A step.
Another.
Each one dragged from oblivion.
Across the lightless expanse of the Shadow Realm, something walked.
No, not something—someone.
A silhouette carved from divinity and death.
A shadow that had once known sunlight.
The last, perhaps.
A relic of war, of love, of loss.
A Divine Shadow.
It did not shimmer with grandeur.
There was no crown.
No halo.
Only the quiet howl of existence stretched too far.
It walked not to conquer.
Not to return.
But to surrender.
To mercy—if mercy still existed.
To the center of the realm.
To the inevitable.
It was spite that had kept it breathing once.
Rage that had defied fate.
Love that had made the world worth the pain.
But now?
Now it walked simply because it didn't know how to stop.
The body was that of a Divine Shadow once.
But what does it mean if there is none to witness.
If you are alone?
And he was alone.
Memories hung behind him like ghosts.
Laughter drowned in silence.
Names that once meant everything, now echoes too distant to answer.
Behind the dead Shadow, a serpent slithered—a being of ink and soul.
Black as grief.
Silent as loyalty.
Its master had not commanded it.
He didn't have to.
The bond was older than words, deeper than memory.
They moved together, like a funeral procession with no mourners.
Just two remnants of a story the world had already forgotten.
A Divine Shadow walked toward the end.
Toward the origin of all things lost.
And the realm—vast, ancient, and all-seeing—watched in silence.
It did not dare stop him.
He retraced his own fading footsteps, a ghost looping back to its grave.
Where once he had turned from salvation, now he moved toward it.
Not out of choice.
Not out of hope.
But because the moment had been written long before he had a name.
It was law.
It was absolute.
They passed over the brittle remains of serpents long forgotten—bone-white and curled, loyal unto death.
Remnants of the same oath that still slithered behind him.
He walked through the place where his mind had once broken,
Where his name had slipped through his fingers,
And meaning had become myth.
Here, he had forgotten what it meant to love.
What it meant to hate.
To grieve, to laugh, to ache.
All burned away by the relentless erosion of time and shadow.
But the serpent had not forgotten.
It endured.
Where other creatures of soul and shadow would have bled into the landscape,
It clung to purpose.
Not out of command.
Not out of fear.
But out of devotion carved so deep, not even oblivion could wear it down.
It could not fall.
Not unless it was for its master.
Not unless it was allowed to.
And so it followed.
Each scale a silent vow.
Each movement a shield against the dark.
Wherever its master walked—
Even into the maw of unmaking—
It would follow.
And it would protect.
---
In the Ivory Tower, five Saints sat in silence.
Not from peace. Not from contentment.
But because absence had a sound, and they were listening to it.
It had been nearly two years since they'd escaped the Third Nightmare.
Two years since they had transcended mortality.
Two years since they should have celebrated—
But something was missing.
Someone.
Sunny.
He was nowhere to be found.
They had searched. Gods, they had searched.
The Waking World had been turned inside out.
The Dream Realm scoured until it frayed.
Cassie's eyes had looked beyond time and veil.
And even she had found nothing.
Nephis had known. She had known he was alive.
Saw it in her soul like a shadow cast ahead of her.
"I need you," she whispered, to no one.
"To be here. With me."
The words fell like stones in still water.
And the silence swallowed them.
Her will had once been a blade.
Sharp. Unshakable.
Forged to cut down Sovereigns and gods alike.
But even steel could bend.
And hers was rusting in the quiet.
Rain had asked. Her bright voice cracking.
The girl who didn't yet know he was her brother.
Julius had asked, pride in his student hidden in worry.
Even the veterans of Antarctica and the Forgotten Shore…
They remembered their savior.
They wanted answers.
But there were none.
Only silence.
Nephis stared down at her runes.
Her fingers trembling.
She hadn't realized they were.
***
Slave: Lost From Light
Class: Titan
Shadow Cores: [7/7]
Shadow Fragments: [7000/7000]
***
Then—
Something shifted.
Reality didn't break. It twitched.
Like a thread snapping in a weave no one else could see.
No flourish. No thunder. Just… a dimming.
And her runes changed.
Where once his name burned with unyielding fire—
Now it flickered.
Faded.
Fell still.
Sunny was gone.
And with him, the part of her that still believed in forever.
Something in the room shifted.
The atmosphere twisted—grew thick, oppressive, mourning.
Heat bloomed from nowhere.
Not the warmth of comfort.
But the fever of grief left unchecked.
It swelled—
Until the stacked pages on a nearby table ignited, curling into ash.
Until an unlit candle dripped wax.
The light bent strangely. Shadows twitched.
Reality itself held its breath.
"Nephis?"
A voice—uncertain, frayed.
Cassie.
Her white eyes were wide, searching blindly for a change in the air she couldn't see but could feel.
"S… Sunny…" Nephis whispered. Her voice low, cracked—
Like glass already broken, yet still somehow breaking.
"What?"
Another voice, closer now.
Kai.
But she didn't answer.
Not at first.
A single tear traced her cheek.
Just one.
All she had left to give.
She had wept oceans over the years—now her sorrow was a drought.
"It… It's Sunny," she said,
A shiver caught in her throat.
"He's gone…"
"What do you mean he's gone?" Effie asked.
Not defiant.
Just desperate.
As if saying it aloud made it less true.
Kai looked down. His jaw was tight. His eyes unreadable.
But the way his fingers curled into fists gave him away.
"He's dead…"
Jet didn't flinch.
Didn't blink.
She stared at a spot on the wall like it might open and let her go back—
Back to the times before she had nothing to think of other than signing military documents.
Silence fell.
Heavy. Suffocating.
It shouldn't have been quiet.
Not for him.
Not for Sunny.
But the silence made sense.
Because deep down… they had always known.
Hope had just been a pleasant lie they all told each other in the dark.
Now it was truth that stood, bare and cold.
And it was Nephis who moved first.
Not with fury, nor ceremony—
But with that awful stillness of someone who's been grieving so long they've forgotten what movement even means.
The tear still clung to her face.
She didn't wipe it.
She didn't look back.
She walked out the door,
And behind her, the silence deepened.
Soon, outside, large explosions could be heard.
Then—
Far outside, the world trembled.
A distant thunder.
No… not thunder.
Explosions.
Massive. Relentless.
---
Inside the throne room of Bastion, ambience stood tense, like it knew bad news had just walked in.
Sovereign Anvil sat rigid on the throne, flanked by stone and silence. Before him, Jest of Clan Dragonet held a scroll like it personally offended him.
"What do you mean the Chained Isles are gone, Jest?"
Anvil's voice had that low, dangerous calm of a man trying not to break furniture.
Jest raised an eyebrow, glancing at the paper. "Gone. Vanished. Evaporated. Poof."
Anvil's stare could crack granite. "I'm not in the mood for your jokes."
"This is the report." Jest deadpanned. "Dated today. Several of the Isles disappeared after a series of large explosions. No known cause. Minimal survivors. One scout claims the air's still boiling all water in the area."
Anvil leaned forward slightly. "Are you absolutely certain this isn't a joke?"
Jest shrugged. "If it is, it's the most expensive one in history. Whole damn map's outdated now."
Anvil rubbed his temples. "And the source?"
Jest flipped to the back of the parchment. "Unconfirmed. But witnesses described… well, the sky turned white for a moment."
Anvil pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're suggesting someone just… erased several square miles of my domain."
Jest nodded. "Yep. Poof. Gone. Like my father's approval."
Anvil paused. Just for a moment. Then continued like he hadn't heard it—because acknowledging it might kill him faster.
"The sky turned white?"
Jest nodded solemnly. "Yep. Not a metaphor. Pretty sure this isn't part of the predicted weather report… I could be wrong though."
Anvil exhaled, long and slow. "Someone erased a swath of my domain, and you're quoting weather reports."
"Hey, I didn't erase it," Jest replied, raising his hands. "I just read the mail."
"And your commentary?"
Jest smiled thinly. "Frankly, it sounds like divine interference. Or one hell of a breakup."
Anvil sighed, sinking deeper into the throne. "Send scouts."
"Already did."
"Send Masters."
"One puked. Said the place tasted like burnt metal and bad memories."
Anvil's eye twitched. "Bad memories?"
Jest gave a shrug. "Like… spicy regret."
A long silence.
Anvil seriously considered flinging his crown at him.