Sunny's eyes swept over the fifth mural, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he didn't feel the familiar sense of dread that had accompanied the previous four. The scene before them was vivid, almost alive, the colors so pure and detailed it was as if the painter had reached through time itself to place it there. Gone were the flames and the creeping darkness; gone was the chaos of the Void. Instead, the mural focused entirely on a single emblem—a colossal golden cross erected in the center of a grand hall, radiating light that seemed to repel the shadows even from the worn and cracked walls of the columbarium around them.
Before the cross stood a collection of male figures, each distinct in appearance and attire, each radiating a presence that made Sunny's stomach tighten in awe. To the right were three men:
One with golden hair, clad in flowing gold-and-white robes, radiating an almost divine aura of warmth and authority. Every fold of his robe seemed deliberate, every gesture noble, like a king or high priest frozen in perfect repose.
Beside him, a figure with dark blue hair and black armor, the contrast between his hair and attire striking. He exuded a cold, wrothful counterance, and it seemed lightning would explode from his eyes at the slightest provocation.
The last of the trio was an old man, white hair lush and flowing, robes of white and bronze that shimmered faintly. His expression was serene yet knowing, as if he carried the weight of entire civilizations within him.
To the left were two more figures:
A tall man, hair a blazing red, flowing like fire down his back, clad in black iron armor that absorbed the surrounding light. His posture was commanding, and every line of his body suggested war, discipline, and an unyielding will.
Beside him, a man with delicate, almost effeminate features and long silver hair. His head was bowed, hands clasped in front of him, the epitome of calm contemplation and silent authority. Despite his gentleness, there was an undeniable edge to it that bordered almost on apathy, like he was detached from reality and mortal affairs.
The middle group drew Sunny's attention most of all. Three figures stood at the center, nearest the golden cross:
At the heart was a man with blonde hair, a well-kept beard, and golden eyes that glimmered with serene, almost divine knowledge. His robe was pure white, flawless, the fabric seeming untouched by gravity or time. A cross pattern ran down the front of his robe, and his expression—gentle, composed, and devoid of overt humanity—made Sunny feel simultaneously comforted and unnerved. He seemed even gentler than the silver-haired man; and thus, even more inhuman.
To his left was a young man, curly black hair, black eyes hidden partially by the glint of a monocle on his right eye. He wore a black robe with dark blue linings. A smirk twisted his face, full of mischief, superiority, and intelligence that threatened to outmatch any who dared confront him. He looked alive, playful, and dangerous all at once.
On the blonde man's right stood another, long black hair draped over one shoulder, face obscured by shadow that stretched and curled across the floor. His robe was black, swallowing what little light remained in the hall. From the depths of his shadow seemed to peer countless eyes, watching, judging, calculating. He radiated silent menace, as though the cross's light barely held him in check.
Sunny's brow furrowed. "These guys don't seemlike Gods. Human? The leaders of this City?"
Nephis, who had been quiet until now, pressed a hand to the wall, tracing the gold of the cross with her fingers. "They look… real. Like they could step out of this mural at any moment." She sounded impressed by the artstyle. Then, she narrowed her eyes and studying the central figure, the blonde man with golden eyes. "Look at them," she said finally. "They are like the monsters in the third mural, or the figures in the fifth. Each one has there own color, and seemingly their own role. Whoever drew this wanted to make a direct paralell to the previous murals."
Sunny couldn't help but glance at Nephis as they turned away from the wall, her fingers brushing the edge of the golden rope guiding Cassie. "Hey, Neph," he began casually, though there was a note of curiosity in his voice, "I've been meaning to ask: do you… have an interest in art? You've been strangely talkative ever since we discovered these murals."
Changing Star lowered her hand from the wall, yet her gaze lingered on the murals, the colors still vivid in her mind. "You could say that," she replied, her tone thoughtful. "When I was younger, I would often stare at pictures on the wall to pass the time. My father wasn't around very often, so I eventually got pretty good at critiquing them. I could tell technique, intention, even emotion sometimes, just from the strokes of a brush—or the arrangement of color."
Sunny raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Huh. Didn't peg you for someone who appreciated art. I thought your focus was always on… well, fighting."
Nephis smirked faintly, but it was brief, fading as her eyes flickered toward the murals again. "Art and combat aren't so different. Both require observation, analysis, and understanding intention. You can see the strength of an opponent, or the skill of an artist, in the way they leave their mark."
Cassie tilted her head, her blind eyes lost in thought as she tried to form a picture of the murals in her mind from Sunny's descriptions. "But why the cross, though?" she asked softly. "I mean, that's the symbol of one of Earth's religions, right? Did they… borrow it, or is it just coincidence?"
Sunny shrugged, giving her a wry smile. "Could be just a coincidence. I mean, the cross is just a horizontal line drawn over a vertical one. Not like it's difficult to come up with independently. Maybe crucifixion was also used as a form of execution here. Or maybe it represents… authority. Or divinity. Who knows?"