Chapter 39: Shadow of God
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
A young, fair hand hovered over the parchment, its slender fingers steadying a pale feather
quill that gleamed faintly in the dim light. The quill required no ink; wherever its tip drifted,
radiant gold unfurled, as though the words already slept beneath the surface of the page.
The quill touched down.
"In the beginning, before shape or memory, there was only the boundless void — not
darkness, not silence, but a shifting expanse where nothing held form for longer than a
heartbeat. The void writhed ceaselessly, birthing strange and terrible beings whose very
presence unraveled meaning. They drifted like unfinished thoughts, nightmares with no
dreamer."
A soft pause. Another stroke of gold.
"From that endless chaos, a spark ignited — something impossible, something new."
"Desire."
"It glowed with a stubborn, steady radiance that the void could not dissolve. And because no
desire can exist without something to reach toward, Direction emerged beside it. Between
them, the first boundary was drawn across the formless abyss."
"From that boundary rose six radiant beings, blazing like newborn suns — the first Gods."
But the golden lines did not stop there. The quill hesitated, then crossed out the number and
replaced it with another.
"There was a seventh."
"Born with the others, radiant as they were, yet different in ways that even they could not
name. While the six embodied the order that Desire had willed into being, the seventh carried
something deeper — a spark of the void itself, buried beneath the flame. A contradiction, a
mixture of concepts that mirrored the void's nature in its' malleability."
The quill moved faster.
"When the gods shone, the void recoiled — but did not yield. The ancient beings stirred, vast
and formless, answering light with hunger. And the war began. The gods fought with
weapons never seen again: blades of time, chains of space, arrows forged from death. The
void creatures responded with pure chaos."
"Ages passed. Moments stretched. Creation trembled. There could be no peace or
compromise between the two sides: while all came from the void, the Gods sought to usurptheir kin and rule over a different type of world, one that had no place for the Others."
"Gradually, painfully, the ancient beings were driven back. Not destroyed — the void cannot
truly die — but weakened, forced into a corner of the abyss. Shadow bled the first drop of
blood on this battlefield, which signified the birth of Death."
The young hand adjusted its grip, the quill etching words further down the page.
"The Gods gathered the remnants of the first golden flame and wove them into a brilliant net,
vast enough to entangle the void itself. They cast it upon the abyss, binding chaos in radiant
law."
"But in the instant before the net closed, the void surged."
"The Seventh God, nearest the breach, was seized by the churning horrors. The six other gods
drew back in fear. Their net was moments from sealing. To delay was to lose everything."
"And so, the seventh was left behind."
The quill slowed, then darkened its golden stroke like directing an orchestra.
"Trapped among the writhing shapes, the Seventh God understood the price that must be
paid. With its final strength, it tore seven sparks from its own essence, flinging them outward,
beyond the closing prison of flame. The sparks escaped, slipping into the newborn world
above."
"The net fell. The cage was sealed. Six Gods remained free. One was abandoned to the
abyss."
A thin line of gold shook slightly, as if its writer was uncertain what to write next.
"From those seven sparks, beings unlike any other arose — radiant, powerful, yet forever
marked by the abyssal prison their creator had never escaped."
"The Daemons."
"Not Gods, at least not at the moment of their creation. Not monsters either, not pure beings
of the Void. But something in between: children of sacrifice, heirs to a broken divinity. Their
power echoed the gods who forged the world, yet their souls were tied to the one who had
been betrayed."
"As was their nature these Seven Daemons were swift to consolidate Their Divinities, to hone
Their Authorities and Symbolisms to also become Gods. But they were lesser deities, lacking
the original spark possessed by those who came from the Flame, holding only a fragment of
the Seventh's Divinity."
The quill traced the final words.
"To add insult to injury, the Gods forbade the Daemons from siring offpring, and denied them
any knowledge of their origin-to hide their selfish shame, their cowardice and abandoment oftheir own. The Daemons were cast adrift in a world that should have rightfully been theirs to
behold, left with nothing but an incomplete nature."
"Thus began the Age of the Gods-the Void was sealed but not forgotten, the first Corrupted
oozed forth from the gaps in the Net, and Gods fought alongside Daemons to destroy them.
True Darkness was born from this conflict, while the feared Daemon of Truth forged the
Eternal River from the corpse of an Unholy Titan. The scale of the conflict is not known,
only that it must have waged across all of reality and perhaps even beyond. In the end
though, Order triumphed and the Age of Heroes arrived."
The quill stopped there, and was left on the page. The golden writing glowed softly before
solidifying, becoming etched into the page. The hand holding it let go, and was then stretched
up above a head.
Adam yawned, rolling back his shoulders and widening his jaw. Looking down at what he
had written, pride and accomplishment filled him, and he smugly held up the page against the
light. "Heh heh, not bad at all! I might just have a knack for writing after all. Well, what kind
of Author would I be if I didn't?"
"What are you acting so smug about now?"
A voice echoed out, and a shadow swept across the ground behind Adam. From it emerged a
man with long black hair, face obscured by darkness, as he placed his hand on Adam's
shoulder and peered over it. "Hoh, you're writing about the Myth of Creation? And you've
added a few embellishments too, I see."
"Poetic license" Adam dismissed his jab, waving the paper under Sasrir's nose. "Releasing
stuff like this is a sure-ticket to getting famous back in the Waking World."
"And a sure-ticket to having a "personal meeting" with someone from the Great Clans."
"Pfft, I'm not afraid of those two clowns, and especially not the one stuck on the moon.
Jobbers who couldn't even kill Sunny and Nephis aren't worthy of my apprehension."
"Check you ego, buddy" Sasrir could't help but sigh, hitting Adam on the head gently.
"You're not the main character of this world, and your current state is nowhere near close
enough to contend with even the servants of the Great Clans. Forget Avil and Song-even
Mordret or Seishan would absolutely stomp you."
"Hey!" he protested at that. "Seishan I can understand, she's one scary woman, but why
would I fear Mordret? That twink wouldn't get further than three steps if he tries to invade
my Soul Sea. In fact, I'd be more than happy to give him a personal experience with the mind
of a Visionary."
"You seem to be forgetting Mordret doesn't just rely on his Soul Possession. You might win
that battle, but the Corpse Cathedral won't be of any help if he just decides to stab you
through the guts."Adam shrugged, smiling up at Sasrir unbothered. "Then I'll just have to rely on you to protect
me."
Sasrir sighed again, sounding like a weary old man, but didn't press the topic any further.
Adam was more mature than his words suggested, so he knew that he wouldn't actually go
picking such unreasonable fights, but sometimes Sasrir wished he could act more serious
some times.
Sasrir plucked the page delicately from Adam's fingers. He held it closer to the lantern, eyes
skimming the golden script.
"…You know," he murmured, "if you put this in a book, half the scholars in the waking
world would call you a blathering fool."
"And the other half," Adam said triumphantly, "would call me a visionary."
"They would call you insane."
"That's just another word for 'ahead of my time'."
Sasrir rolled the parchment back up before Adam could snatch it again. "Well, ahead of your
time or not, I'm confiscating this until you stop acting like you invented literature."
"Hey! That's author abuse!"
"Good. Maybe it'll make you write something more useful, like inventory stocks or hunting
patterns. You use more paper than any other Hunter, Pathfinder of Guard and you don't even
draw maps."
Adam huffed dramatically and flopped back in his chair, legs dangling off the side. The quill
still lay on the table, its white feather shimmering faintly under the dim lamplight. For a
moment the two just sat in the quiet, surrounded by the soft hum of the Castle's distant
torches and the muted heartbeat of the Forgotten Shore beyond the walls.
Then Adam glanced sideways, lips quirking.
"You know… I think I really did a good job with that myth."
Sasrir closed his eyes and breathed out through his nose. "…Yes. It's good. Very good.
Happy?"
Adam's grin widened. "Extremely."
A faint thunk echoed as Sasrir flicked Adam's forehead with two fingers. "Don't get used to
compliments."
Adam rubbed the spot, pouting. "You're just jealous because I'm naturally talented."
"Right. Naturally talented at doing nothin all day."He stood and stretched, the shadows around him rippling like water under moonlight. The
blackness that obscured his face shifted, never revealing him fully, yet somehow expressing
an entire world of exasperation.
"Come on," Sasrir said. "It's nearly curfew. If Gunlaug's hounds catch you awake again, even
I won't bother saving you. You know how picky they are about moving around at night, even
for his best Hunters like us."
"Can't," Adam said, turning back toward the desk. "Still need to finish the final part."
"What final part?"
Adam lifted the quill again, twirling it between two fingers. "The birth of humanity. Dawn of
consciousness. The rise of mortal will and its clash with the gods. Y'know— the fun stuff."
"You're impossible," Sasrir muttered, but didn't move. He hovered beside Adam's chair like
a tired parent watching a child scribble on a wall. "Just don't write anything stupid for others
to see."
"Don't worry, only you can see my masterpieces. Kai and Effie get my second-rate scripts."
"Gee, thank you for the honor."
Adam touched the quill to parchment, and once again golden light pooled outwards, shaping
the next line.
Sasrir paused behind him… then, with a reluctant sigh, placed a hand gently on Adam's
shoulder.
"Just finish quickly so we can sleep."
Adam smiled softly, the kind of smile that made him look far younger than his bravado ever
admitted.
"I will."
The quill glowed brighter, and the next words began to appear—pulling the myth forward
into whatever truths Adam intended to reveal next.
Sasrir slipped out of the room with one last, reluctant glance at Adam bent over his
parchment. The door closed with a soft click behind him.
With that sound, something inside Sasrir clicked as well.
The loose, easy posture drained from his body like water from a cupped hand. His shoulders
straightened, the faint slouch of casual humanity vanishing entirely. The air around him
darkened, shadows sharpening as though aligning themselves to his spine. His steps became
nearly silent, precise, each one falling with the calculated rhythm of a predator that had
merely been pretending to walk on two legs.The warmth in his voice—the wry humor, the gentle scolding—fell away into a cold,
unfathomable stillness.
Gone was the companion. Gone was the teasing guardian. Gone was the counterfeit man.
What remained was the Dark Angel.
As he moved through the dim corridors of Bright Castle, torches guttered slightly, their
flames shrinking away from him. The quiet stone halls seemed to lean back, unwilling to
touch the thing that walked them.
Ahead, two Guards on patrol rounded a corner, chatting in hushed voices. One spotted the tall
figure emerging from the shadows and instinctively raised a hand to greet him.
"Hey—"
His words died on his tongue.
The second Guard grabbed his elbow sharply, eyes widening in warning.
Sasrir walked toward them, the darkness masking his face rippling, as if something deeper
inside was shifting.
Neither Guard dared to breathe, only trying to look to the sides without being too obviously
rude.
When Adam was at his side, they laughed. When Adam teased him, they dared to tease back.
When Adam humanized him, they accepted the illusion.
But Sasrir alone…
No one could act like he was anything like them.
One Guard's hand trembled against his spear shaft. Sasrir passed him by without turning his
head, without acknowledging their existence at all. Despite his silence, despite his stillness,
the oppressive weight of his presence crushed the narrow corridor like an invisible pressure.
When he was several steps away, one Guard exhaled so sharply it cracked into a strangled
gasp.
"…God above…" he whispered.
His partner shot him a frantic glare and shook his head. Don't draw attention.
Sasrir continued on, indifferent. He understood what they felt. He understood why.
Adam's presence wrapped around him like sunlight, softening the shadows clinging to his
form, making him don the mask of the supportive older brother. But without that light,
without the warmth of Adam's voice grounding him in the role he played…The castle saw him for what he was.
A silent killer, a shadow that reaped lives as easily as breathing. A man without conscience,
who struck fear into anyone who met him alone at night. A somewhat exaggerated reputation,
but not one Sasrir could deny either. Not when what had happened two months ago was still
fresh in everyones mind.
At the next turn, a third Guard stiffened, back going ramrod straight as Sasrir approached.
His fingers twitched at his side, as if unsure whether to salute, flee, or hold his breath and
pray for invisibility.
Sasrir passed him without a sound.
Only when the black silhouette vanished down the next stairwell did the man's legs give a
slight, visible shake, and he leaned weakly against the wall.
Sasrir did not slow. Did not speak. Did not flinch at their fear.
His footsteps carried him deeper into the castle's shadowed heart—silent, immaculate, and
entirely inhuman.
Only Adam ever saw him otherwise.
Only Adam made him act otherwise.
But now, with the boy behind closed doors, wrapped in golden ink and the soft illusion of
safety…
Sasrir moved like the thing he truly was. The degenerate shadow of a God, the container for
His depravity and darkness, the vessel for His wounds and pain. The Dark Angel, the Deputy
of Heaven, the Left Hand of God...the Hanged Man.
Sasrir returned to his quarters in silence, closing the door behind him with a soft click that
felt strangely final. The room was dim, lit only by a few scattered candles—flames that
leaned away from him rather than toward him. He lay down on the bed without even
removing his boots, staring at the ceiling for a breath that stretched far too long to be human.
Then he sank.
Not into sleep, but straight through the layers of waking thought and consciousness, plunging
into the place Adam had never visited—and never should. His Soul Sea.
It took form around him all at once, as if reality there snapped awake with him standing in its
center. Compared to others' Soul Seas—calm lakes, storming oceans, orderly voids—Sasrir's
was an impossibility. It shouldn't have existed. It contradicted itself. Yet it held.
It was a sea, yes, but no water lay in sight. Instead it was a roiling, endless spiral of colors—
every hue imaginable and countless ones no human eye should ever perceive. Reds and
greens melted into shades of ultraviolet whispers, while gold bled into something like sound
made visible. The entire mass pulsed, swirled, fractured, and reformed constantly, a ceaselesscreation and destruction in one motion. It felt like witnessing every sunrise and every
apocalypse at once.
The "surface" of this kaleidoscopic maelstrom churned like a liquid madness, but stabbing
out of its center was a single black mountain. Its slopes were formed of soil so dark it
devoured light; dirt that looked like the burned remains of something once fertile. Sparks of
color from the sea would fling themselves against its base, only to hiss, die, and be
swallowed by the darkness.
Sasrir stood on the mountain's peak, boots sinking slightly into the dead earth. Despite the
chaos below, up here the air was still—motionless, heavy, reverent.
At the summit stood the cross.
It was enormous, easily thrice Sasrir's height, forged not from wood nor metal but from
liquid shadow. The substance flowed in slow, viscous waves, dripping upward instead of
downward, defying gravity and reason alike. Every time a tendril slithered across the surface,
the shadow seemed to whisper—not in words but in intentions and emotions, volatile ones,
dangerous ones.
At irregular intervals, an outline appeared on the cross: a figure with five heads, each one too
indistinct to name yet too real to dismiss. Sometimes it flickered. Sometimes it lingered. And
sometimes one of the heads would tilt toward Sasrir as if acknowledging him before
vanishing into black ripples.
He gazed upon it without bowing, without reverence—only with a patient, quiet acceptance.
This was as familiar to him as breath.
But then a sound—not a sound, but the inversion of one—shivered across the sky.
Sasrir turned.
Above the horizon, the sky cracked.
Not like glass, but like bone. A fissure tore itself open from one end of reality to the other
with a dull, shuddering snap. Through the fracture spilled a vast pressure, ancient and malign,
until the crack ruptured entirely—
—and everything fell.
Blackish-red mud poured from the broken heavens in a roiling deluge. It wasn't water. It
wasn't liquid. It wasn't even matter in the way the living understood it. It writhed as it fell,
twisting like half-formed limbs and tangled nerves trying to remember what shape they once
had. The mud splashed into the chaotic sea below, and where it landed, color recoiled as if in
horror.
The rainbow vortex dimmed, shrank, sickened.
The mud spread like rot, turning brilliance to sludge, turning possibility to stagnant decay. It
soaked the sea until feverish tendrils of corruption clawed at the mountain's base, itching toclimb.
Sasrir watched it all in absolute silence.
Then he lifted one hand.
Color obeyed him instantly.
Swirling blobs of pure hue—crimson swarms, golden smears, shards of impossible blue—
ripped themselves from the remaining pockets of untainted sea and spiraled upward toward
him. They swelled, collided, merged grotesquely, corrupting themselves in their eagerness to
serve. The bright shades bled together into ugly murk, then into pitch-black lumps of
trembling substance.
A multitude of them. Dozens. Hundreds.
Each one swirling, warping, straining to become something they could not.
They gathered around Sasrir like a halo of corrupted creation, waiting for his will to shape
them—or to unleash them.
All the while, the wounded sea writhed below. And above, the crack in the sky slowly began
to recede away and fade.
Bringing one of the trembling black spheres before him, Sasrir studied the image within with
a gaze utterly devoid of warmth. Detached. Clinical. The sphere pulsed once, its surface
thinning just enough to reveal Adam—clutching his ribs, teeth grit as pain lanced through
him. A memory. A moment. A wound.
Sasrir did not blink.
Another sphere drifted closer of its own accord, brushing lightly against his shoulder. Within
it, Adam was feeding blood to the Unshadowed Crucifix, face tight with strain and a kind of
quiet dread. Another floated upward to replace it—a scene of Adam sitting with one leg
extended, wrapping a bandage around a deep cut on his thigh.
More gathered. More displayed their truths.
Dozens of orbs like little suffering planets. Hundreds, if one counted those hovering further
off in miserable constellations. Most showed Adam. A smaller handful revealed Kai or
Athena—Kai's fist split open on a monster's skull, Athena's shoulder crushed under the
weight of a collapsing stone pillar. Gemma and Seishan were conspicuously absent, not
because they had never been harmed, but because Sasrir had never once considered them his.
They were teammates. Useful, occasionally. But not allies whose burdens he instinctively
bore.
For every scene projected here was a moment—fleeting or catastrophic—when his Flaw, that
cursed Scapegoat, had dragged the suffering of those closest to him into himself as well. The
wounds they endured, the pain they swallowed, the fear they hid… all of it had echoed in his
own flesh and bone.The number of injuries was staggering. Bruised knuckles. Torn muscles. Split lips. Broken
ribs. Lungs punctured. Limbs shattered. Organs ruptured. Poison in blood and blood on stone.
The sheer volume of hurt was immense enough to make the average mind recoil.
Sasrir felt nothing.
Of course he did not.
This was his purpose. This was why he was made. To bear the world's sins. To take the
wounds meant for others. To crumble so they might stand. To bleed so they might breathe.
He would do it willingly, endlessly, happily—so long as Adam remained safe.
His existence had been shaped by Adam's wish, pulled into being by the desperate, if
subconsciouss, clarity of the young man's Envisioning. Adam had needed someone, and
Sasrir had become that someone so thoroughly, so absolutely, that there was no part of him
left untouched by that mandate.
So he played the part.
He joked. He teased. He played human when it mattered, shifted when it didn't. He steadied
Adam's shaken resolve, grounded him when panic clawed, guided him when doubt
threatened to break him. He made himself the anchor, the confidant, the companion—
whatever the boy required.
And he would continue to do so always.
Even if it required secrets. Even if it required lies. Even if he had to act behind Adam's back,
manipulating threads the young man could never perceive.
Adam might be angry if he knew. Might feel deceived. Might turn away.
Sasrir didn't care.
As long as Adam was safe. As long as Adam was happy.
And Adam would never need to know.
Once the visions of physical harm faded, new orbs drifted forward—heavier, darker, shaped
not by bodies but by minds. These were not memories or images. They were raw emotions,
distilled into spheres so dense they seemed to warp the air.
Sadness.
Regret.
Fear, sharp as broken glass.
Panic, trembling and breathless.
Loneliness, cold as deep seawater.
Self-blame, thick as tar.They pulsed weakly, radiating the poisonous weight of every moment Adam—or the others—
had quietly broken on the inside.
Sasrir regarded these too, though his expression barely shifted. Slowly, almost gently, he ran
a finger along the length of the nearest one. It shivered under his touch like a frightened
animal.
Then, without a word, he turned toward the shadow-cross.
The orbs floated from his hand and rose upward in a slow, reverent procession. One by one
they touched the liquid darkness, sinking in without a ripple, devoured wholly and silently.
When the final sphere vanished, the cross flickered.
The shadows shuddered, almost as if choking on what it had just swallowed. Then, with a
stuttering pulse of black light, the five-headed silhouette appeared again—this time not
flickering, but solidifying, even if only for a heartbeat.
And in the center of those five indistinct faces, a single vertical red eye snapped open.
It burned like a ruby filled with simmering fire.
A gaze of judgment. A gaze of hunger.
A gaze of recognition.
It stared at Sasrir.
Then closed.
The figure vanished, dissolving into ink-black ripples. The liquid cross settled once more—
though its limbs now stretched ever so slightly wider, taller. A centimetre or two, perhaps
more.
It had grown. Fed, strengthened by the negativity Sasrir had given to it.
Sasrir watched it with quiet understanding.
This was simply how things were.
This was one of the deepest secrets Sasrir had kept from Adam—the true nature of the
Hanged Man Uniqueness, a truth buried deep within the recesses of his Soul Sea and, by
extension, his very being. Unlike Adam's Visionary Uniqueness, which slumbered passively
in the vast, shared Sea of Collective Subconsciousness, Sasrir's Uniqueness was awake,
active, and insistent. It did not slumber; it did not remain distant andunivolved.
It had no voice, no literal consciousness, yet it had desires—directions, imperatives, instincts
inherited from its' Godhood itself. Its singular aim was as maddening as it was absolute: to
contain all the sins, all the madness, all the madness of the world, and to do so even at the
cost of going mad itself.Sasrir had no illusions about it. The Hanged Man was not a being to be reasoned with,
negotiated with, or bargained with. It was a mechanism, a living will of containment, a
predator of moral and existential weight. And as its human—or semi-human—vessel, Sasrir
became its hands. Its instruments. Its shadow in the waking world.
Every night, as Adam slept peacefully in his bed, Sasrir would slip silently from his own,
with the ghostlike grace of someone who had been walking in shadow for centuries. He
would kneel beside Adam's sleeping form and slip into his shadow, reaching down into the
corners of his mind, pulling away the burdens the boy shouldn't bear-not the memories
themselves, butt the sensations and feelings that accompanied them.
This was why Adam seemed unfazed by pain, why he could fear something in the moment
but be unbothered when remebering it the day after. Sasrir had snipped that possibility.
All of it—the visions of potential harm, the guilt, the terror, the shame—was drawn from
Adam and offered to the Hanged Man on its black liquid cross. A ritual. A duty. A sacrifice.
The burdens were never Adam's again; they were Sasrir's, absorbed, contained, and stored
deep in the folds of the Chaos Sea. And every night the cross shimmered faintly in
acknowledgment, growing imperceptibly, ever vigilant, ever hungry.
Adam had never asked for this, not directly. He had wished, yes, but the wish had been
incomplete, naive, desperate in its simplicity. He had wanted "Sasrir himself" as the concept
—a companion, protector, confidant originating from his own self, absolutely trustworhty and
knowledgable. Yet Adam also got more than he bargained for.
Instead, he got "Sasrir" but with his own personality as the base, rather than Grisha. But
Sasrir wasn't just made up from Girsha: he was also the controller of the Chaos Sea, the
substitute prepared to deflect the Will of the Primordial One. When Sasrir was Envisioned
into the world of Shadow Slave, he brought the Chaos Sea with him.
Within the confines of his Soul Sea, Sasrir could draw upon that power. The colors, the
vortex of chaos, the ever-shifting rainbow-madness that surrounded him—he could
manipulate it, bend it, let it consume itself or create new forms from its infinite possibilities.
Outside of it, in the waking world, that dominion was locked away, unusable. But within,
forget Mordret or the Soul Snatcher, even the Skinwalker itself would find itself nothing
more than a meal to the Sefirah, devoured whole if it attempted to invade his soul.
Sasrir knew what his purpose was in this. The Curator had promised Adam a way to
transcend to Sequence, to surpass a mere Sequence 0. And the key to this was Sasrir, the
Chaos Sea inside him. He had already foreseen how it would go:
Upon Adam becoming the Visionary, Sasrir would also become the Hanged Man. Then, the
two would fuse together and combine influence over the Chaos Sea. Once this happened,
Adam could Envision the remaining three Uniqueness' and achieve a status infintiely close to
a true God Almighty. If Adam or Sasrir could accomodate the Legacy or both the Storm God
and the Sun God, they would only need to Envision the White Tower Authority to succeed.
Ofcourse, this was just his own conjecture-Sasrir couldn't use the Chaos Sea to borrow the
Authority of Omniscience like the original Sasrir from LOTM. But he found it a reasonablead likely method, poetically faithful to the actual story. And perhaps even the White Tower
could be substituted, possibly with the powers of the Demon of Dread who wielded Truth, or
Weaver who commanded Fate.
But that was all in the far future. For now, his purpose was to hold, to absorb, to neutralize, to
protect. That was his role. That was his calling. That was why he could not, would not, and
would never reveal the truth to Adam. The boy's peace depended on ignorance.
So Sasrir remained in the shadows, in the silence, in the chaos he alone could command. He
bore the sins Adam could not, the suffering that had no name, and the corruption that had no
rest. And in doing so, he anchored Adam—not in power, not in dominance, but in safety.
It was a secret of the deepest kind. One that could never be spoken aloud.
And yet it defined him completely.
Chapter End Notes
"Every being has divinity."
[Its main meaning comes from the interpretation of the Tarot card, and Author endows it
with two relatively obvious meanings. First, take the initiative to sacrifice yourself or
pay the price; The second is that when you are in a dilemma, do not struggle in vain, but
look at the problem from another angle, look at yourself calmly, think about the future,
and wait patiently for something to happen.]
[Since the seventh volume, the sacrifices have been made by Roselle, Mr.Door, and the
Ancient Sun God who decided to give up important things. Those who paid the price
included Alger, Klein, the True Creator and Adam.]
-Cuttlefish's description for Volume 7Chapter 40: How I met My Best Friend
The mess hall of Bright Castle was unusually warm that morning.
Sunlight spilled through an open archway, painting soft gold across the long tables and
cracked stone floor. Someone had left a pot of stew simmering early, so the air carried the
gentle scent of herbs and something vaguely like chicken — though I was certain nothing
resembling a chicken lived anywhere on this cursed shore.
I sat with my bowl in both hands, blowing on the steam as Sasrir plopped down across from
me with all the grace of a falling boulder.
"Mornin'," Sasrir said, hair still damp from washing, shadows clinging lightly to his
cheekbones. "Try not to choke on your enthusiasm. It's unbecoming."
I squinted at him. "Try not to choke on your own ego. It's already too big for this table."
Kai, sitting neatly on my right, hid a smile behind his spoon. He watched us bicker quietly,
eyes soft and amused, as though seeing something rare in the Dream Realm.
It was rare — this warmth, this normality.
I jabbed my spoon pointedly in Sasrir's direction. "You're just jealous I slept like a baby."
"You slept like a slain baby," Sasrir corrected without missing a beat. "Dead to the world.
You didn't even move when the crab knocked over the pantry shelf."
I blinked. "…Wait, that noise was real?"
Kai stifled a laugh behind his hand.
Sasrir leaned back smugly. "I handled it."
"You held it like it was a bomb," Kai added gently.
"I held it a strategic distance from my face," Sasrir countered.
I snorted broth out my nose, and Kai let out an honest, soft giggle — the kind that made a
few nearby Sleepers glance over subtly.
"Hard to believe we've been doing this for weeks now," I said after the laughter faded,
stirring my stew thoughtfully. "Feels like we've fought half the monsters on this shore."
"Two-thirds," Sasrir corrected.
Kai nodded politely. "…Almost three-quarters, I think."
I blinked. "Why do the both of you keep score?!"Sasrir shrugged. "Professional pride."
Kai added, "It's useful for planning future routes."
I threw my free hand up. "I hate you both."
But I was smiling.
Sasrir smirked, swirling his spoon. "Remember those hammerhead dog-things? The ones that
tried to eat you the first time we stepped back into the Labyrinth?"
I groaned. "Don't remind me. One of them grabbed my cloak and almost dragged me into a
coral pit."
"You screamed louder than the manta shriekers," Sasrir said.
Kai coughed delicately. "It was… rather high-pitched."
I looked betrayed. "Kai, not you too—!"
Sasrir chuckled, letting shadows curl lazily around his fingers. "And then there were the
Crustacean Centurions. Good grief. I swear I'll never be able to look at seafood the same
way."
Kai's eyes softened. "But you two handled the giant one well."
I perked up immediately. "Exactly! See? Praise!"
"You only handled it because you melted it from behind," Sasrir said.
"We handled it nonetheless," I retorted, proudly thumping my chest.
Kai smiled again and pointed his spoon at Sasrir. "And your ability to make them freeze up is
extremely useful. I can hit them with my bow so much easier when you're stopping them
from moving."
As the three of us ate in companionable quiet, I finally spoke again, voice soft:
"…Speaking of monsters. Do you remember when we first met?"
Kai nearly choked on his stew. "Oh spirits, don't remind me."
Sasrir grinned slowly. "Ah yes. That day."
Kai turned his bowl slowly in his hands. "You two were… very dramatic."
I pointed accusingly at Sasrir. "He is the reason we almost fought you!"
"I assumed he was a disguised monster," Sasrir said primly. "He popped out of the fog in
total silence, levitating in the air. What else was I supposed to think?"Kai blinked innocently. "I was just… walking."
"You were floating," Sasrir countered. "Silently. Menacingly. At least three feet off the
ground."
I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "You're lucky I didn't just blast you with a Light
Pillar on the spot. We had just spent like an hour dodging those manta shriekers. My ears
were still ringing."
Kai tilted his head. "…Thank you for being too tired to attack me. And for being lost enough
to encounter me."
Sasrir scoffed. "We were not lost."
"You were going in the opposite direction of safety," Kai said.
I laughed. "Which is a polite way of saying yes, we were lost."
Sasrir muttered into his bowl. "Debatable."
Kai continued, voice warm with nostalgia:
"And then you dropped your weapon once you finally saw my face."
I paused at that, before shrugging nonchalantly. "Yeah well, who could have expected to find
the Nightingale wandering around in the middle of the Forgotten Shore? I mean, it turns out
you'd been here a whole six months longer than us, but we'd never even heard about you!"
Kai and Sasrir burst into shared laughter and I couldn't help but join in.
Kai sat across from me and Sasrir, the soft glow of the mess hall's lanterns catching in his
dark auburn hair and turning it almost copper. Even in the plain light of morning, he looked
like he'd stepped out of some painting — the warm brown lamellar armor resting
comfortably on his tall, slim frame, the deep blue fabric beneath adding a quiet elegance that
didn't match the typical rough Dream Realm décor.
I pretended not to notice how half the hall kept sneaking glances at Kai… but the smirk on
Sasrir's face gave away that he did.
"Anyway," I said, continuing our earlier banter, "first time we met him, Mister Perfect here
didn't trust us at all."
Kai blinked, face as polite and serene as ever — which only made him look more ethereal.
His ivory skin caught the faint shimmer of the lights, and when he glanced away bashfully,
the electric green of his eyes almost seemed to glow. A couple of nearby novices actually
paused mid-bite just to look at him. Kai didn't notice.
Sasrir leaned his cheek against his fist. "Can you blame him? Look at that face. If I looked
like that, I'd assume everyone wanted something from me too."Kai flushed a little, lips pulling into the shy smile that always revealed the dimples in his
cheeks. A few people at a nearby table visibly melted.
I tried not to laugh. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. He's pretty enough to make statues jealous."
Kai ducked his head, embarrassed. "I'm… really not—"
"Buddy," I cut in, "if you walked past a group of girls right now, we'd have to swim out of a
sea of fainting bodies. Maybe a few guys too."
Sasrir nodded solemnly. "Definitely a few guys."
Kai covered his face with one hand. "Can we talk about something else?"
But despite the fluster, there was a warmth to him — that natural gentle charm, the kind that
made even this bleak realm feel less sharp. He had no arrogance about him, none of the
entitlement that could have come so easily with a face like his. Just that soft radiance, the
quiet humor in his eyes, and the impression that he genuinely liked being here with us.
"Fine, fine," I said, leaning back. "We were talking about how it took a whole week before
you stopped avoiding us."
Sasrir clicked his tongue. "Avoiding? More like monitoring from a dramatic distance."
I snapped my fingers. "Exactly! Every time I looked up, there he was — perched on a ledge
with his hair blowing dramatically, looking like some tragic prince watching over us mortals.
If a painter had been there, they would've retired on that image alone."
Kai groaned softly, but his smile was fighting its way back. "I wasn't trying to be dramatic."
"Oh, sure," I said. "You just happen to look like that by accident."
Sasrir nodded in agreement. "Some people roll out of bed and look like normal human
beings. You roll out of bed already ready for a hero's movie."
Kai opened his mouth, then closed it, unable to argue.
The lighthearted chatter lasted another few seconds — until I, still laughing, added:
"Anyway, you didn't trust us until we killed Artus, and—"
My words cut short.
The moment the words slipped out, I felt it like a cold tap on the back of my neck. The air
between us shifted — not heavy, but quieter. More fragile.
Kai lowered his gaze, lashes shadowing those shockingly green eyes. "You didn't have to do
that," he murmured, voice softer now, missing the earlier humor.Sasrir straightened slightly. I winced. The memory of that harrowing night lurked unspoken
at the edge of the table.
"Yeah," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "Well. I wanted to show you I meant it."
"And," Sasrir added gently, "that we wouldn't leave you behind."
Kai's fingers tangled with the edge of his cup. The hall's distant chatter seemed to fade,
leaving only the warmth of the lanterns and the three of us holding the moment between us.
Then I nudged Kai's arm, voice light again. "Besides, if we hadn't done what we did, you
wouldn't be here right now."
Kai smiled — small, genuine, radiant. "I'm glad I am."
And just like that, the softness returned. The warmth. The easy brightness of three people
who had survived enough darkness to appreciate mornings like this.
As we finished eating, I stretched and stood up. We didn't have a shift today, so after making
some plans later in the day, we went our separate ways-Sasrir went to the Memory Market to
look for new weapons, Kai went to train his archery while I...went back to my room and lay
down on my bed.
Yes, I was lazy. Shoot me.
Eventually, I exhaled, gave up, and let myself sink into the oldest of them — the moment we
met him.
The flashback rose like a tide.
Fog. Rain. And the sound of Sasrir swearing under his breath.
The Coral Labyrinth was already one of the Dream Realm's less pleasant gifts, but add in a
storm that made visibility drop to arm's length and you had the perfect recipe for misery.
"I'm telling you," I muttered as we trudged between twisting walls of pale coral and slick
stone, "this place changes every time we turn around."
Sasrir grunted beside me. "No. You keep turning around. I'm navigating perfectly fine."
"You walked us into a dead end five minutes ago."
"That was a scouting maneuver."
"It was a wall."
"Some walls need to be scouted."
I rolled my eyes, pulling my hood lower as cold droplets slid down the back of my neck. The
air smelled of salt and damp stone, and the labyrinth groaned quietly with every gust of wind,like it resented us being there.
Fog swirled thicker, dimming the faint glow of the coral around us. The rain wasn't heavy —
just enough to blur the world, to make everything smudged and shifting.
I wiped water from my eyes. "We're never getting out of here…"
"Whine louder," Sasrir said. "Maybe the walls will pity you."
I opened my mouth to retort — and then froze.
The fog in the Coral Labyrinth wasn't just thick — it was downright hostile, like everthing
else here. Every gust of wind stirred the mist like something alive, and every shadow looked
like it was waiting for us to mess up. It made visibility nigh-impossible, yet Icould clearly
seea humanoid figurestanding in the fog, seemingly slighlty off the ground.
"Sasrir," I hissed, grabbing his arm.
He squinted into the swirling grey. "Oh, fantastic. A creepy statue. I love it when horror
tropes show up in my morning."
"It wasn't there a second ago."
"…I officially don't love it anymore."
We stopped walking. The figure didn't move.
Didn't sway in the wind.
Just stood, perfectly still, like someone had carved him out of shadow and tossed him into the
maze.
Sasrir whispered, "Think it's one of those mimic-things pretending to be human?"
"Probably."
I swallowed. "Or a hallucination monster. Or a lure beast. You know. Something normal."
Normal for the Dream Realm, anyway.
We slowly drew our weapons.
Then — out of absolutely nowhere — the figure raised a hand in the most unsettling, slow-
motion wave I'd ever seen.
"Oh hell no," Sasrir muttered. "Humans don't wave like that. That's serial-killer energy."
The figure called out through the fog:
"…Hello?"The voice echoed strangely, probably shuffled around by the labyrinth's acoustics. It didn't
help. If anything, it made him sound like he was speaking from inside my skull.
I whispered urgently, "Sasrir, I swear to God, if that thing climbs onto the ceiling—"
The figure took a step toward us.
Not fast.
Not aggressive.
Just… a step.
Which somehow made it ten times worse.
Sasrir barked, "Don't move!"
The figure froze instantly.
Then—
"…Should I move back?"
"No!" both of us shouted.
The stranger seemed deeply confused. "…Slowly?"
"No!" I snapped. "Don't move at all!"
He paused.
"…I think I'm doing very badly at this conversation."
I clenched my teeth. "Sasrir, it can talk. Monsters can talk. You know what else can talk?
Sirens. Mimics. Possessed armor—"
"Don't forget soul-eaters," Sasrir added helpfully.
The figure tried again. "I promise I'm not a monster."
Which is exactly what a monster trying to lure us would say.
I whispered, "Why would he say that—why would anyone say that?"
Sasrir narrowed his eyes. "Suspicious. Extremely suspicious."
The figure shifted awkwardly — and the wind caught his hair, revealing just the faintest
gleam of bright green eyes.
I froze. "…Why does it look pretty?"
Sasrir hissed, "That's very suspicious. Pretty things are always the most dangerous."Before we could decide whether to run or fight, the stranger raised both hands nervously and
shouted:
"Um! If you're lost, I can help! I've been here a while and—"
Sasrir cut him off. "A while? How long is 'a while'? Long enough to become a monster?"
"I—I don't think I've become a monster—"
"That's exactly what someone who's a monster would say!"
The stranger looked completely helpless now. "…Should I lie down? Would that help?"
"Just don't move!" I yelled again.
He froze so quickly it was almost superhuman.
Everything went silent. Just rain, fog, and three very confused people staring at each other.
Finally, the figure spoke again — much smaller this time, voice trembling like someone
trying to sound harmless.
"…I think we're having a misunderstanding."
No kidding.
But despite the absurdity… something about his tone made me hesitate.
Soft.
Sincere.
Not predatory.
Not sharp.
Not shifting or distorted like most Dream Realm creatures.
Just a guy.
A worried one.
I exhaled slowly. "Okay. Fine. Let's all stop shouting."
Sasrir lowered his weapon a fraction. "But we're watching you. Closely. Don't do anything…
weird."
The figure nodded rapidly, eager.
Considering later events, it still amazes me that this was how we met one of the nicest people
in the world.
A confused, terrified, soaking-wet prince-looking man in armor, accidentally convincing us
he was a monster.Looking back on it now, it almost seemed like Fate was pissed off we were changing the
script so much, it decided to just force one of its' encounters onto us.
And this encounter was none other than Kai Nightingale