Chapter Summary: In a world full of monsters, the most terrifying thing is still feelings.
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Jest slouched deeper into his chair and immediately regretted the decision.
Pain flared viciously through his ribs, arm, and shoulder, joined by several entirely new aches that suggested his body had discovered fresh and inventive ways to resent him. Gods, but did that Echo pack a punch.
A long, suffering groan escaped his lips as he slowly forced himself upright again, movements stiff enough to make him feel decades older than he actually was.
He was beginning to form a rather unfortunate habit of returning from missions battered half to death and questioning every life decision that had led him there.
A professional hazard, perhaps, or maybe hazardous professionalism.
Jest grimaced faintly.
Gods above, even he had to admit that one was awful.
The room around them remained steeped in subdued silence, the kind that lingered after disasters too large to properly process. Soft firelight flickered across dark stone walls while the distant hum of activity echoed faintly through the Citadel of Valor. Despite the wealth and authority concentrated within the chamber, the decor remained austere, all polished steel, black wood, and heavy furniture built to last rather than impress guests. Tall windows stretched along one side of the room, overlooking the vast forest surrounding Bastion beneath the dim light of evening.
At the center of the chamber stood a long table carved from ancient black wood, and around it they sat.
To his right was Madoc, who looked only marginally less miserable than Jest felt. The other Saint had removed his armor already, exposing layers of fresh bandages beneath dark clothing. Faint traces of burns still marked his neck despite the healing Memories applied to him, and although he maintained his usual professional posture, exhaustion lingered visibly beneath the discipline.
To Jest's left sat Gilead.
Summer Knight appeared far less injured than the rest of them physically, but his expression carried the distant heaviness of a man drowning quietly in his own thoughts. His gaze remained fixed somewhere beyond the room itself, jaw tense, posture perfectly composed despite the unmistakable gloom hanging over him.
He was brooding again.
Jest resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
No doubt Gilead was mourning the stains upon his precious honor or lamenting the cruelty of necessity or indulging in whatever other lofty sentiments he loved spouting whenever reality refused to accommodate his ideals. Frankly, Jest found the whole thing exhausting.
For all his speeches about righteousness and duty, Gilead was no different from the rest of them. He killed when ordered, lied when required, and obeyed because the alternative was worse. The only distinction between them was that Gilead insisted on dressing it all in noble language afterward.
At least Jest possessed the self-awareness not to pretend he smelled any sweeter than the rest of the refuse heap.
Finally, his attention shifted toward the figure seated at the head of the table.
Anvil sat motionless in his chair, one hand resting loosely against the armrest while the other remained folded atop the polished surface. His face was turned toward the towering windows overlooking Bastion, though it was immediately clear that he was not truly looking outside.
The King of Swords appeared contemplative. Considering the circumstances, Jest supposed that it was preferable to furious.
The assault on the Ivory Tower had been a catastrophe, no matter how generously one tried to frame it.
Sixty Awakened operatives dead, fourteen Masters lost out of thirty, and then there was Saint Cormac.
"Canary got the dragon in the end." He quipped inwardly.
Jest stared at the table for a moment before exhaling quietly.
Gods. It did not even sound remotely funny anymore.
"What of their progress, brother?" Madoc asked at last, breaking the oppressive quiet hanging over the chamber.
Anvil slowly turned away from the window, his face resembling iron carved into human shape. "Acceptable."
Relief spread quietly through Jest despite himself. That meant Mercy was probably still alive.
He would rather swallow broken glass than admit the thought had been worrying him, but ever since he left, concern for his grandson had lingered unpleasantly in the back of his mind.
"Cheer up, will you?" Jest interjected suddenly, forcing a lighter tone into his voice.
Gilead's distant gaze shifted toward him slowly.
"What exactly is there to be happy about?" the younger Saint asked glumly.
Jest shrugged carelessly and immediately regretted it when pain stabbed through his shoulder hard enough to nearly make him hiss.
Damn, but the new generation was terrifying.
"Well, I'm still alive," he replied anyway. "And that lunatic Sunless got beaten up almost as badly as I did. Frankly, I'd call that reason enough for celebration."
A rough snort escaped Madoc before he could stop it.
Jest noticed the faintest hint of amusement flicker briefly across the younger Saint's face before it disappeared once more, and the sight almost made him smile himself.
Ah, so Madoc felt it too. Sweet, sweet vindication.
Petty, childish, deeply unbecoming vindication, but one did not rise as high as they had without cultivating at least a little spite somewhere inside.
Saints remained human beneath all the glory and power. If anything, they were usually worse humans than most.
Before silence could settle once more, their Sovereign chose to speak.
"Ki Song has offered me an alliance," Anvil said flatly. "I accepted."
None of them reacted strongly. They already knew and did not object.
Not because any of them trusted the Queen of Worms. Trusting the other Supreme required a catastrophic lapse in judgment at the very least. But the situation unfolding before humanity had already grown beyond petty hatred and old rivalries.
"Madoc," Anvil continued, "contact the Government and bring them to the table."
"Yes, brother."
Anvil's gaze shifted toward Gilead next.
"Summer Knight. Take a retinue and begin advancing into Godgrave. The Worm is likely already doing the same, and I do not intend to allow her such an advantage unimpeded."
"My liege," Gilead answered immediately.
Finally, Anvil's eyes settled upon Jest, and despite himself, he found his posture straightening slightly beneath the weight of that gaze.
"Jest. Pull out the rot at its roots."
A chill crawled slowly down Jest's spine.
The words themselves were simple enough, but they carried a meaning known only to a handful of people still alive. It was a code, one that had only been used once before. Back when the Dreamspawn still walked among humanity.
Its meaning was unmistakable.
Find every thrall, every carrier, and every hidden servant.
And kill them all.
Jest opened his mouth instinctively, searching for some joke capable of cutting through the grim atmosphere. A pun, a quip, anything to make things less bleak.
Nothing came.
Not a single damn thing.
A long sigh escaped him instead while he leaned back carefully into his chair, already feeling tired in ways no healer could truly fix.
Gods.
Retirement was beginning to sound dangerously appealing.
-------------------------------------------
The grotesque creature descended from the golden sky with a piercing cry, enormous wings casting a long shadow across the broken ground below.
Seishan watched it calmly.
The Nightmare Creature resembled a massive condor twisted into something unnatural, its dark feathers ragged and uneven, its elongated neck moving with unsettling jerks while a hooked beak snapped sharply as it dove toward her.
A Fallen Beast.
The thought brought faint amusement to her mind as she stepped lightly aside, allowing the creature's talons to crash into the stone where she had stood moments before.
How quickly things changed.
Barely two years had passed since she escaped the Forgoteen Shore alongside Changing Star and the others, and yet the difference between then and now felt almost absurd in hindsight.
Back then, facing a Fallen creature alone would have bordered on suicide.
Now, the thing before her hardly felt threatening at all.
The condor let out another shriek and lunged toward her again, malformed wings beating hard enough to scatter dust and loose debris through the air.
Seishan smiled faintly, and then she jumped.
Her body shifted in midair as her Aspect answered her call. Grey skin rippling as her monstrous form unraveled itself, carrying an eerie grace that contrasted sharply against the harrowing transformation overtaking her body.
Before the creature could react, Seishan reached it.
Her hands seized both wings near their joints, locking them in place before the beast could escape. The condor thrashed violently in surprise, but she held firm, dragging it downward with overwhelming force.
Then she bit into its neck, and the creature's struggles weakened almost immediately.
By the time Seishan landed softly upon the ruined ground once more, the Fallen Beast had already gone limp in her grasp.
She released the corpse carelessly and straightened, brushing dust from one sleeve of her dress as though the fight had been little more than a minor inconvenience.
Around them, the battle was already nearing its end.
The scarred landscape of Godgrave stretched endlessly beneath the golden sky, littered with shattered stone and the remains of slain Nightmare Creatures. Far ahead, a massive cloud of living darkness churned violently amidst the battlefield, swallowing shrieks and impacts alike within its depths.
Revel was taking the brunt of the assault as usual.
Seishan watched the writhing darkness for a moment before glancing sideways.
Hel stood nearby amidst the aftermath of her own battle, lazily resting her weapon across one shoulder while looking entirely unbothered by the devastation surrounding them.
Another creature collapsed somewhere within Revel's darkness, and silence fell completely upon them.
The darkness dispersed slowly afterward, peeling away until Revel herself became visible once more, or rather her silhouette did, still encased in a shroud of darkness to protect her from the light.
Seishan inclined her head slightly, and the dark silhouette returned it.
Next, she turned around to take on the dilapidated structure behind them. Once upon a time, it might have been a magnificent temple. That time was long gone now.
The ancient building had long since fallen into ruin, its cracked walls half-buried beneath sparse vegetation while weathered pillars leaned precariously beneath the weight of countless years. Whatever statues had once adorned the place now existed only as broken fragments scattered around the entrance.
Very little remained worthy of worship there.
If not for its strategic value, none of them would have bothered coming at all.
Her thoughts drifted briefly toward the task Mother had entrusted Sunless with.
The first prince of Song had to cross the Dream Realm to reach Valor territory, and eventually the Chained Isles. Given how important it was to keep secrecy and the implied urgency, the shortest and safest route available to him had led directly through Godgrave. During that journey, he had also been tasked with searching for a hidden Citadel somewhere within the death zone itself.
Surprisingly, he had succeeded rather quickly.
Even more surprisingly, he had relinquished ownership of the Citadel without much resistance afterward. Well, without too much resistance.
Seishan's lips curved faintly at the memory; the amount of soul shards Sunless had demanded in compensation had bordered on absurd.
Her gaze lingered thoughtfully on the ruined temple.
War between Song and Valor had merely been delayed, not prevented. Everyone understood that by now. And when the conflict finally erupted in earnest, this hidden Citadel deep within Godgrave would become an invaluable foothold.
Which was precisely why they were here now.
They would be regularly clearing the surrounding region of Nightmare Creatures before the inevitable hostilities began. After all, discovering their future stronghold overrun at the worst possible moment would be deeply inconvenient.
A familiar sweet scent drifted through the air suddenly.
Seishan turned immediately and spotted her younger sister, who had started one of her divinations while she was deep in thought.
Hel had crouched beside one of the slain Nightmare Creatures and was currently rummaging absently through the remains with an expression of mild concentration.
Nearby, Revel's silhouette watched the scene with complete indifference while suppressing a small yawn.
Eventually, the haruspicina straightened slowly, blinking several times as an odd expression settled across her pale face.
She looked confused, which was more than enough to make Seishan uneasy.
"What is it?" Revel asked.
Hel frowned faintly. "That's weird."
"What is?"
"No one died," she said, sounding almost offended by the fact. "Well… someone did, but not really."
Seishan felt concern stir quietly within her chest.
For as long as she had known Hel -which was considerably longer than Seishan cared to think about- the woman's prophecies had almost always involved catastrophic amounts of death and destruction.
"What exactly did the prophecy say?" she asked carefully.
Hel scratched idly at the back of her head while trying to remember, smearing it full of blood without realizing. "I…" She frowned harder. "Honestly, I can't really recall it properly."
After several long moments, Hel shrugged.
"Something about two birds coming together," she muttered uncertainly. "And their offspring haunting the black skies or something like that."
"Well, that's not ominous at all," Revel complained lightly.
Silence followed afterward.
The winds of Godgrave swept softly through the ruined battlefield while distant thunder echoed somewhere far beyond the horizon.
Seishan turned her gaze back toward the ancient temple, thoughtful unease settling quietly within her chest.
So much had changed in such a painfully short amount of time.
The balance between the great powers.
The Sovereigns.
Nephis and Sunless.
Humanity itself.
Everything felt unstable, shifting faster than anyone could properly adapt to.
And somehow, Seishan suspected things were only going to become worse from here.
-------------------------------------------
Effie was lying face-down on the table, her cheek pressed into the edge of her plate.
There was still food in front of her. She knew that much. She had even been hungry when it arrived.
And yet, she wasn't eating.
If that didn't explain how bad things had gone lately, nothing did.
She exhaled slowly, letting her gaze drift sideways without really focusing on anything in particular.
Cassie was speaking nearby. Effie could see her lips moving, could catch the cadence of her voice, but the meaning never quite reached her. The Seer looked… different, she noted distantly. Still composed, still careful, still wearing that quiet mask she always did, but something had shifted. The heaviness that used to cling to her seemed thinner now, as if she had found some fragile balance she hadn't had before.
Effie didn't have the energy to ask about it.
Her eyes moved to Kai next.
The archer sat with a kind of forced dignity, back straight, hands folded neatly, posture as controlled as ever. But he couldn't really hide it, not from her at least. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his usually immaculate hair was slightly disheveled, something that she had never seen happen before.
He was speaking too, probably something important, but Effie couldn't find the energy to listen to him either.
Shim was next.
He stood instead of sitting like everyone else, pacing a short distance from the table while gesturing sharply as he spoke. His voice rose and fell with intensity, but it all blurred together in Effie's mind. What she did notice was his face. Gaunt. Pale. Tight with grief that he hadn't allowed himself to feel just yet.
That part, she understood.
Two days.
It had been two days since the battle ended, and only now were they beginning to regain something resembling control over the aftermath.
If someone looked only at the numbers, it didn't seem so terrible. Seven Firekeepers lost. Against the overwhelming odds they had faced, it could almost be called fortunate.
Effie had never been very good at looking at numbers.
Neither had any of them.
Those seven weren't statistics. They were people she had trained with, eaten beside, argued with, laughed with when things were quiet enough to allow it. People whom she had trusted in the only way that mattered out here.
And now they were gone.
For what?
The thought rose slowly, heavy and bitter, like something too large to swallow properly.
So that some bastard up above could feel satisfied about having more pieces to move on a board?
A sharp heat rose in her chest at that thought, cutting through the numbness. Not hunger. Something worse. Something that made her jaw tighten and her fingers curl faintly against the table.
Effie turned her head slightly when she heard yet another voice.
Princess was speaking at the far end of the room.
She looked… exhausted. Worse than that, actually. And yet she was already working, already giving orders, already pushing forward as if rest was something that happened to other people. Effie caught fragments of movement, the controlled authority in her posture, the way others instinctively turned toward her.
People always did that around Princess.
Not even an hour had passed since she woke up, and she was already being besieged with questions and decisions to be made.
To Effie, it sounded like a massive headache, but Princess handled it without complaining.
Her gaze drifted past them, toward the large window at the far side of the room.
Outside, the Stormsea raged endlessly. A vast, violent expanse of shifting skies and rolling storms, swallowing the horizon in motion and noise. Somewhere within that chaos, they were moving toward Ravenheart.
And somewhere, deep within that storm, Doofus was fighting against the Nightmare Creatures stupid enough to attack them.
He had woken up only a little earlier than Princess did, and he had already taken over the defense, singlehandedly protecting the Ivory Tower on his own, much to the exhausted defenders' relief.
If she was honest with herself, she wasn't even that surprised. Princess and Doofus were the same brand of crazy in her eyes. Now, if only they could finally come clean about what had actually happened back at the Crimson Spire, everything would be perfect.
It had to be bad, but not that bad if they were still so willing to work together -and kept giving each other those heated stares they thought nobody else could see- despite it.
Effie left out a sigh; she didn't even have the energy to think up ways to tease them when they came clean.
Her gaze drifted once more toward the window, the ongoing storm, and what awaited them afterward.
Halfway there, by current estimates. They would arrive at Ravenheart in about three weeks, if everything went to plan.
Her stomach tightened painfully when she saw Her through the glass.
A massive raven perched on one of the few surviving trees outside, its dark silhouette perfectly still against the storm. It watched the world with an intelligence that felt uncomfortably aware, its head tilted slightly as if observing more than just the immediate scene.
Ki Song had settled above it and remained there like a silent sentinel ever since the battle had ended, stirring only to kill Nightmare Creatures that the beleaguered defenders couldn't handle on their own.
That… creature had been there, watching.
A slow, burning frustration coiled in her chest.
"So why didn't you help earlier?" she muttered under her breath, too quiet for anyone else to hear.
Effie turned her gaze back toward the room, but the thought lingered.
She could understand it now, at least a little. Princess's hatred. That quiet, relentless edge she carried whenever Ki Song or Anvil of Valor were mentioned.
The head of Clan Song was by all accounts on their side, and yet had refused to help until it was most convenient for her.
If this was what the top looked like, then she wholeheartedly agreed with Nephis' decision to burn it to the ground.
-------------------------------------------
His office was one of Cor's proudest achievements.
Dark wood lined the walls, polished enough to reflect the soft amber glow spilling from recessed lights above. Shelves filled with antique books and carefully preserved relics stood beside broad windows that overlooked the sprawling nighttime landscape outside. A faint haze of rain drifted beyond the glass, blurring the city lights into streaks of gold, red, and white.
Nothing in the room was excessive.
Every decoration had been chosen with care and arranged down to the millimeter. To him, it wasn't just a room, but a haven of control and order in a world that was as chaotic as it was dangerous.
And at the center of it, he and another old man regarded each other with mortal hostility.
Cor sat perfectly still in his chair, fingers resting lightly near his weapon.
Across from him, Knossos mirrored the posture exactly.
Neither of them spoke.
Neither dared to look away.
Cor studied the old Saint carefully, watching for the slightest twitch of movement, the smallest betrayal of intent. The unofficial leader of House Night appeared as lackadaisical as ever, his aged face calm beneath neatly combed silver hair, dark eyes sharp enough to cut steel despite the countless years behind them.
Cor knew that look well.
They had fought beside one another before. Argued with one another. Negotiated, threatened, compromised.
Neither of them had ever trusted the other completely. Not in a situation like this.
Cor knew it in his bones that the slightest of mistakes would lead him to defeat and humiliation.
His opponent clearly thought the same.
Without allowing their eyes to leave one another, both men stared downward at the weapons resting between them.
Then they moved.
The strike came instantly, two blurred motions unfolding at once.
Cards snapped onto the table in a blur while chips scattered across the polished wood. Knossos leaned sideways just enough to avoid catastrophe while Cor retaliated immediately, slamming another card down with enough force to make the glasses nearby tremble.
A terrible silence followed, and neither moved until the final result was impossible to deny.
Cor stared at the table in mute disbelief.
His final card rested face-up beside the others.
Defeated.
A long groan escaped him. "Oh, that's bullspell."
Knossos allowed himself the faintest trace of a smug smile. "A loss gracefully accepted. How refreshing."
"You cheated."
"I won."
"You absolutely cheated."
"An unfortunate accusation from a man who just lost his last three tokens."
Cor grumbled under his breath and pushed the remaining chips across the table anyway, resisting the urge to throw them directly at the other Saint's face.
Gods, he hated losing to this bastard.
Knossos gathered the tokens with infuriating calm while Cor leaned back heavily into his chair.
Truthfully, he could scarcely remember the last time they had done this.
Not the arguing part. That happened constantly between the two of them. They had been friends for decades already, and they had plenty of reasons -valid and not- to bicker.
But this? Sitting down together without politics, negotiations, military briefings, or disasters looming over their shoulders? That had become painfully rare over the years.
Responsibilities had a habit of devouring everything else.
His gaze drifted briefly toward the rain-streaked windows, sharp eyes looking toward a particular building.
Almost four months had passed since he last visited his grandchildren. His daughter had not failed to remind him of that fact the last time they spoke, either. The argument still lingered unpleasantly in his memory.
"Another round?" Knossos asked, already beginning to shuffle the deck.
Cor snorted. "So you can rob me again?"
"Don't blame me for your lack of skill." The other man replied shamelessly.
"Gods, I forgot how insufferable you become when you win."
"And yet you keep losing."
Cor was preparing a suitably insulting response when one of his agents approached quietly from behind. The younger man leaned down and whispered into his ear.
He listened without interruption, expression remaining perfectly still throughout the report.
Only the smell lingering in the room changed.
Sweet and rotten, like the aftermath of a battlefield. It followed him everywhere ever since he had become a Saint, and at this very moment, it became even more profound.
Across the table, Knossos had gone equally motionless. One of House Night's people stood beside him, whispering urgently into his ear.
As the report continued, pressure slowly spread from the old Saint's body. It felt heavy, cold, just like the depths of the ocean.
The agents withdrew moments later, leaving silence behind once more, all traces of a carefree reunion between two friends gone.
Cor stared at Knossos for several long seconds, pondering how to voice the thoughts running through his mind.
In the end, he forewent pleasantries and asked directly. "Are we in agreement?"
Knossos closed his eyes, and for a brief moment, he looked his age.
A whole minute after the question was asked, the other man nodded. "We are."
Cor leaned back slowly, mind already racing ahead.
Truthfully, Anvil had done him an enormous favor.
Not intentionally, of course.
The King of Swords would likely rather impale himself than knowingly aid the Government or House Night for free. But his recent actions had accomplished what weeks of negotiations had failed to produce.
For nearly a month, both factions had argued endlessly, failing to come to an agreement. The idea had apparently come from Master Naeve, and yet, the House of Night was just as reluctant as the Government was over the decision, despite being the ones to suggest it to begin with.
Every discussion, no matter how hard both sides tried, eventually collapsed beneath years of mistrust and fear.
And now?
Now the decision suddenly seemed simple.
Perhaps because both had finally realized the truth.
For over a decade, both the Government and House Night had bent themselves around Valor and Song like lesser stars trapped within the orbit of the sun. Careful. Obedient. Afraid to provoke either Sovereign unnecessarily.
And for what?
Humanity stood on the edge of its greatest catastrophe since the fall of America while the two most powerful people alive obsessed over personal grudges and petty conflicts.
Cor felt tired beyond words.
And afraid.
Gods, he was afraid.
Not for himself, he had lived a long life already, far longer than most Awakened of his generation ever managed. He had buried friends, rivals, family, and entire cities. If death came for him tomorrow, then so be it.
But there were things more important than one frightened old man, humanity chief among them.
Slowly, Cor looked back toward Knossos. "Two Saints from Night."
Knossos nodded. "Two from the Government."
The room grew silent again as the weight of the decision settled fully between them.
Four Saints, two of each side, the most either was willing to risk losing.
Together, they would challenge the Fourth Nightmare.
-------------------------------------------
Nephis left the meeting without looking back.
The moment the doors closed behind her, the exhaustion returned in full force.
It settled into her limbs first, heavy and unrelenting, as though her body had been filled with molten lead that refused to cool. Even the simple act of walking required conscious effort. Each step across the broken stone felt deliberate, forced, sustained only by will rather than any remaining strength.
And still, she continued forward.
The Ivory Tower lay in ruins around her, its once orderly landscape now fractured into scattered remnants of stone and scorched earth. In places, the damage was already being repaired. Distantly, Nephis noted that Shakti was already hard at work, guiding the slow return of vegetation with quiet persistence, as though life itself could be coaxed back through patience alone.
Nephis moved past the woman without speaking, offering just a slight nod. Normally, she would have lingered a little, offered a word of encouragement, but she couldn't find it in herself at the moment.
Exhaustion clung to her, battering at her spent body relentlessly. The idea of going back to sleep sounded more and more appealing by the second.
Forcefully, she kept walking, thankful for the thunder rumbling above for keeping her alert.
As she walked, she couldn't avoid taking in what lay before her once more.
Wind howled through the shattered remains of the island, carrying sheets of rain that struck stone and soil alike with relentless force. Thunder rolled continuously across the horizon, and lightning briefly illuminated the devastation before darkness reclaimed it again.
The storm was as unending as it was overwhelming, and she couldn't help but watch it as she moved forward.
It reflected the one brewing inside her perfectly, after all.
She had done everything she could. Pushed herself beyond every limit, burned through every reserve she had, and still, she would have failed.
From the corner of her eye, she saw it, perched atop a tree, the queen's puppet.
If not for her, they would already be captives of Valor. The fact that they had only needed saving because of her machinations hardly mattered. Only that she had saved them, and would not doubt to hold it over them.
Nephis exhaled slowly and let the thought fall away. She was too tired to face such thoughts at the moment.
Ahead, the terrain opened into a wide depression where the lake had once been.
Now, only a scorched basin remained, its surface cracked and exposed, less than half of its contents left behind after her last attack had evaporated a big part of it. At least the Stormsea did not hesitate to reclaim what had been taken. Water gathered steadily, drop by drop, filling the hollow quietly.
Nearby, the Chain Breaker rested in silence; the vessel bore the scars of collateral damage taken during the battle, but it remained whole and mercifully easy to repair.
Nephis passed it without stopping, her gaze fixed just beyond the forming water, where it stood something that had not been there before.
A gazebo woven from shadows.
Inside, there was only one occupant.
Sunny sat on a bench beneath its shelter, his posture still and slightly slouched, blank gaze fixed on the rippling surface of the half-formed lake beyond. One hand rested loosely near his lap, fingers turning a silver ring with absent, repetitive motion, while the other moved nimbly, as if he was weaving air itself.
Nephis slowed as she approached, studying his expression, the exhaustion lingering at the edges of his brow, the grief dancing behind his eyes, and the thin, self-deprecating smile dancing on his lips.
When his gaze finally lifted toward her, it did so briefly, acknowledging her presence but making no comment before returning it to the rippling lake.
He hadn't said a word since he woke up. While his incarnations battled around the Island, the main body remained here, numbly staring into the distance. He hadn't moved ever since, having only spared enough attention to dismiss Saint so that she could recover before settling down on his quiet vigil.
Nephis placed a container of food beside him on the bench. Then, after a short pause, she turned to leave.
"Stay."
The request stopped her dead in her tracks.
Sunny still wasn't looking at her. His eyes remained on the water, following the faint ripples forming as rain filled what remained of the lake. But his voice had carried clearly enough. Quiet. Controlled. Fragile.
Without saying a word, she walked back.
Slowly, she closed the distance and sat beside him, leaving a small amount of space between the two of them.
Time and silence stretched as they remained seated together. The rain outside their small shelter continued without interruption, steady and unyielding, while distant thunder rolled across the Stormsea in slow waves.
Sunny's hand moved first.
He reached for hers without hesitation, his fingers closing around her own gently, almost tentatively, as if he couldn't believe himself that he had made such a move.
Nephis' fingers tightened around his before she fully registered the motion, a quiet, comforting warmth spreading throughout her chest.
The distance between them closed without either of them acknowledging it. Shoulder to shoulder, close enough that they could hear each other's heartbeat if they tried hard enough.
They did not speak.
There was nothing they could say that would do justice to what they felt.
The rain continued to fall beyond the shadowed shelter, filling the broken lake drop by drop, restoring what had been lost.
Slowly, without even realising, Nephis's eyes grew heavy just as her head tilted slightly, finding his shoulder without conscious effort.
Sunny did not move away, and a moment later, his breathing steadied as well.
And sleep took them without ceremony, without warning, and without either of them noticing when the world finally fell away.