High above the rest of the Castle, in a chamber long abandoned by all but one man, an observatory overlooked the Dark City.
Its tall, arched windows were open to the morning air, letting in the faint chill of dawn and the distant murmur of life far below. From this height, the City looked almost peaceful—streets reduced to pale lines, ruined towers softened by shadow. Beyond them, the horizon burned slowly as the sun rose, spilling gold and amber across the world.
A pale white hand reached out and plucked an apple from the fruit bowl beside him.
The bowl held six apples in total, each one red and unblemished, arranged with deliberate symmetry. It was the only object resting upon the old lacquered table, its surface scarred by time but carefully maintained.
The hand lifted the apple to a bearded mouth, and a single, crisp bite was taken.
The man sat back in his chair, posture relaxed, one hand holding the apple while the other rested idly on his lap. As the sun climbed higher, its light painted his golden hair and beard in a soft, almost reverent glow, as though the dawn itself had chosen him as its canvas.
His blue eyes remained fixed on the horizon.
They did not soften.
They did not brighten.
There was no ripple of emotion in them at all, making it impossible to tell whether he appreciated the beauty before him—or merely acknowledged it as another predictable phenomenon.
He ate the apple calmly, bite by measured bite, unhurried. When only the core remained, he flicked his wrist and tossed it out the open window. It vanished soundlessly into the void below.
With his hands now free, motes of silver light began to gather in the air above his palm.
At first, they were scattered and indistinct. Then they flowed together, forming a thin stream. The stream condensed, hardened, and finally resolved into a single solid object.
A gemstone of red coral.
It shone with a deep, rich scarlet light, dim yet profound, as though something ancient slept within its depths.
The man rolled the gemstone across his fingers, testing its weight. He tossed it into the air once.
Caught it.
Again.
And again.
On the fifth catch, he closed his hand around it and brought his other hand up, propping his chin upon his knuckles. His gaze sharpened just slightly, the first hint of intent cutting through his impassive calm.
The corner of his lips curled upward.
"Should be about that time, huh?"
________
Sunny lifted his gaze toward the giant, ominous castle looming ahead.
Up close, it was even more unsettling than it had appeared from afar. Dark stone walls rose like the ribs of some colossal beast, jagged and uneven, bearing the scars of age, battle, and neglect. It did not look like a place meant for humans—more like a relic left behind by something vast and cruel.
And yet.
What he saw before the gates proved him wrong.
Dozens of people—perhaps a little fewer than a hundred—milled about the open ground before the castle, forming what could only be described as a shantytown. Makeshift shelters leaned against ancient stone, patched together from scavenged wood, torn canvas, and bits of metal. Smoke curled lazily from crude fire pits. Life, stubborn and fragile, clung to the place.
They were young. All of them.
Seventeen at the youngest, late twenties at the oldest—Sleepers, every last one. Their faces were thin, their bodies lean in the way that came from long hunger and constant danger rather than discipline. They wore a mismatched collection of garments: rags held together by desperate stitching, rough furs taken from slain creatures, and clothing that could only be Memories, judging by their strange cuts and impractical designs.
Sunny swallowed.
Beside him, Nephis stood silently, her silver hair catching the light of the pale sky and fluttering softly in the slight breeze. Her grey eyes were fixed on the castle and the settlement around it, calm and unwavering, as though she were already committing every detail to memory.
A step behind her, Cassie scrunched her nose.
Sunny noticed it immediately and felt a familiar, inappropriate urge to reach out and poke it, just to see her reaction. He restrained himself with some effort. Cassie could not see the scene unfolding before them—not unless a vision chose to show it to her. The knowledge stirred something uncomfortable in his chest.
Pity.
He hated that feeling.
Sunny knew it was wrong. Cassie was strong—stronger than most—despite her Flaw. She endured things he could scarcely imagine, and she did not deserve to be looked down on, even silently. And yet, no matter how much he tried to reason with himself, the instinct lingered.
Human nature, he supposed.
"We're finally here," Nephis said at last.
Her voice was slow and steady, carrying a quiet weight as her gaze swept across the land before them. "After all this time. All this struggle. We've reached the castle Cassie saw in her dream."
"Aye," Sunny nodded, eyes still fixed on the crowd. "But this doesn't look like the Citadel. If it were, everyone here would already be back in the Waking World."
Nephis did not argue.
"No matter," she said dismissively. "Then we'll use it as a forward base to reach the actual Citadel. What matters is that we're close."
She paused, then added, "Now we only need to deal with the rest of the prophecy."
At her words, Sunny's gaze drifted toward Cassie.
He remembered the night clearly—how she had spoken in a quiet, trembling voice, describing a dream she did not fully understand herself. A city beyond the Dark Sea. A castle within it. Salvation waiting at the end of the journey. Back then, he had not truly believed her. Not completely. It had sounded like hope dressed up as certainty.
And yet… here it was.
Every detail unfolding exactly as she had foretold.
Sunny felt a chill crawl up his spine.
"So this," he thought, staring at the looming castle and the people gathered beneath it, "is the power of Fate?"
The idea filled him with equal parts awe and dread.
If this much was inevitable—if even their suffering and struggle had been written into the world's design—then what choice did any of them truly have?
Ahead of them, the Dark City waited.
"I don't suppose you have any more prophecies to share with us now, do you?" Sunny asked, forcing a strained smile.
Cassie did not respond.
At first, Sunny thought she was simply ignoring him—lost in thought, as she often was. But when the silence stretched on, he turned his head to look at her.
The blonde girl was staring past him.
Straight past him.
Her unfocused eyes were fixed in the direction of the Castle itself, toward its dark heart, as though she were trying to look through layers of stone and shadow alike.
"Cassie?" Sunny said, unease creeping into his voice.
"Huh?" She blinked, startled, and turned her head slightly toward the sound of his voice. "Oh—sorry. What were you saying?"
"I asked if you had any other prophecies," Sunny replied.
His Flaw asserted itself immediately, forcing the words from his mouth again despite his sudden desire to take them back. "Any other prophecies."
Cassie furrowed her brows, her expression turning thoughtful. After a moment, she shook her head.
"No," she said softly. "Sorry. My vision cut off as soon as we reached the Castle. From here on… I'm as blind as you are."
She paused, the meaning of her own words settling in. The irony was not lost on her. A faint, self-deprecating smile curved her lips.
"Well," she added quietly, "you know what I mean."
Nephis reached out without hesitation and took Cassie's hand, her grip gentle but reassuring. She gave it a soft squeeze.
"In that case," Nephis said, her voice calm and unyielding, "let's go."
She looked toward the settlement and the looming walls beyond it.
"We should introduce ourselves to the locals."
Sunny stared at her.
If he did not know Nephis better—if he had not walked beside her through death, fire, and madness—he would have sworn she had just made a joke.