The path to the Skull in Cassie's vision was always going to be a treacherous one. That was a certainty. They were four Sleepers, and though they might have had ambition and a scrap of will between them, it wasn't enough to arm them against the horrors they would face. Not with the creatures lurking at the edges of the Forgotten Shore, their fangs glinting under a dark sky. The very ground beneath their feet would seem to devour them whole if they weren't careful.
And the Dark Sea? The sea had its own plans. If they didn't find a safe place to shelter before the sun slipped away, they'd be swallowed by it. The Sea was not just water, it was a hungry thing, twisting and cold, its depths pulsing with the unknown. Without knowing the terrain or the creatures, they were walking into an abyss of danger. Blind, ignorant. Unprepared.
But they weren't the first.
The First Bright Lord had already paid the price in blood and fire, sacrificing his final years to understand the wild, untamable landscape. His obsession with conquering the Crimson Tower had driven him mad, but in his madness, he had recorded everything—the creatures, the terrain, the fastest routes to the statues. All the things they'd need to know. He'd laid out their map in the pages of forgotten journals, and they, standing on the edge of the unknown, were the lucky ones who could read them.
Those journals were locked away in the Bright Castle. And so, Cassie, Caster, and Sunless found themselves headed toward the towering stone walls, though not as a united front. No. Cassie and Sunless would slip in before the darkness settled, making their way toward the Castle's depths as shadows—unseen, unnoticed. Caster, on the other hand, would enter first. He'd be the one to stir the waters. The chaos. He was their blade in the dark, the wolf in sheep's clothing. The Han Li had a name already. A reputation—one built on grit and ruthlessness in the slums. His very presence would draw the factions to him, each one a hungry beast circling, waiting for the right moment to strike.
But Caster's part was just the beginning. Sunless, with the Bright Lord's blessing on his shoulders, had his own plans. His faction would rise—not from the ashes of the fallen, but from his own vision. The King's favor wasn't a leash. It was a tool, and Sunless wouldn't be tied to anyone, not even the Bright Lord.
Effie and Nephis, for all their differences, were no strangers to this game. Neither of them would play second fiddle. They were carving their own paths, building their own stories. Nephis, changing Star of the Immortal Flame, didn't bow to anyone. Not even to the Bright Lord. Effie, with her sharp grin and her eyes full of wicked promises, had a mind of her own. They both had something to prove, they were building their own faction, their own reputation their own feats , most importantly their own Story.
'*'
Their first action within the imposing stone walls of the Castle was not one of ambition or urgency. No, their priority was not the archives, nor the intricate dance of forging alliances. Instead, they would first make themselves presentable—rest, if only for a moment. In the Forgotten Shore, time was the one thing they had in excess, and they meant to savor it, if only briefly.
Harper led them through the corridors of the marble fortress, his voice a soft whisper as he outlined the simple customs of the castle. Cassie, though unable to see, stayed close to Sunless, her small hand gently gripping his arm for guidance. Her body was barely apart from his as she sought comfort in his steady presence, the familiarity of his warmth a balm for her unseeing eyes. To her, the castle's coldness felt far less intimidating when she was near him.
In general, the rules of the castle were simple—freedom, so long as one adhered to the basic tenets of cohabitation. There were places open to all, and others reserved for members of Gunlaug's host. These private spaces were marked with a symbol—a serpent, winding around a tall tower, a silent warning to those who did not belong.
This was nothing new to Sunless; he had learned the language of control long ago. But for Cassie, this was all new—an unfamiliar world in which she would have to rely on far more than just her senses.
The final point Harper made was about their behavior toward others in the fortress. "People here are generally nice," he said, though his tone betrayed a certain unease. "But remember your manners, especially with the guards and the hunters. These people protect us and risk their lives to provide for us. They deserve our respect. If there's a misunderstanding... well, be mindful of their burdens."
Sunless, ever the skeptic, shot Harper a look that spoke volumes—an unspoken translation of the message: Don't trouble Gunlaug's people. And if they trouble you, swallow it and move on. But that rule, he knew, would hardly apply to him—not once the King made his announcement in the grand hall.
They soon arrived at the westernmost tower of the castle, which was eerily quiet and nearly empty. Few people seemed to want to stay in this distant corner, repelled perhaps by the unsettling sight of the Crimson Spire looming ominously in the distance. But for Cassie and Sunless, the tower was perfect. For Cassie, the sightless world around her was less important than the feel of the air, the warmth of Sunless's presence at her side, and the subtle hum of the world she knew. As for Sunless, the Spire held no particular sway over him—its shadow no longer held the power to unsettle him. Besides, the windows in the tower were shut, hiding its oppressive form from view.
Harper suddenly stopped, turning to face them with a sheepish expression. "Uh… I forgot to ask. Would you be needing one room or two?"
The question hung in the air for a moment before both Cassie and Sunless answered at the same time, the words tumbling out without thought.
"Two next to each other, if not possible, then one."
"One."
The air between them froze in an instant, and they turned to face one another with identical looks of shock. Cassie's face flushed a deep pink, her heart racing, while Sunless paled—his usual composure shattered. He hadn't meant anything by the slip-up, not truly. But the last month of their shared time, living in close quarters and working side by side, had made the idea of separation seem unnatural. He had become used to having her near, to the small gestures of assistance when she needed it. More than that, he simply didn't want her out of his sight—not in a place as unpredictable as this. He trusted no one here, not even the seemingly harmless Harper.
Clearing her throat, Cassie's voice came out quieter than usual, her tone steady but forced: "I think one would suffice."
Harper, looking at them with a strange glint in his eyes, scratched the back of his head. He exchanged a brief glance with Sunless, one that seemed to say I'm envious, and yet somehow proud. "Uh... alright. I think I can find a room for you two. Follow me."
With that, Harper turned and walked ahead. Sunless glanced at Cassie, his heart heavy with the unspoken question: She won't misunderstand, will she?
They soon stood before two sturdy wooden doors. Harper handed Sunless a heavy iron key, a smile tugging at his lips. "Here we are. The room's not very big, but it's cozy. Enjoy your first night of safety. I'm sure you haven't felt safe in a long time. I know I never did before entering the castle. Thank heavens that time is behind me! Anyway, food will be served an hour after sunrise tomorrow, in the main hall. See you there!"
With that, Harper flashed them one last awkward smile and disappeared down the corridor, leaving Sunless and Cassie alone in the silence of the tower.
The moment stretched between them, thick with the weight of the unspoken. Still feeling the heat of the awkwardness, Sunless sighed and broke the silence. "I hope you don't get the wrong impression. I just…"
Cassie's giggle interrupted him, light and teasing, the sound ringing in the quiet tower. "I know. Let me guess," she began, her voice playfully accusing. "You distrust every single person in this castle, and you're going to watch me like a hawk to scare them all away. Like an overprotective, mean, violent boyfriend. Right?"
She grinned at her own joke, her teasing tone doing its best to mask the soft hopefulness underneath. She turned her head slightly, her posture light and playful, before adding, "To be honest, I don't feel safe here either. So, thank you! Although I must say, this place reminds me of an old hotel my parents once took me to—some mountain getaway. Uh, what was it called… Overgaze? Overlook? Something like that. Anyway, it's exactly like this."
Sunny was surprised at the description, he knew of that hotel.
'*'*'
The room was dim, lit only by the hush of night pressing against the shuttered window. A single, narrow opening, sealed tight with wood and thick cloth, kept the outside world at bay. Harper had warned them sternly not to let even a sliver of light escape into the dark. Out here in the Tower of Dusk, the rule was less about safety and more about survival—light meant attention, and attention meant death. But neither Cassie nor Sunless needed light to navigate the dark.
They could have thrown those shutters wide, let the night wind in—but neither of them cared to look out. There was nothing for them out there.
The furnishings were sparse. A bed with a straw mattress. A small desk, a basin filled with cold water, a few strips of clean cloth, and an oil lamp they didn't need. A flimsy chest for belongings. And a small round mirror, polished bronze, catching the dim gleam of nothing at all.
Sunless leaned over it, and saw himself.
He flinched.
The face staring back wasn't his—not anymore. Not the version he remembered. In the past two months, he'd glimpsed his own shape through the eyes of the shadow, traced outlines in reflectionless pools and distorted armor plates… but this was different. This was him, raw and close.
His face had grown sharper, carved down to its angles like stone weathered by wind. The last remnants of youth were gone—stripped away by sleepless nights and blood-wet trials. His skin was pale, his black hair cropped too short. Dark hollows clung under his eyes, deep and bruised.
But it was the eyes themselves that struck him most.
Something bleak swam beneath them, a cold clarity, emotionless and still. That calculating glint… he'd seen it before, in the stares of killers. Out in the outskirts, they called it murder math. The way someone's gaze changed when survival stopped being a decision and became instinct.
He had that look now.
And beneath that, in the deepest part of his eyes—visible only to him—faint threads of gold flickered in the dark. A mark left by the Weaver.
Behind him, the straw mattress rustled.
Cassie had perched on the edge of the bed and was kicking her bare feet gently against the frame, her heels brushing wood with soft little taps. She hadn't said much since they'd entered. Her presence was quiet, but not uneasy. Familiar. The kind of silence that comes not from fear, but from being allowed to rest near someone you trust.
"I'm going to clean myself first, if that's okay with you," Sunless said, not turning from the mirror. His voice was low and steady. "Then I can stand guard while you take your turn."
He hadn't expected to find no separate washroom, and frankly, he didn't care much for the lack of privacy—but routine was routine. He needed to be presentable in the morning. That meant at least pretending he hadn't crawled his way out of a cursed dungeon not long ago.
Cassie didn't answer right away.
When she did, her voice was soft. Almost too soft.
"Sure…but" A pause, then, in a tone gentler still: "I'm quite used to the presence of someone else when I shower. Neph always made sure I was safe, so… you don't have to leave."
The words landed lightly, but there was a kind of careful honesty in them. Not flirtation—not overtly. Just a quiet invitation, offered without shame, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to say.
And for her, it was.
She trusted him. That much was clear in every word, every gesture.
But beneath that calm, under her stillness, something stirred.
She wasn't naïve. She could feel the tension coiling beneath the surface, the way his voice had hesitated when he spoke, the way he'd been quieter than usual since they arrived. Maybe he didn't see it. Maybe he refused to see it. But she had grown too familiar with the rhythms of his presence not to notice.
'*'
Here… her visions would unfold.
The setting might shift, the light and voices around her might change, but the bones of fate would not. She had seen the shape of things to come—etched in fire and shadow, in the echo of wings and screams—and no matter how she prayed, the outcome would not be altered.
Cassie believed this. Even though it hurt to believe it.
She didn't want to lose her angel.
She didn't want to see Nephis fall—radiant, ruthless Nephis—brought down by a Shade's cold hands. She didn't want to see the fire snuffed out. And yet…
She had seen them entwined. Flame and shadow. Not as enemies, but as one.
Cassie turned her face toward the quiet warmth beside her, the steady pulse of another life. She shifted slightly on the straw mattress, drawing her leg gently over Sunny's. Her arms wrapped around him a little tighter.
She was selfish. She knew that.
It was she who had asked for only one room, voice calm and reasonable, hiding the desperation in her chest. A room just big enough for a single bed. A room where she had listened to him wash, the soft hush of damp cloth over skin hauntingly tender. A room where she had done the same, baring herself in silence, knowing he would not look,hoping he would .
He never looked.
And she hated him for that. And loved him for it.
His presence was steady, solid—his body warm against hers in the darkness. She pressed closer, until there was nothing between them but fabric and breath. Her fingers traced the quiet shapes of his torso—his ribs, his side, the slow rhythm of sleep in his lungs. Her cheek rested near his shoulder. He was still, and so deeply asleep that even her boldest touch did not stir him.
She wondered if he dreamed.
The heat of him was different from Nephis. Nephis had burned—too bright to touch. She was fire incarnate, divine, terrible. With her, Cassie had felt protected. Seen. Safe in the eye of a flame.
But this… this was warmth, not fire. Steady. Mute. Mysterious.
Cassie's hand lingered on his chest. She remembered the way Nephis had held her, fiercely, as if guarding something sacred. Sunny held her the same way now, even in his sleep. And yet it wasn't the same.
She had seen the two of them together in her vision. Shade and Flame. Bound in combat, in ruin, in a fate too vast to contain.
Cassie wasn't in that vision.
Not really.
But she wanted to be. She wanted to be caught between them—to be held by the angel, to be claimed by the shadow. Her body, her soul… it didn't matter if she broke apart in the end.
It wasn't fair. Wanting both. Wanting more than she was allowed.
But she did.
And now, in the hush of the Tower of Dusk, she lay with her cheek pressed to Sunny's chest, listening to his heartbeat. Her hand rested lightly on the strength of him. There was no vision in this moment. No fire, no screams. Just skin and warmth and the unbearable ache of a choice that hadn't yet come.
She closed her eyes.
Soon, she would have to choose between the angel and the shadow.
But tonight, she let herself hold onto both.
His breath hitched.
Just faintly—just enough to let her know he wasn't as deeply asleep as he had been. The rhythm of his chest shifted under her cheek, no longer steady as stone but uncertain. Drowsy. Alive.
Cassie froze.
For a moment, she didn't move. Didn't breathe.
Then she felt it—his arm tightening just slightly around her waist. Not possessive, not even deliberate, more reflex than choice. But still… he held her. His fingers flexed against the fabric of her tunic before relaxing again, as though some part of him had only just remembered she was there and decided, without thinking, to keep her close.
It undid her.
Her blind eyes fluttered shut, lashes brushing his skin as she pressed a little closer, just enough to match his warmth. His scent lingered on the blanket—salt and shadow, steel and something faintly herbal, like the cloth he'd used to clean himself.
Cassie's hand, which had been resting lightly on his back, slowly curled into a fist. Her fingernails left faint crescents against her own palm. A silent tether. A way to keep herself from reaching further.
He murmured something—inaudible, half-swallowed by sleep. A fractured word. Her name, maybe. Or someone else's.
Cassie didn't ask.
She couldn't bear to know.
Instead, she shifted with care, letting her fingers stroke once—just once—across the ridge of his shoulder. His skin was warm, and beneath it, the coiled tension of a man who never truly rested. Even now, some part of him stayed ready. Watching. Listening.
Even now, with her this close, he had not let go.
That was who he was.
And it was what made her love him.
Not the easy parts. Not the soft ones. But the ache. The quiet. The resolve carved into every inch of him like runes in stone.
She lowered her head again, pressing her forehead lightly to his chest, letting herself breathe in time with him. Matching him. Molding to him. Pretending, just for a few stolen moments in the dark, that she was allowed this.
That she could be something more than what fate had written.
The angel and the shade. Fire and shadow. A story not meant to hold space for someone like her.
But if she couldn't rewrite the ending, maybe she could at least linger in this chapter a little longer. In this room. In this bed. In the hush before everything fell apart.
He held her a little tighter.
And for now… that was enough.
She wouldn't give just yet, fate may not fray and snap, but Destiny could still be hers.