Weeks passed within what felt like an instant.
Conflict, bloodshed, and endless chaos became the new rhythm of life. Under the shadow of the Bright Castle, Nephis – Changing Star – ascended to the throne, a transition that occurred with almost no hesitation from Asteria herself.
Gunlaug's lieutenants had attempted a desperate rebellion while Asteria lay unconscious. They had made a fatal assumption: that she was the only threat on the shore. They were wrong.
Changing Star didn't just suppress them; she became the new figurehead of this fortress of tyranny.
The transition was messy. Some sleepers were untrained in combat, some possessed useless memories, and others lacked combat-oriented aspects entirely.
Hundreds of souls had to find their place in this marching band of suicide. Memories were redistributed like rations, people were positioned like gears in a machine, and slowly, the chaos subsided.
Nobody questioned the new authority. Who would dare challenge someone who could break them on a whim? Nephis was a benevolent ruler – or so the people said. She had united the misfits against a tyrant, and now, that same Star of Change was backed by someone whose power was unfathomable to the rest.
When Asteria first arrived, a thousand Sleepers called the Forgotten Shore home. Now, after the culling of the rebellion and the harshness of the hunts, a little over five hundred remained.
Yet, even with their numbers halved, the Bright Castle functioned with a terrifying efficiency. sleepers challenged the dark city in disciplined cohorts, even slaying Fallen abominations two ranks above them – all thanks to the radiant aura of Nephis's [Crown of Dawn].
'A crown, huh... it's definitely fitting for her.'
One by one, the nightmare creatures were slaughtered, leaving only the ravenous, anxious humans to inhabit the stone halls. As the sleepers grew stronger, so did Asteria.
'I'm nearly there, aren't I?'
[Spell Fragments: 1699/2000]
She hunted alone, moving through the ruins like a golden ghost. She accumulated a mountain of Memories, though none truly benefited her – until she discovered a unique interaction with the Spell.
[Crimson Ash]
Memory Rank: Ascended
Memory Tier: II
...]
[Consume Memory?]
She could devour them. She could turn cold steel into raw essence. 'I suppose it's fitting, in a predatory sort of way,' she thought.
"Yes."
[Your Memory has been consumed.]
[Your dream grows stronger.]
She checked her runes once more.
...1703/2000].
"Not many... Damnation, is it only going to get more tedious? I don't even get fragments from the Dormant or Awakened ones anymore..." She sighed, the frustration reaching her voice.
Curiously, she couldn't consume echoes. She still held the [Carapace Scavenger], though she felt no desire to summon it.
Instead, she relied on the [Might of Gold], which had become far more than a tool; it was a second skin.
Echo: [Might of Gold]
Echo Rank: Transcendent
Echo Class: Devil
Echo Attributes: [Frightful Might], [Malleable Armoury]
[Frightful Might] Attribute Description: [The Might of this Gold strikes fear into those who gaze upon its glory.]
[Malleable Armoury] Attribute Description: [The Gold of this Echo can transform into any armour and weapon the wielder desires.]
Asteria had yet to form a weapon from the echo, but its utility as armour was unparalleled. Unlike Gunlaug's crude, haunting shell, the gold flowed over Asteria like a liquid caress. Every curve was soft and seamless, plates merging into one another without a single visible joint. The surface held a luminous, living sheen – deeper and richer than ordinary gold.
When she moved, the world was captured on her surface like a moving mirror. The silhouette was elegant, hugging the natural lines of her shoulders, waist, and hips.
Pauldrons formed like ornaments, and vambraces wrapped her forearms like fine jewelry. Her greaves clicked against the stone with a rhythmic finality, announcing to the ground itself who was superior.
Despite the beauty, there was nothing delicate about it. Beneath the mirror-smooth sheen lay the cold certainty of the Queen of Nightmare.
Asteria knew ascension had made her more beautiful – most awakened were – but she was obsessed with how this armour made her feel. It was the kind of confidence born from wearing the perfect skin.
Thankfully, [Frightful Might] was optional. Asteria didn't care to strike terror into the hearts of everyone she met; she was still human, regardless of the Spell's calling to her Corruption.
But for the last few days, something had been pestering her.
A singular, stubborn shadow.
"Is there something you want?" Asteria huffed, her jaw tightening. "You've been spying on me for days."
The shadow seemed to sag, its shoulders drooping in a very human gesture of defeat. It stayed there for a moment, head buried in its dark hands as if mourning its own failed stealth, before it suddenly straightened up.
With a cheeky wave, the silhouette pointed toward the heavy oak doors at the end of the hall.
Asteria blinked, her crystalline eyes wide with genuine bafflement. She let out a hollow, startled laugh. "Well. You just got a lot more interesting, didn't you?"
The shadow simply melted into the floor, a dark ripple slithering under the door frame like spilled ink. Being the "polite" lady she was, Asteria pushed the door open without knocking.
The room was sparse, tucked away in a quiet corner of the castle where the lamps failed to drive back the gloom.
Sitting at a small wooden table, sharpening a pitch-black blade that didn't need to be sharpened – with meticulous, rhythmic strokes, was Sunless – Sunny.
He didn't look up, though his hands paused for a fraction of a second. "You took your time," he muttered, his voice raspy. "I started to think you were stupid."
"You're a terrible spy," Asteria countered, leaning against the doorframe. The liquid gold of her armour shimmered, catching the dim light. "What do you want, Sunny? You've been dogging my steps for days. If you wanted an autograph, you could have just asked."
Sunny finally looked up, his dark eyes sharp as the blade in his hand. "Preparations for the Crimson Spire are almost done. Nephis is ready to march, and half the camp is convinced they're walking into a meat grinder." He set the whetstone down. "I wanted to finish our business before we all died anyway. Call it a morbid curiosity."
Asteria walked into the room, the click of her golden sabatons echoing against the stone. She pulled up a chair and sat across from him, resting her chin on an uncovered hand. Her gaze became uncomfortably piercing. "Then let's start with my curiosity."
"You have a lineage, don't you?"
The air in the room seemed to turn frigid. Sunny's body went rigid, his jaw clenching so hard the muscles jumped. He looked like a man fighting an invisible leash.
"Yes," he ground out through gritted teeth.
"Of who?"
Sunny's eyes flickered with resentment, perhaps even a hint of fear. He stared at the table for a long, agonizing pause, his voice barely a whisper when he finally spoke.
"...Weaver."
Asteria froze. The name hit her like a physical blow, a force that vibrated through the very core of her soul sea. For a moment, the world seemed to tilt. She thought of the faceless entity in her soul, the river of golden ichor, and the divine fang protecting her heart from the "cruel golden tapestry" of fate.
Then, she began to laugh.
It was a loud, manic peal of mirth that echoed off the walls, tinged with the madness of the nightmare. She threw her head back, her iridescent hair spilling over her golden pauldrons.
"Weaver! Weaver! " she exhaled, the laughter dying down into a jagged, breathless grin. Her eyes remained cold and terrifyingly focused. "Of course it is! Of course it's Weaver! The Daemon of Fate... and here I was, thinking I was the only one they were playing with."
Sunny's shadow hissed at her feet, bristling like an angry cat. "What's so funny? You look like you've finally lost your mind."
Asteria leaned forward, her face inches from his. The golden light of her armour illuminated the pale shock on his features. "Oh, Sunny. You have no idea. Do you know what I found in the depths of my soul when I ascended? Do you know what gift a faceless daemon left for me?"
She reached up, tapping the center of her chest, right where the [Fang of Weaver] was rooted into her essence.
"I have a fang, Sunny. I have their protection – a piece of a divine being within my own soul! And now, I find their heir sitting in a dusty room in a dead city." Her smile grew twisted, more predatory than before. "A Seeker of the Truth and the Shadow of Fate. It seems Weaver has a very twisted sense of humor regarding who they have as their blessed."
Sunny stared at her, his mask of cynicism shattered. For the first time, he looked truly vulnerable, caught in a web of destiny far older than the struggle for this shore.
"You... you met...?" he asked, his voice trembling.
"I met something," Asteria replied, her voice dropping to a whisper. "And they told me I was proof that fate could be changed. I suppose we're going to find out if they were lying, aren't we?"
She stood up, the golden armour flowing over her skin like a liquid sunset.
"Don't get in my way, Fate's Dog," she said with a solemn tone. "Three days, Shadow. Try not to die before I get what I want from you."
As she walked out, she saw Sunny's shadow reach out to touch her own – only to recoil as if burned by the golden radiance she left in her wake.
The Crimson Spire was waiting.