As they reached the opening of the settlement clustered outside the castle walls, they immediately drew attention.
Heads turned. Conversations faltered. More than a few people paused outright, eyes lingering on the newcomers with open curiosity and thinly veiled caution.
Sunny could not really blame them.
Among the three of them, he was the only one who looked even remotely normal.
Nephis stood out first and foremost. Her silver hair caught the light even under the gloomy sky, impossible to miss, and her presence carried a quiet intensity that made people instinctively give her space. Her beauty was sharp, wrought from steel rather than softness, and she wore the armor she had claimed weeks ago after slaying a Centurion-class creature. The sleek starmetal plates fit her perfectly, accentuating her figure without sacrificing function, the faint sheen of the material lending her an almost otherworldly air.
Cassie, somehow, drew just as many stares.
She looked like an ethereal doll carved from pale porcelain, fragile and unreal. The blindfold wrapped around her eyes only heightened that impression, making her seem mysterious rather than diminished. And then there was the golden rope coiled securely around her waist—its unnatural luster unmistakable even to the untrained eye.
That alone was enough to spark whispers.
Sunny felt his shoulders tense.
'Crap,' he thought. 'They don't think we're slave traders, do they?'
For a few seconds, his mind ran wild, spinning through increasingly unpleasant possibilities. He imagined misunderstandings escalating into drawn weapons, tense standoffs, accusations shouted in the street.
Then he forced himself to breathe.
Calm down, he told himself. Panicking won't help.
He straightened his posture, carefully keeping his expression neutral, and followed just half a step behind Nephis. Whatever impression they made, intentional or not, there was no undoing it now.
They had only advanced a few dozen meters into the settlement when a small group moved to intercept them.
Four figures stepped into their path—all men. Three of them were clearly guards, but the fourth stood apart in a way that immediately drew Sunny's attention.
He had matted brown hair and watery blue eyes, pale and unfocused, like ice on the verge of melting. His face was thin, worn not by age but by exhaustion and quiet resignation. Unlike everyone else in the settlement, he wore no armor at all. Instead, he was dressed in a simple white robe, its fabric plain and clean, embroidered only with thin black stitching along the hems.
Around his neck hung a wooden cross.
At the sight of it, Sunny frowned.
The symbol stirred an unpleasant sense of recognition. It reminded him of the mural they had seen underground, deep in the catacombs—the one depicting eight figures standing before a golden cross. This one was different, though. Crude. Unremarkable. Plain wood, worn smooth by fingers that had worried at it too often.
Still, the resemblance was enough to make his skin prickle.
The three men flanking the robed figure were unmistakably security. They wore thick leather armor reinforced with metal casing along the chest and shoulders. Each held a spear in hand, with a short sword hanging at the waist. Their stances were disciplined, cautious rather than aggressive.
One of them lingered slightly behind the others.
A horn hung at his side, and Sunny had no doubt that a single blast would summon every guard within the Castle. Judging by how carefully the man kept his distance—and how the other two positioned themselves between him and the strangers—he was wary of them.
Very wary.
"Hello there, strangers," the man in the white robe said, smiling as he raised a hand in greeting. His tone was gentle, practiced. "Are you new here? Cast into this hellhole by the Spell during the solstice?"
Nephis studied him calmly.
Her gaze flicked briefly to the guards, looking past their weapons to the way they held themselves, measuring threat and intent alike. After a moment, she nodded.
"Yes," she said evenly. "We just crawled our way out of the Coral Labyrinth and made it into the City. May I ask— is the Gateway inside that Castle?"
The man's smile faltered.
It did not vanish, but it tightened, becoming thin and strained. His watery eyes filled with something like sorrow.
"I am sorry to disappoint you, miss," he said softly, "but I am afraid you are unlikely to ever escape this place."
Sunny felt the air shift.
Seeing the expressions of the three newcomers darken, the man hurried to elaborate.
"What you see behind me is the Bright Castle," he said, gesturing over his shoulder. "It is ruled by Lord Gunlaug and his lieutenants, who command the Host—the collection of the strongest and most versatile Sleepers on the Forgotten Shore."
He turned slightly, indicating the ramshackle dwellings around them.
"Those of us who cannot make the cut live out here, in the Outer Settlement."
His voice did not carry bitterness—only tired acceptance.
"Sadly, the Castle is not the Gateway," he continued. "That lies within the Crimson Spire, which you can see over yonder."
He pointed westward, toward where a distant, crimson shape pierced the horizon like a wound in the sky.
"Over the years, many have tried to breach it and return to the Waking World," the man said. "Every single one has perished. Both the First and Second Lords failed to conquer it. And so the Third Bright Lord—Gunlaug—forbade any further attempts."
There was a faint tightening around his eyes.
"In his words, such expeditions were a waste of precious materials and talent. After all," he added quietly, "dead Awakened lose everything. Their Memories and Echoes shatter upon death."
He looked back at them, his expression solemn.
"So Bright Castle's losses are not merely measured in people each time an expedition fails."
"This Gunlaug doesn't let anyone try to assault the Spire?" Nephis asked, her voice carrying a subtle edge—an emotion Sunny couldn't quite place. It wasn't anger or fear, but something sharper, more controlled. "Not even those who are unaffiliated with the Host?"
The man in the white robe licked his lips and hesitated, as if weighing every word before allowing it to leave. "Ah… Lord Gunlaug hates to see precious lives wasted," he said carefully. "To him, such time and effort can be far better spent improving the system here, so that everyone may live better lives—rather than squandered on an impossibility, like conquering the Gateway."
Nephis's brow furrowed slightly. "So… nobody is allowed at all?"
The man's gaze flicked briefly to the three guards behind him before settling back on her. "That is the Lord's ruling, yes."
There was no warmth in his tone, no room for negotiation. The law of the Bright Castle, like the stones of its walls, was unyielding.
"The Bright Lord's decree…" Nephis repeated softly, almost to herself. For a moment, her voice dropped to a whisper, as though she were testing the weight of the words. Then she lifted her head, her face once again smooth and unreadable. "How long, do you know, has Gunlaug been in the Forgotten Shore?"
The man blinked, clearly caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. He hesitated, then answered with a thoughtful frown. "Well… around a decade, I suppose. He became the Third Bright Lord eight years ago. He arrived in the same generation as Lady Seishan, though he is slightly younger than Tessai, who used to be the oldest Sleeper here."
"Used to be?" Sunny asked, his tone sharp with curiosity.