Jet had been leaning against the wall, her arms crossed, watching the boy on the bed.
She'd seen sleepers wake up from their First Nightmare. Usually, it was a mess of tears, vomit, or the thousand-yard stare of someone who had left something behind in the dirt of the Dream Realm.
Sunny didn't do any of those things.
When his eyes opened, the shadows in the room seemed to grow thicker, as if the light itself was being crowded out by something heavier.
Jet straightened up, her icy-blue eyes narrowing as she took in his new frame. The scrawny, malnourished kid from the outskirts she had met a year ago was gone.
In his place was someone chiseled, lean, and terrifyingly still. But it was the new ink that caught her eye.
An intricate image of a black serpent coiled around his arms and his torso, its tail resting just above his right hand, its head just above his left. The serpent almost seemed to move under his skin, two curved fangs threatening to break its surface. It was striking, beautiful, and disturbing.
It was the Shadow God's mark, she was sure of it.
"Nice ink, Sunny," she said, her voice regaining its usual teasing rasp. "I leave you alone for a few hours, and you go get a tattoo? Who was the artist? A Dreamwalker?"
The boy sat up. He didn't struggle with the leather restraints. He didn't even look at them. As he shifted his weight, the reinforced straps just snapped.
Laughing lightly, he responded.
"I am back, Jet. It's good to see you, too."
"Was there really a need to break them? You even managed to grow a few inches. Must have been some nightmare," Jet said, stepping closer and ruffling his hair despite the chilling aura he was radiating.
"So? Don't keep me in suspense. What's the Rank? Did you get a combat Aspect? Or are you just going to be my personal blinders?"
Sunny swung his legs over the side of the bed. Realizing there was no painful tug in his mind forcing him to respond to every question.
It seemed that [Cursed By Truths] was content as far as his words were true. It made sense. He no longer had a guillotine above his head.
"The Rank is Divine," he said.
Jet snorted, pulling her hand back. "Divine? Sure, and I'm the long-lost Queen of Valor. Seriously, Sunny, what did the Spell give you? If it's a Supreme or Sacred rank, Cor is going to throw a party."
"No, no, you see, I'm the most honest person in the world! Two worlds, even!
All it took was to find a forgotten temple, subdue an ancient guardian, kill an awakened tyrant, some of his spawns, and force a dead God to look at me.
There were also a couple of bastards that I managed to kill not once but twice! Very proud of that one."
Jet stared at him for a long beat, then she suddenly reached out and flicked his forehead.
"Ow! What was that for?" Sunny hissed as he rubbed his head.
"For being a weirdo," Jet grumbled. "You sound like a lunatic, Sunny. A terrifying lunatic. If you say that stuff to Cor, he'll have you committed to an asylum before you can say 'Shadow God.'"
"Who's Sunny? You should start calling me by my True Name: Vicar of Mercy. It sounds neat, right? "
Jet stared at him. His words rang with absolute sincerity. He wasn't lying.
Jet sighed, leaning against the wall again, her tension finally breaking into a shaky laugh.
"You're going to be the death of me, kid. Seriously. You're going to walk into the Academy and tell everyone you're a 'servant of compassion' while you're beating them to exhaustion, aren't you?"
"Something like that," Sunny said, while summoning only the fabric of what looked like a memory armor type.
"Sunny," she whispered, stepping into his space, her eyes scanning his face for any sign of madness.
"If you walk out that door and say those words to anyone else, you won't make it to the Academy. The Great Clans don't allow 'Heirs' to exist outside their reach. They'll either collar you or kill you."
"Why would they?" Sunny asked, a twisted, enigmatic smile touching his lips. "I'll tell them the truth. Why? Because the world will love me, of course!"
"The world will love you?" she repeated, her voice flat. "Sunny, the world doesn't love anyone. You're just putting a target on your back the size of a mountain."
"Can we not talk about mountains, please? I just got out of a very unpleasant one.
I spent my life crawling in the dark. I'm done with that. If they want to see what 'Mercy' looks like, I'll show them.
Don't worry, I won't tell everything. Besides, who could hate a guy like me? I'll be the most popular guy in the Academy!"
Jet felt a prickle of genuine fear—not of Sunny, but for him.
"You're going to get yourself killed.
Be happy the solstice is near; if it wasn't, you would've started a war, thanks to that new blood of yours, and you wouldn't even be an Awakened by the time."
Sunny replied, walking past her, with none of his usual boasting.
"The war started the moment the first Gate opened.
The Sovereigns are just playing house in a burning building. I'm here to put out the fire, or burn with it.
I'm no idiot, Jet. I might be a slightly stronger sleeper than most, but I'm still an ant. I know that well."
Then his usual carefree attitude came back. It was scary how fast he was able to change between the two states.
"Come on, big sister," Sunny said, tossing a wink her way.
"Let's go see the Old Man. I've got deals to make and a lot of very important people to confuse."
"You're mad," she muttered, pushing off the wall. "If you start reciting scriptures in the car, I'm making you walk. And get that snake to stop looking at me. It's creepy."
'Oh, thanks to the dead gods, Effie didn't hear this one.'
As they walked toward the door, a faint, flickering image appeared in the corner of the room, invisible to Jet.
The Sin of Solace leaned against the doorframe, its bone-white face split by a jagged, mocking grin.
"I wonder... when you finally have to put her out of her misery, will you still be smiling?"
Sunny didn't flinch. Instead, he wrapped his shadow around the [Puppeteer's Shroud], hoping to make the apparition job slightly more difficult thanks to the [Doubtless] enchantment.
It was barely enough to annoy him. It also meant that when the wraith did choose to appear, it was going to be with much more malice.
By considering Morgan's flaw, Sunny knew it would keep getting stronger the further he went up the path of ascension. Which meant that he had to keep increasing the augmentations on his mental resistance memories in the future.
***
Saint Cor's office was a shrine to old-world bureaucracy and new-world power.
The desk was a heavy mahogany that came from the dream realm, the windows were bulletproof crystal, and the man sitting behind it was a Transcendent who looked like he had personally carried the weight of the city on his shoulders for years.
Cor didn't look up from his tablet immediately. "Jet. I assume the boy survived. Give me the summary so we can file the—"
He stopped. The air in the room stagnated for the briefest of moments. It would've been ridiculous, an insult to call it presence, if only it had not come from a sleeper.
Cor looked up, his gaze locking onto Sunny. As a Saint, his senses were refined to a terrifying degree. He didn't just see a teenager; he saw a flare of divinity that rarely existed in a sleeper's soul.
A flare he only saw during the beginning of the second generation.
"Sunless," Cor said, his voice dropping an octave. "You look... healthy."
"I haven't eaten well on the mountain, but it did have its upsides…" He said, laughing at his own pitiful joke.
"Did you get it? Upsides and a mountain."
"Just sit down," The meeting hadn't even started, and Cor was already, rightfully, tired of having to put up with the insane boy.
Sunny walked to the center of the room and sat. The [Soul Serpent] on his arm was visible, a testament to his success.
"The report," Cor said, his eyes narrowing. "What is your Rank? Did you receive its lineage or was that a lie?" He already felt the answer to the second question, but asked regardless.
Jet opened her mouth to provide the "Sacred" cover story she had discussed, but Sunny spoke first.
"The Rank is Divine," Sunny said.
Cor didn't move. He didn't blink. The silence stretched until the hum of the air conditioning sounded like a roar.
"Divine," Cor repeated. It wasn't a question; it was an attempt to stabilize his own reality.
"Sunless, if this is a joke born of Nightmare-trauma, I suggest you end it now. The government does not have a sense of humor regarding fabricated Ranks."
"I am Vicar of Mercy," Sunny continued, "I am Shadow's Heir. I'm not here to hide, Cor. I'm here to make a deal.
You want a weapon against the Great Clans? You're looking at it."
Jet stepped forward, her face pale. "Sunny, we talked about this—"
"No, Jet," Sunny interrupted, his eyes never leaving Cor's.
"We talked about what you were afraid of. I'm not afraid. I've already seen what happens when we play by their rules. It doesn't end well for anyone."
Cor slowly stood up. His presence expanded, the sheer weight of a Transcendent soul pressing down on the room like a physical hammer. Most Sleepers would have been on their knees.
Sunny struggled greatly but did not buckle. He willed himself to withstand it no matter what. His muscles tensed, and he began thanking himself for having sat already.
"You're bold, boy," Cor whispered. "But the Sovereigns will kill you before you can even reach the gateway if you fly this flag."
"Yeah, I know, that's why I need more allies. I was wondering if you could place a good word in for me at the House of Night."
"The House of Night? What will you even say to them?"
"Oh, nothing much really, just the way to natural supremacy."
Cor's eyes narrowed until they were razor-thin slits of hardened glass. The office felt like it was shrinking, the pressure of a Transcendent's soul grinding against the stone walls.
"Natural supremacy," Cor repeated, the words tasting like heresy. "You're talking about the secret the Great Clans have killed to protect. You're talking about the path beyond the Spell's crutch. And you want to hand that to the House of Night? Why them? Why not us? Why not the Government that pulled you out of the gutters?"
"Because the Government is a shield, Cor. A very sturdy, very necessary shield. But a shield doesn't win a war; it just delays the inevitable," Sunny said, his voice ringing with that jagged, undeniable truth.
"The House of Night controls the oceans and all of its citadels. They control the flow of both worlds' lifeblood. If I'm going to be of help, I need a pulpit that reaches every shore.
Besides... They are the only Clan who are not currently trying to turn the Waking World into a private playground; they're hungry for a third option, and I'm providing the menu."
Cor sat back, the overwhelming pressure in the room suddenly vanishing as he exhaled. He looked older than he had ten minutes ago.
He looked like a man who had just realized the sleeper in front of him was already playing a game that spanned decades.
"You're a monster, Sunless," Cor whispered, but there was a faint, reluctant glimmer of respect in his eyes.
"A terrifying, silver-tongued monster. Fine. I'll facilitate a meeting. But the Government takes its cut. You don't breathe a word of 'Natural Supremacy' to the Night unless we have a seat at the table."
"Fair enough," Sunny said, straightening his back. "I believe in fair trades. And I'm no monster yet, more like a beast."
***
Meanwhile, unbeknownst to the people in the office.
All Oracles across the waking world, the streets of Bastion, the walls of the Jade Palace, and on the decks of NightGarden, were having the same vision.
They saw not a shattering, but a sudden softening.
They saw Corruption surge forward as a chaotic variable, its rhythm no longer bound by a script.
They saw the Loom of Fate, once a rigid lattice of "Fixed Points," beginning to pulse and bow like silk under a heavy hand.
They saw destiny—once etched in stone—melt into fluid, malleable magma that refused to dry, turning the rise and fall of kings into mere suggestions.