Caster looked much the same as Sunny remembered: tall, straight-backed, with vibrant green eyes and a face so cleanly sculpted it bordered on infuriating. There was something unblemished about him, something deliberately maintained. Sunny had disliked him from the first day at the Academy, for reasons he had never bothered to fully dissect.
If he had to articulate it now, the comparison came easily.
Caster reminded him of Hero. Of Auro of the Nine.
Men who wrapped themselves in righteousness and duty, who spoke of sacrifice while carefully ensuring it was never theirs, who dispensed charity selectively and called it virtue. Men who upheld order not because it was just, but because it was convenient.
Hypocritical bastards, the lot of them.
By the time Sunny finished mentally eviscerating him, Caster had already reached them.
He stopped at a polite distance and inclined his head first toward Cassie. The gesture was unnecessary—she could not see it—but it was executed with practiced courtesy nonetheless. Cassie sensed the attention and stiffened slightly, her fingers curling against Nephis's sleeve.
Caster's gaze then slid to Sunny.
It lingered for just a fraction of a second too long.
A thin, sharp smile touched his lips—more instinct than intention—and Sunny immediately looked away, jaw tightening. The last thing he wanted was to meet that gaze and give the man the satisfaction of acknowledgment.
Caster turned back to Nephis, his demeanor smoothing out as though the brief exchange had never happened.
"Lady Nephis," he said warmly, voice clear and measured. "It is truly my good fortune to come across you here. I hope your travels through the Dream Realm have not impacted you in any serious way."
Nephis met his eyes without hesitation. Her expression was serene, composed, and entirely unreadable.
"Thank you for your concern, Caster," she replied evenly. "I hope the same for you."
The words were polite. The tone revealed nothing.
Caster bowed his head slightly, accepting the response as though it were a meaningful exchange rather than a formal dismissal. "You honor me. May I ask—have you only just arrived? I myself entered the Forgotten Shore a few days before you. In that time, I believe I've gained a reasonable understanding of this place."
He gestured subtly around them: the stone corridors, the moving crowds, the ever-present Guards.
"Both its layout," he continued, "and its… political realities. If you wish, I would be honored to serve as your guide."
Sunny's eyes narrowed.
Of course you would.
Nephis did not answer immediately.
She studied Caster with unnerving intensity, her gaze steady and unblinking. It was the same look she gave Nightmare Creatures before deciding whether they were worth killing. The surrounding noise seemed to dull slightly, as though the Castle itself were holding its breath.
Caster endured the scrutiny in silence, posture straight, expression composed. If he felt pressure, he did not show it.
Ten seconds passed.
Then Nephis nodded once.
"If you would be so kind," she said.
Caster's smile widened, genuine—or at least convincingly so. "Of course. Please, follow me."
As he turned and began to lead them down the corridor, Sunny fell into step behind Nephis, his mind already racing.
Great, he thought grimly. A hypocrite, a fanatic, and a blind prophetess, all walking into a lion's den—as well as a man who can tell no lies.
What could possibly go wrong?
Caster's quarters were located in one of the inner residential rings of the Bright Castle, far from the main thoroughfares but not quite secluded. The corridor leading to them was wide and well-lit by softly glowing soul-lamps embedded in the walls, their light reflected faintly off polished stone floors worn smooth by years of foot traffic. Guards passed by at regular intervals, each one casting Caster a brief, respectful glance before moving on.
Sunny noticed all of it.
The patrol timing.
The distance between alcoves.
The way the corridors subtly narrowed near choke points and widened near communal areas.
By the time they entered the room, he had already marked three viable ambush spots and twice as many escape routes.
Caster's quarters were modest by Legacy standards, but luxurious compared to anything outside the Castle. A single large room divided into functional sections: a sleeping area with a sturdy bed, a low table surrounded by chairs, weapon racks fixed neatly against one wall, and a small chest reinforced with runic metal. The air smelled faintly of incense and oiled steel.
Sunny's eyes flicked immediately to the exits. One door. One narrow window slit set too high to climb through easily. Defensible, but not ideal.
Caster gestured for them to sit, then leaned against the table himself, folding his arms as he resumed his explanation.
"There are approximately three hundred Sleepers in total," he said calmly. "Ages range from around seventeen to the early thirties, though the average is somewhere in the mid-twenties. Slightly more than half live within the Castle proper. The rest remain in the Outer Settlement."
He paused briefly, then added, "A handful of… unconventional individuals live directly in the Dark City. Most lack either the strength or the sanity to survive there long-term."
Sunny listened intently, expression neutral, though his interest sharpened at the next words.
"One of them," Caster continued, "is a woman named Athena. She's well known—very powerful, by all accounts. However, I haven't had the opportunity to meet her myself."
Sunny's attention snapped fully into focus.
Athena.
He had heard the name twice now, from entirely different sources. That alone made it significant. Living in the Dark City wasn't just reckless—it was suicidal for anyone below a certain threshold of strength. Awakened monsters roamed freely there. Fallen creatures were not unheard of.
What kind of person chooses to live in a place like that?
And more importantly—what kind of person can?
Nephis gave no visible reaction, merely inclining her head slightly. Cassie tilted her head, as though committing the name to memory.
Caster continued speaking, unbothered by the lack of response.
"And here," he said, stepping toward an open doorway and gesturing beyond it, "is the men's sleeping floor. Women are housed separately, on an entirely different level."
He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then added more gravely, "I'm afraid I can't bring you there. Seishan's Handmaidens guard the stairwells relentlessly. Any unidentified man attempting to enter is chased away immediately—or reported. Those who try to take advantage of the women don't last long."
The implication hung heavily in the air.