Nephis crossed her arms and frowned, her expression tightening as she sifted through the mass of impressions she had gathered. Acquiring information was easy enough—people were eager to talk, eager to complain, eager to project their frustrations onto a stranger who seemed important enough to listen. The difficulty lay in separating substance from noise. Most of what she had heard amounted to venting, recycled hearsay, or distorted rumors repeated so many times that even the speakers no longer knew where they had originated. And, as always, those most likely to possess genuinely valuable information were the least inclined to share it.
This would not do.
She could not operate like this—not for long. If she intended to unify the Forgotten Shore, she needed more than raw strength or a compelling objective. She needed legitimacy. Reputation. A public image that made people willing to trust her instinctively, or at least believe that aligning with her was safer than opposing her. It was not enough to be right; she had to be believed.
If Sunny were here, he would have remarked—perhaps with forced casualness and poorly concealed unease—that she was drifting dangerously close to manipulation. But Sunny was not here, and so the thought went unchallenged.
Beside her, Cassie gently tugged at her sleeve.
Nephis turned at once, the tension in her face easing. Her gaze softened as it settled on the blind girl. When she had first encountered Cassie at the Academy, Nephis had judged her with cold pragmatism and reached a simple conclusion: this girl would not survive. The Dream Realm was merciless, and Cassie's Flaw seemed like a death sentence waiting for the right moment to be enforced.
Yet fate—cruel, ironic, or perhaps deliberate—had placed them near one another when the Spell claimed them both.
From that moment on, Nephis had found herself unwilling to accept her initial judgment. Determined, even, to prove herself wrong.
She did not know whether this resolve was a test imposed by the Spell, or a mocking lesson—another reminder that she would always be forced to watch others suffer and die while she endured. Either way, something within her had shifted. From that day forward, she had decided that Cassie would live.
For no reason other than the simple fact that Nephis believed it was the right thing to do.
And because she could.
That distinction, she had come to understand, was fundamental. The difference between humans and beasts. And, more importantly, the difference between herself and the Sovereigns.
The thought of those loathsome figures soured her mood once more, dragging her back to a more immediate concern: the assassin.
She had no doubt about their existence.
The Sovereigns had been strangely restrained during her childhood. They had never ceased their attempts on her life, but neither had they pursued her with their full strength. It was as though they wanted her to survive—wanted her to grow—so long as she never forgot that death was always watching her. Always close. Always patient.
Now, however, she was in the Dream Realm. Alone. Beyond the protection of the Waking World. Beyond the reach of anyone who might intervene on her behalf.
No one could save her here.
No one but herself.
As for the likelihood that her enemies were present in the Forgotten Shore? She had never doubted it for a second. The Spell had proven itself relentless, methodical, and malicious where she was concerned. If she were forced to rank those responsible for the ruin of her life, the Spell would take first place without contest, with the Sovereigns following closely behind.
She had initially marked Caster as the most probable threat. His timing, his allegiance, his audacity—it all fit too neatly. Yet after entering the Dream Realm, her suspicion had gradually shifted toward Sunny instead.
In hindsight, the notion seemed almost absurd.
And yet… not entirely unreasonable.
A self-proclaimed street rat who absorbed everything she taught him with unsettling speed. A Sleeper wielding an unusual Aspect, paired with an even stranger method of cultivation that bypassed Soul Shards entirely. Nephis did not fully understand the limits of a Supreme's power, but if one of them had tampered with Sunny's Attributes—had shaped him into a blade meant to strike her—she would not have dismissed the possibility.
What unsettled her most, however, was not his growth or his abilities.
It was his mind.
Sunny's greatest talent was not his rapid advancement, but his mastery of deceit and misdirection. He was so thoroughly wrapped in half-truths, deflections, and calculated vulnerability that even Nephis—who had witnessed the ugliest facets of humanity since childhood—struggled to peel back the layers and see what lay beneath. Even now, she felt there was always one final barrier between them. Something impossibly thin, yet unyieldingly dense.
Many people, Sunny included, believed her to be terrible with emotions.
In truth, Nephis considered herself an empath.
She had simply burned herself out long ago.
The insights were still there, sharp and immediate, but she no longer bothered to express them. She had learned, through bitter repetition, that understanding others meant little when there was no one left to share that understanding with.
Everyone always left her.
One way or another.