head as he struggled against the fog of his trauma. Unlike Nephis, his movements were already beginning to regain their natural, fluid grace.
He let out a loud, pained noise that echoed off the stone walls.
"Aghk—! Gods, I haven't felt this bad in a long while...!"
Seishan raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching with the ghost of a smirk.
"I'm surprised this isn't your first time experiencing such a level of agony. Kai, truly, you should be dead."
The Nightingale blinked, his focus sharpening as he looked Seishan in the eye. He offered a wry, tired smile before turning his attention to Nephis.
"You... you saved me, didn't you? Thank you."
Nephis simply nodded. Her throat felt tight and scorched, and her voice remained a hoarse, rough thing she wasn't ready to test. She remained silent, content to exist in the moment.
…The tranquility was short-lived. The heavy wooden door burst open with a resounding bang, and Nephis felt an internal sigh ripple through her.
'Damn.'
The small room was instantly flooded with people. Seishan immediately began to cuss them out with a vitriol that was as rhythmic as it was fierce, a display that brought a genuine chuckle to Nephis's throat. It was a beautiful, chaotic sight.
'They all survived...'
Effie, Caster, Gunlaug, Sid, Tessai, and Gemma crowded the space. Effie was even attempting to give Kai a massive hug, a difficult feat considering she currently possessed no arms. Nephis frowned at the sight of the empty sleeves; she made a silent Vow to mend that the moment she could stand.
The room was filled with faces — some twisted with concern, others bright with relief, and many saddened by the unnaturally pale, blackened state of her skin.
To the surprise of everyone present, Nephis let her head fall back against the pillow and laughed. A single, clear tear traced a path down her cheek.
One by one, the others joined in. The sound of their shared relief filled the chamber, a great moment that washed away the lingering gloom of the catacombs.
The majority were still standing. Though twenty-six sleepers had perished in the battle, the heartbeat of the Sleepers was still strong. Nephis and Kai had returned from the brink, and one Disaster of the North had been put to rest.
As Nephis felt herself pulled into a combined embrace by Seishan and Kai, while Effie beamed down at her with a wide, infectious grin, she smiled with a brilliance that rivaled her own flames.
'What isn't there to be happy about?'
In this fleeting space, the crushing weight of her grief subsided. The faces of those she cherished were not lost to the fog, but reflected in the living, breathing souls surrounding her.
For a moment, she was… alleviated.
—
Seishan's support was a firm, grounding force as she guided Nephis through the heart of the camp. The air was thick with the smell of damp earth and the low mumble of hundreds of recovering humans.
Nephis felt like a ghost inhabiting a scorched shell, her movements stiff and her muscles screaming, but she refused to be carried any further.
When they reached Effie, Nephis didn't wait for a greeting. She simply reached out with her blackened, trembling hands and grasped the empty sleeves of the huntress.
White flames erupted. The brilliance was localized and intense, a searing blessing that forced nearby Sleepers to shield their eyes. Effie let out a sharp gasp, her face contorting as bone and muscle knit together in a graceful, miraculous surge of growth.
When the fire subsided, two healthy, powerful arms were once again attached to Effie's shoulders.
Nephis immediately went limp, her strength evaporating rapidly. Seishan caught her before she could hit the ground, her grip inexorable as she stabilized the younger girl's weight. Nephis didn't lose consciousness, but she leaned heavily into Seishan's shoulder, her breath coming in ragged, shallow draws.
"Tell me… what have I missed while I was asleep?"
Seishan's exotic features remained largely reserved, though a trace of cold concern lingered in her eyes. She adjusted her hold, making sure Nephis's feet were steady.
"Not much of note, truly. We have been plagued by the occasional foray of Nightmare Creatures, but nothing that could not be handled. Gemma and Caster have been manning the entrance. Gunlaug is still piteous — his wounds remain open, and the Crimson Blight continues to mock his healing factor."
Seishan paused, her gaze narrowing as she studied the texture of Nephis's skin. She reached out with a thumb, tracing the edge of a fading burn.
"Actually… your Blight. It appears to have vanished entirely."
Nephis went quiet, her eyes drifting toward the dark ceiling of the catacombs. She felt the hollow space in her essence where the vile infection of the West had once pulsed and found only a scorched void.
"I think I burned it away. Completely. It seems the Blessing of my Flame was simply not hot enough before. It's a bit funny, isn't it? I just needed to… burn."
Seishan's expression shifted, her eyes reflecting a momentary, chilling depth. Nephis's voice had carried a distant, haunting quality, as if she were still standing in the center of that white flame.
Seishan let out a soft sigh, dismissing the darkness with a shake of her head.
"You have replenished our defenses by mending Effie; that is a significant asset recovered. Even Kai is back in his peak shape, which is a detail I find particularly… irritating. He was struck by a Saint and yet he is entirely fine, while you remain a walking wreck."
"My soul took a great deal of damage to fuel that final strike. It is a price I paid gladly, though I have no intention of repeating that ever again..."
They walked in silence for a time, heading toward the makeshift kitchen for whatever sustenance could be spared. The atmosphere between them was one of reserved, mutual understanding.
Finally, Seishan glanced sideways, her voice dropping to a low murmur.
"Did you gain anything from the Legionnaire? He spoke of giving you an Echo before he passed."
Nephis's eyes widened, her exhaustion momentarily pushed aside by a jolt of realization.
"Oh. Right…"
She focused her inner sight, calling forth the runes of the Spell that floated before her eyes. Seishan watched her, a visible sense of relief softening her inexorable mask.
"So you truly possess a Transcendent Echo. That will be a monumental force to have at our side, once you have the essence to fuel it. I am still processing the fact that we felled such a thing."
Nephis's expression froze. Her pupils contracted as the detailed descriptions of the runes began to manifest.
Echo Name: Alexander of the Anointed Legion.
Echo Rank: Transcendent.
Echo Class: Beast.
Echo Attributes: [The War], [Unyielding Zenith], [King's Blade], [The Anointed], [Flame of Divinity].
Echo Abilities: [Kirin], [Static Web], [Thunder Horn], [Sky Caller].
Echo Description: [Thousands of years ago, Alexander gave his life and soul to the Anointed Legion, yet he and his brothers failed their sacred duty and were lost to the silence of a long seal. After eons of waiting in the dark, his ancient vigil was finally brought to an end by the accursed flame of the Changing Star.]
"What is it?"
"It's just… this Echo. It seems a little too strong, even for a Saint. Just what type of monster was Alexander?"
Attribute: [The War]
Attribute Description: [You have inherited the lineage of the War God.]
'An Heir of War? Interesting…'
Attribute: [Unyielding Zenith]
Attribute Description: [Your mind is a fortress of light, possessing high resistance to the terrors of the soul.]
'High resistance to both Soul and Mind attacks…'
Attribute: [King's Blade]
Attribute Description: [You are the master of every weapon, no style of combat is beyond your reach.]
'A master of all weapons? Alexander will do well for a teacher.'
Attribute: [The Anointed]
Attribute Description: [You carry the blessing of a King and the grace of Shadow, allowing you to defy death or sacrifice your soul to persist as an Echo.]
'…Huh?'
Attribute: [Flame of Divinity]
Attribute Description: [Your soul is aflame with the light of divinity.]
'Similar to my own Attribute of Divinity, his is just higher.'
"He bears War God's Lineage, Shan. And his attributes are… though simple, they are also terrifying."
Nephis began to read the runes aloud, her voice carrying an analytical tone as she listed the legacies of the fallen Saint.
"Attribute: 'The War.' Considering the antiquity of Constellia, he likely inherited this lineage directly rather than being born with it. 'Unyielding Zenith' — his mind is a fortress of light, granting him a near-impenetrable resistance to the terrors of the soul. He is highly resistant to both mind and soul attacks. King's Blade denotes him as a master of every weapon; no style of combat remains beyond his reach. And The Anointed... it is a blessing of a King combined with the grace of Shadow, allowing him to persist as an Echo. I suspect that grace originates from the leader of the Anointed Legion, as it doesn't fit the King and what we know of him."
Nephis paused, her breath hitching as she scanned the combat abilities of the fallen warrior.
"His dormant ability is Kirin — his body acts as a vessel for the storm, imbuing every strike with the essence of lightning. Static Web, his Awakened ability, binds enemies in tethers of electricity — a near-instant trap, I imagine. His Ascended ability, Thunder Horn, mends his flesh with the roar of thunder. That may be his most formidable ability; possessing a healing ability of that magnitude, especially one so integrated into a storm themed aspect, is exceedingly rare. Finally, his Transcendent ability, Sky Caller... it summons the skies themselves, turning his weapons into immaterial lightning. It is not a self-transformation, but one that reshapes the world around him."
'How odd. Despite being a child of War, his Aspect is perfectly attuned to the Storm God? This only reinforces my suspicion. He was not born with the War God's Lineage; he obtained it later in his life. Perhaps in the same manner as that ghoul. For most, an Aspect is connected to the Lineage one is born with. That was the case for me, at least.'
Nephis remained fixed on the runes, her mind racing through the tactical realities of a Saint who commanded both the absolute mastery of war and the fury of the storm.
"It makes one wonder... how did he obtain the War God's Lineage back then? The Gods would have still been walking the world, which would make securing their blood an impossible task. And did all the Anointed possess such a gift, or was it a privilege reserved for Alexander?"
Seishan gave a slow nod.
"If I had to hazard a guess, their King was responsible. I suspect he was a Sovereign, much like Mother. A being of that caliber would be capable of wresting blood from a God. But... I find myself deeply unsettled."
Because Seishan was still supporting Nephis — who had stumbled again after mending Effie — the two were standing in close proximity. Nephis turned her head, briefly surprised by the closeness, but she did not draw away.
"Why?"
Seishan's exotic features were clouded by an uncharacteristic expression of doubt.
"Think of the patterns. The Disaster that ravaged the Bright Castle wielded what we call the Red Mist. The Disaster of the West produces the Crimson Blight. And the Anointed Legion are shrouded in crimson bandages."
Nephis tilted her head. "They all bear the color of blood. What of it?"
Seishan appeared to shudder as a dark memory resurfaced. Her voice was hesitant, almost a whisper.
"The southern Disaster's red mist made me lose my mind. You know my Flaw — I have a craving for blood that is entirely beyond my control. But when that Disaster appeared, even from a great distance, its mere presence completely overwhelmed my senses. That was why Kai found me unconscious; I had to knock myself out. I was terrified of what I would become if I remained awake."
Seishan looked Nephis directly in the eye, her gaze cold and intense.
"We now know at least one member of the Anointed Legion is an Heir to the War God. I suspect that the Southern Disaster is an Heir of the Beast God, just as I am. What if every one of the Disasters is an Heir to a God?"
Nephis felt a chill that had nothing to do with the damp air of the catacombs.
"I… see. If we recount the threats... the Disaster of the North is the Anointed Legion, a collective of souls. The Disaster of the West is the 'Silver Wing of the Evil Star', according to what Gunlaug and Gemma found. The East is a total void of information; I only know it comprises seven souls because of Cassie's vision — so most likely a Corrupted Titan. And if the Disaster of the South possesses the Beast God's Lineage, its power to subvert your senses makes terrifying sense. It even clouded my own perception; I knew something was wrong that day, yet I couldn't grasp it until it was too late."
Seishan nodded grimly.
"I hope I am wrong. If they all carry a Divine Lineage, they are more powerful than we feared. But, speaking of power... why don't you summon him? Alexander."
They came to a halt. Behind them, Effie approached with her newly mended arms, followed by Kai, who was still struggling to walk in a straight line. The archer took to the air, floating toward them with a bobbing motion.
They gathered around Nephis as white sparks began to coalesce in the dim light. Within moments, the towering, battle-scarred figure of the Legionnaire stood before them.
Kai whispered, his voice light with relief.
"We have a Saint on our side. That has to make things easier."
Effie shot him a sharp, warning glare.
"Don't jinx us, Kai. I beg of you! We've had enough calamities for one week!"
Kai coughed into his hand, and Nephis felt a small chuckle rise in her throat. She began to inspect the Echo, but her amusement turned to immediate surprise.
Without a single command from Nephis, the Echo sank into a deep, knightly bow. It was a gesture of respect that none of them expected.
Then, the Saint stood up and began to… walk away.
Further… and further…
And further.
'Wait...'
Aren't Echoes supposed to be hollow vessels, entirely bound to the will of their master? Alexander was moving with a terrifying, independent purpose.
Seishan, Kai, and Effie watched in stunned silence as Nephis vocally commanded the Echo to halt. Alexander ignored her, his heavy tread echoing as he marched toward the exit of the catacombs.
He passed Caster, who was currently occupied with a bowl of thin soup. The sight was almost comedic; Caster caught sight of the Disaster, spat out his meal, and dropped his bowl, his face turning a shade of white that rivaled Nephis's alabaster skin.
Gunlaug fared no better. The once-ruler of the Bright Castle stumbled in his haste to get out of the way, landing flat on his face as the Saint of Constellia passed him by without a second glance.
Nephis turned slowly to her comrades, her expression a fragile tapestry of confusion and an uncertain, flickering smile.
She stuttered, something completely unlike her.
"I—I suppose he is... intending to hunt? I would accompany him, if my current condition were not so dire."
Kai scratched the back of his head, his gaze following the Saint's retreating back.
"All the better for us, I guess. Though you should probably inform the rest of the camp that you possess that Echo. It is going to give a few people heart attacks."
Seishan gave a sharp nod of agreement.
"I nearly suffered one myself. Gods, he is... profoundly imposing."
Effie was the only one who appeared unshaken. It was a practiced mask; her legs were trembling with a tremor that everyone noticed.
"Y-Yeah... glad to have the big guy on our side."
Kai shot her a look of genuine confusion.
"He is smaller than you, though?"
Effie's eyes narrowed into a dangerous glint.
"Is there something you are trying to tell me, Kai?"
"Not at all!"
Kai was in no mood for Effie's physical antics; his body was not yet robust enough to weather her playful violence.
As the archer and the huntress drifted away, their voices falling into the natural cadence of their usual lighthearted bickering, Seishan watched Nephis. The younger girl was staring at the exit of the catacombs with an expression of lamentation.
"Do you truly wish to join the fray again so soon?"
Nephis lingered for a moment before shaking her head. The light from the entrance caught the silver of her hair.
"No... I was not thinking of joining him. I was simply... mourning those I cherish."
Seishan's features immediately softened into a somber mask.
"I see. I am sorry."
Nephis let out a chuckle that held no warmth whatsoever.
"What do you have to be sorry about? You were not the one who saw them to their ends."
"Neither were you, Nephis. How could you have known a Corrupted Devil would descend upon the Bright Castle? You could not have predicted that the boy, Sunless, would die either. None of us could have foreseen that tide of Nightmare Creatures."
Nephis looked away, her uncertainty reflecting the flickering lamplight of the tunnels. She wished to argue, to claim the weight of the fault as her own, yet she found that silence was the only mercy she could afford herself. To speak the truth or to deny it was a burden too heavy to bear.
She didn't realize a tear had escaped until Seishan's finger traced a slow path across her cheek. Nephis turned, her gaze wide and surprised.
Seishan let out a quiet, tired sigh. She adjusted her support, helping Nephis move away from the light of the exit.
"It is acceptable to weep. Just do not allow yourself to wallow in that self-hatred for too long. I would be a hypocrite to tell you not to hate yourself at all, but... try to breathe."
Nephis studied her for a long moment, wondering what ghosts haunted Seishan's past. Had she too led others to their graves? Perhaps she would ask in time, but that hour was not this one.
They walked on through the dim passages. Life in the dark continued, but the necessity of relocation loomed over them. Scouts had reported that the Fallen Tyrant ruling this territory was drawing closer.
Nephis suddenly offered a small, fleeting smile, drawing a curious look from Seishan.
"Nephis...?"
"Shan, do you believe we will truly find our way home? If we can secure more Echoes of the Anointed — assuming they possess the sanity to mirror Alexander's ritual — do you think we stand a chance? Perhaps Alexander can even contend with that Tyrant? I am beginning to wonder if fleeing is really our best course of action."
Seishan remained silent for a long interval. Then, unexpectedly, she laughed.
"Ha… what a question. I would love to tell you I have hope, Nephis, but I lost that luxury years ago. I have been trapped in this hell for too long to believe in anything. I am already blessed to have you here, to know that my family lives beyond these ruins. Even the Memories you brought —the work of our mother — feels like a dream. But... perhaps I can afford to hope one last time?"
Seishan looked at her with a soft, rare smile.
"So I will say yes. I will lie to myself and believe we will make it back. And if we do not, then at least we will die with the knowledge that we exhausted every possibility. Damn this cruel world for the cards it dealt us."
Silence fell between them, heavier and more intimate than before. They leaned into one another, the Sisters of Fire and Blood walking as a single shadow.
They had lived to see the sunrise, and perhaps, against all odds, they would see many more.
But…
Far beyond the reach of the catacombs, across a landscape of ancient ruins and destroyed lands, a lone swordswoman walked through a sea of carnage.
Saint stood amidst a bloody battlefield, silent among the corpses of numerous Fallen she had slain in defense of the one she loves. Even a Corrupted Beast lay dead at her feet, its essence leaking out it's corpse.
Days had passed since the Forsaken Knight had been put to rest, yet the silence remained unbroken. She looked toward the place where her master lay.
'Why has he not awakened?'
—
Saint swept a cool, clinical gaze over the ruined battlefield. She moved with a disciplined grace that felt entirely discordant with the slaughter surrounding her.
Days ago, the Silvershade Harrow had completed its return to the desolate Cathedral. Saint had curated a high tower for Sunny's rest, transforming the stones into a temporary sanctuary.
Using one of his older Memories, she had summoned a flowing, silken blanket; once shaped by her will, the fabric had stiffened into a pseudo-bed that offered him the dignity he deserved.
While Sunny slept, Saint remained at his side, her presence a silent thing. She occupied the hours by dissecting the books she had salvaged from the Cathedral's archives, her stone-faced demeanor never flickering.
When she wasn't reading, she was mastering the [Dyad of Shadow]. Because she shared his essence, her Shadow Sense was a perfect mirror of his own, boosted by the terrifying depth of Shadow Weave.
The world was no longer merely a collection of grayscale shapes and depths. To Saint, shadows now possessed color, taste, and a vibrant, overwhelming texture. She could feel the abrasive history of weather-beaten stone, the metallic tang of spilled blood, and the literal weight of moisture hanging in the air.
Even with her eyes closed, she perceived the world with a clarity that the sighted could never hope to attain.
'A normal Awakened's brain would likely collapse under this influx. Only a girl like Cassia — should she still exist — could hope to withstand this.'
Saint rarely left his side, but the resurfacing of the local nightmares had compelled her into the field. The rank and file had returned in force, accompanied by Fallen of both low and mid tiers. She stood amongst their corpses now, her breathing calm despite the moderate wounds decorating her body.
She began her count her kills.
"Three Fallen Demons. Two Fallen Devils. A Tyrant that emerged from the eastern sea. And…"
She looked down, her boot providing a dismissive kick to the massive corpse of a Corrupted Beast. It was a grotesque hybrid — a fish-like man with a mermaid tail that had possessed the unnatural ability to swim through the air.
She had prevailed against the five Fallen and the Tyrant through a symphony of violence. Though Sunny slept, his shadows — Gloomy, Happy, Creepy, and Haughty — remained active. Together with her own, they had amplified her lethal power eleven times over. Coupled with her Affinity for Nothingness, the abominations never stood a chance.
The Soul Serpent remained a dark, intricate tattoo upon her skin, granting her the boons of Shadow Guide and Soul Reaver, though it refused to manifest as an independent Echo.
Its growth was tethered to its own unique rules. Unlike Sunny's serpent, which relied on Shadow Dance, Saint's familiar had scaled its Rank to match her own. It was a perfect, Ascended weapon of the fourth tier, capable of shifting into whatever lethal weapon she required. She had used the Soul Serpent to mimic Sunny's Blood Arrow numerous times during the engagement, thinning the herd from a distance with cold efficiency.
Saint began the walk back to the tower, the Soul Shards she had plucked from the carcasses rattling in her satchel. She knew Sunny would be pleased with the Transcendent Shard, though the necessity of his awakening grew more urgent with every passing hour.
'He'll still be incapable of Weaving for a time.'
She had analyzed the condition of his Fables. His very existence was a fragmented, tangled mess.
The Fables relating to his mastery of Weaving were in a state of ruin, yet Hope's teachings— the gift of Runic Sorcery — remained remarkably intact. Aligning the sentences of that particular fable would be an elementary task for him, a vital boon in the trials to come.
Saint herself possessed primitive Spellweave, or naturally known as Diamond Weave, the ancient sorcery of the Prince of the Underworld, but it remained a sealed, heavy secret within her. It was a power meant to stay buried, and she remained patient, waiting for the only hand capable of unlocking it.
She was a Phantasm, yet the tether of being one of his Shadow's remained an absolute, undeniable reality.
As her master, Sunny was the only hand capable of unlocking the Diamond Weave — the sorcery of the Prince of the Underworld — that lay dormant within her. Even in her newfound autonomy, she was inextricably bound to his essence.
It was a connection she did not resent; their bond was a fortress of mutual integrity where privacy and purpose merged into a single understanding.
Saint tilted her head upward, watching as the relentless rain began to falls from the starless canopy.
She had utilized the full ability of her Shadow Sense, even mounting the Silvershade Harrow to scout the horizon for the source, but the search had yielded only questions.
One thing, however, was certain: this rain was not a weather pattern, but the manifestation of a "World" belonging to a Titan.
If a Terror were a spreading authority, then a Titan was a localized, fully matured Domain — an isolated world that existed solely by the creature's will. For its influence to reach this far across the Dark City, the source had to be a Corrupted Titan at the very minimum.
Saint's expression was grim as she walked, the silk of her Onyx Mantle shifting under the enchantment of [Graceless Dusk] to form a protective hood. The sound of the rain pattering against her hood was pleasant, a rare moment of sensory peace, but she knew the implications.
The low-lying sectors of the Cathedral ruins would eventually flood, and the laws of their existence dictated a coming confrontation.
'We will be forced to face that Titan. It is an inevitability.'
She sighed at the thought of the battle to come. She yearned for Sunny to wake in his peak condition, yet the reality was far more precarious. She found herself caught between a desperate hope for his return and a profound fear of what state he would be in when his eyes finally opened.
As if responding to her internal prayer, she felt a sudden, sharp tug through one of her shadows. Her gaze snapped to the ground where the Haughty Shadow was dismissively pointing toward the high tower.
"Is something wrong with Sunny?"
The shadow nodded sharply before turning its head away, as if the very act of reporting were beneath its dignity.
Saint did not wait. She channeled the Divine Miracle of the Storm God, her movements becoming a blur as she utilized the miracle to air-jump toward the high window of the tower.
She vaulted over the sill, and the sight that met her was one of pure, unadulterated trauma.
Sunny's eyes were wide, but the pupils were a void of absolute white, filled with a frantic, shifting static.
'It's his Fables. They're causing this!'
His body was racked by violent tremors, and a spray of hot blood escaped his lips as he coughed.
Saint lunged forward, kneeling beside the bed and grasping him. His skin was so unnaturally hot that even her high elemental resistance failed to protect her; she felt the phantom sting of burns rising on her palms, yet she did not let go.
She pulled him closer, her stone-faced mask finally cracking under the weight of his agony.
Then… he went cold.
The tremors ceased, and his body turned limp and hollow in her arms.
"No, no! Wake up, please!"
Saint gripped his cheeks, turning his vacant, sightless gaze toward her own. There was nothing.
The world seemed to lose its color, the vibrant shadows she had so recently mastered turning to a dull, airless gray. She was a professional of the battlefield, a reaper who knew the exact touch of death, and she knew Sunny was gone.
The thought had barely formed when a trembling, desperate hand clamped onto her arm.
Saint froze, her gaze snapping down to the limb that was vibrating with a sudden, frantic life. She looked back at Sunny's face. The hollow white was gone, replaced by an intense, recognizable focus.
"...S—Saint?"
The sound of his voice broke the dam. Saint pulled him into an embrace so tight it went against her usual elegant restraint.
"SUNNY! NEVER SCARE ME LIKE THAT AGAIN! FUCK!"
Sunny felt the trembling of Saint's body as she held him. Slowly, tentatively, he raised his own arms to reciprocate the hold.
He was adrift in a sea of confusion, his mind a fragmented wreck, yet he was grounded by two terrifying certainties.
One, he was alive, which meant he was now a Lost — a soul without a physical body within the Waking World.
But two...
As he buried his face into the nape of Saint's neck, his expression was not one of relief.
It was a mask of cold, paralyzing dread.
'I... crap. Why… why can I r—remember?!'
He wasn't afraid of the alignment of his Fables. He was afraid of the data.
He could remember.
He was not supposed to possess the memories of the Etheric Sea, nor the echoes of the Last Worldline.
He should not have remembered the faces of the Daemons or the gods, nor the struggle against the Archangel, Avarice.
He should not have known the name of Ariamis, the Unholy Terror that was the firstborn of Storm God, or Fenrir, an Unholy Devil and the primal creation of Beast God.
Saint pulled back, her smile freezing as she saw him clutch his head, his features contorting into a mask of pure agony.
"M—Milord? What's the matter?!"
Sunny didn't answer. He couldn't. He bit his own lip until it bled, a harrowing, guttural scream tearing from his throat.
It was an agony that surpassed anything he had suffered in a long while.
Something had failed. The protocols of his return had… snapped.
As a mere seventeen-year-old Dormant Devil, his consciousness was being bombarded by millions of fragments of data. Thousands of years of memory and experience — seven of incarnations across a five sub-nightmares — were flooding into a physical brain that lacked the neural composition to house them.
The fuse of his consciousness snapped as the Spell whispered in his mind.]
[The Unholy Miracle, 'Primal Vessel Constraint', has revealed itself!]
[The Unholy Miracle, 'Primal Vessel Constraint', has opened its eyes!]
[The Unholy Miracle, 'Primal Vessel Constraint', has activated in full!]
[The Unholy Miracle is beginning to seal the 'Forbidden Epochs'!]