I sat back in my chair, watching the people below bustle to and fro like ants disturbed from their nests. From this height, the Outer Settlement looked almost functional. Orderly, even. Yet I knew better. Even after all my efforts, the gloom and despair that defined this place had not truly vanished. It had merely been suppressed—pressed down, hidden beneath routines, rules, and a thin veneer of stability.
Still, considering how little time I had been given, and how pitiful my resources had been at the start, I allowed myself a small measure of satisfaction. It was, by any reasonable standard, a good job.
My gaze drifted, tracking a few figures that I thought I recognized. Distance blurred details, and my eyesight could not quite keep up, but familiarity did not rely solely on vision. Mentally, I ran through names and faces, replaying conversations both trivial and consequential. Over the course of two years, I had become acquainted with nearly everyone worth knowing—and many who were not. I could not claim intimacy, of course. That would have been impossible. But I had exchanged greetings with every soul in the Forgotten Shore at least once. That alone was an achievement few could boast.
Absentmindedly, my right hand moved to my left, fingers stroking along the ridged knuckles of my index, middle, and ring finger. The motion was rhythmic, almost meditative. When I glanced down, I could just make out the faint mark that remained there: a thin ring of pallid flesh, barely perceptible. To anyone else, it would have been invisible, indistinguishable from unblemished skin.
To me, it shone like a sun in the dark.
Behind me, the rustle of cloth disturbed the quiet. Sasrir materialized from beneath the door, his form slipping through the narrow gap like a living shadow before coalescing fully inside the room.
"Well?" I asked without turning.
"Seishan has agreed," he replied. His eyes lingered, not on the city beyond the window, but on my hand and the habitual rubbing of my knuckles. "She praised and insulted you in equal measure. I do not think she knows how to handle you."
I chuckled softly. "You give me too much credit. Seishan may have been tossed into a corner by the author, left to be forgotten, but she is still one of the deadliest Awakened in the story. At the very least, I have always rated her higher than Morgan."
"That high?" Sasrir raised an eyebrow as he came to stand beside my chair, leaning slightly over my shoulder. "I am surprised you think so highly of her. Most of her information after becoming a Saint was skipped entirely. How can you be so certain she outclasses the Princess of War?"
"Call it instinct," I replied, a wry smile tugging at my lips. "Besides, when it comes to fighting, Valor is overrated as a whole. In fact…" I paused, amusement flickering through my eyes. "I might just have Medici swallow the entire Clan when Anvil finally kicks the bucket. Perhaps I will even have him marry Morgan."
Sasrir snorted softly. "The proud Red Angel has no need for a wife," he countered lazily, planting his elbow on the armrest of my chair as he looked down at me. "I thought you would take her for yourself."
"Don't you know?" I said lightly. "Clergy are meant to be celibate. Do try not to tempt a holy man, will you?"
Then I glanced up at him, my smile sharpening just a little.
"And besides… what Medici owns—or what any of you own, for that matter—I own as well."
Sasrir hummed, the sound deliberately noncommittal. "Seishan met with Caster as well, by the way. Judging by her expression afterward, I would say it did not go particularly well. He likely attempted to recruit her—and failed."
I let out a soft laugh, eyes still fixed on the settlement below. "A mere subordinate Legacy, daring to persuade his superior to follow his lead? My, my. I did not know our speedy friend was quite so bold."
"My thoughts exactly," Sasrir replied. "It seems the weight of his mission outweighs his sensibility."
"That raises an interesting question," I said thoughtfully. "How did Anvil ever convince a member of the Song Domain to accept his commission in the first place? Why not send one of his own people instead? Did the old man somehow know in advance that Caster would be sent to the Forgotten Shore?" I paused, then shook my head. "No. No such foresight was ever revealed in the story. Which leaves only one explanation."
"A plot hole," Sasrir supplied dryly.
"Precisely. One left behind by the author."
"Perhaps," he agreed. "The Forgotten Shore arc was something of a mess, after all." There was a faint note of amusement in his voice. "Although, I believe we have done our part to make it even worse."
I snorted. "Ah, there you go again, taking enjoyment in causing chaos. As expected of my negative side."
"Shut up, drama queen."
We both chuckled. As the laughter faded, I finally lowered my right hand from my left, breaking the unconscious, repetitive motion along my knuckles. I suspected that had been Sasrir's intention all along, subtle as it was, but I chose not to call him out on it.
After all, my Spectator abilities failed on only five people in the entirety of the Forgotten Shore, and Sasrir was one of them. I knew everything about him regardless, thanks to our symbolic connection, but trying to read his emotions through expressions or tone alone was a futile exercise.
It made sense. He was a Sequence 7 Shadow Ascetic. I, on the other hand, was merely a Sequence 8 Telepathist.
I sighed. "I cannot wait to become a mid-Sequence Beyonder," I muttered. "Why can Nephis not simply hurry up and obtain that shield?"
"Patience, Adam," Sasrir chided calmly. "She has only just arrived—assuming she is even here yet. We must wait at least a month for Sunny to split off and venture out on his own." He paused, then added, "Speaking of which, I have prepared the cathedral alcove for him, just as you requested. If the ploy holds and he stays there, you will finally get your fill of chunni-ism."
I laughed outright this time, the sound echoing faintly through the chamber.
"Much appreciated, Sasrir."
Sasrir tilted his head slightly, the shadows around his silhouette rippling in response to the motion. "Have you thought about your plan to overthrow Gunlaug?"