Gunlaug was preparing to make his grand declaration.
A new ally. A new faction. And most importantly… a new campaign to claim the Crimson Spire.
He had issued a command—no polite request, no suggestion. Every non-essential resident was to be present in the great dining hall come morning. And so they came. By the time Sunny entered, the space was already brimming with Sleepers: curious, tense, whispering. A sea of eyes and hidden intentions.
And Cassie was in his arms.
Clinging to him with the ease of someone who had done so a hundred times before. But even then, even with the intimacy so familiar, Sunny couldn't help but glance down at her.
And stop.
For a breath—maybe two—he simply stared.
He had almost forgotten.
Cassie was… beautiful. Breathtaking, even. Her delicate, sculpted features held a kind of serene grace that seemed untouched by the ugliness of the world. With her pale blond hair falling softly around her shoulders, and those wide, cloudless blue eyes that never truly saw but somehow pierced straight through, she looked like a living porcelain doll—fragile, ethereal, surreal.
Today, she had left the enchanted cloak behind, walking into the hall with nothing more than a simple light tunic and her leather sandals. The absence of magic only made her more real… and more dangerous.
Sunny exhaled quietly, dragging a hand through his hair. 'This… smells like trouble.'
He cleared his throat.
"Good morning, Cassie."
As they crossed the hall, Sunny took quiet inventory of the assembled Sleepers, murmuring descriptions to her under his breath—soft, unobtrusive, just enough to keep her informed. The people here were nothing like the desperate scavengers and half-starved survivors of the outer settlements. These were the privileged ones. The chosen.
They looked healthy. Fed. Some wore well-maintained armor Memories, while others dressed in garments that, while mundane, were clean and fitted. Almost all of them were young. Beautiful. Dangerous. And yet… few of them could compare to Cassie.
'She really is a jewel,' Sunny thought grimly. 'A jewel glittering in the dark. That kind of beauty doesn't go unnoticed. Or unchallenged.'
The shift in the atmosphere was subtle—but swift.
Dozens of conversations faltered, then ceased. A hush fell like dust across the room as hundreds of eyes turned, not subtly, not politely, but openly. Fixated.
On them.
On her.
But not only her. For once, they were staring at him.
And not in awe.
Sunny felt the familiar weight of attention settle over his shoulders like a yoke. He gritted his teeth.
'Damnation. I don't have the patience for this today.'
Nearby Sleepers—those who had been feigning disinterest just moments ago—now bowed their heads, shrinking, suddenly eager to become invisible. They had seen this kind of tension before. They knew what followed.
Sunny's dark eyes swept across them with cold disdain, before returning to the two figures now blocking their path. Two young men—fit, armored, smirking. One was tall and broad, the other lean with an edge of cruel amusement in his gaze. There was something hungry about them. Reckless.
They reeked of pride and violence.
Sunny felt his lip curl.
Truth be told, his own reaction caught him a little off-guard. He had learned restraint. He had mastered caution. But now, something flared in him—too sharp, too fast. Pride? Maybe. Instinct? Probably. Something more?
He wasn't sure.
But he did know this: showing weakness here would cost him dearly. He had seen what happened to those who hesitated. Az had learned that lesson for both of them.
A fight was inevitable.
His fists clenched at his sides.
'To hell with this,' he thought, grimly amused. 'They want to see dark and dangerous? I'll show them. I'll cut them good.'
The smirk on the taller idiot widened.
"Huh. We were just hoping to politely introduce ourselves to this lovely little doll," he said, voice oily with mockery, "but hey, we can get acquainted with the ugly little clown first. How about it?"
He glanced at his companion—who wasn't smiling. No humor in his eyes. Just measured violence.
Sunny bared his teeth in something that might have been a grin. Or a warning.
"The fuck you say to me, you little cunt?" His voice was loud, sharp, and dripping with venom. "Daddy never taught you manners, boy?"
The hall froze.
Cassie frowned, alarm flickering across her face.
"Why are you—"
But before she could finish, the other young man stepped forward, scowling.
"What did you just say, clown? Do you know who we are?" His hand dropped to the pommel of his sword. "We're Gunlaug's men."
Sunny didn't move.
Didn't flinch.
He just tilted his head, slowly outstretching one hand. His voice dropped low, full of lazy malice.
"I said ya daddy was a deadbeat, pussy. Now you gonna show your better some respect? Or do I have to get my belt out and teach you some fatherly love?"
That did it.
The two men lunged forward, blades coming free with the shriek of steel against sheath. Their movements were fast—reckless, violent, full of the arrogant certainty that no one would dare stop them.
But someone did.
Before either weapon could reach its mark, a blur passed between them.
Something pale. Something thin.
The taller man's wrist jerked to a halt, yanked mid-swing by a hand that looked more bone than flesh—its pale skin stretched taut over knuckles like stone, fingers long and unnatural.
There was a beat of silence. Then a low sound.
Crack.
The first snap was subtle, like a branch underfoot. The man's sword fell from his grasp with a clatter, his eyes wide in confused disbelief.
But the hand didn't let go.
Harus stood between them, face placid, eyes flat and unreadable. His grip was deceptively gentle—no flash of anger, no show of force. Just precise pressure, applied without hesitation.
The second man's strike never landed. Harus's other hand caught his wrist mid-arc, the sudden stop jarring his whole frame. For a second, he tried to pull back—tried to wrench free.
He shouldn't have.
With an awful twisting motion, Harus rotated the man's wrist outward. There was resistance—tendons pulling taut, joints straining—until something gave.
Pop.
A noise like a wet cork being torn free.
The man screamed. The sound was high and wild, full of confusion and agony.
Harus didn't react.
He merely adjusted his grip, slid his thumb against the base of the hand… and pushed.
There was a sickening series of crunches—one, two, three—as delicate bones shattered under the pressure. The man's sword dropped to the stone floor, blood already welling beneath the skin.
Crack.
Another joint gave way. Fingers bent at impossible angles.
"Apologies," Harus said softly. As though he had stepped on someone's foot by mistake.
The scream was no longer a scream. It was a raw, ragged sob.
All around the hall, people looked away.
Suddenly, the pair of arrogant challengers were no longer towering. They were crumpling, their weapons forgotten, their pride in ruins. Both knelt now, clutching ruined hands to their chests, faces pale with pain.
And no one—not a single person—moved to help them.
The message had been sent. Clearly. Quietly. Brutally.
Sunny remained still, watching the scene with narrowed eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching—not in sympathy, but in satisfaction.
Cassie said nothing. But her fingers tightened faintly around his arm, her breath held close to her chest. Not out of fear.
Out of certainty.
She knew what had just happened. What it meant.
And so did everyone else.
They were protected, important.
The pale hunchback made a gesture to follow, not being one for public attention.
They didn't need to be told twice.
'*'
Gunlaug rose from his throne like a mountain stirring from slumber. The golden torchlight danced across his armor as he stepped forward, voice calm, but weighty with authority.
"Citizens of the Bright Castle. Warriors, artificers, seekers and survivors. You who have endured the Dusk."
He paused, letting silence fill the chamber like fog.
"This place—our home—was not founded on stone alone. It was forged in madness and courage, in the shattered dreams of those who dared to hope. The First Bright Lord drove the Spire Messenger from these walls. He bled and broke himself in pursuit of the Shard Memories, laying the first brick of our salvation with every step into the dark."
Another pause. One of reverence.
"And when he vanished, it was the Second Bright Lord who took up his mantle. Ambitious. Fearless. Tragic. She unearthed another Shard—but her boldness led to folly. Her charge on the Crimson Spire ended not in glory, but in ruin. We were scattered. Leaderless. Fractured."
Gunlaug's voice hardened.
"But we are still here. We endured. I brought back order to chaos. I rebuilt what was broken. I gave you a future."
He took another step, the floor echoing beneath his boots.
"Yet survival is no longer enough."
The room tensed. The air itself felt charged.
"I did not summon you all here to speak of history. I speak of what comes *next*. I speak of *war*."
He lifted a hand toward the pale young man beside him—dressed in black silk, his eyes unreadable.
"This is Sunless. The one who has returned from the Ruby Tree's ashes. Mark him well—for he is no longer just a man. From this day forward, he stands as the **Duke of the Dark City**."
A quiet ripple of reaction passed through the crowd.
"The Dark City, long forgotten and left to rot in shadow, will now rise. Its denizens— Sleepers and Fallen Nightmares alike—shall march under one will. His will."
He let that hang in the air like thunder before a storm.
"With the Echo of the Ruby Tree bound to him, the Duke will command the monsters we once feared. He will tame them. Turn them into weapons. Into soldiers. Into a storm the Spire cannot withstand."
A breath.
"Some will call this madness. But so too was the founding of this Castle. So too was the first Shard hunt. So too was every miracle that bought us another day."
Gunlaug's voice climbed—measured, unyielding.
"Today, we do not wait for a miracle. We *become* it. We will take the Spire, not by light nor by mercy—but with fire and shadow at our backs. And when it falls, let them say it was the Bright Castle that dared the impossible."
His gaze swept the hall, settling finally on Sunless.
"And it was the Duke of the Dark City who made it real."
Sunless took a single step forward.
His expression did not change. No flourish. No dramatics. Just a stillness that felt wrong in the silence—as if the air itself were waiting to breathe again.
Then, calmly, almost softly, he spoke:
"They will kneel."
Another pause. Then—
"Whether they remember being human or not. Whether they beg or bite. The sleepers will kneel. The nightmares will crawl. And I—" his voice dipped, not louder, but lower, "—I will teach them how to obey."
His gaze passed over the crowd, dispassionate. Calculating.
"The Dark City does not need saving. It needs a hand on its throat."
And he smiled. Just a little.
Not warmth. Not triumph.
Teeth.
The silence held for one heartbeat too long.
Then it broke—not with applause, not with outrage, but a slow, collective inhalation. Like the room had forgotten how to breathe and only just remembered.
No one spoke.
No one dared speak.
A ripple passed through the Sleepers—some stiffening in quiet alarm, others turning their gazes down to the floor. A few looked to Gunlaug as if for permission to understand what had just been said. Others glanced toward the young man in silk, searching for any hint of jest.
There was none.
Those who had once smirked at the title Duke of the Dark City no longer found it funny.
He looked the part now. Not regal. Not noble.
But inevitable.
From somewhere near the back, someone swallowed hard. A chair creaked. And that was it.
Even the boldest of them remained silent.
Because in that moment, they all saw it—not the conquest, not the glory.
But the leash.
And the hand holding it.
Cassie said nothing.
She didn't need to. Her breath caught somewhere deep in her chest, a sudden, sharp pressure, as if something in her had stilled. There was a weight in the air now, thick and suffocating, and the silence wrapped around her like a cold, unfamiliar cloak. The only sound was his voice—low, unflinching, and eerily calm.
"They will kneel."
The words cut through the room, and for the first time, Cassie felt a shiver that wasn't from the chill of the stone walls. It wasn't his tone, but the lack of it. There was no fire, no passion behind those words. Only a cold certainty that felt foreign—wrong—coming from him.
Cassie could feel it, that chilling undercurrent, as if the very air had thickened with something dark and heavy. She remembered the warmth of him from the night before—the soft press of his shoulder, the steady rhythm of his breath beside her. But this... This felt like a stranger standing next to her.
Her fingers curled involuntarily into the fabric of his sleeve, as if clinging to the last trace of him she recognized.
She knew that voice.
Not just what it meant—but what it lacked.
This wasn't rage. This wasn't ambition. This wasn't even the hunger for power.
This was something colder. Something more terrifying.
Disappointment.
And cruelty. The kind that didn't lash out in fury, but in quiet, calculated disregard. A cruelty that wasn't meant for enemies, but for those who once mattered.
Cassie's chest tightened, her heart stuttering in her ribs as she struggled to comprehend this unfamiliar side of him. It was like a door opening to a place she didn't know existed—a dark, jagged corner of his soul that had never been there before.
The nightmare creatures, she realized, would probably know the difference. They would feel it.
But Cassie? She wasn't so sure. She wasn't sure if he knew it either.
There was a strange, cold fear growing inside her—a fear that she hadn't expected to feel when standing next to him. The Sunless she had come to know had always been cautious, calculating—but this? This was something entirely different. Something she didn't know how to reach.
And the worst part? She didn't know if she ever would again.