Kafka did not answer immediately, which in itself said more than if she had spoken right away, because the way her gaze lingered on Sunny carried a certain deliberation that suggested she was choosing her words rather than simply responding. When she finally did speak, her tone remained light, almost conversational, yet there was a quiet undercurrent to it that made the air feel subtly heavier.
"We are waiting."
She paused just long enough for the word to settle, then continued without breaking eye contact.
"Blade's Mara needed time to calm down, so we allowed it to surface instead of suppressing it any longer. It has been about a decade since we last let it run its course, and keeping it contained for that long tends to make things… unstable."
Sunny blinked once, his expression shifting ever so slightly as he processed that, because while he had encountered Mara-Struck before, the way Kafka described it did not quite align with what he understood. The casual nature of her explanation clashed with the severity of what she was describing, and that contrast alone was enough to make him pay closer attention.
Kafka tilted her head slightly, as though anticipating the direction of his thoughts.
"He is stable right now, at least by his own standards, but stability is a fragile thing when it comes to Mara. If he encounters anything that reminds him of his past, then the balance will collapse, and he will behave exactly as you would expect from someone who has been consumed by it."
Her smile did not falter, though her eyes sharpened just a fraction.
"Violently."
Sunny's gaze drifted toward Blade almost instinctively, lingering on the man's still form as he leaned against the wall with that same unsettling quiet. There was no obvious sign of instability in his posture, no visible tremor or tension that suggested imminent loss of control, yet the knowledge alone reframed everything about his presence.
He had not questioned it before.
That, in hindsight, felt like an oversight.
Because the more Sunny thought about it, the less sense it made.
Mara was not something that should affect someone like Blade, not without some outside influence.
Saints did not simply… deteriorate like that.
Their souls were too vast, too resilient, too far removed from the limitations that plagued lesser existences. A Saint's lifespan stretched across thousands of years, and within the recorded history of the Nightmare Spell — spanning nearly seventeen thousand years — Sunny could not recall a single instance where one had succumbed to natural decline in the same way ordinary beings did.
And Blade was not hollow.
He was not empty.
He was not broken in the way Mara-Struck usually were.
Sunny exhaled slowly, deciding that attempting to reconcile the inconsistency would likely lead nowhere productive, because there were too many unknown variables involved and not nearly enough reliable information. Instead, he settled on a simpler explanation, one that fit well enough within the framework of what he already understood.
'Pathstrider of the Abundance?'
That, at least, was something he could accept without needing to dig further.
His attention shifted again, moving between the three Stellaron Hunters as he reassessed them with a slightly altered perspective, and the conclusion he reached was… not what he had expected.
'Are these guys… just a bunch of goofs?'
The thought felt absurd even as it formed, yet the longer he stood there, the harder it became to dismiss.
Silver Wolf had never really bothered to present herself as anything other than an annoying brat, so she did not factor much into the equation. However, Kafka and Blade were different, or at least they had been different the last time he had seen them in action. Back then, Kafka's presence had been suffocating in a very particular way, her gaze empty and unreadable, her demeanor so controlled that it bordered on artificial.
Now, as Sunny looked at her, he noticed something that had not been there before.
Her eyes.
They reflected light.
It was such a small detail, yet it changed everything, because the cold, distant quality that had once defined her expression was gone, replaced by something that felt… normal. There was warmth there, faint but undeniable, and the realization that followed came with a level of disbelief that he did not bother to hide.
She had been wearing contacts.
Just to look more intimidating.
Sunny stared at her for a moment longer than necessary, then slowly looked away, as though choosing not to engage with that revelation any further for the sake of his own sanity.
Eventually, he let out a quiet breath and shifted his weight slightly.
"Well, if that's all, then I'll be leaving."
Kafka's smile deepened just a fraction, the change subtle but deliberate, as though she had been expecting that response from the beginning.
"Oh? Do you not have any questions you wish to ask us?"
Sunny shrugged.
"I do, but it's not like you'd answer them, right?"
Kafka's expression did not change, though there was a certain satisfaction in the way she nodded, as if confirming something she already knew.
"That is correct. The erasure of your memories was necessary if you wanted to continue existing as a functioning human being. Any external interference in retrieving them prematurely would be… unwise."
She paused, letting the implication linger before continuing.
"In the best-case scenario, you would lose your sense of self. In the worst-case scenario, you would become something akin to a vegetable, incapable of processing the very thing you sought to reclaim."
Sunny tilted his head slightly, absorbing that with surprising ease, because while the information itself was significant, the way it was delivered lacked the weight one might expect. It felt less like a warning and more like a simple statement of fact, and that made it easier to accept without resistance. He said after a moment, his tone thoughtful rather than frustrated.
"So I just wait."
Kafka inclined her head.
"You wait until your Will has enough shape and substance to support what you lost. Even if that structure exists only within yourself, it will be sufficient."
Sunny considered that briefly, then shrugged again, the motion carrying a quiet acceptance that might have seemed odd to anyone else.
That was more than he had expected to get.
Vague, certainly, but still useful.
At the very least, he now had confirmation that letting people into his mind — like Phantylia had attempted — was a terrible idea, which aligned nicely with his existing preferences. The fragments of memory she had unraveled before had been incomplete, more emotional than factual, and that alone was enough to convince him that forcing the process would only make things worse.
Kafka watched him in silence for a few seconds longer, her expression shifting ever so slightly as though she were debating whether to say something more.
When she finally spoke again, her voice carried a different kind of weight.
"I can give you one thing. A specific date."
Sunny's gaze flicked back to her, interest piqued despite himself.
Kafka continued, each word measured.
"December 21st, 17795. That is when you will regain those lost years."
Sunny blinked.
That was this year.
More specifically, it was his birthday.
His nineteenth birthday.
He stared at Kafka for a moment, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and disbelief.
"…Thanks? I'll just…"
He shifted slightly, about to take his bags and transform into a shadow as he prepared to leave, the instinct to disengage taking over now that the conversation had reached a natural conclusion.
Kafka did not let him.
"Do you sense the Master walking down the street?"
Sunny paused, the shadows receding as he turned his head towards her, his gaze sharpening as he processed the question.
"I can... why?"
The answer was already forming in his mind, because his shadow sense had not been idle. He had felt it earlier, the presence moving through the streets with a distinct signature that set it apart from the surrounding noise. An Ascended shadow, refined and controlled, attached to someone he recognized even without needing to see them directly.
Kafka's smile widened.
"I need you to follow the General's child for a while. Although, if I had to guess, you were already planning to do that."
Sunny coughed, the sound faintly awkward.
"Uh… yes. Wait, he's Jing Yuan's kid?"
Blade's voice cut in, low and steady.
"Inheritor."
Sunny blinked, his expression shifting as he processed that distinction.
"Right. Wait, he's Jing Yuan's inheritor?"
The implication there was far more significant, because being an inheritor was not the same as simply being related. It meant succession, legacy, authority — all of it tied to someone who stood at the peak of the Luofu's power structure.
'Oh, Yanqing. You amaze me by the day!'
Silver Wolf snorted from her position, not even bothering to look up from her game.
"Fanboy."
Kafka's gaze flicked toward her briefly before she crossed her arms, her expression shifting into something mildly disapproving.
"Wolfie, should you not be doing your homework?"
Silver Wolf immediately scowled.
"Don't call me that."
Sunny looked at her, genuine surprise flickering across his face.
"You go to school?"
She sighed, the sound exaggerated in a way that suggested she had been asked that question far too many times.
"Silver Wolf does not go to school. Silvie goes to school. And don't act like it is some kind of amazing opportunity."
Sunny blinked, processing that with a level of confusion that he did not bother to hide, because the concept itself felt inherently unfair.
Why did she get a separate identity for that? He was still high school age, if only barely!
Why did she get to live something resembling a normal life while he…
He exhaled quietly, cutting that line of thought off before it could go anywhere unproductive.
"Well, Wolfie, maybe you should be grateful for what you have."
There was a brief pause.
Sunny tensed slightly, half-expecting an immediate retaliation. He hadn't meant to call her that, but now that he did...
It never came.
Silver Wolf merely huffed, her attention returning to her game as though she had chosen to ignore it entirely.
The silence that followed lasted just long enough for Sunny to realize that he had somehow gotten away with it.
He chose not to question that.
Instead, black sparks flickered into existence around him as onyx armor manifested, wrapping around his form with a presence that seemed more familiar than before it was Soulbound. A moment later, white threads of light followed, weaving together into the Weaver's Mask as it settled over his face.
For a brief moment, his thoughts drifted.
The difference in their manifestation was subtle, yet distinct. The Mantle, being Soulbound, responded directly to his Sunny on an internal level, its summoning tied to the nature of his soul itself. Weaver's Mask, along with his other Memories, relied on the Spellweave to exist, their summoning coming in white sparks.
Those that he either made or altered were a mix of black and white Essence, as although the strings were made of Shadow Essence, the Soul Shards weren't corrupted by his own Essence.
He wondered, briefly, if that could be changed — if Soul Shards could be converted into something closer to Shadow Fragments, allowing him to overwrite the process entirely. The idea lingered for a moment before he set it aside, filing it away for later consideration.
As he turned to leave, Kafka spoke again.
"One more thing."
Sunny paused.
"If you aren't wearing your mask, don't let that kid see your weapons. Not unless they are completely new."
He tilted his head slightly. Kafka added, her smile returning.
"He can perceive the history of objects. And the only thing preventing him from identifying you is the anti-divination effect of your mask. Considering how much you value your anonymity, I thought you would appreciate the advice."
Sunny stilled.
That was… extremely useful.
Every weapon he owned carried history.
Every Memory had seen something, whether that is his normal life or his more secretive involvements.
Soul Serpent alone was enough to expose him instantly, if not for the fact he had been wearing Weaver's Mask whenever he used it in weapon form.
'I'm going to need new ones. Ones for public use.'
He gave a small nod, then stepped backward into the shadows, his form dissolving as he slipped away from the room.
Moments later, he emerged as something far less tangible, his presence blending seamlessly into the darkness as he reappeared along the street where his target walked.
Yanqing moved with a certain sharpness, his steps light yet deliberate, his posture carrying the kind of discipline that only came from relentless training. Even from within the shadows, Sunny could feel the tension in him, the subtle vigilance that suggested he was aware of far more than he let on.
Sunny merged with his shadow effortlessly, his presence becoming indistinguishable from the natural darkness beneath the boy's feet.
He observed.
He followed.
And despite everything — the risks, the complications, the sheer absurdity of the situation — there was a quiet, undeniable excitement building beneath the surface.
After all, he was not just trailing anyone.
He was trailing his rival!